HMN C44

Chapter 44

Thud.

“Ugh—damn it! That bastard.”

Daeyoung’s hand trembled with fury as he grabbed the spoon that had slipped from the table. It was him. That bastard had done it on purpose. He’d always made it clear, even during the drinking party, that he didn’t like him.

“What, did he have some grudge against me? Why the hell?”

Grumbling under his breath, Daeyoung scooped another spoonful of dessert and chewed irritably. He genuinely couldn’t remember ever doing anything that might earn someone’s hatred. Still, he couldn’t help wondering if, without realizing it, he’d somehow provoked him. A weary sigh flickered across his face.

“He said he just hated you. No reason.”

“What? You asked him?”

“When I kicked him out of the club.”

It was a lie.

‘I got sick of hearing his name every damn day when I was at cram school.’

That was what Park Hyundong had actually said when Chiwoo confronted him in the clubroom. He’d attended a prep academy near the university, and apparently, Daeyoung’s name had come up there all the time.

At the time, Daeyoung had been working part-time at a bookstore in the same building as the academy, and he’d somehow become well-known there. Hyundong had watched, seething, as his crush and her friends gossiped every morning about the cute bookstore clerk they’d seen before class. That irritation had festered into something ugly, all directed toward Daeyoung.

‘If I’d known that stupid video was gonna blow up, I’d’ve uploaded it myself and made some money off it.’

He’d thought he was being funny—recording a ridiculous, embarrassing moment, “punishing” Daeyoung for existing. He never expected the internet to turn the story upside down.

The video didn’t even clearly show his face. The lighting had caught only faint outlines—the slant of his brow, the bridge of his nose, a glimmer of gold across his forehead. The camera had zoomed from far away; most of it was just the back of his head.

Yet, the comments were flooded with “He looks handsome,” and “Is he an idol?” Speculations piled up, and one so-called friend commented, “This is definitely Ahn Daeyoung~”—and that was enough for people to start tracking him down. The comment was deleted quickly, but it was too late. The video had gone viral.

Soon, wild rumors spread:

“Isn’t that the guy I worked with in Jeju?”

“Looks like the oppa I crushed on for three years.”

“Reminds me of that boy from my piano academy in Jeonju.”

It turned into a meme—“Trying to Find the Handsome Guy You Once Saw in Real Life.” People even screenshotted the thread under a title like [If you see a good-looking guy once, you’ll talk about him for life] and spread it everywhere.

The original clip had now surpassed eight million views.

And that accidental “famous man,” Ahn Daeyoung, was sitting across from Go Chiwoo—tiny fists clenched in frustration, cheeks puffed up adorably.

“So… when you saw him at the club, you recognized right away that he was the one filming me?”

“Didn’t think I’d caught his face properly, but when he pulled his phone out, I knew.”

Daeyoung blinked. He’d assumed Chiwoo hadn’t gotten a good look in that alley. Maybe he’d just glanced at him briefly.

‘I thought you two were close, you know. You work together, same club. If not friends… maybe you were the one chasing after him?’

That was what Hyundong had sneered that day. And when he’d said it, lifting his phone with that smug grin—Chiwoo had realized, instantly, that it was the same bastard he’d seen in that alley.

It hadn’t even been a hard decision. He didn’t hesitate for a second.

The very next day, he’d called Hyundong out and kicked him from the club. The guy had acted innocent at first, but the moment Chiwoo mentioned the secret video, he’d gone pale and mumbled a few excuses before leaving. That was it.

“……”

Despite fuming, Daeyoung scraped every last bit of dessert from the dish and bit his lower lip.

‘Drink less next time, and use your head.’

That was what Chiwoo had told him that night. Maybe that was why—he’d seen the creep provoking him again at the bar, watched Daeyoung obliviously keep drinking while the guy who’d humiliated him sneered. If Chiwoo had known, he probably had been frustrated.

And to think—

‘It was that guy. He’s the one who filmed and posted it.’

He’d been so sure, all this time, that Chiwoo was the culprit. After all, he’d been the only other person in that alley—and he’d seemed exactly the type to pull a petty stunt like that.

But no. Chiwoo had been the one chasing the real culprit down. The one who’d gotten rid of him.

Daeyoung felt a lump rise in his throat. For once, he owed the man thanks—and an apology.

“The food was… good.”

He started with that—basic gratitude.

“And, uh… thanks. For the thing with Park Hyundong.”

He forced the words out. His mouth didn’t cooperate easily, but if he didn’t say it now, it’d nag at him all night. Across the table, Chiwoo nodded briefly, took a sip of water. At least he didn’t make a big deal out of it.

Then—

“You thought it was me.”

“…”

He froze.

“You thought I filmed you.”

Daeyoung’s eyes darted away.

“…No?”

Too slow. Chiwoo’s eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, you did.”

“Hey, look at the time—we should get to work.”

Scrape.

Daeyoung stood abruptly, pushing his chair back, fussing with his clothes to avoid eye contact. As he left, he heard a faint chuckle behind him and felt his shoulders relax. At least Chiwoo wasn’t actually angry.

“Ahh… so full.”

After everything that had happened since their first chaotic encounter, Daeyoung never imagined they’d be sharing a meal like this—in a fine dining restaurant, no less. The world was ridiculous like that.

He stepped outside, heading toward the car parked out front, and shook his head with disbelief.

He used to act like he couldn’t even hand someone a napkin. And now—

Click.

“Hey—”

“What.”

Chiwoo had walked ahead and opened the passenger door for him. Reflexively, Daeyoung called out but quickly waved it off, his pulse racing. God, if someone sees this—

He hurriedly climbed in before anyone could. Chiwoo shut the door gently behind him, a hint of amusement flickering in his expression.

Great. He’s laughing.

Daeyoung glared at him through the windshield as Chiwoo walked around to the driver’s side.

Even in just jeans and a plain T-shirt, he looked good—too good. Maybe it was his height, or maybe it was just unfair genetics. Whatever it was, Daeyoung forced the thought away and gave himself a quick slap on both cheeks. Focus. Stop catching feelings. That’s not happening.

When Chiwoo glanced over, confused, he muttered something about a “blood sugar spike” and buried himself in the seat.

The rest of the ten-minute drive was silent. Not because he was sulking, but because he was busy overthinking—trying to figure out whether this strange tug in his chest was actually affection or just sheer irritation.

“Daeyoung, this—”

“Give it to me.”

“Then you handle this part—”

“Can’t you see his wrists? Want me to report you for labor abuse?”

“What’d you say, punk?”

“I’ll do it after I finish this.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake… this kid…”

“……”

Okay, maybe it wasn’t affection. Maybe it was just pure annoyance.

The moment they arrived at the café, Chiwoo’s overprotectiveness was relentless. Every time the boss tried to assign Daeyoung a task, Chiwoo would intercept like a bodyguard.

If he went to take out the trash, Chiwoo swooped in to grab the heavy bags. When he tried to carry drinks to the counter, Chiwoo appeared out of nowhere to snatch them from his hands. Once, when he went to restock ingredients in the back, the man actually shoved him aside—and with their size difference, Daeyoung nearly flew three meters.

“Seriously…”

He knew the reason. The doctor had said to avoid using his wrists as much as possible, and Chiwoo was just following that advice. It was technically caring.

But it was too much.

The boss stood there, horrified, watching the whole spectacle, and Daeyoung could practically feel the embarrassment climbing up his neck. He was getting paid to work, and Chiwoo was making it look like he was helpless.

“Are you Superman or something?”

He snapped finally, hands on his hips. Helping with heavy lifting was one thing, but this was ridiculous. He couldn’t even wash dishes without the guy hovering over him.

Chiwoo didn’t miss a beat.

“Put the braces back on. You sell the ones I bought you? Don’t overdo it.”

“How am I supposed to wash dishes with those on? I can handle it. Move.”

“You’re too fragile.”

“…Hah.”

Fragile?

The word hit his pride like a punch. His wrists might be sore, sure, but fragile? No way.

And there Chiwoo was, massive as a wall, guarding the sink like it was a national treasure. Daeyoung squinted at him. He really had a talent for being annoying in every possible form—sharp-tongued one second, saintly and insufferably considerate the next.

He let out a long, heavy sigh. That single exhale made Chiwoo instantly turn his head, as if expecting trouble.

God, he’s exhausting.

Daeyoung scowled. Utterly exhausting.