The brutal training continued. Early morning drills became the new normal, and anyone who turned up late—or didn't make it at all—faced a brutal consequence known as extra training. By the third day, no one complained anymore. They didn't have the energy to.
By Friday morning, the sun hadn't even risen properly when Jae-Hyun stepped into the gym, his expression calm and unreadable as always. The sound of his sneakers echoed softly across the court before fading as he turned toward the coach's office.
The coach looked up from his coffee when the door opened. "You're here early, Jae-Hyun. Don't tell me you're planning to add more to their schedule. They might actually collapse this time."
Jae-Hyun smirked faintly. "Tempting. But no. I came to talk about today. I won't be around for practice this afternoon."
The coach arched a brow. "Oh?"
"I have an engagement I can't miss," Jae-Hyun said simply, dropping a neatly organized folder onto the desk. "Ji-Woon and you can take over. The plan for today's drills is in there."
The coach chuckled, tapping the folder. "You're trusting me with your little army?"
"Just for a day," Jae-Hyun replied. "Don't go easy on them."
"Easy?" The coach laughed outright. "You've been running them like they're preparing for war. The poor kids look half-dead—but sharper, too. Your training's working, I'll give you that."
"That's good," Jae-Hyun said. "They'll need it."
The coach's grin turned sly. "About that—I've arranged a practice match for tomorrow."
That caught Jae-Hyun's attention. "Against who?"
"Daehan High," the coach said, with a hint of pride.
Jae-Hyun frowned slightly. "Never heard of them."
"You wouldn't have," the coach said. "You're new. But they're a powerhouse. We beat them last year—barely. Mostly thanks to the former third years. Our lineup this time is younger, rawer… but better balanced. Especially after your training."
Jae-Hyun nodded, thoughtful. "So tomorrow's their test."
"Exactly," The coach leaned back in his chair, studying him. "You really think they can pull it off without you?"
"I know they can," Jae-Hyun said quietly. "Or at least, they'd better. Because if they don't, I'll make next week's training worse than anything they've seen so far."
The coach let out a disbelieving laugh. "You're serious."
"Always."
Jae-Hyun slung his bag over his shoulder. The coach sighed, shaking his head. "You know, I was worried this team wouldn't recover after the third years left. But thanks to you, they're starting to look like an actual unit again."
"Don't thank me yet," Jae-Hyun said, his voice low and deliberate. "Let's see if they still look like one tomorrow."
And with that, he walked out.
"Try not to destroy their morale when you come back," the coach called after him.
Jae-Hyun paused at the door, his voice light but firm. "That depends on how they play."
He left the office, his footsteps fading into the empty gym.
That afternoon after classes were over for the day, the team began to gather at the gym. Shoes squeaked, bottles clinked, and a quiet hum filled the air. Everyone was early—no one dared be late anymore.
But when they entered the court, the space felt strangely empty. No sharp voice, no cool gaze scanning the lineup.
"Uh… did we come too early?" Min-Seok asked, glancing around.
Raon stretched, stifling a yawn. "Nope. Practice is by four. This is four."
Min-Seok checked the clock. "No way he's late. He's probably hiding somewhere waiting to jump-scare us."
"Yeah," Hyun-Sik muttered, stretching. "That's exactly what a demon like him would do."
The door opened, and the coach walked in with Ji-Woon beside him.
"Alright, everyone, gather up," the coach said. "I've got some news."
The team crowded around, curious and tense.
"Jae-Hyun won't be at practice today."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then the reactions exploded.
"You're joking, right?" Min-Seok blinked.
"Wait—seriously?" Won-Bin said.
"No way!" Hyun-Sik shouted.
And someone from the back shouted: "Finally, we're free!"
Raon stretched his arms behind his head with a grin. "So… we can breathe today?"
Ji-Woon crossed his arms, smirking. "Don't get too comfortable. Coach and I are running practice."
That earned a collective groan.
The coach waited for them to quiet before continuing. "And before you start celebrating, we've got a practice match tomorrow."
That snapped every head up.
"With who?" Min-Seok asked, already sounding nervous.
"Daehan High," the coach said simply.
Gasps rippled through the group. Someone swore under their breath.
Hyun-Sik blinked. "Wait—that Daehan High? The one with that freak shooter who doesn't miss a single three-pointer?"
"The very same," the coach said. "They're strong, disciplined, and fast. But we beat them last year, and I believe we can do it again."
A low murmur went through the team—half disbelief, half nerves.
The coach folded his arms. "I know what you're thinking. Last year's lineup was built around our third years. But this year, you've got something they didn't—balance, chemistry, and Jae-Hyun's insane conditioning drills. You've leveled up."
He paused, then added with a wry smile, "Oh, and Jae-Hyun said to tell you that if you don't win, he'll increase your training intensity next week."
The effect was immediate.
"What?!" Won-Bin yelled.
"You've got to be kidding!" Min-Seok groaned.
"Oh no, we are not letting that happen," someone muttered fiercely.
Ji-Woon cracked his knuckles, his tone hardening. "Then we win. We'll prove we're not just following in last year's footsteps—we're building something better."
That fired everyone up. The shouts came naturally.
"Yeah!"
"Let's go!"
"We'll crush them!"
The coach smiled faintly. That fire—that was what he wanted to see.
Practice began, but it felt different.
Without Jae-Hyun's sharp voice cutting through the air, the gym was… lighter. Looser.
The squeak of shoes, the rhythm of bouncing balls—it was all the same, yet offbeat somehow.
Passes missed. Someone laughed mid-drill.
Ji-Woon snapped, "Focus up! Just because he's not here doesn't mean you get lazy!"
Won-Bin smirked. "Come on, Captain, let us enjoy this moment. We'll die tomorrow anyway."
Ji-Woon hurled the ball at him. "You wanna die now instead?"
The team burst into laughter, tension melting away for a moment.
But under it all, an unspoken truth lingered.
Tomorrow, they'd be facing Daehan High—a school that devoured weaker teams for breakfast.
And without Jae-Hyun, they'd finally see if all his brutal training had really turned them into something more than exhausted players.
- - -
Meanwhile, at Daehan High
The sound of bouncing balls filled the Daehan High gym, rhythmic and sharp against the wooden floor. The players were running warm-up drills when Coach Yoon Min-Soo walked in, expression calm but firm.
"Alright, everyone. Gather up."
The balls rolled to a stop. Within seconds, the team formed a loose semicircle around him, still catching their breath.
"Tomorrow's practice match is confirmed," he said. "Shinseong High."
"Shinseong?" someone said under his breath.
"They're still hanging on that win from last year." Another muttered.
The coach nodded once. "They beat us last year, yes. But let's not forget — it was their third years who carried that team. Their seniors are gone. This year's lineup is different."
Daehan's captain, Kim Joon-Ha, stepped forward — tall, composed, the kind of presence that commanded attention without having to raise his voice.
"They beat us because of their seniors," he said, his tone calm but cutting through the air. "But Daehan isn't built on alumni. We don't depend on those who already graduated — we build new strength every year."
A few of his teammates nodded, the quiet energy spreading like a current.
"This time," Joon-Ha continued, "we'll show them what this Daehan can do."
"Coach," one of the players asked, "is the match home or away?"
"Home court," Coach Kang replied. "Tomorrow, 3 PM. I want full intensity. Treat it like the real thing."
The corner of Joon-Ha's mouth lifted slightly. "They think their first years can carry the team? Then we'll show them experience still matters."
The players hummed in agreement.
Coach Yoon gave a satisfied nod. "Good. I like that focus. Go on, finish your drills. Tomorrow, we take back our pride."
As they resumed practice, the squeak of shoes filled the gym again — steady, rhythmic, and sharper than before. Every pass, every rebound, every pivot carried the same silent thought:
We don't lose twice.
- - -
Elsewhere, the night carried a different kind of tension.
The Oh residence had that quiet, understated kind of luxury — high ceilings, sleek wood panels, and soft lighting that made everything look more expensive than it probably was.
Mr. Oh led his guest into his study — a room newly renovated, judging by the faint scent of varnish and new leather. The polished shelves were filled with books, framed certificates, and a few modern art pieces that hadn't been there before.
Mr. Nam looked around, impressed. "You've done some work on this place, haven't you?"
Mr. Oh smiled faintly as he motioned for him to sit. "A few changes. My wife said the study needed a 'fresh atmosphere.' You know how she is."
Mr. Nam chuckled, lowering himself onto the sofa. "If this is what 'a few changes' looks like, I should let my wife redecorate too. You've leveled up since the last time I was here."
"Ah, don't say that," Mr. Oh replied modestly, taking the seat opposite. "I've just been... lucky lately. Some good opportunities came along. You investment people should understand that better than anyone."
"Luck?" Mr. Nam laughed. "Coming from you, that sounds rehearsed. And those opportunities sound like something big."
Mr. Oh only smiled, neither confirming nor denying. "Let's just say it's been productive."
A knock on the door interrupted the conversation.
Mrs. Oh stepped in, graceful as ever, carrying a tray with three cups of steaming coffee. "I thought you gentlemen could use a little warmth," she said with a kind smile.
Mr. Nam stood slightly in greeting. "Mrs. Oh, you haven't changed a bit."
She chuckled softly. "You say that every time."
She placed the tray down — one cup before her husband, one before Mr. Nam, and one before the empty seat beside them.
She adjusted the saucers slightly, smiled in quiet satisfaction, then turned to leave. "Enjoy your chat, gentlemen."
Mr. Nam blinked. "Three cups?" he asked lightly. "Are we expecting someone else?"
Mr. Oh leaned back slightly, lips curving. "Just a little patience."
Mr. Nam looked at the untouched third cup. "You've gotten cryptic, Min-Jae. Should I be worried?"
Mr. Oh's lips quirked. "Not at all. I just wanted you to meet someone before we talk business."
Mr. Nam frowned, amused but intrigued. "Business? You called me here after weeks of radio silence, tell me you've got some 'good opportunities,' and now there's mystery coffee involved. You've changed, my friend."
Mr. Oh laughed softly. "Maybe a little. But you'll understand soon enough."
Before Mr. Nam could reply, the door opened again.
Jae-Hyun stepped in, still in his Shinseong uniform, his bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. His tie was loosened, hair slightly tousled, yet there was nothing careless about his presence. His calm was practiced, sharp in the way that only self-control born from confidence could be.
He crossed the room and took the empty seat like he belonged there.
Without a word, he reached for the untouched cup and took a sip.
Mr. Nam stared at him, stunned.
His brows furrowed, disbelief breaking through his composed expression. "...Jae-Hyun?"
Jae-Hyun looked up only then, gaze steady. "Good evening, Mr. Nam. Mr. Oh."
Mr. Nam stared, still processing — half disbelief, half something else he couldn't name. Across from him, Mr. Oh just smiled quietly, his expression unreadable.
As Jae-Hyun lifted his cup again, his phone buzzed once —
a silent notification, no sender ID.
He glanced at it briefly.
[Inbound anomaly detected. Black Wall signature.]
He sipped his coffee like nothing happened.
"Shall we begin?"