The week passed faster than anyone expected.
Barcelona blurred into a rhythm of matches, recovery sessions, press obligations, and stolen quiet moments. For Yura, it ended gently. On the morning of her departure, the city was soft and blue, the Mediterranean calm beneath the balcony. She stood there for a long time with Joon‑ho's arms around her from behind, one of his hands resting over her belly, both of them silent.
"I'll be back before she's due," he said again, as if repetition could stitch certainty into the air.
Yura smiled, leaning into him. "I know. Don't rush your team for me. I'll be waiting."
Min‑kyung hovered nearby, sunglasses already on, passport tucked under her arm. She'd insisted on accompanying Yura back to Korea—no arguments, no compromises. A private jet waited, quiet and discreet, the kind that turned long distances into brief intermissions.
