#61

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The atmosphere surrounding the two of them was chilly and dry, much like the air touching their cheeks.

The spot where Jung-hyun and Ho-jae had settled was a lounge area outside the funeral hall. A single vending machine, an ashtray, and rows of wooden tables and chairs were laid out.

A short distance away, a middle-aged man wearing the same chief mourner’s armband as Shin Ho-jae was smoking a cigarette while talking on the phone. Deep fatigue and a sense of loss were etched onto the man’s face.

Feeling a slight sense of kinship, Ho-jae turned his head in the opposite direction. Jung-hyun was sitting beside him on the same bench.

Since there was an ashtray, it was likely a space where smoking was permitted, but whether out of consideration for him or simply because he had no desire to smoke, Jung-hyun kept his gaze fixed straight ahead.

The two shared a few words about the weather and the details of today’s match, then fell silent as if by prior agreement. The voice of the middle-aged man on the phone interfered with any serious conversation.

Ho-jae fiddled with the warm canned coffee Jung-hyun had bought for him. Since he wasn’t wearing an outer coat, his body was gradually growing cold. For now, the warmth radiating from the canned coffee was heating him up.

After a while, the voices behind them ceased, and the sound of footsteps leaving the area followed. Then, as if he had been waiting for that moment, Jung-hyun’s voice drifted over.

“I was short-sighted that day.”

Ho-jae lifted his head to look at the face of the man who had broken the silence. It occurred to him that Jung-hyun, like himself, had been mindful of the person behind them.

“Putting myself in your shoes, I think I would have felt the same way you did, Ho-jae.”

Jung-hyun paused for a moment before continuing.

“I’m sorry for making it so you couldn’t be there for your father’s final moments.”

“…….”

Shin Ho-jae narrowed his eyes.

At the time, his words had been nothing more than a vent for his anger. It was a childish outburst, much like when he had blamed Yeon-jae when his father was rushed to the intensive care unit.

Jung-hyun must have known that, yet instead of reprimanding the Ho-jae of that moment, he offered an apology.

The one who should be apologizing wasn’t him, but Ho-jae. Jung-hyun had simply been worried about him while he was suffering from a head injury.

“…My father was an organ donor.”

Ho-jae suddenly spoke. He could feel Jung-hyun’s gaze landing on his cheek.

“My mother told me that once, my father said that after raising children, he realized that everyone is someone’s precious child.”

“…….”

“I suppose he thought that people who were sick and needed organ transplants should be able to enjoy life in health, just like his own son and daughter.”

Despite the somewhat abrupt topic, Jung-hyun listened in silence.

Ho-jae gripped the canned coffee, which was slowly becoming lukewarm, and continued.

“When my father was admitted to the ICU, there was already one opportunity for organ donation. But we refused it then. My mother wanted it that way, and neither I nor Yeon-jae were mentally prepared to let him go.”

“…….”

“And the day my father passed away was the second opportunity.”

This was something he had heard from his mother after the encoffining ceremony ended today. That day, his mother had to make another choice.

Whether to hold onto his father’s lifeline until her son arrived, or to give new life to someone else while his organs were still functioning, just as his father had wished.

“Mom told me that since she had already been greedy once to keep him here, if she did it again, she wouldn’t be able to face him in the afterlife.”

“…….”

“Mom was right. If I had been greedy and insisted on being there for his final moments, I think I would have regretted it for a long time.”

Jung-hyun gazed at Ho-jae intently.

He didn’t say anything specific, but his gaze seemed to send a quiet comfort. Thanks to that, the words that followed flowed much more easily.

“…So, I’m the one who should apologize.”

Jung-hyun stared at Ho-jae without a word. Then, he spoke bluntly.

“Your father sounds like he was a wonderful man.”

Ho-jae nodded slowly.

“…He was.”

“What kind of person was he? If you don’t mind, tell me about him.”

Ho-jae’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected request, but he soon opened his mouth slowly.

“…My father was a national judo athlete. He always regretted not winning a medal at the Olympics, but I think his pride and dignity as a sportsman were no less than those of a gold medalist.”

“He must have been very happy that you chose sports as your career path.”

Ho-jae shook his head.

“Not really. My father wanted me to do judo like him. It’s a secret from him, but… I didn’t find judo very interesting.”

Jung-hyun let out a small laugh. Ho-jae followed suit with a slight smile.

Perhaps it was just his imagination, but the dawn air no longer felt chilly.

Ho-jae spoke of his father and reminisced, as if talking to someone who knew his father well.

It was something he hadn’t been able to do even in front of his father’s friends or relatives.

The guests attending the funeral were all too busy patting Ho-jae on the shoulder and praising the family’s efforts, saying, ‘You’ve worked so hard all this time.’

“When I was in Montreal, my father once visited me without any notice.”

The carefully unfolding story eventually traced back to the days he played in Canada.

The days when, though no one told him to, he believed he had to stand out on his own.

During the off-season, he would spend all his saved weekly wages on personal training, and his visits to Korea were limited to tight schedules aligned with national team trials or World Championship preparations.

It was a period when he managed his condition with extreme sensitivity every day. Because of that, the time spent flying twelve hours to Korea, adjusting to jet lag, and handling matters unrelated to training felt intolerably wasteful.

It was like that for five whole years. Five years was enough time to make spending time alone with his father awkward, regardless of the love and affection he still felt for his family.

“…Actually, I was a bit embarrassed by him that day.”

Ho-jae gripped the now completely cold canned coffee and spoke as if confessing his sins.

“The way he tried to get other players to praise me in English that didn’t even follow proper grammar, and the way he relentlessly stopped colleagues he wasn’t even close with to get autographs on his uniform…. Of course, everyone took photos and signed without hesitation, but still.”

“…….”

“So when my father said he had to go that day, I was inwardly relieved.”

It was a story he had never told anyone.

“I just wanted to escape that situation as quickly as possible.”

He hadn’t even mentioned it on social media, the only place where he used to pour out his heart. He must have subconsciously realized it was a story too embarrassing to share even there.

Looking back, it was all because he lacked confidence in himself.

The label of being Asian, skills that felt like they were stalling no matter how hard he tried, the situation of having to communicate in a language that wasn’t his mother tongue….

All of those things had greatly diminished Shin Ho-jae’s confidence at the time.

“I can’t forget the sight of my father’s back that day.”

In truth, his father might have noticed that his son was embarrassed by him. That might be why he made an excuse about his schedule and hurried out of the locker room to be considerate of his son.

He wanted to hear that it wasn’t the case, but Ho-jae could now never hear those words.

“The reason I took my anger out on the CEO, saying I should have been there for his final moments, was actually because I thought that was the only way I could be forgiven by my father.”

“…….”

“For the two years I took care of my father at home, I actually felt that way the whole time.”

The canned coffee in his hand momentarily blurred. It was because moisture was welling up in his eyes. He hadn’t intended to tell Kwon Jung-hyun this much. Contrary to his thoughts, his mouth kept moving.

“…Like I was begging for forgiveness.”

He didn’t know why he could bring this up to this man, and not to Du-min, Min-chul, or his family.

Perhaps he subconsciously knew that he wouldn’t be able to end anything without vomiting it out to someone. Or perhaps this was the power of being in an unconventional place.

Suddenly, he felt warmth against his side. He shifted his gaze slightly from below to look over.

Jung-hyun’s knee, which had been a hand’s span away, had stepped closer and was now right next to him.

His eyes grew heavy, and he closed them. The shimmering moisture was pushed by his eyelids and flowed down his cheeks to his chin.

Ho-jae kept his eyes closed. Perhaps because he had let out the words buried inside, a fatigue he hadn’t felt for two days now pressed heavily upon his eyelids.

“There is one thing I can tell you.”

After a long while, a low voice cut through the cool air.

“At that time, you were someone your father could be proud of.”

Ho-jae slowly opened his eyes. He lifted his head and looked at him.

“At least to the ‘me’ of that time, you were.”

“…….”

“Your father would have been proud of you then, and he still is now.”

Jung-hyun gently pulled Ho-jae toward him.

Like a weight falling under gravity, Shin Ho-jae leaned his shoulder against Jung-hyun’s without hesitation.

Because they had been outside for so long, the fabric of his clothes was saturated with the cold air. Jung-hyun wrapped his arm around Ho-jae’s back. Then, as if by magic, warmth began to spread from that spot.

Just as he had given him the canned coffee, just as he had sat close with their knees touching, Ho-jae felt that this was Jung-hyun’s way of offering comfort.

Ho-jae stayed embraced in a daze for a moment before wrapping his arms around Jung-hyun’s waist. As they hugged each other, the warmth began to heat their bodies even faster.

Had the warmth reached his face? His eyes suddenly grew hot.

He sniffled a couple of times. It was a final, desperate effort to hold it back. But at some point, he could no longer endure it and buried his face in Jung-hyun’s shoulder.

Ho-jae bit his lower lip hard. He tightened his grip around Jung-hyun’s waist. Soon, the things buried deep inside surged and spilled out through his eyes.

“……Hic, ugh.”

Whether the heat was rushing to his head, his eyes felt hot enough to burst. His shoulders shook. Tears flowed endlessly, enough to soak one of Jung-hyun’s shoulders.

He felt Jung-hyun hugging him tightly from behind. Only now did the reality that he had sent his father away begin to sink in.

He realized for the first time then that in order to let someone go, he had to empty them out from within himself.

62 – Puck Drop