* * *
‘From the way he’s acting now, it doesn’t seem like he held onto it that much….’
Still tense, like an elementary school student waiting to be scolded, Taehyun finally asked Sejin, who remained silent as if in a protest.
“So, anyway, what have you been up to? Besides training. I heard you went back to France right after the Olympics.”
Most people in Korea knew that much without needing to hear it from the agency.
The media wouldn’t leave a pretty boy who had reached the top of the world at the age of eighteen alone.
Despite receiving countless offers for exclusive interviews from various media outlets, Sejin had left Korea almost immediately after fulfilling the minimum required media appearances, saying he needed to go back to his parents in France.
For the agency that had been eagerly planning to turn Sejin into a star, his decision was like a bolt from the blue.
The first complaint Taehyun heard from the agency upon his return was about Sejin.
‘He suddenly left, you suddenly went off the grid, and I swear I aged twenty years during that time.’
The agency had even worried that the two might have had some kind of falling out, but Taehyun assured them that nothing like that had happened.
At least as far as he remembered, things had been fine with Sejin until the end.
The problem was that he had been the one to cut off all contact and disappear.
Whether Sejin had tried to reach out to him before or after going back to France, he wouldn’t know unless he asked.
But Taehyun couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling, wondering if he had somehow influenced Sejin’s decision.
‘It’d be too awkward to ask him directly if it was because of me…’
Testing the waters, Taehyun brought up the topic, and Sejin, after looking between the pot and Taehyun, finally spoke.
“Yes. I was staying in France, but my grandfather called me, so I came back to Korea last year.”
“Your grandfather? Does he live in Korea?”
His grandfather?
Sejin had mentioned before that he didn’t know anyone in Korea.
Surprised by this new information, Taehyun raised an eyebrow and looked at Sejin, who quickly averted his gaze and answered.
“Yes.”
As expected, the response was simple.
Taehyun stirred the simmering contents in the pot, which were bubbling deliciously, and asked again.
“You said when you first came to Korea, you didn’t know anyone.”
Sejin, with an indifferent expression, responded, confirming that Taehyun hadn’t misremembered.
“I only started keeping in touch with my grandfather recently. He contacted me after seeing that I won an Olympic medal.”
“Oh.”
Taehyun clicked his tongue, realizing he had been short-sighted.
It wasn’t uncommon, after all. Whether it was a child or a grandchild who had been abandoned, until they achieved something significant, people would act as if they were someone else’s kid.
But once they became famous, suddenly people started claiming to be their aunt or uncle, eager to associate themselves with the success.
Taehyun had plenty of acquaintances who had experienced similar situations.
He made a hissing sound and grumbled as he placed a large piece of meat on Sejin’s plate.
“That’s pretty harsh. They must have known you existed, but only reached out after you became famous. I don’t want to speak ill of your grandfather, but still…”
Even if the behavior was annoying, it was someone else’s elder, so Taehyun couldn’t speak too harshly.
Pouting his lips in frustration, Sejin responded calmly.
“No, it’s fine. I don’t like my grandfather either. And it’s true that he only contacted me after I became successful, just as you said.”
That calm and detached tone suggested to Taehyun that Sejin had no affection, expectations, or lingering attachment towards his grandfather.
It made Taehyun uneasy.
Even though Sejin claimed not to like his grandfather, he had still come to Korea to live, perhaps because of some unspoken reason.
It was probably just a baseless worry, but the thought unsettled him.
“…You’re kind. Living in Korea, which you must not be very familiar with, for a grandfather you don’t even like.”
Even if Sejin didn’t care now, what good would it do to badmouth his grandfather at this point?
Taehyun thought it would be better to comfort Sejin for his hard work, so he spoke plainly, only for Sejin to refute his words.
“It’s not like that. My grandfather runs a small business and decided to become my sponsor without my consent. Since I have a contract with my agency, I’m just going along with it for now.”
“Sponsor?”
Taehyun’s ears perked up at the unexpected word.
If the business was capable of sponsoring him, it couldn’t be that small.
Of course, in the case of small, unpopular professional teams affiliated with local governments, it wasn’t unusual for a small regional company to become a sponsor.
Even if it was considered small, it was often still a well-known and profitable business in that area, though still relatively small compared to large corporations.
Taehyun tilted his head in curiosity, prompting Sejin to briefly explain further.
“Yeah. Ilun Pharmaceuticals.”
“What?”
And once again, Taehyun was in for a small shock.
Was he crazy?
Who calls Ilun Pharmaceuticals a small business?
Sure, if Sejin’s idea of a big company was something like A Corp or S Corp, global giants, then Ilun Pharmaceuticals might seem small in comparison, but by normal standards, Ilun was a major corporation, raking in billions, nearly close to a trillion if rounded up.
Who in their right mind would call that small?
Taehyun almost jumped out of his seat but managed to stay seated.
“Hey, who on earth calls Ilun a small business?”
No wonder.
Since last year, Sejin had been appearing in commercials for Ilun Pharmaceuticals’ flagship products, constantly airing on TV and YouTube.
It was odd seeing ads that seemed more interested in selling their model than the product itself.
But if the goal was to associate Ilun with Sejin’s image, then it was an effective strategy.
Even though it had only been two years since Sejin became their exclusive model, the public already strongly associated Ilun Pharmaceuticals with him.
As Taehyun reacted in disbelief, Sejin nonchalantly offered a counterpoint.
“It doesn’t really matter to me. It’s not like I’m going to inherit anything, and my mother cut ties with my grandfather after a fight, so I consider him no different from a stranger.”
Then he added, almost casually, in a tone devoid of any desire, like a monk who had reached enlightenment.
“He did say he’d give me a small share, but whether I have it or not, it doesn’t make much difference. We’re supposed to be family, but it’s really just a business relationship.”
What kind of “business relationship” airs ads featuring you during prime time several times a day?
Taehyun had a lot to say but held back.
Even when he first met Sejin, his refined demeanor and delicate appearance gave the impression of a chaebol’s son.
He couldn’t believe Sejin actually was one.
And what was this about cutting ties? His parents severed ties with the family, lived abroad, and were only called back after Sejin succeeded—this was straight out of a drama or movie.
Truly, this kid’s life was something else. Taehyun shrugged, recalling the same thoughts he had four years ago.
“You always had a chaebol’s air about you, but now you were actually a chaebol.”
Taehyun’s words were more of an observation than a tease, but Sejin’s eyebrow twitched as he asked,
“Is that an insult?”
Well, if Taehyun had said that to someone else, it might have been meant as a jab, but not now.
There was no better way to describe Sejin’s unique calm, composed, and unshakable demeanor in a single word.
“No? It just suits you. If someone else acted like that, they’d come off as annoying, but not you.”
If asked why, Taehyun wouldn’t have had an answer, but Sejin had always been consistent since four years ago.
The incident in the guest room earlier made Taehyun wonder if he had imagined it altogether.
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