Main Character of a Dating Reality Show C11

Chapter 11

It was the year Go Gyeol and Shin Joon-oh were sixteen.

“Why do you want to debut?”

They had been practicing dance relentlessly all day. When they finally managed to catch their breath, sweat poured down their faces and soaked their backs, their exhausted bodies slumping against the wall. Gyeol was gulping down an electrolyte drink, aching to collapse flat on the floor, when Joon-oh suddenly threw the question at him.

“What?”

“I asked why you want to debut.”

Why did he want to debut?

He had never really thought about it.

He had become a trainee at eight years old and spent the next eight years doing nothing but singing and dancing. Half his life had been lived as a trainee, with nothing in sight but that one word—debut.

Sometimes, Shin Joon-oh asked questions like this.

Questions Gyeol had never considered, questions he had never even been curious about. The moment they were asked, doubt crept in, and his mind grew tangled and heavy.

“Do you really have to ask something like that right now?”

I’m dying here. Gyeol set the sports drink aside and sprawled out on the practice room floor.

“There’s dust. Don’t lie down.”

“It’s fine. My head hurts because of you, so I’m lying down. I think I’m actually going to die.”

Joon-oh pushed himself off the wall, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his chin on his hand as he looked down at Gyeol.

Gyeol, lying flat, looked back up at him.

“So? Your answer?”

“What’s wrong with you today? Do you have energy to spare or something?”

The difference in their traits felt especially cruel. Ever since Gyeol had manifested as an Omega, moments like this—when he realized how much his stamina fell short of Alpha Joon-oh’s—left him inexplicably bitter.

Joon-oh leaned closer. His face entered Gyeol’s personal space. Close enough that their noses might brush. The smiling face hovering above him was far too near, but Gyeol didn’t move away.

“What now.”

“I want to be part of the reason you dream of debuting.”

His voice was unnervingly clear. His black eyes shone with impossible sharpness.

Everything about Shin Joon-oh—every facet of him—pressed in on Gyeol with overwhelming force.

Gyeol turned his head slightly, avoiding his gaze.

“What are you even saying.”

“Gyeol.”

Joon-oh shifted positions and lay down beside him, facing the direction Gyeol had turned. He, too, lay on his side, looking straight at him.

Gyeol couldn’t avoid his eyes twice. His gaze stuck, pinned to Joon-oh’s, as Joon-oh whispered softly.

“You’re the reason I want to debut.”

“……”

“I’m going to debut with you.”

“…What am I to you, then.”

To you.

“This.”

The air in the practice room—where two adolescent boys had spent hours dancing and sweating—was thick and stale. There wasn’t enough time for the heat to dissipate. The hand brushing his cheek was hot.

Breathing became difficult. Perhaps he had unconsciously held his breath.

Their lips touched.

“…Say it with words.”

In the brief gap between touches, Gyeol murmured faintly. It was a futile wish. Bracing a hand beside Gyeol’s head, Joon-oh lowered himself further, almost pressing Gyeol down beneath him.

“My debut is you.”

Their lips met again. Gyeol couldn’t open his eyes for a long while. He held his breath, held it, until his fingertips pressed hard into the practice room floor. Joon-oh grabbed Gyeol’s wrist and guided it up, resting it against his own neck.

Now, those two were twenty-seven.

All those radiant days had long since faded into the past. Just reuniting on a dating program was enough to make his skin crawl—yet here was his first love, the one he never wanted to see again, acting like this. Gyeol couldn’t understand why.

“…Shin Joon-oh.”

He called his name, thinking he needed to shut him up.

That was when he saw it—a faint shimmer of moisture in Joon-oh’s eyes. His brows drooped slightly; tension gathered at the corners of his mouth.

Gyeol knew that expression well. It hadn’t changed at all.

Regret. Guilt. Remorse.

The same look Joon-oh used to wear whenever he had done something wrong, tugging at Gyeol’s hand back then.

Why are you acting like the one who was abandoned?

The unspoken question lingered on the tip of his tongue when Joon-oh suddenly pulled him into an embrace.

A familiar scent flooded his senses—the same body scent he had known countless times before. It was the same pheromone he had encountered in the pheromone booth. The broad shoulders, the solid warmth of his chest—none of it had changed.

Gyeol’s mind spiraled in an instant. He couldn’t recklessly twist away or shove him aside. The cameras were still rolling.

“Wait, Shin Joon-oh.”

He pressed a hand to Joon-oh’s chest, applying just enough force. Please, pull yourself together.

But Joon-oh didn’t let go. Instead, he tightened his arms, holding Gyeol firmly in place. Even that—this unyielding hold—was exactly the same as before.

“Gyeol, I—”

I need to calm him down. Gyeol whispered, just loud enough for Joon-oh to hear.

“The cameras are on. Get a grip—”

“I’ve never had anyone but you.”

It was a decisive blow.

Emotion surged and spilled over, crashing into Gyeol like a wave and washing his thoughts white.

Why did he feel like crying?

Even while aware of the cameras, it was hard to suppress the flood of feeling.

Shin Joon-oh—the man he had sworn never to see again. The man he had hated, resented, and despised for eight long years.

He had. He truly had.

And yet, faced with Joon-oh’s plea, arriving eight years too late, Gyeol felt his chest tighten with emotion.

Unease. Anxiety. A sense of looming danger.

And the fear of being shaken unilaterally once more.

His eyes burned, tears threatening to spill. Just as his reason was about to give way, an unexpected figure snapped him back to reality.

Over Joon-oh’s shoulder, dozens of meters away, stood Sung Yohan—beside the camera crew filming them.

Time seemed to slow.

Even from afar, Yohan’s gaze was viciously intense, as if the lens were zoomed all the way in.

Seeing him standing there with his hands in his pockets, suit jacket fluttering in the sea breeze as he observed them, Gyeol abruptly regained his composure.

“This isn’t appropriate.”

His voice was calm as he gently—but firmly—pushed Joon-oh away.

Joon-oh was perceptive. He noticed the shift in Gyeol immediately, or perhaps sensed what he had become conscious of, and this time he stepped back without resistance.

“Gyeol.”

But the way he said it dripped with lingering attachment.

“I think you should think carefully. Remember that we’re only on day two of Alpha X Connect, and remember the fans who’ll be watching this scene.”

“……”

He spoke deliberately, drawing a clear line and invoking concern for the program’s direction. No sane production team would keep a conversation like this unedited.

At the very least, that was what Gyeol had learned about Alpha X Connect’s main PD, Yoo PD. With the show already under scrutiny for its celebrity special, he wouldn’t take unnecessary risks.

Eliminate provocation. Leave only something neutral and flat.

That was the only way out.

“…I’m sorry. I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“It’s fine. That can happen.”

You really are crazy—but admitting fault and apologizing? That’s still one of your strengths.

Gyeol extended his hand for a handshake. After a brief pause, Joon-oh took it. Against the backdrop of the setting sun and the sea, the camera captured the two of them facing each other, hands clasped.

“Let’s do our best for the remaining thirteen days. I’m counting on you.”

Joon-oh looked like he had a thousand things left to say. In the end, though, he swallowed them all and followed Gyeol’s lead.

“Me too. I’m counting on you, Gyeol.”

Sung Yohan watched the entire exchange.

Day 2 — Affinity Selection.

After much thought, Gyeol chose Tommy.

The nickname ‘King Potato’ is cute 🙂

He slipped the card into the mailbox and, on his way back to the lodgings, reviewed his choice.

Shin Joon-oh: absolutely excluded.

Choi Seon: already chosen yesterday—better not make consecutive selections so early.

Jung Wooseok: barely any interaction.

That left Tommy, who had drawn attention during today’s pheromone matching with his visible reaction. His “King Potato” image was already set; it was a safe choice.

Once everyone had made their selections, it was Gyeol’s turn to check the mailbox.

Three cards.

Thank goodness. This is a good flow.

His lingering worry about receiving all the votes again for a second day in a row melted away. He wanted to avoid being labeled a villain who toyed with people’s feelings.

I had fun at brunch today. Maybe blood sugar spikes aren’t so bad after all.

Pfft. Gyeol covered his mouth as he laughed.

The sender was obviously Choi Seon. Why was he so fixated on blood sugar spikes?

He seems like a good person.

Looking back, the day hadn’t been all bad. The brunch date with Seon that morning had been genuinely enjoyable.

In a lighter mood, Gyeol opened the second card.

I am you.

His hand froze. His fingers tightened around the card.

Shin Joon-oh, you bastard.

He swallowed the sigh that threatened to escape, pretending to savor the sentiment before folding the card. His insides churned, but he showed nothing. He wouldn’t show it.

Let’s just check the last one and go back.

Choi Seon and Shin Joon-oh had both broken anonymity and chosen him outright.

So who was the owner of the final card?

Flip.

“…Huh?”

The sound slipped out before he could stop it. He was genuinely shocked.

The last card wasn’t from Jung Wooseok. It wasn’t from Tommy.

You’re thinking about me, right? See you soon.

“…The catfish.”

The card sent to Gyeol announced the arrival of the catfish.