FBPP C29

Chapter 29

“Lying?”
“Yes. Ji-han, it was obvious you don’t watch movies.”
“…Excuse me?”

Ji-han frantically racked his memory. Had he slipped up? No, he hadn’t. When asked if he liked music films, he’d picked Titanic — the universal romance. That was all.

“It’s fine. I like honest people. So, no concerts or anything coming up?”
“You said you weren’t interested in classical music.”
“I’m just curious. You’re famous, Ji-han. They say you’re the gateway to classical music.”
“Who says that?”
“Journalists.”
“Did they also praise my looks?”

Ji-han gave a smile as soft as melting sugar.

That damned face. Fucking hell. There was no end in sight to the viral campaigns marketing Seo Ji-han’s face as a “handsome pianist” to attract young people into classical music. At this rate, they’d still be writing puff pieces about his “prime years” when he was in his forties.

“Anyway, no concert schedule in Korea?”
“No. Recitals won’t resume until fall, and domestic collaborations… well, not sure.”

There had been plenty of offers, but the problem was Ji-han’s standing. If the performance itself was subpar, appearing there would diminish his stature. His agency had made that clear. Honestly, Ji-han himself didn’t care — as long as there was a piano, he could play anywhere. But the people around him had waved their hands, saying no, and the majority opinion was that if the industry’s top broke form, everything below would falter. So he simply went along.

“That’s a shame. Summer hasn’t even come yet.”

Bullshit. For someone with no interest in classical, classical concerts were nothing but lullabies. Ji-han hadn’t realized it as a child, but as he grew older, it was clear. With popular music designed to constantly stimulate the ear, and modern songs shrinking to just two minutes, ten-minute-long pieces of classical music were more than enough to bore the general public.

“True. It’s a shame for me, too. I would’ve been able to give you an invitation.”

And it would’ve been his chance to watch an athlete doze off in the VIP seats.

“Haha! No, thanks. But if a recital’s scheduled for fall, please just tell me. I want to buy a ticket myself.”

Why buy when he was offering an invitation? Ji-han couldn’t quite understand that way of thinking.

“Alright. Do as you like.”

And as if living up to his name, Kang Kyung-woo… was drunk.

“Hey. Pull yourself together. You still have to get home.”

When Ji-han came back from the restroom, Kyung-woo had his head on the table.

“Hey.”

Knock, knock. Ji-han tapped the table with his fist, but there was no response.

This guy, seriously.

Ji-han’s blood pressure spiked. What kind of lunatic suggests drinking, orders the liquor, and then keels over first? And after talking about “managing himself,” no less. Ridiculous.

He had seemed perfectly fine before Ji-han stepped out, yet in just five minutes he had suddenly collapsed?

Running a hand through his hair, Ji-han glared silently at Kyung-woo for a while. Was this some new form of screwing with people? Ji-han had no intention, nor the confidence, to haul around a muscle-bound man over 190 centimeters tall.

In the end, Ji-han pressed the intercom and called a staff member.

“Does this man have a registered address or something? I don’t know where he lives.”

The staffer said they couldn’t disclose members’ personal information, but asked him to wait while they contacted someone from Kyung-woo’s registration.

It was a members-only bar, so nothing dangerous was likely to happen even if Ji-han left. But he chose to wait until the unknown contact arrived. Because if anything happened to Kyung-woo after he had been drinking with him, it could spiral into a bigger scandal than a scratched car.

Fuck’s sake. Ji-han managed his image this carefully, yet this athlete with a public face showed no sense of caution?

And it was laughable that a man with that build had such a weak tolerance. Kyung-woo looked like he could down crates of liquor, yet couldn’t even handle a single bottle of vodka.

“Kyung-woo! Oh my god, what happened?”

A short, chubby man came rushing in. He’d clearly come in a hurry — his slippers didn’t even match. He rushed to the table where Kyung-woo lay slumped, but froze when he spotted Ji-han on the opposite sofa.

Ji-han rose and greeted him with a bright smile.

“Hello. We had some drinks, but it seems Kyung-woo overdid it.”
“Uh… uh… Seo—Seo Ji… oh! Hello. I—I’m Kyung-woo’s manager.”

Oh, is that so. Whether you’re his manager or not isn’t really my concern.

Ji-han waved his phone.

“I accidentally deleted the text message Kyung-woo sent me. I was going to ask him again, but he fell asleep. Would it be alright if I asked you for his number instead?”
“Excuse me? Ah, of course! His number’s 010-xxxx-xxxx.”

It matched.

“Hm… but it says message failed to send. Maybe it’s my phone?”

Ji-han tapped at his phone, murmuring. The manager, blinking nervously, fished Kyung-woo’s phone out of his pocket.

“Oh. No, it just came through now. I don’t know the password, but it shows your number saved as Seo Ji-han, Pianist.”
“Really? Ah, yes. Must’ve just glitched. Well… thank you for the trouble. I should’ve stopped him, but I got carried away too.”
“Haha. Happens between guys. I’ll take care of him. It’s late — you should head home.”
“Thanks for understanding. Then I’ll go.”

The soft smile on Ji-han’s face froze the moment he stepped out of the room.

His hand, dry and indifferent, pulled up the taxi app on his phone.

The fatigue of social interaction crashed down on him all at once.

010-xxxx-xxxx
Ji-han, I don’t know how to apologize. My manager told me everything. You might think this an excuse, but I think it was the cold medicine I took. I drank as if I were at my usual limit and made a fool of myself. If I did anything inappropriate while drunk, I sincerely apologize.
AM 10:22

And I saw you even paid the bill. I really meant to, but you covered it… I hope it didn’t leave a bad impression?
AM 10:25

Admitting his mistake, assessing the situation, and apologizing right away — it was the right way to handle things, Ji-han thought. Passing out at the end had been infuriating, but thanks to the manager, the worst outcome had been avoided. And so, Ji-han wasn’t all that upset. Had he waited maybe thirty minutes? He’d downed the leftover liquor in that time anyway, so it wasn’t a total waste. Plus, the conversation with Kyung-woo hadn’t been tiring.

Because he always wore a mask, dealing with people drained Ji-han’s energy. But Kyung-woo knew how to keep proper social distance, so the fatigue had been manageable. Not that it wasn’t tiring at all, but it was at least bearable.

PM 4:12
You didn’t make any mistakes. But when exactly did you get drunk?

He’d shown no signs of drunkenness. At most, his hands had been a little clumsy and his expression relaxed. But that was a common reaction after a few drinks, even if one wasn’t actually drunk. And Kyung-woo had stayed like that for almost three hours. He hadn’t slurred, babbled, or shown any of the usual signs.

010-xxxx-xxxx
Embarrassing as it is, my last memory is you saying you liked Titanic.
PM 4:17

So not only drunk, but blackout drunk? And of all memories, why forget everything after Titanic?

Ji-han couldn’t shake the irritation at Kyung-woo’s earlier words — that he couldn’t lie, that it was obvious he didn’t watch movies.

010-xxxx-xxxx
By the way… did you really delete my text?
PM 4:19

What was this now? Was he talking about when Ji-han had probed to confirm the manager’s identity?

Ji-han frowned, sipping a banana milk. Why even ask? He could’ve just let it go. Saying he’d deleted it felt wrong — but saying he’d tested him would make him sound paranoid. One would offend, the other sounded neurotic.

PM 4:21
No. It got buried under other messages, and I got mixed up.

Ji-han kept it simple, switched on Do Not Disturb, and turned off the screen.

Today, he planned to play piano for quite a while.

[Whisper] To AkashaPhilBan: Bro hahahaha
[Whisper] To AkashaPhilBan: Brooooo~~~~~

Why no reply? He’d already played two solo games — and lost both.

He’d queued for all roles. One game he got melee, the other marksman. Now that he was in Diamond, solo carrying was reaching its limit.

As melee, he’d been saddled with a pathetic tank, and the marksman got shredded. Ji-han, forced to pick an assassin, couldn’t even go for kills; he was too busy babysitting the marksman. With the front line collapsing like a tollgate, no support could protect the marksman alone.

He was a support worth exactly one unit. The tank was worth minus two.

As marksman, the melee had shit the bed. His initiations were atrocious, and if at least his mechanics were decent… but no, he just flailed and spammed help pings. His teammates broke their backs to cover for him, but the melee died before backup arrived, leaving only condolences.

Fuck. That’s when Ji-han realized — AkashaPhilBan had been a perfect support and tank.

If all teammates were idiots, Ji-han could accept it. He’d curse them out and grind through the games. That was just how the tier was. But when you’d once played with a reliable tank-support duo, you couldn’t help but think of it. And honestly? He missed it.

Toxic attitude? So what. He could bark back. But incompetence? That was worse.

With AkashaPhilBan, even if three teammates were clowns, there was always a chance to turn the game. His words might grate, his attitude might sting, but compared to fighting alongside wild animals, playing with a godlike support was infinitely better.

Without him, Ji-han fumed at his teammates’ narrow vision, poor mechanics, and lack of game sense. With him, Ji-han still fumed and cursed — but at least there was one person he could rely on.

Four impostors were worse than three.

This wasn’t Schrödinger’s cat — it was Schrödinger’s teammate. You never knew if they were human until you saw them play.

[Whisper] To AkashaPhilBan: Brooooo~~~~~ why log in and then go AFK, you fucking asshole hahahaha