EAR Ch 6

The day was fully bright. The once-empty classroom gradually filled with children who began taking their seats one by one, restoring its usual liveliness. The sky was clear, and the weather was unusually mild for winter. It was the perfect day for a basketball game.

At a school bustling with boys in their growth spurts, class-versus-class soccer or basketball matches were held several times a day. The players were always the same, and the level of play was consistently mediocre, so the only ones interested in which classes were playing or who was participating were the students involved.

But today was different. It was the first time Ryu Jaemin, the top student in the school and famously indifferent to sports, decided to join a basketball match. Moreover, his opponent was Oh Seungpyo, who was not only perpetually ranked second in academics but also widely known for his basketball skills, having even received multiple offers to join teams. In the otherwise monotonous school life, this was an event exciting enough to brighten the day.

“Ryu Jaemin’s good. For a first-timer, that’s talent.”

“Still, it’s just good for a beginner. Class 2 is 100% going to lose today.”

Each class speculated about the outcome, throwing in their opinions, but no one placed bets. Even though Ryu Jaemin performed better than expected, the consensus was that a beginner-heavy Class 2 had little chance against Class 4, with Oh Seungpyo leading the team.

“Jaemin plays basketball too? I thought he only focused on studying.”

“Well, I heard his PE practical scores are good, too.”

“I’ve seen him hanging out with Seungpyo a lot lately. They seem to have gotten close.”

It wasn’t just the students tired of their repetitive daily routines. Even in the teachers’ office, the upcoming match between Classes 2 and 4 was a hot topic. At the start of the semester, Ryu Jaemin and Oh Seungpyo appeared to have no interaction, but now they seemed to have grown closer, a fact the teachers all noted with interest. After all, no one disapproved of friendships between top-performing students.

“How about this? If Class 2 wins, Mr. Kim buys coffee for the office, and if Class 4 wins, Mr. Cho does. Just something cheap, like the 1,000-won coffee from that shop nearby.”

The adults’ conversation took on a slightly different tone. The ethics teacher, rumored to be a candidate for the next department head, suggested this wager, which he found amusing. However, the homeroom teachers of the two classes didn’t share his enthusiasm. Still, after a few awkward coughs and stolen glances, both nodded almost simultaneously.

“That works for me.”

“Sure, why not once in a while.”

“If I end up treating, feel free to order something like a frappuccino or fresh fruit juice instead of coffee.”

The homeroom teacher of Class 4 added this bonus offer. Since an Americano cost 1,000 won, while a frappuccino or fresh juice cost at least 3,000 won, it was a bold show of confidence.

The homeroom teacher of Class 2 opened his mouth as if to retort but quickly closed it, clearly holding back to avoid turning this into an escalating dare.

Supplementary classes began. Despite the hype surrounding the game, Seungpyo and Jaemin seemed indifferent. They attended class as usual, listened attentively during lessons, chatted with friends or went to the snack shop during breaks, finished their notes, or lent homework to others.

“Oh Seungpyo, come here.”

“What is it?”

After the third period, Seungpyo lazily strolled out into the hallway in response to his homeroom teacher’s sudden summons. The teacher wore a rather solemn expression and, lowering his voice like someone engaged in clandestine dealings, whispered:

“We’ll win today for sure, right?”

“Well, the odds are high, but nothing in life is guaranteed, is it?”

“Do your best. I’ll treat you to something tasty if we win.”

“Did you make a bet with the other teachers?”

Seungpyo smirked, meeting the gaze of the much shorter teacher. The teacher, smiling awkwardly, didn’t deny it.

After all, it wasn’t as if Seungpyo was the only one whose pride had been quietly bruised from always ranking second throughout the year. Even though it was just a playful basketball game, there was at least one person here who wanted to beat Ryu Jaemin, the top student, before moving to a different classroom in the next grade.

Feeling a renewed sense of camaraderie and belonging, Oh Seungpyo nodded firmly.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks. I’m counting on you.”

The homeroom teacher clenched his fist and headed down the stairs leading to the staff room. Judging by the shrug of his shoulders, he seemed certain of victory. Seungpyo casually made a circle with his thumb and middle finger, flicking it into the air for no reason. In his mind, he pictured Ryu Jaemin’s cold and aloof face like a target.

What kind of expression would he make if his pale forehead hidden behind black bangs were smacked hard enough to make a sound?

In Seungpyo’s imagination, Ryu Jaemin furrowed his brow slightly, revealing his discomfort. It was a face he’d grown accustomed to after encountering it several times. The winner’s penalty was ten flicks to the forehead. The first few might only cause a slight grimace, but by the third or fourth, there was no way he’d hold back a cry of pain.

His forehead would swell red in the center, and this time, he might actually shed tears instead of just pretending to cry. Sure, he was a rich kid who’d always been first in the school rankings his whole life, but could he really endure all ten flicks? He might even beg for a few to be skipped, but knowing his stubbornness, he’d never ask for that.

Seungpyo was only imagining flicking his forehead, yet for some reason, the image of Ryu Jaemin morphed into a scene from a short video he’d seen online.

Ryu Jaemin, revealing his rounded nipples and smooth chest, gripping his erect member and moving his hand briskly. Occasionally, he’d pause to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling. There was no sound, and his face was cropped out—if it hadn’t been for a misplaced phone, no one would’ve recognized it as him.

Now, the image of Ryu Jaemin getting hit by a stray ball and grimacing in pain overlapped with the faceless figure from the video. His usually pale face turned red from the impact, and his slightly teary eyes looked reproachfully at Seungpyo.

As the memory of blood trickling near his lips surfaced, Seungpyo suddenly became conscious of the shirt beneath his school uniform. That day, he’d scrubbed it vigorously in cold water at the bathroom sink, just as the school nurse had advised. Ryu Jaemin’s blood had come out easily, leaving the fabric spotless as if nothing had ever been there.

“What the hell am I doing? Why am I thinking about all this?”

Oh Seungpyo scoffed at himself for conjuring up every version of Ryu Jaemin he’d ever encountered. Clicking his tongue briefly, he flicked his fingers into the air twice more.

Then, glancing to the side, he saw Ryu Jaemin standing there as if out of nowhere. Perhaps on his way back to the classroom from the restroom, Jaemin was lingering in the middle of the hallway. When their eyes met, Jaemin scoffed as though he’d witnessed something ridiculous, turned his head, and briskly walked back to his class.

“Damn it.”

Seungpyo swallowed a curse. Ryu Jaemin had caught him thinking about him. If he was going to think about something like this, he should’ve kept it to himself. Why had he flicked his fingers in the air like an idiot? He felt deep shame as he clenched his fists tightly and returned to his seat. Since getting involved with Ryu Jaemin, embarrassing moments seemed to pile up.

He needed to end this twisted connection quickly. Once he won today’s game and got his phone back, he wanted to return to the kind of relationship where they only met as names on the exam rankings board.

📚

After school, the winter sports field buzzed with students who seemed unaffected by the cold. Among the crowd gathered around the basketball court and in the stands on the edges of the field, some teachers were mingling. Others watched the scene from the staff room windows overlooking the grounds.

“There are so many people here to watch.”

“How are they supposed to focus on the game with all this pressure?”

The students on the court chuckled awkwardly but didn’t seem entirely displeased by the unusual attention. The only one who seemed unfazed by the noise and commotion was Ryu Jaemin, who avoided even glancing at the crowd. On the other hand, whenever cheers like “We trust you, Oh Seungpyo!” erupted from the 4th class, Seungpyo would smile confidently, patting his chest as if to reassure them.

“Come on, let’s start already!”

Most of the students had packed schedules after school, so there wasn’t much time to spare. As the student referee urged them to begin, the players from both classes hurried to take their positions.

Today’s match was a full-court game with five players on each team. Representing Class 2 was Ryu Jaemin, and Class 4 had Oh Seungpyo. The tallest players from each team faced off at the half-court line for the jump ball. Both tried to appear calm and composed, their faces betraying nothing.

When the referee tossed the ball into the air, they jumped simultaneously. Jaemin gave it his all, but the height difference was undeniable. The ball was tipped by Seungpyo and landed safely in the hands of Class 4. They had the first possession.

Jaemin immediately sprinted to the Class 2 goal. His sole task today, as requested by his teammates, was to play center and guard the basket. His role was crucial: on offense, he’d position himself under the opponent’s basket to receive passes and shoot, and on defense, he’d protect their basket by blocking shots or grabbing rebounds.

His classmates had emphasized repeatedly that they’d handle everything else; all he had to do was stay under the basket. They admitted it wouldn’t be easy, but since Jaemin was surprisingly skilled for a first-timer, they believed he could pull it off.

Standing under the basket, Jaemin fixed his gaze on Oh Seungpyo. His teammates had told him that being tall was a significant advantage for a center. By that logic, Seungpyo should also be guarding the basket, yet he didn’t seem interested in doing so.

“Oh Seungpyo doesn’t like playing under the basket; he finds it boring. He’s basically a free agent who does whatever he wants,” one of his teammates had explained during practice.

It seemed that Seungpyo’s playstyle hadn’t changed today.

Class 4 passed the ball seamlessly from the very start. It seemed like they had practiced quite a bit, as their passes flowed as smoothly as water.

In contrast, Class 2, which had one player stationed under the hoop from the beginning, faced difficulties in defense. This was especially true against a player like Seungpyo, who roamed the court freely. From the start, Class 2 players struggled to defend against Seungpyo, shifting their focus and positions repeatedly to cover gaps.

Although it would have been most effective for Jaemin, with a similar height, to mark Seungpyo one-on-one, Class 2 wasn’t inclined to demand too much from a beginner. They had explicitly tasked Jaemin with guarding the area under the hoop, intending to cover everything else themselves.

“Hey!”

But breaking through happened in an instant. While the Class 4 players exchanged passes, Seungpyo, who had been moving around empty-handed, spotted an opening on the court during a brief lapse in Class 2’s defense. Despite their determined attempts to mark him, Class 2 couldn’t stop Seungpyo from exploiting the gap.

After receiving a pass, Seungpyo quickly attempted a shot, and the ball soared smoothly through the net. Students from Class 4 cheered loudly.

“Wow, Oh Seungpyo is so good!”

“This is so annoying, seriously.”

Though they grumbled, Class 2 quickly regrouped. Having conceded a point, it was now their turn to attack. Jaemin swiftly crossed the court and positioned himself under the opposing team’s hoop.

As he ran to switch positions, Jaemin glanced at Oh Seungpyo from the corner of his eye. While the other players from Class 4 moved to defend their side of the court, Seungpyo remained near the half-court line without moving. From under the hoop, Jaemin stared at Seungpyo’s large frame.

A Class 2 guard began dribbling the ball, tasked with carrying it up the court. With the exception of the ball-handler, the rest of Class 2 players spread out across the opposing court, finding spots and preparing to counter the defense and receive passes. As players from both teams gathered in one half of the court, the space became crowded and chaotic.

The player dribbling the ball was quickly stopped by Seungpyo’s defense. With his long limbs, Seungpyo had an advantage in both offense and defense.

Defenders typically step back rather than advance when focusing on defense. Seungpyo’s stance in the middle of the court was a direct challenge to the ball-handler. The Class 2 guard, seemingly provoked, attempted to outmaneuver Seungpyo with quick dribbles, but Seungpyo read the moves effortlessly and blocked each attempt. Eventually, the guard lost the ball to him.

Before anyone could even sigh in frustration, Seungpyo charged forward. Class 2 players dashed to defend their hoop with all their might, but they couldn’t keep up with Seungpyo’s speed. He scored another point with ease, making it look infuriatingly simple.

“Wow!”

“See? I told you, there’s no way they can match up.”

As the match turned out to be more one-sided than expected, the spectators cheered with excitement. Even though the “super rookie” Ryu Jaemin might be decent at basketball, it seemed impossible for Class 2 to overcome Class 4 with their ace player, Oh Seungpyo. In high school basketball—unless it involved professionals or sports club players—the skill of one ace often outweighed team strategies or coordination.

Jaemin bit his lip lightly. Before even considering whether they could win, he hadn’t been able to face off against Seungpyo properly. To be precise, he hadn’t even touched the ball yet. Growing increasingly anxious, Jaemin clenched and unclenched his fists several times, his expression sharpening.

It was Class 2’s turn to attack again. Their strategy remained the same: the guard would bring up the ball, and the other players would position themselves to receive passes and aim for the hoop. Since Class 2 didn’t change their strategy, neither did Class 4’s defense. Once again, the guard was stopped by Oh Seungpyo, and after another futile attempt to break through, the ball was stolen in the same manner as before, leading to another quick point for Class 4.

After conceding consecutive points, the Class 2 players lost their patience and raised their voices.

“Damn it, we keep losing the ball to Oh Seungpyo! Stop trying to break through and just pass already!”

“Alright, alright!”

Bombarded by sharp criticism from his teammates, the Class 2 guard quickly became more cautious. During the next offensive opportunity, instead of trying to break through on his own, he immediately passed the ball to a waiting teammate.

It was a rare opportunity, and Class 2 players concentrated intensely, executing precise passes they hadn’t shown before. Cheers of admiration surrounded the court as the spectators gasped in awe. Jaemin stretched out his arm. Finally, the ball reached his hands.

When most players get a chance to shoot near the hoop, they usually focus on their defenders. They might dribble and engage in a battle of nerves before taking a shot when they spot an opening. Others may pass the ball again to disrupt the defense further.

The Class 4 center, too, glared at Jaemin, ready to block him as soon as he caught the ball.

But Jaemin, who had just started learning basketball, didn’t have the luxury to worry about other factors or the defenders. The only thing on his mind was that he had finally gotten the chance he’d been waiting for. He turned toward the hoop, leapt up, and threw the ball exactly as he had been taught, without a moment’s hesitation.

There was no finesse or deception in the textbook-perfect shot, which actually caught the defense off guard. The straightforward shot soared directly toward the hoop and—

“Goal!”

To loud cheers, the ball passed cleanly through the net.

“Ryu Jaemin scores Class 2’s first goal!”

“Wow, holy shit, that’s insane.”

As the game grew increasingly exciting, the spectators were engrossed, throwing punches in the air or clapping enthusiastically. Jaemin, who had finally fulfilled his role, couldn’t hide his joy and smiled brightly.

“Good job, Ryu Jaemin!”

The second-class students eagerly praised Jaemin one after another. Jaemin, as if coming back to his senses, toned down his radiant smile and tried to compose himself, but the heat on his face betrayed his usual cold demeanor. While the second-class students were celebrating their first goal, the fourth-class students were criticizing their center.

“Ugh, how could you not block that?”

“Ah, I just let my guard down. I’ll do it right this time.”

Despite the slight height difference, the fourth-class center, who had conceded the first goal to a beginner’s shot, answered sheepishly. Seungpyo silently observed Jaemin smiling under the goal. It was just the first goal, after all. The game was still overwhelmingly in the fourth class’s favor.

The fourth-class students tried to regain their rhythm, but the second-class students, buoyed by their first score, were no longer as easy to deal with as before. The balance of power, which had been heavily tilted to one side, gradually evened out, and the ball zipped across the court faster than before.

Unbelievably, Jaemin scored two more goals. Without any special strategy, he scored solely with fundamental under-the-basket shots, staying true to the original plan. The fourth-class center, who initially claimed they were caught off guard, could no longer use the same excuse as Jaemin continued to score. Even though it was his first basketball game, Ryu Jaemin was slightly taller and surprisingly good at timing his jumps and sensing opportunities, making him difficult to defend against.

After repeatedly conceding points in the same pattern, the fourth-class students finally shouted in unison.

“Oh Seungpyo, go play center!”

Despite their desperate pleas, Seungpyo replied with a bored expression.

“Ugh, why? I don’t like playing center. It’s boring.”

“Just this once, please. Ryu Jaemin’s too tall, and no one else can stop him.”

Oh Seungpyo, who poured all his energy into things he liked but became exceptionally lazy when it came to things he disliked, let his displeasure show plainly on his face. In the end, however, he had no choice but to yield to the majority. After all, basketball was a team sport, and today’s game had stakes that mattered to Seungpyo, too.

Reluctantly agreeing to the position change, Seungpyo gestured to his teammates as he dashed to the edge of the court. The moment he stationed himself near the goal, the area around it suddenly felt tense. Each class shouted words of encouragement, renewing their resolve—except for the two centers, who were busy bickering under the basket.

“Hey, stop sticking so close.”

“That’s how you play under-the-basket defense. What do you expect me to do?”

“Don’t pull my jersey.”

“I never pulled it! You just don’t know what you’re doing and are faking it.”

While the others repeatedly cycled through attack and defense, trying to break through or hold their ground, the two centers continued their low-voiced squabble under the basket.

To preemptively block Jaemin’s moves, Seungpyo stuck so closely to him from the start that he moved like a shadow, mirroring Jaemin’s every step.

Jaemin furrowed his brows slightly, more focused than ever. It might have been his imagination, but he felt like he could sense Oh Seungpyo’s breath on his back. Whether it was because of the heat radiating from behind him, his back felt uncomfortably warm. Trying to shake him off, Jaemin changed positions repeatedly, but Seungpyo stuck to him like glue, never losing track.

Come to think of it, the defense before the switch didn’t feel much different. Maybe it was just the annoyance of having someone he disliked cling to him that made it feel worse. His expression, once twisted in irritation, didn’t easily relax. Yet he bit his lip, acknowledging that Seungpyo’s method was, in fact, the proper way to defend as a center.

Jaemin had always been quick to focus on what needed to be done. Accepting the situation, he ignored the unwelcome sensation of Seungpyo glued to his back and concentrated entirely on the flow of the court and the ball. His mind filled with the thought that he had to take the shot the moment he received a pass, leaving little room to dwell on the discomfort of shared body heat.

Meanwhile, Seungpyo, standing behind him, was finding it increasingly hard to stay focused.

His eyes, which should have been following the ball and the movements on the court, kept drifting downward to the black hair right in front of him. As Ryu Jaemin moved left and right, his hair swayed lightly, trailing like a tail with a slight delay.

Every time that happened, a faint scent wafted over—whether it was shampoo or Jaemin’s natural scent, Seungpyo couldn’t tell. If it were as distinct as perfume, it might have been easier to ignore, but this fleeting aroma, teasing his senses like a mirage, was oddly distracting.

The smell wasn’t the only thing. Seungpyo tried to turn his attention back to the game, but every time Jaemin moved, glimpses of his sharp jawline, the nape of his neck, or the curve of his ear flitted into Seungpyo’s peripheral vision, breaking his concentration. He wasn’t used to seeing Jaemin from behind, having always faced him during their interactions.

Even in winter, a light sheen of sweat glistened on Jaemin’s pale neck. Seungpyo was no different—he was feeling hot, too, having already run quite a bit. Jaemin’s breathing had quickened, slightly heavier now from the exertion. The usually composed guy, panting and moving his body, looked… different from how he normally did.

“Oh Seungpyo, what are you doing?!”

The urgent cries of his teammates snapped Seungpyo back to reality, and only then did he realize that the ball was in Ryu Jaemin’s hands. Cursing under his breath, he jumped to block, but it was too late. Jaemin had already executed another textbook under-the-basket shot—the same move he had successfully scored with multiple times—and the ball sailed cleanly through the net, beyond Seungpyo’s reach.

A deafening cheer erupted, the loudest yet. Even the teachers scattered among the students murmured in amazement, covering their mouths in disbelief.

“Unbelievable! Ryu Jaemin just got past Oh Seungpyo!”

“This game’s wild now. Bet on it while you still can!”

The crowd, which had grown to twice its original size, buzzed with excitement. Some students hurriedly placed late bets, while others whipped out their phones to record the match.

Jaemin, having scored, immediately sprinted toward the opposite goal to take up a defensive position. His Class 2 teammates couldn’t hide their excitement, bumping shoulders and exchanging high-fives with him as they ran.

“Ryu Jaemin, are you a genius or what?”

“There’s no way we’re letting you quit basketball now. We’re going to keep pestering you forever.”

Laughing aloud at their playful praise, Jaemin clapped hands with his teammates, his bright laughter sounding as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the court, Seungpyo was being scolded by his own teammates, their disappointment evident.

“Oh Seungpyo, what’s wrong with you?”

“How could you not block that?!”

Unlike Jaemin, who was basking in the adoration and attention of the entire crowd, Seungpyo found himself encircled by criticism. But instead of looking embarrassed, he fixed his gaze on the retreating Jaemin, muttering nonchalantly, “I told you I didn’t want to play center.”

“Do you want us to switch positions again?”

“No, I’ll handle it this time.”

Seeing his newfound determination, his teammates let up on their complaints. Seungpyo bolted toward Class 2’s goal as Class 4 initiated their attack.

The excitement over Ryu Jaemin’s remarkable feat of scoring against Oh Seungpyo, Class 4’s ace, left Class 2’s players slightly disorganized. The tension they had maintained earlier faltered, and in the resulting lapse, the ball passed effortlessly among Class 4 players, eventually landing in Seungpyo’s hands.

Most of Class 4’s points had been thanks to Seungpyo, while Jaemin’s standout moments had primarily been in offense. As a result, Jaemin was untested in defense, leaving him scrambling to adapt. Mimicking how Seungpyo had clung to him earlier, Jaemin tried to block him, but his inexperience showed. Standing at nearly 190 centimeters and moving with speed, Seungpyo left Jaemin struggling to keep up.

As soon as the ball was in his possession, Jaemin frantically closed the gap between them. Seungpyo angled his body, dribbling with ease. Jaemin pressed close, determined to put up resistance. Sizing up the situation, Seungpyo backstepped slightly before leaping high into the air.

Caught off guard, Jaemin stretched his arms upward in desperation, but the distance was already too great. The ball soared cleanly over his reach, landing neatly in the net. Seungpyo landed smoothly, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“Wow, a fadeaway shot!”

“Is that you, Michael Jordan?”

The spectators erupted into applause, shouting praises as Seungpyo jogged back with a self-satisfied smirk, waving confidently at his cheering teammates. Jaemin, on the other hand, clenched his jaw in frustration. Failing to defend was bad enough, but not understanding what the crowd was shouting made it twice as infuriating.

Class 2’s turn to attack came quickly. A more focused Jaemin tracked the ball’s movement with precision, swiftly adjusting his position to receive a pass. Just as he had before, he jumped without hesitation to attempt a shot.

“Not so fast.”

This time, he wasn’t the only one charging toward the hoop. Seungpyo leaped at the same moment, swatting the ball forcefully away before Jaemin could even release a proper shot.

The ball fell to the court, and the force of the block pushed Jaemin off balance, sending him sprawling to the green urethane floor.

“Did I just fall?”

Jaemin blinked in bewilderment, staring at the floor beneath him as if trying to process what had happened. He didn’t even try to get up right away.

“You can’t rely on the same move every time, no matter how reliable it is,” came Seungpyo’s voice from above him.

Startled, Jaemin tilted his head up. Seungpyo stood there, a faint smirk on his face, holding out a hand to help him up.

Getting blocked wasn’t humiliating enough—being sprawled on the court only made it worse. For a moment, Jaemin blankly stared at Seungpyo’s face. Then, unable to suppress his rising anger, he furrowed his brow and smacked Seungpyo’s offered hand away with a sharp slap. Seungpyo’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

Watching Jaemin quickly get up and sprint back to his position, Seungpyo muttered under his breath, “What’s his deal?”

The game wasn’t over yet. Seungpyo also hurried back to his position, and soon they were back under the hoop, standing toe-to-toe once again.

It seemed the school’s top student had an extraordinary competitive streak. Even though it was his first basketball game, and despite being blocked only once, Jaemin’s determination burned fiercely, his energy now as aggressive as a predator’s.

He might actually hit someone at this rate, Seungpyo thought grumpily, trailing Jaemin closely and marking him. Jaemin’s movements had become sharper and quicker, and sensing the urgency, 2-B managed to push the ball past 4-B’s defense and deliver it to Jaemin.

Jaemin, back to Seungpyo, dribbled while scanning for a shot opportunity. Seungpyo, not taking his eyes off him, waited for his move. Then, just as Jaemin spun around, Seungpyo leapt to block him.

But Jaemin moved differently this time. Previously reliant on textbook shots, Jaemin suddenly stepped back and leapt for a fadeaway shot. The gap he created sent the ball soaring well above the reach of any defender’s fingertips. All Seungpyo could see in his field of vision was Jaemin awkwardly wobbling upon landing.

The ball traced a clean arc before slipping through the net.

Thump. Even as the ball rolled a fair distance across the court, the gym remained eerily quiet. Though Jaemin had scored, no applause or cheers erupted.

The murmuring from the crowd broke the silence. Both 2-B and 4-B players—and even Seungpyo—were wide-eyed, staring at the hoop in disbelief.

Did I commit a foul?

Jaemin, not fully familiar with basketball rules despite his crash-course research through videos and articles, wasn’t sure. As the silence dragged on, he started to grow self-conscious.

“Did he just pull off a fadeaway shot?”

“I thought he said it was his first time playing basketball…”

A clear voice broke the stillness, and the murmurs quickly escalated into an uproar.

“Unbelievable! Insane! That was epic!” The crowd’s reactions were as exaggerated as their expressions, leaving Jaemin frozen in confusion. After a few beats, he quickly returned to his position, barely reacting. Meanwhile, his 2-B teammates were practically screaming as they ran over to nudge and shoulder-bump him in a frenzy.

Is he really some kind of genius?

Even Seungpyo couldn’t help but be amazed. The 4-B team, typically quick to scold, refrained from blaming him for failing to block the shot. A rookie player executing a fadeaway shot in his first game was unheard of.

The fadeaway shot, famously associated with NBA players like Michael Jordan, was something many attempted but few perfected. The fact that Jaemin seemed to replicate it after watching Seungpyo once only made it more incredible.

“He must’ve practiced,” one teammate muttered during a short timeout.

Seungpyo suddenly recalled seeing Jaemin that morning. Despite being assigned to the low post, Jaemin had been practicing long-range shots.

If Jaemin had only focused on layups, no amount of talent could’ve enabled him to mimic such a high-difficulty shot on his first try. For the first time that day, Seungpyo’s expression turned serious.

“Alright, I’m done playing center.”

“What about Ryu Jaemin?”

“You guys figure it out. I’ll try to keep him from getting close to the hoop, but I need to be free to score.”

His teammates nodded. What had initially seemed like an easy win had turned into an unexpectedly tough match. Wasting their ace on guarding one player felt inefficient.

Jaemin, already back under the hoop, looked toward Seungpyo. He had expected him to return but quickly realized that Seungpyo wasn’t planning on coming back. When the game resumed, it became clear—Seungpyo was no longer playing center.

Jaemin, now left waiting for no one, felt his face flush slightly despite himself.

As the match resumed, Seungpyo played with relentless energy, darting across the court with no trace of his earlier nonchalance. The 2-B team tried their best to mark him, but any momentary lapse in focus allowed him to slip through and score without hesitation.

Eventually, Jaemin was forced to abandon the low post and join the scramble, but it wasn’t enough. Whether it was from under the hoop, mid-range, or even three-point territory, Seungpyo’s shots were relentless, sinking into the net every time.

“Man, I should’ve skipped betting on this game.”

With a mix of cheers and sighs, the game came to an end. Despite the valiant efforts of Class 2, who had acquired a super rookie, the inevitable victory went to Class 4, led by their ace, Oh Seungpyo.

The homeroom teachers, watching the game from behind the students, had contrasting reactions. The Class 2 teacher sighed in regret and picked up the phone to place an order at the café near the school.

Though they had lost, the students of Class 2 were brimming with excitement. The discovery of Ryu Jaemin’s unexpected and exceptional basketball talent had amazed them.

Top of the class academically and now gifted in basketball too—his skill set seemed almost unfair. Everyone wanted to secure Jaemin’s promise to join future games.

“Ryu Jaemin, you have to play with us next time too. With a bit more practice, you could be as good as Oh Seungpyo!”

“If we’d known sooner, we would’ve had you playing from the first semester! If Seungpyo is ‘O’Jordan,’ you’re ‘RyuBron!’ You’re incredible!”

Even amidst the buzz, Jaemin responded with mechanical smiles and a simple “Yeah, sure.” But his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. While the inter-class match was ultimately just a friendly game with snacks from the school store as the reward, Jaemin had his own private wager with Seungpyo.

He hadn’t expected to win outright, but given the game’s flow, he’d allowed himself a sliver of hope. In the end, the anticipated result left Jaemin grappling with unfamiliar feelings of defeat—and a growing worry. Across the court, Oh Seungpyo was dramatically cracking his knuckles, stretching as if to flaunt his victory.

There was little time to dwell on emotions. The students quickly dispersed to cram schools, private tutoring, or home. “See you tomorrow! Don’t forget to treat us at the store!” They grabbed their coats and bags and rushed toward the school gates.

“Aren’t you heading to class?”

Seungpyo, who had lingered until the others left, finally addressed Jaemin, who was still hanging around.

“I am.”

Jaemin replied as if the question were redundant. The only reason he hadn’t left yet was to settle their bet.

Seungpyo shoved his hands into his padded jacket pockets, smirking with a mockingly amused expression.

“You’re in trouble now, huh? Acting cocky and about to get your forehead drilled.”

“…”

“Come on. If a teacher sees us, they might think I’m bullying you. You’ll probably bawl your eyes out from the pain, anyway.”

Jaemin wanted to retort, but the grim possibility silenced him. A flick on the forehead? How bad could it be? But Seungpyo’s earlier display of cracking his knuckles had been anything but ordinary.

Despite his nerves, Jaemin couldn’t back out now. With a stiff expression, he silently followed Seungpyo. Every time Seungpyo glanced back to check if he was following, Jaemin’s presence right behind him seemed to amuse him further. Jaemin clenched his teeth in frustration—Seungpyo seemed far too excited about this.

The two climbed the stairs and reached the hallway leading to the classrooms. The school was eerily quiet, with most students already gone.

“Come in.”

Seungpyo opened the door to Class 4 and gestured. His bag was still on the desk, indicating he had planned to return all along.

Despite having been outside, the classroom felt strangely colder. Perhaps it was just his imagination. Jaemin shivered slightly and tried to shake it off.

Seungpyo began stretching leisurely, rolling his shoulders and pulling his fingers back. He spoke again, as if to confirm their agreement.

“Ten flicks. No complaints, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And bring your phone tomorrow. Delete that recording.”

“Got it.”

With the conversation done, Oh Seungpyo approached Jaemin with steady steps.

The two locked eyes at close range. The victor’s gaze held a relaxed smile, while the defeated’s showed defiance, barely masking unease.

Seungpyo formed his usual flicking gesture, creating a circle with his thumb and middle finger. He brought it right in front of Jaemin’s face, close enough for his eyelashes to flutter reflexively.

Finding the subtle signs of tension and fear on Jaemin’s face amusing, Seungpyo warned in a low voice, “You’d better close your eyes.”

Jaemin gulped and reluctantly shut his eyes. Despite himself, his brow furrowed, and his fists clenched tightly in nervous anticipation.

But even after that, the classroom remained silent. It would have been better if Seungpyo had just gotten it over with, but he didn’t. He neither moved nor spoke, simply standing still.

While Jaemin wasn’t eager to watch the moment happen, just waiting with his eyes closed made the tension build even further. His fingers fidgeted within his clenched fists. Unable to endure it any longer, he was about to open his eyes when Seungpyo’s voice broke the silence.

“I’ll hit you on the count of three. One, two…”

Jaemin quickly squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Three!”

Whoosh! The sound of a flick cut through the air, but before it could land, Jaemin instinctively flinched, tilting his head back.

Startled by his own reaction, Jaemin’s eyes flew open. Seungpyo, too, looked momentarily surprised but soon shifted into a smirk full of mockery. He let out a soft snicker, his face brimming with amusement, before wagging his finger at Jaemin as though scolding a misbehaving puppy.

“Hey, what’s with dodging? Stand still.”

The flick, meant for Jaemin’s forehead, had only grazed his bangs. Still, the force of it had been unmistakable. Jaemin began to sweat nervously, recalling the rumors of Seungpyo once cracking wooden boards with a finger flick at a taekwondo studio. If he could hit that hard, wouldn’t ten flicks split Jaemin’s skull?

Yet it wasn’t the fear of pain that bothered Jaemin most—it was the humiliation. He had been the one to challenge Seungpyo, refusing to accept defeat and boldly proposing this wager instead of simply handing over the phone recording.

Now, to have his fear laid bare in front of Seungpyo—that was mortifying.

Flushed with shame, Jaemin said nothing. He straightened himself stiffly, determined not to give any excuses. At that moment, Seungpyo leaned in closer, closing the gap between them.

“If you’re so scared, should I cut it down? Beg me nicely, and I’ll only hit you five times.”

“No thanks.”

“Yeah, figured as much.”

It must’ve been a joke because Seungpyo burst out laughing. Jaemin gritted his teeth, bristling at Seungpyo’s smugness. Even if he had brought this on himself, it didn’t make the urge to punch that grin off his face any weaker.

“Well, if that’s how it’s gonna be, I’ll have to hold you steady. Can’t have you squirming away.”

Before Jaemin could react, Seungpyo reached out with his free hand, gripping the back of Jaemin’s neck firmly. The touch sent a shiver down Jaemin’s spine. Seungpyo’s large, calloused hands—ones that effortlessly controlled basketballs—felt capable of snapping his neck if they wanted.

With his neck held tight, Jaemin couldn’t dodge or back away. Resigned, he closed his eyes again, squeezing them shut as tightly as possible. His clenched fists grew damp with sweat, and his lips and eyelashes quivered uncontrollably.

“This time, I’ll count to five. One… two…”

Seungpyo’s voice was deliberately slow, as though savoring Jaemin’s trembling. The dragged-out countdown only magnified Jaemin’s fear and frustration. He clenched his eyes tighter.

“Three… four… five!”

Snap! The sound of a flick echoed through the air, but again, there was no sharp pain on Jaemin’s forehead.

‘I didn’t dodge this time… Did he miss? If he missed, that’s on him. I should just count this as one hit.’

Cautiously, Jaemin opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Seungpyo’s face. His mischievous grin was now accompanied by barely contained laughter. As soon as their eyes met, Seungpyo couldn’t hold back anymore and burst out laughing.

“You’re hilarious! What made you so confident to bet on this when you’re this scared?”

“…”

“You’re shaking so hard I can’t even bring myself to hit you. Makes me feel like a bad guy.”

Still laughing, Seungpyo exaggeratedly mimicked Jaemin’s trembling, making sure to rub salt in the wound. Jaemin’s face, already red from tension, began to darken with anger.

‘Just wait. I’ll get him back someday,’ Jaemin thought, grinding his teeth. They still had years of school ahead, after all. Whether it was the next exam or another challenge, he’d find a way to crush Seungpyo. His name would sit proudly at the top of the leaderboard, with Oh Seungpyo’s just below it. He clung to that thought to keep his composure as he replied coldly.

“You’re the bad guy, idiot. What, you think you’re some angel?”

Seungpyo straightened, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. The time wasted on his antics could have been used to finish the flicks long ago. Jaemin, now anxious about the time, glanced at the clock and snapped.

“Stop messing around and get it over with. I’ve got cram school, remember?”

“Then stop trembling.”

“If you don’t want to see it, close your eyes when you hit me.”

“Trembling all over but still acting tough, huh?”

Seungpyo curled his fingers into a fist and brought it close to Jaemin’s forehead again. Perhaps because annoyance and anger had overshadowed his fear, Jaemin’s trembling had calmed. Instead of flinching, Jaemin glared directly at Seungpyo. Seungpyo, matching Jaemin’s determined expression, spoke gravely.

“Alright, this time, I’ll go for it immediately.”

“Fine.”

“One, two, three.”

A rapid countdown. Finally, Seungpyo’s fingers landed on Jaemin’s forehead.

The light touch of his fingertips made Jaemin’s shoulders flinch slightly, but he didn’t scream or cry.

It was only natural—Seungpyo’s finger merely tapped Jaemin’s forehead as if knocking lightly. That was all. A confused Jaemin furrowed his brow. Was that supposed to count as a hit?

“…What was that?”

Instead of answering, Seungpyo let out a bitter chuckle, dropping his shoulders slightly.

“Forget it, punk. I’ll let this slide. Let’s pretend that stupid bet never happened.”

“……”

“If I actually hit you ten times properly, your forehead wouldn’t survive. And then what? Your parents wouldn’t just sit there. I’m only playing along because you threatened me with the school violence committee, but if I end up getting investigated for violence because of your bet, it’d be pointless, wouldn’t it?”

Seungpyo rambled on, packing his bag. Jaemin could only stare at him, stunned. The sudden change in attitude left him at a loss for words.

Slipping his bag onto his shoulder, Seungpyo turned his gaze toward Jaemin, who was still standing there, rooted to the spot. Gone was his mischievous smirk; instead, he wore a sheepish expression. He hesitated for a moment, as if preparing to say something difficult, and then spoke.

“Hey, also.”

“…What?”

“Sorry. You told me to apologize, right?”

“……”

“I just… back then, when you said you’d let me see your notes or lose the test on purpose, it pissed me off. That’s why I did it. I never actually planned to blackmail you or carry it out. And I didn’t even give you a flick on the forehead, so let’s call it even, okay?”

It was an even harder statement to respond to. Jaemin, still speechless, simply blinked with a blank expression.

He was the one who demanded the apology if he lost the bet. He’d received the apology he wanted, so technically, he’d won. But instead of feeling satisfied, his face burned with the embarrassment of being scolded.

Jaemin hesitated, swallowing hard before finally speaking.

“But you said… you had my photo—no, something saved. What about that?”

“I don’t.”

“…What?”

“It was just to scare you. I never had anything in the first place. …Not that I avoided it intentionally. My account got nuked fighting trolls, so I didn’t have time for stuff like that.”

Caught off guard, Jaemin stared blankly at Seungpyo, who strode across the classroom, switched off the lights, and gestured for him to follow from the doorway.

“Hurry up. Didn’t you say you had to go to class?”

That’s right—regardless of the situation, time wouldn’t wait for him. Jaemin hurried out of the classroom. The two walked side by side down the hallway in silence, descending the stairs without a word.

The sky had dimmed, possibly from the approaching evening or the shifting weather. Though overcast with clouds, the light reflecting off them made it painfully bright to look up. At the first-floor entrance, Seungpyo tilted his head skyward, his face thoughtful, before breaking the silence.

“You know, I thought it was funny when you challenged me. You’ve never even played basketball, and you made it sound so easy.”

“……”

“But you really tried your best, and you were good. I think I underestimated you.”

“…What do you mean?”

“Just everything.”

Leaving Jaemin with his cryptic words, Seungpyo resumed walking. Jaemin remained still, standing at the entrance.

Suddenly, Seungpyo spun around and yelled back at Jaemin.

“Bring my phone tomorrow!”

For some reason, the deep weight in his throat made it difficult to speak, and Jaemin simply nodded before replying a beat too late.

“Got it!”

Upon hearing the answer, Seungpyo turned around and started running again.

Jaemin, not immediately following, stared down at his feet for a moment before he absentmindedly kicked a small stone rolling on the floor, then made his way across the playground. The sun had set quite early, likely because of the short winter days, and it was already much darker compared to when they were playing earlier.