Ihan wiped the sweat from his forehead and exhaled deeply.
"Hoo."
Then, he took a step naturally. To anyone who didn't know, it was perfect—indistinguishable from an ordinary gait.
Tak.
He no longer used a wheelchair. He had come down to the rehabilitation center by the stairs, and likewise, he went back up by the stairs. It was difficult, but if it meant he could run even a little faster, he was willing to put in even greater effort.
"That's truly amazing."
The physical therapist beside him looked at him with admiration.
"It took six months."
"It's only been six months."
Ihan shook his head.
"It's too slow. At this rate, I wonder when I'll be able to run..."
"R-run, you say?"
Ihan turned his head and stared at her intently. She was looking at him with eyes that said it was impossible.
"Of course."
"That's..."
She looked like she was holding back something she wanted to say. Of course, he could imagine what it would be, but Ihan tuned her out.
"I'll stay a little longer, so you may go."
"Ah, yes."
Leaving a lingering gaze, she busily moved about to attend to other patients. Left alone, Ihan finally resumed his walking practice with a comfortable mind.
Tak.
It didn't feel very difficult now. Could he maybe run?
That thought suddenly crossed his mind. If it was now...
Ihan looked around and spotted a treadmill. And without a moment's hesitation, he climbed onto it.
Click.
After pressing the start button, Ihan first set the speed to four kilometers per hour. He slowly walked on the belt, adjusting to the speed. This much was fine.
This time, he set the speed to five kilometers per hour. It had barely gotten faster—almost unnoticeably so—but to Ihan, it was a wall.
"Urk!"
Ihan, who had been walking quickly on the belt, fell to the floor. A burning pain surged from his knee, and Ihan curled up, clutching his knee tightly.
"Ungh, uuurgh...!"
A groan escaped involuntarily. He tried to endure with all his might, but the pain was more extreme than anything he had ever experienced in his life.
"Haaah, haaah..."
It was a brief moment, less than a minute, but to Ihan it felt like an eternity. Fortunately, the pain disappeared like a lie, but Ihan's expression was grim.
Could he... run?
That thought suddenly crossed his mind. Just then, a familiar face blocked the vision of the prone Ihan.
"Hyung?"
It was An Onho. After doing something so despicable, he appeared before Ihan as if nothing had happened. Of course, An Onho must have thought Ihan didn't know of his scheme, but Ihan already knew everything. He wanted to grab the bastard before his eyes and kill him, but he strongly suppressed that urge.
"You're here?"
"Yeah, how's the rehab going?"
"So-so."
Someday, he would break this guy's legs. Simply getting angry and cutting ties wasn't enough to quell his rage. Someday, he would inflict more pain—far more—than what he had suffered.
It was fortunate. Thanks to An Onho, his will surged anew. He could run. He had to run. A murderous intent settled in Ihan's eyes. To hide it, he slowly closed his eyes. And after composing his heart, he rose and looked at An Onho. He spent time with him as if nothing was wrong. With a dagger hidden deep in his heart.
Time flowed like running water.
'Already...'
Today was the anniversary of her death. A year had passed in the blink of an eye, and Ihan had become able to do even simple jogging. Of course, on the treadmill, speed 8 was his limit. He could barely manage five minutes. But the fact that he was gradually improving was undeniable.
Tak.
Today as well, he went down to the rehabilitation center to continue his training.
'I will make it.'
It was the anniversary. One year since she died; today more than any other day, he wanted to show results different from usual. Surely, she who was watching from heaven would want the same.
'I will run. I must.'
Ihan stretched before stepping onto the treadmill.
Beep.
And he increased the speed. The number was 8.
Swish.
He began to run. Speed 8 was, by ordinary standards, a very slow jog. Only at speed 10 would an ordinary person think, 'Ah, this is a bit of a workout.' And yet Ihan, who had once been a rising star in marathons, was struggling at speed 8.
"Huff, hoo."
He was already struggling.
It was an obstacle from the start. His body wouldn't cooperate, to the point where he wanted to stop immediately.
'Choe Jieun.'
He must not do so today.
'Not today...!'
He'd rather collapse while running. He'd rather die running. If he was going to stay like this forever, that would be better. For her wish that he would run, he would rather burn like a flame once and then flicker out.
Swish.
Ihan increased the speed.
Before he knew it, the number had surpassed 10.
"Urk!"
The strain came. The injury had clearly healed, yet strangely, his knee hurt. The doctor had called it a sequela, but it was far beyond that. It was agonizing, as if it would tear apart.
'Damn it!'
Of course, if he got examined, they would say there was nothing wrong.
They said it was a kind of psychological pressure.
Because the pain at that time had been so severe, it was psychological pressure—the fear that such pain might appear again even now—and they said the pain originated from that, a phantom pain. That was the doctor's explanation.
He flinched.
This is phantom pain?
Ihan's brow furrowed.
Pain that I created myself?
If that were really true, he would run today. Even if he writhed in agony, if this all stemmed from illusion, then today he would run for her and collapse.
Swish.
He raised the speed again.
The number was 12.
It was a pace that took one hour to run 12 kilometers. A pace of 6 kilometers in 30 minutes, and 2 kilometers in 10 minutes. In other words, he had to run 1 kilometer in 5 minutes, which was an insurmountable wall for the current Ihan.
"Kuuuh..."
A groan burst out involuntarily.
'Endure, endure!'
He tried with all his might, but in the end, his knee wouldn't listen. The phantom pain churned his brain.
Ignoring his will, his knee buckled, and Ihan tumbled to the floor.
"Ke, keuh. Kuaaaack!"
The moment he stopped, the pain that had soared to its limit flooded in all at once. Ihan's pupils rolled back from the unbearable agony.
He knew. He had maintained his rehab without issue on normal days. But today, he had wanted to show something. So he had overdone it. This was the result.
It was miserable. Humiliating. And he was sorry.
However, even in the moment he lost consciousness, Ihan did not unclench his tightly gripped fist. In the depths of his rolled-back pupils, he did not let go of the determination that he would run no matter what. He had not yet given up.
It had been tedious times.
'Five years.'
He had spent a full five years in rehabilitation. For the following six months, he participated in various competitions. He built up results there, and eventually, a miracle occurred—the national team coach for this year's Olympics had selected Ihan.
"Huff, hoo."
Ihan, lightly running in the park, furrowed his brow.
'It is definitely an opportunity.'
The coolness of the morning breeze tickled his entire body. He wasn't perfectly healed yet, but there were no major issues. However, the irregular flare-ups were unstoppable.
'Tomorrow, is it?'
At his current level, he probably wouldn't be selected as a national team athlete even if he competed for several more years. He had the skill, but out of three competitions, a flare-up would strike once, causing him to be disqualified.
"Hoo..."
Ihan stopped running and raised his head.
The clear sky without a single cloud washed over his suffocating chest.
'A pacemaker.'
It was a time when countless thoughts were chaotically intertwined.
He met with the national team coach alone.
"You've heard the story...."
"Yes."
"Then I'll be brief. I want you to join us as a pacemaker. Honestly, I could have found another athlete, but as someone who knows your former abilities, I have pinned my hopes on that potential."
"...."
Potential, he says—in that case, he should have let him run as an athlete.
All glib talk, but in the end, he was being treated as a has-been.
He was only thirty-one, in the prime of his life. Of course, his stamina might be lacking compared to young athletes in their twenties, but in the marathon world, thirty wasn't that old. The problem was his injury.
"Thank you."
"Yes, make your decision. Will you join us?"
"May I ask one thing?"
"Speak."
"If I do my best as a pacemaker and lead the team, my role is until 30 kilometers. Is that correct?"
"That's right."
"Then even at the Olympics, after 30 kilometers, can you let me do as I please?"
The coach nodded as if there was nothing to think about.
"If you lead our team's ace from the front until 30 kilometers, I will not interfere with whatever you do after that."
Ihan closed his eyes.
"I'll do it."
"You've thought well."
Anticipation and a hint of pity spread in the coach's eyes as he looked at Ihan. Ihan felt that gaze, but he could endure it.
'I'll show you.'
The sight of him winning a gold medal at the Olympics.
To her, who must be in heaven, he would definitely show it.
He would grit his teeth and move forward with endless venom.
Those who have never despaired do not know.
Only those who know desperation can harbor venom.
Training began immediately.
Whoosh.
A strong wind blew. Perhaps because the sea was right beside them, the wind was far fiercer than usual.
There were people running about that area.
"Hah, two. Hah, two!"
"You bastards, aren't you going to get it right? Keep in step!"
"Yes!"
"Louder!"
"Hah! Two! Hah! Two!"
Twenty athletes shouted the cadence loudly. Just then, the sea wind roared even louder. As if a typhoon had come, their entire bodies began to be pushed backward.
"Keuk!"
"Th-the wind...!"
Everyone leaned their upper bodies forward and took a step. That short distance now felt terribly long.
"Run straight! The Olympics aren't far away!"
"Uwaaaah!"
They shouted as if screaming, but even so, their bodies still wouldn't move. Just as everyone was struggling to hold their ground, the athlete at the very back expressed doubt.
"Hm?"
"Wh-what?"
The wind was still blowing, and the twenty marathon athletes were planted in place, unable to take a single step, when someone passed by them as if it were nothing.
Swish.
It was a speed that, on any other day, could barely be called crawling. But compared to the twenty athletes who were struggling to hold their ground and were even being pushed backward, he was so fast that one could say he was flying.
"Who the hell is that guy!"
Then, several of the top-ranked athletes turned their heads back.
"What's going on...?"
And they saw. A single athlete quickly passing by their side. The moment they saw his face, the eyes of those at the front grew intense.
"Don't fall behind! Fall behind and you'll all die today! You got that?"
"Yes!"
"Let's go!"
"Kuaaaah!"
They shouted the cadence and burned with resolve. And they exerted all their strength to break through the sea wind. No, they gritted their teeth to catch up to the single athlete who had already dashed ahead.
'I have to move forward.'
It was Ihan.
He had to advance to the front and lead them. That was the role of a pacemaker.