MYFL | Chapter 3.3

The open class wrapped up with the awarding of new belts. Beomchan called each child up one by one, personally tying their new belts around their waists while offering a few words.

“Hanbyeol, what do you have to do now that you have a green belt?”

“I have to do even better!”

“Do better at what?”

“Taekwondo!”

His loud voice practically shook the ceiling. Grinning, Beomchan tied the green belt snugly around Hanbyeol’s waist.

“Good job.”

After giving the boy a quick pat on the back, Beomchan turned him toward his mother, and Hanbyeol immediately dashed over, proudly showing off his new belt. Watching him with a satisfied expression, Beomchan then motioned for Woojoo.

“Woojoo, if I give you this yellow belt, can you work even harder?”

Holding the new yellow belt in his hands, he asked with a teasing smile.

“Yes!”

“Really?”

“Yeees!”

Woojoo’s chubby cheeks flushed red with excitement, looking like they might burst.

Beomchan, looking pleased, unfolded the belt and gestured for Woojoo to step forward. The boy took a few steps closer, puffing out his round belly.

After tying the yellow belt around Woojoo’s waist, the child immediately toddled over to Seungjae, sneaking glances at him with a shy sense of pride. Beomchan watched the scene with a fond smile before straightening up and addressing the crowd.

“Let’s give a big round of applause to our hardworking kids!”

⋆˚🐾˖°

After all the parents and children had left, Beomchan stayed behind to clean up the now-empty dojo. He stacked the plastic folding chairs and carried them to the storage room inside the office, then gathered the broken boards into one pile. The only sounds in the quiet space were those of objects being returned to their proper places.

Now that he was alone, his thoughts inevitably crept in.

Even until the end of the open class, Seungjae’s husband never showed up. Woojoo seemed used to it. At five years old, he was old enough to feel disappointed, but instead, he had spent the whole time happily glued to Seungjae’s side.

Seungjae had captured it all on his phone—the sparring, the board-breaking, the belt ceremony. Holding his phone in one hand, he had waved with the other, recording every moment without missing a beat. Was he planning to send it to the person who couldn’t come?

Beomchan let out a deep sigh, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Just then, the dojo door opened.

He turned toward the entrance at the sound.

To his surprise, the unannounced visitor was none other than his father.

“Dad.”

Beomchan called out, his voice laced with obvious delight. His father stepped inside, taking off his shoes as he approached.

He had noticed him earlier, watching from the back during the open class, but by the time Beomchan had looked again, he was already gone. He had assumed his father had just stopped by briefly and left—but now, here he was again.

“You said you couldn’t come.”

Beomchan grinned playfully as he threw himself onto his father’s arm, rubbing his large frame against him like a child. Unlike his older brother, who had always been reserved, Beomchan had been clingy since childhood, constantly looking for an excuse to get physically close. When others were around, his father would grumble about how weird it was for a grown man to still be so affectionate, but when it was just the two of them, he usually let it slide.

“I came to check if you’re doing well or not.”

“As if I could sit still at home, wondering how things were going.”

Though his words were gruff, his father naturally reached out to help, picking up stray mitts and protective gear from the floor and putting them back in place.

Trailing behind him, Beomchan smirked.

“So, now that you’ve seen me in action, don’t you think it’s about time to hand over the dojo?”

“Listen to this kid. Not even close, brat.”

His father clicked his tongue in mock annoyance. He had been about to offer some praise, but as soon as Beomchan started getting ahead of himself, any urge to compliment him vanished.

“You’re so stingy.”

After finishing up the cleanup, his father pulled up a chair in the office and sat down. Beomchan poured him a glass of water from the dispenser and set it in front of him before taking a seat across from him.

After taking a slow sip, his father suddenly said something unexpected.

“Don’t play favorites with the kids.”

“…Me?”

Beomchan instinctively asked back, caught off guard.

His father shot him a knowing look, as if to say, Don’t try to fool me, then set the cup down before continuing.

“I get it. A teacher is still human, so it’s natural to feel more attached to certain kids. But you have to be careful. Kids are more perceptive than you think—they pick up on that kind of thing fast.”

Beomchan’s shock wasn’t because he felt guilty.

It was because he hadn’t even realized it himself.

Or maybe, deep down, he had known. The fact that he immediately understood exactly which child his father was referring to proved as much.

Every child had a different personality, and Beomchan naturally adapted his approach to each of them. The one thing he had always been careful about was making sure those differences didn’t come across as favoritism.

But now he felt ashamed.

Like he had been exposed.

If his father had noticed after watching for only a short while, how obvious must it have been all this time?

Maybe it was lucky that it was his father who pointed it out first.

“You don’t have to act like you just got sentenced or something.” His father sighed, probably noticing how much his words had weighed on him.

“You remember my friend, Mr. Hong? The elementary school principal? He’s been in education for decades, and he always says the same thing—no matter how long you’ve been working with kids, they’re still the hardest to figure out. So what about you? You’ve barely been doing this for a few years.”

It was meant to be reassuring, but it didn’t lift Beomchan’s spirits.

If it had been just because Woojoo was a shy child, or because he struggled more than others, then Beomchan wouldn’t have felt this embarrassed. But his reasons weren’t that simple.

They weren’t ones he could be proud of.

Maybe that meant he really was guilty.

⋆˚🐾˖°

By the time Beomchan came to his senses, he was already standing in front of Seungjae’s apartment building.

When did I get here?

For a brief moment, he wondered about it, but the thought quickly faded when he spotted Seungjae stepping out of the building.

Feeling a rush of familiarity, Beomchan instinctively raised his hand to wave—only to freeze mid-motion.

Seungjae wasn’t alone.

There was a man with him. Someone Beomchan had never seen before.

A much older man.

So that’s the guy?

He was too old.

The man, wearing a disgusting smirk, pulled Seungjae into an embrace. Beomchan clenched his teeth at the sight, an overwhelming urge rising within him to call out to Seungjae and interfere. But no words came out.

His legs wouldn’t move either.

It was as if he had turned to stone. He couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away. He was trapped, forced to take in the scene before him.

The older man shifted slightly, and with that movement, Seungjae’s face came into view—resting his chin on the man’s shoulder, smiling.

It was a smile Beomchan had never seen before.

A genuinely happy smile.

The older man then pulled back and rubbed his lips against Seungjae’s cheek.

Beomchan trembled. He wanted to cry, but even his tear ducts seemed paralyzed.

He knew.

It didn’t matter how old or ugly the man was. If Seungjae was happy, that was all that should matter.

He had no right to say anything.

And yet—

What happened next forced him to change his mind.

Seungjae turned and walked back inside the apartment.

The older man lingered for a moment, watching him go. Then, without looking back, he walked away—heading straight to another apartment.

Another Omega’s home.

A young Omega stood in the doorway, holding a newborn baby in their arms.

The old man had two families.

Beomchan’s mind reeled. Seungjae had to know. He wasn’t the type to turn a blind eye to something like this. There was no way he knew.

Without hesitation, Beomchan called him and relayed everything he had seen.

But Seungjae didn’t believe him.

His voice was cold, reprimanding.

Frustrated, Beomchan snapped. He took a photo of the scene before him and sent it to Seungjae.

Then he went home and waited.

And waited.

But no reply came.

Half a day passed.

Just as he was about to give up and go to sleep, a knock echoed from his front door.

There was no voice outside, no announcement.

But Beomchan knew.

At this hour, there was only one person it could be.

Seungjae.

He rushed to the door.

The moment it opened, Seungjae fell into his arms.

His voice, shattered from crying, barely made it through.

—You were right.

“I should have listened to you.”

“I never should have married him.”

“I never should have left you.”

His regrets mirrored Beomchan’s own resentments.

You shouldn’t have married him.

You shouldn’t have disappeared overnight.

Was that why?

Why the first thing Beomchan felt wasn’t sympathy for Seungjae?

Why it wasn’t even anger at the man who had betrayed him?

Instead, a sick sense of victory crawled through him.

He had Seungjae now.

That’s not right.

I shouldn’t be feeling like this.

A fragile voice of conscience whispered a warning inside him, but he ignored it. Instead, he tightened his arms around Seungjae.

Holding him closer, tighter. So that he would never slip away again.

At that moment, Beomchan’s eyes snapped open. He felt out of breath, as if he had been running. As he gasped for air, the first thing that came into view was the familiar window of his home. He stared blankly at the soft blue dawn light seeping through before slowly raising an arm to cover his eyes.

It was a dream.

As relief settled in, his senses gradually started waking up one by one.

There was a faint sound tickling his ears. Beomchan turned his head toward the source.

He had fallen asleep with the TV on.

On the screen, a messy makjang drama was airing, depicting the scandalous lives of a chaebol family.