The sky outside the gym was streaked with the last gold of sunset, that strange hour where everything looked softer — except the two boys still walking in silence.
Most of the team had already gone home, their laughter fading down the path.
Jae-Hyun walked ahead, bag slung over one shoulder, the steady sound of his footsteps echoing against the quiet halls. Raon fell into step beside him, still catching his breath, sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead.
"You're really good at basketball," Raon finally said, breaking the silence. "It'd be fun to learn from you."
"That's not happening."
Raon blinked. "Why not? Ji-Woon put you in charge of me."
"And I didn't agree."
Raon chuckled, amused at the bluntness. "Can you really disagree with the captain like that?"
"This isn't a dictatorship, is it?" Jae-Hyun replied without looking at him.
Raon grinned, unfazed. "Then let me ask you something else — why do you play basketball?"
Jae-Hyun's pace didn't slow. "Why does anyone?"
"You're too precise with every move," Raon said, studying him. "It's like you're not playing to enjoy the game — you're playing to win. You remind me of myself back when I played volleyball."
"I'm playing for fun," Jae-Hyun said simply.
"For fun?" Raon laughed lightly. "You don't seem like you're enjoying it. It's like you're controlling the game to get what you want."
Jae-Hyun's gaze flicked toward him, calm and unreadable. "It's fun when there are worthy opponents."
Raon's smirk widened. "Oh? So you're saying you haven't even shown us your true skills yet?"
Jae-Hyun didn't answer.
"Then maybe I'm the opponent you're waiting for," Raon said, voice low but brimming with quiet confidence. "Train with me."
"That's not convincing enough."
Raon stepped ahead of him this time, blocking his path. "I'm a fast learner. I'll master whatever you throw at me. You haven't seen me play yet — but when you do, you'll want to. If words can't convince you, I'll let my play do it. So… train with me."
Jae-Hyun regarded him for a long moment, expression flat, unreadable — then echoed softly,
"Just once."
He turned, walking off into the fading light, leaving Raon behind with a grin that looked almost like victory.
"Just once," Raon repeated to himself, the challenge lighting in his eyes.
- - -
The gym was empty now, the echo of the day's drills still lingering in the air. Coach Gang stood by the court, clipboard in hand, watching the faint reflection of the fluorescent lights on the polished floor.
Mr. Kim, the team advisor, joined him, tossing a towel over his shoulder. "Long day."
Gang didn't reply immediately. His gaze was still fixed on the court.
"The team can't go on like this," he finally said. "They'd crumble without Jae-Hyun. He's barely been here a week, and they're already dependent on him."
Mr. Kim exhaled. "You're right. We've got star players, but when he's on court, it's like they stop thinking. He moves, and they just… follow. Take him out, and everything collapses."
Gang's jaw tightened. "You think we should bench him? Train the others to work without him?"
"We can't," Mr. Kim said immediately. "He's part of the starting lineup. Bench him now and we risk destroying the chemistry they've built — even if it's the wrong kind."
"Then what?" Kang snapped, frustration creeping into his voice. "We can't let the team's rhythm depend on one player."
Silence stretched between them — heavy, uneasy.
The coach looked down at the court again, almost as if it might answer him.
Finally, Gang muttered under his breath,
"We need a solution — and fast."
The hum of the gym lights filled the silence, cold and restless. Somewhere in that silence, the realization hit both men at once:
If one boy could make the team this strong, he could just as easily break it.
- - -
Later that evening, back in his room, Jae-Hyun pushed open the door, the quiet wrapping around him. He dropped his bag by the desk and started arranging his things when his phone buzzed.
Mr. Oh:
I've set up the meeting with Mr. Nam. It's scheduled for this Friday.
Jae-Hyun read it once, expression unreadable. "Friday, then," he muttered, slipping the phone into his pocket before going back to what he was doing.
- - -
The next day.
The bell rang for lunch break — a clean, familiar chime that cut through the chatter.
"I wonder what's for lunch today," Tae-Ho groaned, stretching his arms.
"Hopefully not curry again," Jae-Suk said, already halfway out of his seat. "Come on, I'm starving."
"You guys go ahead," Jae-Hyun said, slipping his phone into his pocket. "I've got something to do."
Tae-Ho leaned on his desk, raising a brow. "What, a secret errand?"
"Something like that."
"Don't tell me you're skipping lunch for extra practice," Jae-Suk said. "You're making the rest of us look lazy."
Jae-Hyun's lips twitched. "You're managing that perfectly fine without me."
"Wow. I felt that," Tae-Ho muttered, clutching his chest.
Jae-Hyun just waved lazily and left the room.
He walked straight to Class 3-B — one of the three senior classes in the building. Even before he reached the door, he could hear the noise spilling out: chatter, laughter, desks scraping. Third years were louder, looser — like they already owned the place.
Jae-Hyun slid the door open. The noise dipped, just slightly. Heads turned. A few whispers followed.
"Isn't that the first-year from the basketball team?"
"What's he doing up here?"
"Man, he really doesn't know his place."
Jae-Hyun ignored them. His eyes skimmed through faces until they locked on the one he wanted.
Min-Seok.
He was lounging on his desk, mid-conversation, when he noticed Jae-Hyun walking toward him.
"What are you doing here?" Min-Seok asked flatly.
"Let's talk," Jae-Hyun said. "Privately."
Min-Seok leaned back, unimpressed. "And why would I do that?"
"I'll be on the rooftop."
That was all. No explanation. No patience. He turned and left, leaving the room buzzing with whispers.
Min-Seok blinked, exchanged a look with his friend, then stood up. "I'll be right back."
The rooftop was quiet — only wind and sunlight and the faint hum of the city.
Jae-Hyun stood near the railing, hands in his pockets, watching clouds drift.
Min-Seok joined him, tone dry. "Im here. What do you want to talk about? You better not waste my time with small talk."
"I didn't call you here for small talk," Jae-Hyun said, turning slightly. "You're coming back to practice."
Min-Seok laughed, sharp and bitter. "You're out of your mind. I quit for a reason."
"You quit because you lost," Jae-Hyun said. Calm. Precise. "And you can't stand losing."
Min-Seok's smirk faltered. "Watch it."
"I'm just stating facts," Jae-Hyun continued. "You have the talent, but zero discipline. You want to be the best but fold the moment it stops being easy."
Min-Seok's jaw tightened. "You think you know me?"
"I don't need to. I've seen your kind before — all fire, no focus." Jae-Hyun stepped closer, voice low. "You talk big, but the moment someone outplays you, you call it quits. That's not strength. That's ego."
The words hung in the air, sharp as glass.
Min-Seok gave a humorless laugh. "You're really lecturing your senior now?"
"If you were acting like one, I wouldn't have to," Jae-Hyun said, deadpan.
For a moment, neither spoke. Just the wind, cold and biting.
Then Jae-Hyun added, quieter, "You were the best shooting guard this team had. You still could be. But you're too busy protecting your pride to realize you're wasting your talent."
Min-Seok looked away, jaw working. "Why do you even care?"
"I don't" Jae-Hyun said. "The team works better when you're on court. And right now, they're starting to depend too much on me."
Min-Seok folded his arms. "Is that your way of saying you need help?"
"No," Jae-Hyun replied. "It's my way of saying you're still useful."
Min-Seok let out a low whistle. "You've got an interesting way of asking."
"I'm not asking."
The silence stretched between them, tension coiling in the air.
Finally, Min-Seok said, "You think I'm just gonna waltz back in after everything?"
"You will," Jae-Hyun said. "Because deep down, you hate sitting on the sidelines more than you hate me."
That made Min-Seok pause — not in anger, but recognition.
Jae-Hyun tilted his head, gaze steady. "You want to prove you're still the best? Then show up. Or keep pretending you don't care. Either way, I'll still win."
Min-Seok let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "You're a piece of work."
"I get that a lot."
He exhaled slowly. "You've got nerve. Fine."
He stepped past Jae-Hyun, brushing his shoulder lightly.
"I'll think about it."
Jae-Hyun's lips curved, just slightly. "You already have."
Min-Seok paused mid-step, realizing what he meant. He turned, but Jae-Hyun was already walking away, sunlight glinting off his wristwatch.
The rooftop door swung shut behind him, leaving Min-Seok alone — smirking despite himself.
"…I hate how cocky he gets," he muttered.
But there was already a spark in his eyes again.
After the talk with Min-Seok Jae-Hyun headed straight to the gym.
The gym was quiet when Jae-Hyun walked in. The sound of his sneakers echoed faintly against the polished floor.
Coach Gang was by the bench, reviewing notes on his clipboard, pen tapping absently against paper.
"You're early," he said. "It's not time for practice yet."
"I needed to talk to you," Jae-Hyun replied.
That made the coach pause. He glanced up, brow raised. "That's new. Usually, you avoid conversations."
"This one's necessary."
Gang set the clipboard down. "Go on."
"The team's too dependent on me," Jae-Hyun said simply. "If that doesn't change, we'll crumble the moment I'm not on the court."
The coach folded his arms. "You noticed too."
"I noticed," Jae-Hyun said, tone cool, "and I plan to fix it."
Gang leaned against the bench. "Oh? And how do you plan to fix that in less than two weeks?"
"I won't play during practice matches," Jae-Hyun replied. "I'll focus on breaking their patterns — refining their timing, forcing them to rely on their own instincts. I'll rebuild their rhythm from the inside."
Coach Gang studied him for a long moment, lips tugging into a half-smile. "You? Coaching them? What brought this on?"
"I don't plan to play in every match," Jae-Hyun said simply.
The coach blinked. "What?"
"I only joined to face talented players," Jae-Hyun said, eyes steady. "If the opposing team doesn't have any, I'm sitting out."
Gang scoffed softly. "And you think this team can handle things without you?"
"Not yet," Jae-Hyun said, slinging his bag higher on his shoulder. "But they will."
Gang's smirk faded into a thoughtful silence. Then, finally, he said, "Alright. I'll let you take charge of practice. You'll run drills, shape rotations, whatever you think works. But if there's no visible improvement before competition season…"
"I play every match," Jae-Hyun finished.
The coach nodded once. "Deal?"
"Deal."
Gang was smiling now—half amused, half intrigued. "You've got a strange way of finding fun, you know that?"
Jae-Hyun's lips quirked faintly. "Guess so."
He turned to leave but paused halfway to the door. "Also, Coach—set up practice matches. With other schools. As many as possible."
Gang raised an eyebrow. "You planning to run them into the ground?"
Jae-Hyun's mouth curved faintly. "Something like that."
Gang gave a low chuckle. "Fine. I'll line up the matches. Let's see if your plan works."
Jae-Hyun's tone was calm, almost bored. "It will."