The basketball gym echoed with sneakers squeaking and nervous chatter. It was Shinseoing's first official match in the regionals competition. First-years shifted anxiously, bouncing on their heels, whispering to each other about plays they'd rehearsed a hundred times. Someone muttered that it was weird Jae-Hyun hadn't drilled them mercilessly this morning; another whispered that he probably had something worse planned. That single thought was enough to make a couple of throats go dry.
Silence sliced through the noise as Jae-Hyun stepped forward. Hands behind his back. Eyes sharp, expression unreadable. His calm presence sucked the air out of the room.
"Our starting lineup remains unchanged," he said, voice controlled, clipped. "Kang Min-Seok. Cha Won-Bin. Kim Hyun-Sik. Choi Jun-Young. And our captain, Seo Ji-Woon."
A few shoulders stiffened. Nobody dared blink.
"You five will begin. Our second line-up will substitute only if absolutely necessary — though I hope we have no reason to use them." His gaze carved through them like a scalpel. "Today isn't about winning. Today is about dominance. Break their morale. Pulverize their confidence. Leave them with nothing but regret."
A beat.
"If the point gap is anything less than humiliating, you will learn new definitions of suffering."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. The cold promise beneath every word made goosebumps ripple across the room.
A first-year swallowed audibly. "He's so evil," someone whispered under their breath.
"He heard you," another hissed.
"No he didn't—"
Jae-Hyun's eyes flicked in their direction. The first-year squeaked quietly and stared at the floor.
Coach Gang cleared his throat, desperate to break the spell. "R-Right! Uh—listen up, boys!" He clapped loudly. "We've trained for this. Stay sharp, communicate, trust your teammates. Don't get sloppy just because someone's eyes are drilling holes into your spine." He didn't dare name names.
The scattered laughter was weak, but it helped them breathe again.
The gym doors slid open.
"Uniforms are here!" their manager called out—Lee Na-Eun, hair tied in a sharp ponytail, rolling a rack forward. Jerseys gleamed with their names and numbers, fresh, crisp. The rookies swarmed like starving ducklings.
"My own uniform…" one whispered reverently.
"It smells new. Like victory."
"No, that's just factory fabric," someone deadpanned.
Na-Eun smacked his shoulder with an inventory clipboard. "Try not to faint before tip-off."
They hurried into them, tugging jerseys into place, smoothing numbers, admiring each other for half a second before nerves surged again. Soon, they filed onto the bus, chattering, vibrating with anticipation.
The venue was packed. Stands pulsed with energy—cheers, chants, gasps of excitement. Shinseong's rivals warmed up across the court, smirking like they were about to devour puppies.
Big mistake.
When the whistle blew, Shinseong struck like wolves.
The ball snapped between passes—Min-Seok to Won-Bin to Jun-Young—fluid, almost arrogant in its ease. Captain Ji-Woon feinted, slipped past two defenders, and slammed the first points through with a clean layup.
Crowd: "OHHHHH!"
The opposing team stiffened.
"They're fast," one of them muttered.
"They trained. We trained. Relax."
They did not relax.
Shinseong's defense closed like a steel trap. Hyun-Sik's hand snatched the ball mid-dribble, spinning it behind his back to Min-Seok.
"Thanks for the donation," he muttered.
He sprinted forward. Pulled up. Shot.
Nothing but net.
A boy on the rival bench exhaled shakily. "That was luck."
Thirty seconds later, he realized it wasn't.
Shinseong punished every hesitation—stripped passes, blocked shots, drowned hope. Each basket sank like another nail in a coffin.
A rivalry player threw his hands up. "How are they everywhere?!"
"One of them just teleported," his teammate groaned.
Up in the stands, the commentator's voice cracked.
"Shinseong is dissecting their opponents alive!"
A third foul came from sheer frustration. Then another. The scoreboard kept climbing, merciless.
37–8.
The crowd alternating between screams and horrified laughter.
A rival player stumbled backward after getting crossed so hard he nearly face-planted. He blinked at the court in betrayal. "…I think my ancestors just unfollowed me."
His teammate swallowed, grave. "Bro… they blocked you."
From the bench, Coach Gang pinched his nose. "Why do they look like serial killers smiling politely?"
Na-Eun scribbled notes. "Mood uplift. Team morale: psychopathic."
Meanwhile, Jae-Hyun sat calmly, legs crossed. A faint amusement touched his lips.
"They're collapsing exactly at the projected minute," he murmured.
The opposing coach yelled himself hoarse. "DEFENSE! TIGHTEN UP! DON'T LET THEM—"
Ji-Woon stole the ball mid-command, glancing at him. "Don't let who what?"
He dunked, vicious.
The rim rattled like a dying alarm.
Students in the crowd howled.
The rival team's captain slammed his palm against the court. "Why can't we score?!"
"Because," Min-Seok answered while breezing past him, "you keep thinking you can."
62–14.
Despair set in. Shoulders hunched. Eyes dulled. One player fumbled a pass without anyone touching him.
"Sorry, sorry—my hands—"
"They're shaking," another whispered.
Near the buzzer, Shinseong didn't slow down. They accelerated. They hunted. Wolves smelled spilled blood.
Final whistle.
102–19.
Silence—then an explosion of sound. Screams, cheers, whatever lungs could produce.
The rival team sat staring into the void.
"We trained for months," someone mumbled. "For… this?"
"They're not human," his teammate replied hollowly.
Coach Gang looked at his clipboard, then at his players, then up at the ceiling like he was reconsidering life choices. "Jae-Hyun's practices are illegal in five countries."
Na-Eun smirked. "Good thing we're not in any of them."
Shinseong huddled, sweating, breathing hard and triumphant. The first-years trembled from adrenaline and terror.
Jae-Hyun stood, hands still behind his back. Eyes calm. A slow, cold smile curved.
"Well done."
That alone sent a shiver straight down their spines and into their souls.
He leaned closer to Coach Gang, voice almost amused.
"Consider today the first move. The rest is just scheduled maintenance."
The victory still hummed in their veins as they left the gym, the echo of squeaking sneakers and distant applause fading behind them. Shinseong's team spilled out into the courtyard, laughing, teasing, trading high-fives and exaggerated groans over how easily they'd demolished the other side. Every first-year glowed with a mix of pride and disbelief, nudging each other: we actually did it.
Raon fell in step beside Jae-Hyun, adjusting his backpack lazily. "I swear, the team's… insane now. Every single player has leveled up so fast. I mean, no substitutes even touched the court today, and the point gap? Absolute chaos. You really trained them well."
Jae-Hyun's expression remained calm, almost deceptively neutral, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "They were disciplined," he said. "The other team wasn't bad either, but this was just the start. Soon enough, they'll face teams that will tell us just how good we truly are."
Raon's grin widened. "Yeah, but c'mon… after that kind of domination, you shouldn't be walking. It's practically a reward for managing the team so well today. Let me give you a ride."
Jae-Hyun didn't even look at him. "No."
"Too stubborn," Raon muttered, his tone teasing, walking slightly faster to match Jae-Hyun's stride.
"I like walking."
"That's a terrible excuse," Raon said, nudging his shoulder. "It's raining. You've just had the most exhausting, adrenaline-packed game. Consider it… incentive."
"I said no."
"Consider it mandatory." Raon pushed harder, smirking.
"I—no," Jae-Hyun's voice clipped, but Raon could hear a hint of amusement beneath it.
"Come on. Just this once," Raon said, relentless. "I won't let you walk all the way, not today. You've earned this ride, whether you like it or not."
Jae-Hyun slowed, walking with his hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the school grounds. "I'm not heading straight home. I have somewhere to be."
"That's fine," Raon said, completely unbothered. "I'll take you there. But this ride is happening. End of discussion."
They reached the front of the school. Raon's car sat under the streetlight, engine idling like a predator waiting for its prey. Jae-Hyun kept walking, as if he hadn't even seen it, shoulders straight, steps measured.
Then—a tug.
Strong, unrelenting. Raon had grabbed Jae-Hyun's bag and yanked him back. Jae-Hyun stumbled slightly, instinctively regaining balance, eyes narrowing.
"Don't be stubborn," Raon said, voice full of mock authority. "Be a good boy and just accept the ride."
Before Jae-Hyun could protest, Raon slid into the passenger door, tossing the bag onto the seat. "Drive, now," he commanded.
Jae-Hyun froze for a fraction of a second. Then, as the car lurched forward, he exhaled quietly and gave Raon the address. "Fine. I'm going there. But… this doesn't mean I agreed to enjoy it."
Raon laughed, eyes sparkling with victory. "I wouldn't dream of it, genius. But you'll survive this. Barely."
Raon's chuckle filled the confined space of the car as the city lights blurred past the window. Jae-Hyun, still sitting upright, hands resting neatly, let the car carry him away. Every so often, Raon jabbed his shoulder playfully, eliciting a short, annoyed sigh.
By the time they approached their destination, the city lights flickered across Jae-Hyun's calm face, obscuring the faintest hint of amusement that he would never admit aloud. Raon, utterly victorious in his small war of persistence, leaned back, smiling, knowing he had temporarily bent the unbendable.
And Jae-Hyun? He simply let him.
Jae-Hyun stepped out of Raon's car, the cool evening air brushing against him. The parking lot at NovaSec was quiet, lights casting a soft glow over the sleek black cars lined up like sentinels. Mr. Oh was waiting, leaning casually against one of them, hands tucked into his pockets.
"First match, huh?" Mr. Oh called, a warm smile on his face. "Congratulations."
Jae-Hyun shook his head, a small smirk curling his lips. "Don't congratulate me yet. Save it for nationals. That's when it'll count."
Mr. Oh chuckled, the sound light and genuine, shaking his head. "Fair enough. But your team played well today."
He handed Jae-Hyun two thick envelopes. "All the documents are in here. Just need the signature."
Jae-Hyun's brow quirked. "The restaurant too?"
"Yes."
He opened the envelopes, skimming the contents. A faint smile spread across his face as he looked over the neatly organized papers, imagining the possibilities they held.
- - -
Jae-Hyun pushed open the doors of the restaurant, stepping into the warm, fragrant space below their home. The smell of simmering broth and fresh dough hit him like a warm embrace. Eun-Ji's voice rang out immediately.
"Oppa! Come help out!"
His mother looked up from the counter, smiling warmly. "How was your game?"
"We won," he said casually, but with a soft pride in his voice. "I want to talk to you in the kitchen."
"I'll be there shortly," she said, turning back to finish serving a table.
In the kitchen, Eun-Ji immediately started flinging utensils at him—well, gently, but with all the force her little frustration could muster. "Standing there doing nothing! You just watch me do all the work!"
"I see you were doing fine before I arrived," Jae-Hyun said coolly, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. "Keep it up."
That only made Eun-Ji stomp harder, rolling her eyes. "Oppa! That's not fair!"
She stormed over to their mother, voice rising. "Mom! He's being so mean! He didn't even help!"
Their mother raised a hand, calm and soothing. "Don't stress him out, Eun-Ji. He must be exhausted from the game."
Eun-Ji pouted, glaring at him. "Mom you always pet him more! He's your favorite!"
Their mother laughed softly, shaking her head. "It takes a lot to coach people well, Eun-Ji. Even that makes people exhausted."
Jae-Hyun's lips twitched into a faint, taunting smile. "Eun-Ji, the restaurant needs you. Back to work."
She scowled, turning away angrily, muttering under her breath.
Finally, Jae-Hyun turned his focus to his mother. Her warm, tired eyes met his. "So… what did you want to talk about?"
From his bag, he pulled out the envelopes, opening them carefully, spreading the papers across the counter. "These," he said, gesturing to one set, "are the documents for our new house. And these," he tapped the other set, "are the documents for your new restaurant. Both in your name. They just need your signatures."
His mother froze, mouth slightly open, hands clutching the edges of the papers. Her eyes welled up instantly, tears glistening. She flung her arms around him, pulling him close.
"You… you did all this?" she whispered, voice thick with emotion.
"You deserve the life of a queen," Jae-Hyun said softly, pressing a hand to her back. "And I'll make sure I treat you like one."
At that moment, Eun-Ji's curiosity got the better of her. She peeked in, eyes wide. "Oppa, what did you say to make Mom cry?"
Then she noticed the envelopes and the neatly stacked documents. Her jaw dropped. She grabbed the papers, scanning quickly and screamed before throwing her arms around Jae-Hyun.
"You really did it! You really bought us the house!"
Their mother joined them in a group hug, the three of them laughing and crying at once, a tangle of love, pride, and relief. Eun-Ji's laughter bounced against the walls, echoing over the soft clatter of dishes and the hum of the restaurant.
A few customers peeked into the kitchen, alarmed by the screams and commotion, only to find the family hugging. Confused, they shrugged and returned to their tables, muttering to themselves.
Jae-Hyun gently pulled back, smiling at the joy on their faces. "Renovations and furnishings will be done this week. We can move into the house, and this weekend… we'll go see the restaurant."
His mother stroked his cheek, eyes misty but proud. "I'm so proud of you, my son."
Eun-Ji bounced beside him. "You really are the best brother ever. Oppa, I'm so glad you're ours!"
The warmth, the laughter, the gentle chaos of family life filled the kitchen. For a moment, nothing else existed—just love, pride, and the promise of new beginnings. Jae-Hyun let the moment wash over him, savoring it quietly, the center of a storm of joy and affection.