He Is That Guy

The remarriage moved fast.
Following the woman into her new husband’s house, Chae Yu-jeong ended up living in a mansion so big and spacious it couldn’t even be compared to the tiny room he’d lived in before.
Around then, ties with relatives they had practically cut off were resumed. The woman’s older sister—Chae Yu-jeong’s aunt—had one son.
“You’re Chae Yu-jeong, huh.”
At their first meeting, Yoo Kyung-seok tapped Chae Yu-jeong lightly on the shoulder as he greeted him. Eight years older than Chae, he was an active pro gamer.
Even this first-ever experience of meeting relatives didn’t stir anything in Chae. He could barely remember the face of Yoo Kyung-seok, who had just said hello.
Nine months after the unfamiliar man and the woman remarried and moved into the big mansion, Chae’s life was filled with nothing but grayscale. Nothing drew his interest; everything was boring. Even when winter came with his fifteenth birthday ahead, nothing changed.
The person who noticed Chae wasn’t “normal” turned out, unexpectedly, to be Yoo Kyung-seok.
As a pro player himself, he’d been getting regular counseling for stress and pressure, so he immediately picked up that something was wrong with this kid who wasn’t like his peers. In truth, Yoo Kyung-seok was the only adult who paid Chae even a little mind.
When Yoo Kyung-seok suggested trying counseling, the woman’s emotionless gaze shifted to Chae. After staring at the child for a moment, she spoke.
“I’ll make the appointment. Go.”
His usual answer—I don’t really want to—once again never made it out of his mouth.
So, obeying the woman yet again, Chae went to the hospital, had a session, and was prescribed medication. But since he had no will to change, the pills didn’t do much.
If anything, the more he took them, the more he felt his memory destabilize, to the point of disgust. The only relief was that the compulsive washing to get rid of the stench eased a little with counseling. He still believed his body reeked terribly, though.
Time rushed by. Four years later, in the winter of his eighteenth year, Chae had grown so tall he was hardly recognizable. His mind was still twisted somewhere, and his personality was cynical, but he spoke much more than when he was little.
“A game expo in Busan?”
“Yeah. Let’s go together.”
Kang Ji-ye held out a pamphlet. Without taking it, Chae flicked his eyes down and answered flatly.
“Not going.”
“Why? You’re free anyway.”
“What does me being free have to do with going to this.”
“Kyung-seok told me I absolutely cannot come alone!”
Kang Ji-ye was one of Yoo Kyung-seok’s close juniors. It had already been over a year since the love-struck Kang Ji-ye, who trailed after Yoo Kyung-seok, and the cousin he unusually doted on, Chae Yu-jeong, had gotten on a first-name basis.
Even though Chae, four years younger than her, spoke rudely and brushed her off, Kang Ji-ye didn’t care. Her interest began and ended with Yoo Kyung-seok.
“I’ll do all the driving, so why won’t you go? If the KTX is easier, I’ll cover your fare.”
“You think I’m some broke piece of shit? Get lost. I said I’m not going.”
“You hole up in your room for over a month popping pills—does that make you happy? If you won’t go, I’m telling your aunt.”
“……”
Chae scrunched his brow in irritation and glared at her.

The “aunt” she mentioned was Yoo Kyung-seok’s mother and Chae’s aunt. After a long time, the aunt and the woman had reconciled and were now fairly close sisters, chattering away about what they’d been through.
So if Kang Ji-ye tattled, it would likely reach the woman’s ears. He didn’t want to attract the woman’s attention for nothing and create a hassle, so Chae finally accepted the pamphlet.
 
****
When they reached the offline tournament hall being held inside the expo, the notified Yoo Kyung-seok hurried over.
Like Chae, Kang Ji-ye had been standing there expressionless, but the moment Yoo Kyung-seok arrived, her face bloomed with a bright smile.
“Chae Yu-jeong actually came all the way out here. Ji-ye, you’ve had your hands full.”
“He won’t set foot outside by himself.”
Not long ago, Yoo Kyung-seok had retired from pro play and become a coach. He said he’d come with some team players to promote the amateur offline tournament for the game “Hiore” that started today.
“There’s a lot of other games getting promoted—walk around and have a look. Let’s meet up again later. Dinner’s on me.”
Stepping out from work for a moment, he spoke quickly and slipped back into the hall. Even if there were other fun things, Chae had no particular interest; and since Kang Ji-ye was there to see Yoo Kyung-seok, she just took a seat in an empty chair in the arena.
The noisy hall changed vibe soon after as the matches began. It was a wildly popular game, and since a former pro had organized the event, the heat was serious.
Arms folded, back against the chair, Chae stared ahead, bored. He was blinking lazily to the blare of the analyst and caster filling the hall when—
“……!”
Among the Red Team players entering their booth, one face looked strikingly familiar. Startled, Chae jerked his slouched torso upright.
At first he thought he was mistaken. He wasn’t. It was the face he’d seen in dreams dozens, hundreds of times.
Ah, the Red Team players are taking their seats.
How do you see this one going?
For both teams, it’s going to hinge on the jungle skirmishes.
I agree. The current meta leans that way, and both teams prefer to get ahead off small jungle fights rather than pure laning.
The junglers have a lot on their shoulders.
For Red Team, their jungler “Jeo Jolryeoyo,” Yu Ji-han, shows a very aggressive style. And he only picks champions where individual mechanics matter a lot. You know him, right?
Haha, sure do. Ever since the prelims, there’s been a lot of buzz about Yu Ji-han’s mechanics.
‘Yu Ji-han…….’
THUMP, THUMP—his heartbeat rang in his ears, and all other sound receded like it was underwater. The only thing in his field of view was Yu Ji-han, seated far off inside the booth.
Talking about something with the teammate beside him, Yu Ji-han slipped on the headset hanging around his neck with a soft smile. Then he stretched his long, straight fingers and took hold of the mouse.
That entire sequence replayed in slow motion and engraved itself into Chae’s mind. In a world that had been endlessly dark and gray, it was as if someone had spilled paint—color flooded in.
‘Yu Ji-han!’
He wanted to jump up and shout his name right now.
When someone is so happy and overcome they actually break down, the body stiffens like it’s malfunctioning—that’s how it felt.
Would he remember me? He will, right? I even told him my name. It’s only been four years—of course he should remember. I remember so clearly I still dream about it.
For the three hours the match started and ran to its end, Chae sat there, forcing himself to hold back the urge to run straight to Yu Ji-han. Kang Ji-ye kept scolding him for being so twitchy, but he didn’t even pretend to listen.
But even after the match ended, there was no chance to see Yu Ji-han. Whether there was a back exit to the booth or not, he ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ didn’t come down to the floor where the spectators were.
Deeply disappointed, Chae had no choice but to ask Yoo Kyung-seok at dinner.
“I want to meet one of the players up close. Any way to do that?”
“The tournament? You mean the Hiore one going on right now?”
Yoo Kyung-seok sounded surprised.
“Hmm. They’re not pros; they’re just regular folks, so it’s not easy. After the finals, there’s a separate interview booth right next door to the tournament; you might catch a glimpse when they move over. They pass along the left side of the stands.”
“The finals……”
“But what’s with you asking Hiore questions? Thinking of playing?”
Ignoring the follow-up, Chae fell into thought. Today was the round of 16, so there were three days left until the finals.
If Yoo Kyung-seok had said he could arrange a meeting, he would have gone straight to him without a second thought. Useless.
After wrestling with it, Chae scrapped his plan to head back up to Seoul and decided to stay in Busan and watch for the next three days.
The next day, the day after, and on finals day, he went to the tournament without being late once and watched, never taking his eyes off Yu Ji-han. It should’ve been boring—he’d never even played this game—but the more he watched, the harder it was to look away.
As if to reward Chae’s expectations, Yu Ji-han made it cleanly to the finals and won the tournament. Holding a giant card with the prize money printed on it, laughing with his teammates, he was as bright and radiant as the sun, just like back then when they’d passed in the hallway.
‘He’s cool.’
Standing tall in the center of the arena, Yu Ji-han shone brighter than anyone else in Chae’s life. The quick, pounding heartbeat spread through his whole body.
“It’s over, so before it gets crowded we should—wait, what? Where are you going?”
Leaving Kang Ji-ye behind, Chae hurried out and ran to the side of the stands Yoo Kyung-seok had described. A decent crowd had gathered there.
Pushing through and reaching the fence at the very front, he saw Yu Ji-han and all his teammates coming down from the stage and walking this way. With a trembling heart, Chae finally let out the name he’d swallowed a dozen times over the past four days.
“Yu Ji-han… hyung!”
He’d meant to call only his name, but he remembered how, the last day they met four years ago, Yu Ji-han had told him to call him oppa—so he belatedly tacked on “hyung.”
Passing right in front of him, Yu Ji-han stopped when he heard Chae call out. With a surprised look, he looked straight at Chae. Their eyes met, and Chae’s heart thrashed so hard it might burst; heat rushed up the back of his neck.
Hands shaking with nerves, Chae clenched them into fists and forced the words out.
“I’m Chae Yu-jeong.”
Yu Ji-han’s eyes widened a fraction at the name. At that, Chae’s expectation swelled inside him like an inflating balloon.
‘He definitely remembers me.’
Otherwise he wouldn’t react like that.
Unlike four years ago, when he’d seemed so much taller than Chae, their eye level was about the same now. The little kid who’d been small enough to be mistaken for a girl was gone.
So it wasn’t strange he’d be this startled seeing him. Above all, who could have imagined he’d run into that kid from four years ago like this?
Chae himself had been shocked when he first saw Yu Ji-han four days ago, so of course Yu Ji-han would be the same.
That span of less than a minute felt incredibly long. Just as Chae swallowed and opened his mouth again—
“Long ti—”
“Mm, sorry, but…”
Wiping away the surprised look with an awkward smile, Yu Ji-han answered him.
“I think you’ve got the wrong person.”