Chapter 43

Gi-hyeon merely watched him with a vacant expression.

“Wh-when…”

That was the only question he managed to force out. Because it felt as though the ground beneath his feet had suddenly given way. Gi-hyeon tried desperately to stay calm.

An Omega?

Come to think of it, he had a strong suspicion. The incident at the Namhae resort. Gi-hyeon realized exactly who Jo Yeon-oh was talking about. And the moment he did, the ground that had felt like it was crumbling instantly solidified beneath him, firm and steady.

It didn’t seem like Yeon-oh had found the time to sleep with someone else amidst his chaotic schedule. He had initially acted as though he mistook the entire event for a dream, but it was astonishing that he had somehow arrived at the absolute certainty that he had slept with an Omega.

Had he discovered something else in the meantime? It was clear he hadn’t realized his partner was actually Gi-hyeon, but the sheer fact that he had slept with someone had apparently been undeniably confirmed.

However, Gi-hyeon never expected him to actually confess it. He knew Jo Yeon-oh harbored a visceral disgust for sexual relationships with Betas. That was exactly why Gi-hyeon had demanded the cover-up be staged to look like he had slept with an Omega in the first place, but he was entirely caught off guard by Yeon-oh directly admitting it to him.

Gi-hyeon had firmly believed Jo Yeon-oh would hide it to the bitter end. Or, at the very least, confess it much later after time had passed. Ironically, Yeon-oh was the one who had initially given Gi-hyeon permission to sleep with Omegas. While Yeon-oh claimed he had no intention of doing so himself, Gi-hyeon had simply assumed it was one of those ‘open relationship’ concepts secretly popular among Alphas and Omegas.

Because of that, he was completely disoriented. In that fleeting second, countless dilemmas raced through his mind—should he just say okay, or would it look more natural if he got angry?

Before the stunned Gi-hyeon could even begin to process it all, Jo Yeon-oh spoke again. His voice was devastatingly heavy.

“Let’s break up.”

“What?”

He didn’t hear that properly. His hearing was perfectly fine, and the words had been spoken clearly, but his cognitive abilities had completely flatlined. Scrambling to figure out what he had just heard, Gi-hyeon failed to comprehend it and asked again.

“What did you say? I didn’t hear you clearly.”

That was a lie. He had heard it perfectly fine, but it was closer to the truth to say he simply couldn’t comprehend what those words meant.

Staring blankly at the man who had just spouted such devastating nonsense, Gi-hyeon wore an expression of profound devastation. Jo Yeon-oh, who had been aggressively avoiding his gaze, finally looked up and spoke with agonizing clarity.

“I said, I slept with an Omega.”

So Gi-hyeon stopped breathing. Tens of thousands of thoughts violently slammed into his brain. Yet, the words that actually slipped out of his mouth were so utterly pathetic he couldn’t believe it himself. Because once the words had breached his lips, he couldn’t stop them.

“…So, what…”

At Gi-hyeon’s response, Yeon-oh’s brow furrowed deeply. Exactly like the day Gi-hyeon had first confessed his feelings. Exactly like the moment Yeon-oh had desperately suppressed dry heaves after hearing that confession. With red-rimmed eyes and a fiercely contorted expression, he looked exactly like a man overwhelmed by unbearable disgust, yet anchored in place by lingering affection, unable to fully abandon the person before him.

“Do you really not understand what that means? I slept with some other bastard.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand what that…”

Gi-hyeon mumbled the words like an idiot. Sleeping with an Omega was entirely Jo Yeon-oh’s own delusion. Furthermore, when Gi-hyeon had imagined how Yeon-oh might react if he ever discovered the truth about that night in Namhae, he had anticipated a reaction similar to this. But not like this.

Gi-hyeon meant… he meant he didn’t want to break up. He had gone so far as to completely deceive Yeon-oh just to prevent them from breaking up. And yet, this was the result. He simply couldn’t fathom it. In the end, the absolute worst possible words spilled from his mouth. The moment those words crossed his teeth and breached his lips, he knew with agonizing certainty that his pride would be utterly shattered, yet he couldn’t stop them.

“But… as long as I’m okay with it, isn’t it fine?”

Jo Yeon-oh instantly scowled at those words. Looking exactly like a man confronting the most repulsive thing on earth.

“Have you completely lost your fucking mind?”

Those words struck something deep within So Gi-hyeon.

Since when was this specific emotion something a sane person possessed? Gi-hyeon had lost count of how many times he had desperately prayed for himself to regain his sanity.

Loving Jo Yeon-oh was an absolute, unyielding agony, and if he could, he desperately wanted to forget it all immediately. He had only reached this pathetic state because he couldn’t. Regardless of who Jo Yeon-oh had slept with—whether it was Gi-hyeon himself or some Omega who had magically fallen from the sky—that wasn’t the important part.

The truly devastating part was that the person who uttered those words was Jo Yeon-oh. Not Gi-hyeon, who had barely managed to endure, squeezing out mere moments to shed tears in secret, but Jo Yeon-oh. Even if the entire world screamed at Gi-hyeon to break up, Jo Yeon-oh was the one person who should never, ever have said those words.

What exactly was so hard for you? No, forget it. He didn’t even want to know anymore. Something deep inside him had finally shattered, blaring a deafening warning that it would be nearly impossible to ever repair. Gi-hyeon had absolutely no intention of rebuilding it, either. Instead, Gi-hyeon parted his lips to ask the one final thing he needed to confirm.

“Are you… so… are we breaking up right now, you’re saying we should break up…”

Despite having made up his mind, the question refused to come out whole. The floor beneath him felt as though it were collapsing. Endlessly, bottomlessly. The terrifying sensation of a free-fall continuously whipped against Gi-hyeon’s spine.

His voice was trembling violently, but it sounded so detached, almost like it belonged to a complete stranger, that he found it morbidly funny. Suddenly, Gi-hyeon found this entire situation utterly hilarious. Unlike himself, who was desperately trying to reconfirm an unbelievable reality, Jo Yeon-oh was already standing before him with a completely emotionless face, simply staring at him in silence.

Jo Yeon-oh, who had hidden his visceral disgust and declared he would date him solely because he was terrified of losing So Gi-hyeon. So Gi-hyeon, who had suffered infinitely more pain than joy from dating Jo Yeon-oh, yet had hidden the fact that they had slept together entirely out of fear that Yeon-oh would feel disgusted by the truth.

There was a very specific reason why you and I couldn’t abandon each other for so long, dragging this agonizingly toxic relationship out.

So Gi-hyeon and Jo Yeon-oh were simply poisonous to each other. Gi-hyeon only truly realized it now.

When a breathy, hollow laugh finally tore from his throat, Jo Yeon-oh stared at Gi-hyeon with violently bloodshot eyes. Looking exactly as if he couldn’t believe So Gi-hyeon was actually laughing.

But even knowing the laughter was grotesquely inappropriate, he couldn’t stop it from pouring out. He had thought he wanted this so desperately. He had believed he longed for it so much. But looking back on it now, it was all nothing but absolute garbage.

It was the exact feeling of having spent an eternity cherishing the debris washed up on a riverbank, convinced it was gold dust, only to finally realize it was nothing more than ordinary rocks, not even worth the price of copper.

So Gi-hyeon stood completely alone on the riverbank after a violent storm had ravaged it. Always, inevitably, alone. Realizing that undeniable truth only now was so incredibly funny, his own pathetic fate was so hilarious, that he simply couldn’t hold it in.

It was a brilliantly bright, genuine smile—the first one in a very long time.

“You…”

Jo Yeon-oh opened his mouth, seemingly about to call Gi-hyeon’s name. Since the expression on his face still belonged to a man witnessing something entirely unbelievable, Gi-hyeon simply stared at Jo Yeon-oh in silence.

And he stared for a very long time. Even if to someone else it was merely a fleeting second, Gi-hyeon looked at Yeon-oh with such intensity that the brief moment felt like an eternity.

The bastard’s brow bone. The perfectly straight, high-bridged nose he had always thought was so beautiful. The single beauty mark resting flawlessly upon it. The deep philtrum. The lip line that, despite forming a gentle peak, perfectly betrayed his impatient temper and ruthlessly decisive nature. The prominent Adam’s apple. The earlobe he had once foolishly dreamed of kissing, only to eventually abandon even that small hope. The thick veins wrapping like vines around his wrists and the back of his hands. The long, elegant fingers he had always caught himself secretly watching.

He painstakingly committed every single detail to his memory. And then, he completely erased the smile from his face. Looking exactly like a man who had never smiled a day in his life. And then, he answered the breakup notification he had just received.

“Jo Yeon-oh, our relationship.”

“…”

“It has absolutely zero meaning anymore.”

Jo Yeon-oh’s eyes blew wide. Seeing the bastard’s lips part slightly, Gi-hyeon—who had absolutely no desire to hear another word from him today—spoke first.

“This isn’t a breakup.”

Because they had never, not even once, truly loved, yearned for, or cherished each other in a romantic sense. What Yeon-oh had felt was, at best, deep platonic affection—it was never romantic love. Therefore, no matter how desperately So Gi-hyeon yearned and loved him entirely on his own, this pathetic charade could never be classified as a true relationship. So Gi-hyeon and Jo Yeon-oh had hidden that devastating truth from each other and dragged this out for seven agonizing years. What kind of absolute idiots would sustain such a farce for seven years?

But no matter how foolish one might be, if life guarantees a moment of clarity, Gi-hyeon felt as though today was his rebirth. Because he had finally found the absolute resolve to sever this idiotic, toxic chain. With a devastated heart, yet standing upon a foundation of unbreakable resolve, Gi-hyeon thought:

We never dated, so this isn’t a breakup.

“We’re severing our friendship, Yeon-oh-ah.”

Gi-hyeon tried to force the corners of his lips up into a faint smile, but finding it entirely impossible, he simply turned his back with a completely expressionless face.

Someone desperately grabbed Gi-hyeon’s wrist. Even after seizing his wrist, the man seemingly had no idea what to say, remaining completely silent. Gi-hyeon deliberately pried the hand off his wrist.

“Take care.”

“…”

“…You worked hard, until now. You really went through a lot, Jo Yeon-oh.”

Gi-hyeon genuinely wanted to reach out and pat Yeon-oh’s shoulder. He felt a twisted sense of gratitude toward the bastard who had dragged a relationship that should have died seven years ago all the way to this point. At the very least, So Gi-hyeon needed to acknowledge Jo Yeon-oh’s agonizing efforts.

Despite all of that.

“Let’s avoid seeing each other as much as possible.”

He never wanted to see Yeon-oh again.

And so, the hand that had half-reached out was pulled back into the empty air, leaving only lingering regret. Gi-hyeon turned and walked away. He wasn’t the least bit curious about what kind of expression the man was making behind his back.

He had genuinely worried that if they ever broke up, he might not even be able to breathe, but surprisingly, he managed to walk off the roof perfectly fine on his own two feet. He didn’t take the elevator. His ankle throbbed with a dull ache, but it wasn’t severe enough to prevent him from taking the stairs.

Even a man who had literally just been dumped still had to return to work. Walking slowly down the stairs, Gi-hyeon re-entered the athletes’ lounge with a slightly awkward expression. Before heading over to where his assigned athletes were waiting, he glanced into the office and noticed Team Leader Lim’s desk was empty.

Considering it would actually be far more uncomfortable to run into Team Leader Lim right now than the bastard he had just broken up with, he figured it was for the best. Aside from feeling slightly dizzy, everything felt exactly the same as always. Chang-won, who was organizing charts nearby, approached and asked cautiously.

“Doc… Are you okay?”

“About what?”

When Gi-hyeon offered a faint smirk, Chang-won lowered his voice and replied.

“Team Leader Lim just got called into the Director’s office. Ugh, seriously, I have no idea what is wrong with that guy.”

Gi-hyeon merely nodded, offering a noncommittal ‘Is that so.’ Shaking his head in disbelief, Chang-won continued.

“You’re seriously a saint, Doc. If it were me, I would have tattled to your friend ages ago. Why have you been holding it in all this time?”

“I know, right.”

He genuinely agreed with that statement. Why did I hold it all in and endure it? Why did I keep up this sham of a relationship for so long? Despite their relationship dragging on for seven years, the number of people who actually knew about it could be counted on two hands.

Forget boasting about it; he had never even spoken about it proudly in front of others. Exactly as Chang-won had pointed out, he had never once openly demanded anything from Jo Yeon-oh.

In truth, wasn’t this entire relationship maintained solely by leaning on Jo Yeon-oh’s stubborn pride and his own pathetic lingering attachment, holding onto a thread that felt like it would snap at any second?

There was nothing left to regret. His chest merely felt terrifyingly cold, as if it had been completely hollowed out.

He organized the charts, called in the athletes who were behind on their evaluations to measure their muscle strength, and sent the lists of required medical supplies requested by the therapists out on medical support dispatches to the Family Medicine and Rehabilitation Medicine departments, asking them to review the medications for doping compliance.

Only after meticulously finishing every single one of those tasks did Gi-hyeon finally clock out for the day. He didn’t put in any excessive effort, nor did he half-ass anything. He worked exactly as he always did.

“Dr. So, aren’t you leaving?”

“Just finishing this up.”

Right before clocking out, he pulled up the resignation letter he had permanently saved on the shared drive, updated the date to today, printed out two copies, placed one squarely on Team Leader Lim’s desk, and submitted the other directly to Lee Beom-hee.

He wanted to rest. Paired with a brief, bitter regret that he should have just rested back then, when his ankle had been permanently ruined.

So Gi-hyeon clocked out with a completely expressionless face.

Absolutely nothing had changed from the man he was yesterday.

***