Bad Relationship

“Blue chip hyung?”

As I pointed at him, recalling how we had accidentally met and hit it off at a bar two weeks ago, his eyebrows curved subtly.

“Still, so ill-mannered.”

Junghyun laughed amusedly as he watched him naturally lower his own finger.

Come to think of it, the last time he saw him, he had said exactly the same thing.

‘Oh? It’s Blue chip!’ with a pointing finger.

And at that time, he had also said exactly the same thing in response.

‘So ill-mannered.’ While politely lowering his own index finger.

Though he had been completely drunk, that day was still vivid in his memory. Junghyun looked up at him with his arms crossed, still amazed at this reunion that seemed to perfectly recreate that moment.

“You’re still the same. But hyung, what brings you here? Lunch appointment at this hour?”

“Blind date.”

He whistled softly at this unexpected coincidence.

“Wow, amazing. I’m here for a blind date too.”

“I suppose so…”

His response was indifferent, as if nothing mattered. It made sense.

“I guess we’re somehow fated? Getting dumped on the same day and having blind dates on the same day. You seemed pretty heartbroken then, have you overcome the pain of rejection now?”

When he sincerely complimented him on his quick recovery as a fellow rejection comrade from two weeks ago, not as mockery, the man laughed.

More precisely, he sneered.

“That’s rich coming from someone who put his profile on the blind date market the very next day after being rejected.”

“I’m not the one who circulates my profile, my father does…”

He was about to say “circulates it and I don’t care,” but stopped himself.

“Just now…”

He was about to ask what he had just said, but the other man was quicker.

“81st floor.”

“…Pardon?”

“I said, 81st floor.”

“Ah…”

Come to think of it, they were still on the first floor. And it was almost one o’clock.

With no more time to chat, Junghyun hurriedly pressed the button for the 81st floor and took his phone out again. Looking at the message window again, he saw it hadn’t been read yet.

Wondering if perhaps the person had fallen asleep, he sent another message asking for at least the floor number of the blind date restaurant, while casually asking the man:

“How did you know my profile was circulating in the blind date market, hyung?”

“Because the broker sent me profiles of omegas.”

That solved one important mystery.

He had thought he would never go on a blind date again after causing scenes everywhere, but surprisingly, his father must have cleared his blacklist in the meantime.

“Impressive, my father. I didn’t expect it to be lifted so easily.”

As he made this sarcastic remark, wondering how much money his father had spent since he’d heard it wasn’t easy, the man standing behind him retorted:

“To be precise, it wasn’t your side who lifted it.”

“Then who?”

“I’d say I lifted it.”

For a moment, he stared at the man wondering what he meant, when a message notification came in.

Revealing the sender’s emotional state, the text was full of typos and lacking spaces, containing the location and floor number for today’s blind date, as well as the name of the person who made the reservation.

[blindatetodayyoudontevenknowthenamehowtfwillyougethereperumonthotelmartelaresevationunderchojeehyung]

As he stared intently at the message that looked like some kind of code, he started to understand the content.

The first part was the hotel name, and Martela seemed to be the restaurant name. And the reservation was under Cho Jeehyung.

This must be a typo too, so it could be Choi Jihyung, Choi Jihyun, or Choi Jihyuk.

Meanwhile, the floor number was still missing, which showed how flustered the old man was.

Anyway, now that he knew the restaurant name, he cross-referenced the hotel name and restaurant name on his phone, and the floor number came up.

81st floor. And it wasn’t Martela, but Marcella.

Not a single piece of accurate information.

“Hyung, we must really be fated. I’m also getting off at the 81st floor. I’m going to Marcella, where are you going?”

As soon as he asked, he felt the man’s gaze.

Looking back up at him, he saw the man looking down at him with genuinely perplexed eyes.

With a gaze that truly said “what is wrong with this guy,” Junghyun shrugged his shoulders as if asking what was wrong, and the man asked again:

“I’m just asking in case… you didn’t come out without knowing who your date is today, right?”

“…Do I need to know?”

At his retort that why would he need to know such useless information when he was just going to cause a scene and leave in three minutes anyway, the man laughed in disbelief.

Like he’d gone insane from shock.

Just like when his uncle would look at him with that “what am I going to do with this child” face.

“What?”

Thinking he might have said something wrong, Junghyun asked again, and this time the man raised just the corners of his lips in a strange smile.

This one was a satisfied smile.

“Right, this much is worth the trouble of specifically naming you.”

“Naming? Is this some kind of draft?”

The moment he blurted that out without thinking, something quickly flashed through his mind.

About four years ago, when he first unwittingly entered the blind date market, his uncle had explained something to him.

The upper-class blind date market system first creates profiles, distributes them to famous brokers, then the brokers divide them into grades based on the profiles and match them according to conditions.

Ranks are usually divided into 7 grades from S-rank to F-rank, with dominant alphas, or S-rank, having the right to name first. But this case was extremely rare, with only twelve people in S-rank throughout history, counting both alphas and omegas.

Next was A-rank for dominant alphas and omegas, and B-rank was for those considered “average” in the upper class. For recessive traits, there are further divisions—if from a good family, they rise to C-rank; if not, they remain at D-rank.

D-rank might seem the worst, but there’s always another bottom below the bottom.

If someone is recessive, from a poor family, and has a nasty personality, they usually end up on the blacklist known as F-rank—even brokers with strong spirits give up on them, saying they’re rotten to the core. Throughout history, only one omega has ever been classified as F-rank.

“That’s you,” he’d said.

And also told him to be proud. While there were 12 people in S-rank, there were only 7 in F-rank, and you’re the only omega among them.

Alphas are rare, but omegas are even rarer, and especially in upper-class society, the demand for omegas is high, so they never give an omega an F-rank, but you’ve accomplished this difficult feat.

That was probably after he stood up the seventh B-rank alpha that had been arranged with great difficulty.

In the end, he was confined and dragged there, but right in front of the restaurant, he escaped on someone else’s motorcycle, causing the security guards to be fired and even the broker, who was his father’s close friend and had tried to secure the blind date spot somehow, ended up severing ties with his father.

His father was furiously angry at the time, but his father’s partner, his uncle, even applauded and praised him.

Saying, “You crazy bastard, you’ve really lost your mind.”

He ended up getting his back beaten mercilessly and kicked out, but anyway, the blind date market system he experienced then felt like a rookie draft.

S-rankers with priority naming rights would name their counterparts first, and after excluding those who were named, they would move on to the next naming, which was quite similar.

And that meant that this person was his blind date today.

“Could it be your name… you came for a blind date today?”

As he asked with an “it couldn’t be,” or rather at this point it clearly could be, the elevator stopped at the 81st floor. And as the doors slowly opened, the man delivered the final confirmation shot:

“So you’ll be there, right?”

At his words, which implied that only the two of them would be going up to that restaurant, Junghyun offered another possibility.

“…Anyone can enter a restaurant, you know.”

“No, they can’t. Five minutes? No, you said you could finish it in three minutes, right?”

“…What?”

“Before leaving the seat, I mean. I’m looking forward to it. Three minutes.”

Watching him confidently smiling as he left the elevator, as if saying “try if you can,” Junghyun wondered if he had mentioned the three minutes in the elevator… but he hadn’t.

But how did this person know about the three minutes? Because he had told him directly.

Exactly, two weeks ago.

When drunk, in response to Yongwoo’s teasing about whether he’d be called to blind dates again, he had said that he wouldn’t have to go on blind dates, but even if he did, he could end such a blind date in three minutes.

So he really needs to end this meeting within three minutes.

It’s a bit awkward to face someone who knows this, but…

“Well, let’s see…”