SAV Chapter 9

This didn’t feel right, so I tried to pull my foot away, saying I’d do it myself. But he firmly grabbed my escaping ankle with one hand. It was the first time someone had held onto my ankle like that—and it was an experience I never wanted to go through again.

 

“Ah!”

 

A sharp pain shot through, and a short cry escaped my lips.

 

“Who grabs an injured person’s ankle so tightly like that?” I snapped, glaring at him as if he were holding a grudge.

 

Annoyed, I rolled my eyes. In response, Choi Jeha pressed a patch onto my ankle carelessly. The medicated area was cold, making the tiny hairs on my skin stand on end.

 

“You could’ve warned me before putting it on. It’s freezing.”

 

I wasn’t sure if he had something to say or if he was just irritated. He kept gripping my ankle tightly and glared at me with his eyes slightly raised.

 

“You.”

 

Whenever Choi Jeha exposed too much of the whites of his eyes like that, it never led to anything good. My throat went dry out of nervousness.

 

“Why did you call out Lee Gyuseong’s name?”

 

In my panic to stop Lee Gyuseong from throwing the flowerpot, I had shouted his name. There was no way Choi Jeha, who was right in front of me, hadn’t heard it.

 

It wasn’t as though I hadn’t considered this would come up, but at that moment, there had been no other choice. Every second mattered—I didn’t have time to think of a better way to save him.

 

If I had been even a second late in jumping in, Choi Jeha could’ve been seriously injured. And then I would’ve ended up being punished for something I didn’t even do, further deepening the rift between us.

 

“It was Lee Gyuseong who threw the flowerpot, wasn’t it?” he asked.

 

Well, technically, he didn’t throw it—he was probably just trying to scatter the soil. How did I know? Because this is a novel world, and I’ve read the synopsis…

 

Damn it.

 

Even if it was true for me, it would sound like complete nonsense from Choi Jeha’s perspective. If he heard such absurdities twice in a row, wouldn’t he think I was outright mocking him?

 

I couldn’t come up with a convincing lie to replace the truth.

 

“You knew Lee Gyuseong was going to throw the flowerpot at me. Am I right or wrong?”

 

Every word he said was spot-on. I knew about the flowerpot falling and ran in to save him. But what were the chances that he’d believe me if I told him the truth?

 

Zero percent. I was certain of it.

 

I didn’t want to keep building walls between us anymore.

 

What should I do? What could I say to make sure he wouldn’t misunderstand or doubt me? Fiddling with my hands for a moment, I placed them on my knees and met his piercing gaze directly.

 

“No matter what I say, won’t it all just sound like excuses to you?”

 

“Don’t try to dodge the question,” he replied sharply. His tone made it clear that my thought process was so obvious that pretending not to notice would be impossible for him.

 

Reluctantly, I opened my mouth to speak.

 

Not knowing how long I’d be stuck here in this world, I didn’t want to keep being at odds with Choi Jeha any longer. Maybe because he was the only character I had empathized with while reading the synopsis—or maybe because part of me genuinely wanted to be his friend.

 

“I saw Gyuseong holding a flowerpot by the window,” I admitted. “So I shouted.”

 

“That’s not the main point of my question,” he said flatly.

 

“Then ask your main point—clearly.”

 

“Was the flowerpot your doing?”

 

“If I were involved in this plan,” I countered, “wouldn’t it be far too obvious?”

 

I asked him if there could possibly be anyone stupid enough to sabotage their own plan so blatantly. For once, he didn’t have an immediate answer.

 

“And if I really were involved,” I added, “wouldn’t it be insane for me to jump in like that? One wrong move and my head could’ve been smashed instead.”

 

“You probably wanted to leave yourself a way out. Or maybe, you got scared all of a sudden.”

 

“If I were the type to get scared over something like that, wouldn’t I be more afraid of getting hurt myself?”

 

“As long as it wasn’t something you orchestrated, I don’t care.”

 

Choi Jeha released my ankle and stood up. Was this his way of saying he’d had enough because everything I said just sounded like excuses to him?

 

“Hey, Choi Jeha.”

 

I called out to him, feeling too wronged to let him leave without clearing up anything. He paused in the middle of brushing the dust off his pants and glanced at me with a look that made it clear: if I didn’t give a satisfactory answer now, our relationship would be irreparably broken.

 

“I know you think everything I say is nonsense,” I began.

 

“That’s not for you to decide—it’s for me, the listener, to judge,” he said, pulling down the mask he was wearing. His hardened expression made it difficult for me to find my words. When he turned as if to leave, saying I could come talk to him when I was ready to explain myself, I finally opened my mouth and spoke sincerely.

 

“I really didn’t do it.”

 

My voice echoed through the sunlit nurse’s office before fading away. Choi Jeha stopped in his tracks and looked up at the ceiling with a sigh. That deep breath carried a sense of his patience wearing thin.

 

Even I couldn’t fully believe my own situation right now—how could he? While his reaction stung, it wasn’t entirely incomprehensible.

 

“Fine. Let’s say that’s true.”

 

He approached me quietly and grabbed my wrist.

 

“But if I find any evidence that you were involved in what happened today—don’t expect me to hold back. And honestly, I’d prefer it if you didn’t show up in front of me at all.”

 

With that, he placed the leftover patches in my hand.

 

His actions suggested that he wasn’t necessarily convinced by my words but was simply letting it go because dragging this out any longer would make him late for class.

 

When we had been making our way here—me supporting him and him supporting me—I’d thought we might clear up the misunderstanding and strengthen our relationship.

 

‘Turns out resolving misunderstandings is harder than I thought.’

 

Then again, if it were that easy, things between me and my old friends wouldn’t have fallen apart so badly either.

 

“Hey, Choi Jeha.”

 

I called out to him again just as he was about to leave after handing me the patches. Since we hadn’t resolved anything yet, I felt like we’d go right back to being awkward strangers as soon as we stepped out of the nurse’s office unless I created some kind of connection between us here and now.

 

After racking my brain for a moment, I came up with a topic that would pique his interest—something I could use to naturally start another conversation later.

 

I might not be book-smart, but when it came to quick thinking, I wasn’t too bad.

 

“Wanna make a bet? If I win, you have to be friends with me.”

 

Choi Jeha glanced at the patches in my hand and said flatly, “You looked like your head was hurting a lot the other day. Stick one on and go take a nap.”

 

He remembered what I’d said when we first met. It made sense—my nonsense back then had left quite an impression.

 

“Let’s do it,” I pressed. “If you win, I’ll stay out of your sight for good.”

 

“I’d rather you just stayed out of sight starting now.”

 

Time to throw out an offer he couldn’t refuse.

 

“If you win, I’ll transfer schools. How about that?”

 

It seemed to work—his perpetually furrowed brow relaxed slightly as one eyebrow straightened.

 

“…Don’t go back on your word later,” he said after a moment.

 

“And if *I* win,” I added quickly, “you have to be friends with me.”

 

He hesitated briefly as if questioning my proposal but then turned his feet toward me instead of the door.

 

His expression said he was confident he could beat me no matter what kind of bet it was—and why wouldn’t he be? He had brains, brawn, and everything else going for him. But even geniuses can lose sometimes—especially when their opponent knows the future.

 

No matter how talented or skilled someone might be, unless they were a god, there was no way they could beat me—someone who knew the future.

 

“Let’s bet on when Kim Juyoung will return to school,” I proposed.

 

At my words, his head tilted slightly in confusion.

 

“Why are you suddenly bringing up Kim Juyoung?” he asked, his tone sharp and curt.

 

Was he worried that I’d figured out his feelings for Kim Juyoung? His reaction was unusually defensive, but I didn’t care.

 

“Because if the issue is directly related to you or me, it wouldn’t be fair. It has to involve someone who isn’t here. I’m guessing this Wednesday! Now it’s your turn to pick.”

 

My statement made Choi Jeha scoff.

 

It wasn’t surprising that he treated my words as nonsense. After all, from his perspective, it probably sounded ridiculous.

 

In this chapter of the story, Kim Juyoung was hospitalized due to a condition called “heat cycle.” However, this was only what the characters in the story knew. In reality, it was a symptom of his secondary differentiation. From the recent events, I had confirmed that we were in Chapter 3 of the novel. I also remembered that Kim Juyoung would return to school earlier than expected.

 

“Sounds like nonsense, doesn’t it? Like it makes no sense at all? Well then, if Kim Juyoung shows up on Wednesday, you’ll have to be friends with me starting that day—deal?”

 

Kim Juyoung had been suffering from muscle pain for a long time.

 

But it wasn’t just ordinary muscle pain—it was differentiation pain. Recently, he had differentiated as an Omega.

 

In this world’s setting, the more remarkable one’s traits were, the better sponsorships they could secure. Sponsors in this context referred to wealthy individuals or corporations who would adopt or financially support differentiated individuals in exchange for benefiting from their abilities. For someone like Kim Juyoung, who had lived in poverty, differentiation was a dream come true—a chance to escape his circumstances. Yet he kept this fact hidden from everyone.

 

The reason was simple: he wanted to secure the best sponsor possible. The orphanage where Kim Juyoung had grown up was financially struggling. By the time he entered elementary school, even the occasional donations they received had dried up.

 

He had always needed to save every bite of food and every piece of clothing. Whenever donated goods arrived, he had to act faster than anyone else just to get something useful. His entire life had been a constant competition for survival.

 

Tired of living like that, Kim Juyoung vowed that when he differentiated one day, he would secure sponsorship from an influential benefactor so powerful that he’d never have to worry about losing support again.

 

However, none of the sponsors listed for Rao Jena High School were companies capable of fulfilling his ambitions. Once a sponsor was chosen, contracts couldn’t be broken, and dual sponsorships were legally prohibited. So Kim Juyoung decided to hide his differentiation until a better offer came along from a more suitable company.

 

But not long ago, during class, he experienced heat symptoms and collapsed. He was rushed to the hospital, and his differentiation was revealed to the school.

 

It could’ve been a crisis—but Kim Juyoung is the protagonist of this novel.

 

That means no matter what happens, things will always work out in his favor. He’s destined to gain everything by the end without even needing to struggle too much.