WOPE Ch 16
by soapa“…We have the chairman here, so shouldn’t they be the ones coming to greet us? Oh, is this part of the mind games for Game 7?”
“I’m not sure either, that’s why I asked. It gets tricky when you enter the world of sports.”
“Just ask them first. If they say they plan to greet us, I’ll go alone. If they say they want to greet the chairman, we’ll coordinate. Anyway, this is their home court, so how overwhelming must it be for them to see us all show up? Let’s keep things friendly.”
Oh, he’s matured. Satisfied with the reasonable response, Suhwan nodded and hurriedly ran off.
Today, they were seated at the very end of the first floor. The entire section had been reserved by HG Group executives and staff. Since it wasn’t their home court, sitting right in front of the court felt a bit much, so the three brothers sat side by side at the very last row. As soon as they entered the arena, spectators and reporters alike snapped photos, shutters clicking incessantly.
“…Do you think they’ll win?”
“No idea.”
The eldest hyung, sitting in the middle, asked quietly, but Junwook responded curtly with a stern face. He had never been nervous watching Hooyoung’s games, but today he felt a bit on edge. He was more worried about Hooyoung’s condition depending on the game’s outcome than the result itself. He desperately wanted them to win, but for some reason, he kept feeling it wouldn’t be easy. After all, in the previous game, Game 6, the Rhinos had beaten the Big Whales so effortlessly that it felt like their momentum had surged significantly.
Junwook slowly scanned Hooyoung, who was warming up on the court. Being at the end of the row was actually a relief. It made it easier to observe him closely. Hooyoung, with an expressionless face, was silently shooting the ball. His shooting touch didn’t look bad.
—All spectators, please stand and face the flag.
At the arena announcer’s words, everyone stood up in unison. Hooyoung, as usual, stood at the front, but unlike usual, his eyes were tightly closed. Seeing him with his eyes shut, Junwook could sense Hooyoung’s determination for today’s game. Game 7 of the championship series was a do-or-die match for the Big Whales, their opponents, and especially for Hooyoung.
The game began with a jump ball between the two foreign players. As the final game of the season, it was intense.
“All that worrying was for nothing. He doesn’t look hurt at all.”
Chairman Eun said to Junwook, watching Hooyoung. That’s how much Hooyoung’s presence stood out. He was running around as if sending a message to his physically drained teammates. Every attack was orchestrated through Hooyoung’s hands.
Wow! Half the crowd in the arena shouted as Hooyoung and the foreign player executed a brilliant play together. Hooyoung, weaving past two defenders, delivered a perfect backpass, practically spoon-feeding it, and the foreign player slammed it in with a dunk. Even the Rhinos fans let out a small “Wow!”—it was that impressive a shot.
“That player’s energy is incredible.”
“Yeah.”
“The general manager made one hell of a trade. Guess people really step up when their livelihood’s on the line.”
Jaeik was showcasing tremendous defense again today. Despite being physically outmatched and Hooyoung pouring all his energy into offense, Jaeik was taking on nearly double the defensive load.
“Ah!”
Suhwan, who was more immersed than anyone, let out a disappointed cry as the referee’s whistle blew. Jaeik, playing tight defense, had just been called for his second foul. Two fouls already in the first quarter—in basketball, where five personal fouls mean ejection, this was a problem. The Big Whales fans looked visibly anxious as the opposing player sank both free throws. The first quarter ended with the Big Whales trailing 12–14, down by two points.
“Lee Hooyoung’s going to play all 40 minutes today.”
“It’s the finals, so no choice.”
Junwook responded gruffly to Suhwan’s comment. Since today’s game would end it all, with the Big Whales’ bench players being lackluster, they had no choice but to use Hooyoung for the full 40 minutes. Even if they gave him a break, it would only be for a few dozen seconds at most. That’s how it had been throughout the playoffs.
In the second quarter, the Big Whales struggled, and the score widened to 42–30. Jaeik picked up another foul, bringing his total to three, so the coach pulled him to save him for the second half. The sixth man who came in couldn’t match Jaeik in either defense or offense. As a result, the opposing defenders swarmed Hooyoung, with two or three players surrounding him, completely shutting him down.
At halftime, both teams’ players headed to their respective locker rooms. Since their section was right next to the tunnel, Junwook could see Hooyoung up close. Having played until the buzzer at the end of the second quarter, Hooyoung was visibly out of breath, his chest heaving as he walked to the tunnel. His gaunt cheeks and sweat-soaked body were marked by deep fatigue.
“What a mess.”
Muttering to himself, Junwook propped his chin on his hand. His chest burned. It hurt more than he expected to feel like an outsider to Hooyoung when he was on the basketball court.
“What’s got you so upset?”
“Nothing.”
Chairman Eun, instantly picking up on his youngest brother’s unease, patted him and asked, but Junwook just shook his head.
“The other team’s owner is eating popcorn and drinking beer. Shouldn’t we be eating something and watching more relaxed? It’d make the players and front office less nervous.”
“They’re losing, and eating would just make headlines.”
“Wow, you’re prickly today.”
The eldest and second hyung whispered to each other, but Junwook ignored them and stood up abruptly as the third quarter was about to start.
“Where are you going?”
“Sitting still is making me antsy. I want to stand and watch.”
“You’re acting weird. Why are you so extra today? If you stand, there’s definitely going to be an article like ‘HG Big Whales owner pacing nervously over championship fears.’”
“Let them write it.”
Extra? Junwook tilted his head and left his seat to stand in the hallway. People’s eyes followed him, but they dispersed as the game resumed. The reason Junwook wanted to stand was simple. He just couldn’t stand sitting still, watching Hooyoung run himself ragged. Professional sports was an entertainment business, and it was only right for countless spectators to enjoy the game as a spectacle, but Junwook found it deeply uncomfortable.
“Go sit down.”
“Are you crazy? I’m your secretary.”
Suhwan’s playful retort softened Junwook’s stern expression a little.
In the third quarter, the Big Whales, having regrouped during halftime, began their comeback. Jaeik, who had been benched with three fouls, returned and ran around with tremendous energy. Using him as a shield, Hooyoung distributed passes to the foreign player and teammates, steadily racking up points. It was the Big Whales’ winning strategy.
Lee Hooyoung! Lee Hooyoung! As Hooyoung crossed the court and sank a long-range three-pointer, the fans chanted his name. That shot finally put the Big Whales ahead, 53–54. As the game grew more intense, the arena heated up. Everyone shed their jackets and waved clappers enthusiastically.
The incident happened late in the third quarter. It was right after Donggyu, who came off the bench for the first time today, scored an and-one, making it 53–57.
“Whoa!”
Suhwan pointed and jumped in front of Junwook as the crowd shouted and stood up. In the fast-paced action, while Junwook was busy turning his head, Hooyoung was rolling on the court.
Oh no, is he okay? He looks like he’s in a lot of pain. The spectators around Junwook and Suhwan murmured. Hooyoung was clutching his ankle, visibly in agony, clearly in serious trouble. The replay on the scoreboard showed what had just happened. The ball, driven by the opposing foreign player, was stolen by Jaeik and rolled away. Hooyoung and an opposing player both reached for it, but the opponent’s foot tangled, causing him to fall onto Hooyoung’s leg. Hooyoung’s taped ankle twisted slightly and was pinned under the fall.
Shocked spectators let out sighs of dismay, and the arena fell silent in an instant. Trainers, medical staff, and even the coach ran onto the court.
—Everyone, please give a round of applause to support Lee Hooyoung, who’s showing incredible fighting spirit.
The arena announcer quickly rallied the crowd to clap, trying to manage the atmosphere. But Hooyoung wasn’t getting up easily. Suhwan, the only one in the arena who knew about Junwook and Hooyoung’s relationship, cautiously glanced at him. Whether he was holding back or unfazed, Junwook showed no expression.
“They’re bringing a stretcher?”
A female fan, likely a Big Whales supporter, said in a trembling voice. As Hooyoung remained down for a long time, the medical staff brought a stretcher. But just in time, the trainer checking Hooyoung’s ankle raised a hand to stop them. Hooyoung, gripping Hojin and the trainer’s arms, slowly stood up. Applause poured from both teams’ fans.
“…Is he okay?”
Junwook didn’t answer, staring intently at Hooyoung. Hooyoung, relying on others’ arms, wasn’t putting weight on his injured foot as he slowly limped to the bench. The stretcher didn’t come, but both Hooyoung and the trainer had deeply grim faces. The teammates and coach left on the court couldn’t hide their serious expressions either.
Even with Hooyoung giving 120% of his ability, it was a game they might not win. Without him, they would lose. A dark cloud began to loom over the Big Whales. They might hold the four-point lead until the end of the third quarter, but it was obvious they’d be overtaken once the fourth quarter started.
The trainer hadn’t come out since going in with Hooyoung, and after the third quarter, the assistant coach went in briefly, whispered to the head coach, and came out. His face was still grim.
“I’ll go check.”
“No.”
The fourth quarter was about to start. Despite Hooyoung’s injury, a win was a win. Loud music blared, and the cheerleaders’ chants grew louder. The Rhinos fans, sensing victory, raised their voices.
“…Are you going yourself?”
As soon as the arena’s atmosphere shifted, Junwook started walking. Suhwan, surprised, tried to stop him, but Junwook couldn’t stay still.
“If you go and it causes a stir, well, we could probably handle that. But will going now actually help Lee Hooyoung? This doesn’t feel right.”
The one silver lining was that, being the championship series, both teams’ sections were strictly separated, unlike the regular season. If Junwook stayed in the Big Whales’ area, he could avoid exposure to other teams or the media. Normally, people from both teams might mingle and greet, but during the sensitive playoffs, especially the championship, they didn’t cross into each other’s zones.
“Hello. Yes, hello. Just passing through.”
As Junwook strode forward, the few security personnel and team staff looked puzzled, but Suhwan smoothed things over with his charm. The rule was no outsiders, but no one could classify Junwook as an outsider.
“Are you going in?”
Suhwan asked one last time, trying to stop Junwook in front of the locker room. Just then, the trainer’s agitated voice echoed from inside.
“I said no! The doctor said if you play now, it could be really bad. Why won’t you listen, you punk!”
Hooyoung’s voice wasn’t audible. Junwook could picture it without seeing. Hooyoung was probably staring at the floor, stubbornly muttering in a small voice.
“It’s not just that you couldn’t get up right away—look at how swollen it is. You’ve got at least one ligament torn. This isn’t okay. Absolutely not.”
Junwook, standing at the door with his hands in his pockets, was deep in thought. As expected, Hooyoung was insisting on playing, and while the trainer or coach couldn’t stop him, Junwook could. He was confident he could persuade him and believed Hooyoung would listen to him. But knowing why Hooyoung wanted to play made him hesitate. If he’d decided to just watch, shouldn’t he see it through to the end? Would stepping in now to stop him be good for their relationship?
“What if you ruin your ankle for good? You think I don’t want to win? But if you wreck your ankle now and your career ends after winning this year, what then? Kid, even a year of rehab can ruin your skills, and there are tons of players who end up warming the bench until retirement!”
If he could at least win in exchange for a chronic ankle injury, that’d be something. But losing both his ankle and the championship would leave Hooyoung with nothing.
“Hey, Bbi-bbi. I’m saying this for you, not the team. You think I haven’t seen players go down like this?”
Monitors were scattered around the arena so the game could be watched from inside. As the trainer raised his voice, the caster and commentator’s excited voices came through simultaneously.
—Oh! Noh Jaeik, that’s his fourth foul. He’s in foul trouble!
—Right, Coach Park Dongjin pulls Noh Jaeik. It’s still early in the fourth quarter, and they can’t afford to lose him for the clutch. But at 67–62, without Lee Hooyoung and Noh Jaeik, this gap is going to widen.
—Fans must be anxious, but there’s still no word on Lee Hooyoung since he went to the locker room. We’ll update you as soon as we hear anything.
“Lee Hooyoung! I said no!”
As the trainer’s angry voice rang out again, Junwook couldn’t hold back anymore. Biting his lower lip, he raised his hand. Knock, knock. It was a very polite knock, but he opened the door without waiting for a response.
“You keep doing this…”
The trainer and Hooyoung’s eyes locked onto Junwook. The trainer stopped mid-sentence, looking shocked, wondering why this man was here, while Hooyoung’s eyes wavered the moment they met his. There are people who make you want to cry just by looking at them when you’re feeling vulnerable. With Grandmother gone, Junwook was the only one who did that for Hooyoung now.
“Uh, Mr. Owner? Wh-what’s the matter?”
“Coach, could you give us a moment?”
“What?!”
For the trainer, it was like a bolt from the blue. In the midst of a critical final game, with the team’s cornerstone injured, this was an outrageous situation, and his face showed he couldn’t believe it.
“Uh, Coach! The head coach seems to be waiting to hear about Lee Hooyoung’s injury. Why don’t you go update him? It won’t take long.”
Suhwan chimed in from behind, covering for Junwook.Columbia. The trainer hesitated at the words. The head coach and bench must be anxiously awaiting news about Hooyoung. If it weren’t for Hooyoung’s stubbornness, he would have said playing was impossible by now, but it was delayed. Declaring him out would let the coach remove Hooyoung from the lineup options.
“Just a minute, I’ll be right back. …Hooyoung, it’s really not okay, so put some ice on it at least. I’ll get the icing stuff.”
Hooyoung didn’t respond to the trainer, just pursed his lips tightly. His stubbornness was clear.
“Director, keep it short.”
Suhwan glanced between Junwook and Hooyoung before closing the door. The locker room fell silent. It was their first meeting in almost three weeks. No calls, no messages in all that time.
“It’s obviously swollen.”
Hooyoung’s bare ankle, with the sock off, was slightly swollen. At this rate, it’d probably be puffy in a few hours.
“The other ankle’s fine, and there’s only about seven minutes left in the game.”
Even with teary eyes, Hooyoung wouldn’t budge.
“What if you tear a ligament worse or get a chronic injury?”
“…I’ll deal with that later. For now, today, I’m playing. I have to.”
“You planning to play basketball just this year? You want to be a flash-in-the-pan player?”
Junwook’s voice rose slightly. Hooyoung’s lips turned down, his tear-filled eyes drooping so low they almost touched his cheeks.
“I want to win… Winning would make me feel proud, for Grandmother, and, and…”
Junwook knew full well that Hooyoung wanted to repay the debt of having his loans cleared with a championship.
“I told you. I don’t need a championship. You getting hurt and bringing home a trophy doesn’t make me happy or grateful.”
A tear finally fell from Hooyoung’s eyes.
“Stopping here gives you more chances to win in the future. Listen to the trainer. Stop.”
“…No, uh.”
“Lee Hooyoung.”
Junwook was starting to get angry. He understood that Hooyoung was young and inexperienced, trying too hard to please him, unable to speak his desires freely, and wanting to repay with a championship. He thought he could wait, but ignoring his injury was unacceptable.
“You think me or Grandmother would be happy if you play through an injury and win?”
Hooyoung bit his lower lip, looking at Junwook with a face that said it was unfair.
“But… if the coach allows it, then I can play.”
“You want to talk nonsense? The coach is just a contract worker. If you say you can play, of course he’ll use you! The coach doesn’t care if you get hurt as long as he wins!”
Junwook finally raised his voice. He’d sworn not to shout outside the door, but it was no use.
“What if you need ankle surgery and can’t regain your form?”
“If I rehab well…”
“What if you need full-on surgery because it’s bad?”
Out of words, Hooyoung shut his mouth, tears streaming down. His flushed face and sweat-soaked body made him look even more pitiful. But Junwook decided to hold back the urge to hug him today.
“If your ligaments tear completely, you’ll need reconstructive surgery. Don’t you know that? Haven’t you heard of players whose skills drop and end up warming the bench until retirement?”
“…I know, I know! But if I win just this once, it’s over. Just today, winning means a championship.”
Hooyoung lifted his hand, wiping his tears roughly.
“I’ve come this far, how can I give up… I really wanted to give her a championship… And with the other hyungs playing so hard, how can I just watch and let it end?”
“So, you’re betting your whole career on a game you might not even win? You don’t care if your ankle gives out?”
At the harsh words, Hooyoung tugged at his uniform, unsure what to do with his hands, but didn’t stop glaring at Junwook with resentful eyes.
“…You always said it’s okay. You said to do whatever I want.”
“Not today. That look won’t work.”
“…Why.”
“Win or lose, if your ankle goes out, that’s the bigger problem! You’ll regret it every time, wondering why you didn’t hold back!”
Hooyoung bit his lower lip hard, looking betrayed and angry, unable to keep his mouth still as he glared at Junwook.
“It’s not okay when it’s not okay. Tell the trainer and coach you understand and wrap it up.”
“…Just fix it!”
Hooyoung shouted explosively. Junwook’s brow furrowed deeply.
“What?”
“You can fix it! Surgery, rehab, whatever—just send me to the best place and make it happen!”
Junwook couldn’t believe his ears. It didn’t seem like something Hooyoung would say.
“…Say that again.”
“You said you liked me. You said you’d do anything, to tell you what I want, so why won’t you do this…”
Hooyoung lowered his head, sobbing, tears dripping onto his knees.
“Just make sure it doesn’t become chronic. You can help me keep playing for a long time…”
A strange smile crossed Junwook’s face, a mix of disbelief and joy. He never expected to hear the words he’d always wanted from Hooyoung in this moment. He was ready to grant any of Hooyoung’s desires, but this—getting more injured and asking to be fixed—was probably the hardest request.
Junwook looked down at Hooyoung intently. Despite shouting, Hooyoung was still huffing with grievance, his shoulders heaving. Staring at his round shoulders and glistening, sweat-soaked neck, Junwook had no choice but to make up his mind.
“Why is it only today that it’s not okay, why are you so scary only today…”
As Hooyoung’s head sank lower and his voice strained to continue, Junwook spoke.
“Should I do it?”
Hooyoung’s head shot up.
“The best doctors, rehab facilities, the kind of places NBA players go to—should I look into that? Should I do it?”
Junwook, his demeanor completely shifted, smiled slightly and leaned closer to Hooyoung. He brushed back his sweaty hair and neatly fixed the so-called “Bbi-bbi zone” sticking out on both sides.
“Hm? Tell me quick. Should I do it?”
“…Do it.”
Junwook looked down at Hooyoung. The way he opened his mouth, face a mess, was impossibly endearing. Waiting had paid off—he’d grown, heading exactly in the direction Junwook wanted, running toward him with the same passion he had for basketball, loving him just as much.
“Alright.”
He couldn’t lose today either. Hooyoung always disarmed him. Making him want to do everything for him, yet never leaning on him when it mattered most, driving him crazy—finally, it felt like they’d crossed the last hurdle. Hooyoung always acted like he was one step below, like a subordinate, but in this crucial moment, he’d grown a bit taller to stand side by side.
“Play. Do what you want.”
“…Really?”
“I’ll fix it somehow. You asked me to, didn’t you? Then I have to. I’ll do it. I’ll make it happen.”
How could I not when you ask like that? It was clearly a serious situation, but Junwook couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. Hooyoung looked a bit puzzled, but he seemed somewhat relieved to hear Junwook’s permission.
“Director.”
Just then, a knock came, and the door opened. Suhwan and the trainer stood together. On the monitor, which they hadn’t noticed while talking, the score had widened to 75–68. About four and a half minutes remained. There had been a lot of free throws, and it looked like there had been a timeout or two in between.
“Coach, I talked to the head coach. He was disappointed, but there’s no helping it. Stay in the locker room until it’s over. Let’s start with icing.”
“I’m going to play.”
At Hooyoung’s words, the trainer, holding ice, looked at Junwook with a shocked expression. The look clearly said, “What were you doing instead of convincing him while I was gone, Mr. Owner?”
“Tape it tightly and give me two painkillers—no, three. I’ll take them and play.”
The trainer looked at Junwook for help, but Junwook just shrugged.
“Lee Hooyoung is stubborn. Just let him go.”
“I told the head coach!”
“He won’t stop me if I say I’m playing.”
With a championship on the line, what coach would say no? Hooyoung grabbed the tape himself and handed it to the trainer, then reached out to Junwook for water. Is this kid crazy to play like this? The trainer, watching Hooyoung gesture to the owner without a word, rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Even funnier was that Junwook casually found water and handed it over without a second thought.
“Hyung, tape it quick. I need to get out there.”
The monitor showed the head coach passionately giving tactical instructions. No matter how many strategies he laid out, without a point guard, it was hard to execute them.
—Oh, Coach Park Dongjin is putting in Noh Jaeik, who was out with foul trouble. Right, if the gap widens further, they’re done, so it makes sense to bring him in now. But…
The commentator trailed off, sounding regretful. The caster, commentator, and arena spectators all sensed the momentum shifting toward the Rhinos. You could tell just by how much quieter the Big Whales fans’ cheers had gotten.
“Man, I don’t know if this is right. I really don’t.”
Hooyoung swallowed doping-safe painkillers and slowly rotated his taped ankle. He winced with every movement.
“You’re really going to play?”
“Yes. Once the painkillers kick in and adrenaline surges during the game, I’ll be fine. I can do it.”
“…I’ll go tell them you’re coming out. Can you walk on your own? Should I send someone?”
Suhwan was about to volunteer, but Hooyoung was faster.
“I can walk. It’d be ridiculous to be carried out when I’m going to play.”
“Goddamn hopeless.”
The trainer shook his head and quickly ran back to the court.
“…I’ll be back.”
“Okay, go ahead.”
“I’ll win.”
“Do that too.”
At Junwook’s response, Hooyoung gave a small smile, bounced in place to warm up, and then jogged lightly down the hallway. It was quick, but Junwook leaned forward, watching Hooyoung’s figure disappear into the arena.
“After the season, we’re going to the States.”
“Yes, I heard from outside. I’ll look into doctors and rehab centers.”
“Why aren’t you picking a fight for once?”
Suhwan, busy with his phone, grinned at Junwook.
“What fan wouldn’t love a player who wants to win even when injured? Man, his stubbornness is almost Michael Jordan-level. You know the Jordan flu game? Scoring 38 points, 7 rebounds, 5 assists despite food poisoning. I think Lee Hooyoung’s going to do that today.”
As he finished speaking, a roar shook the arena. Hooyoung must have stepped onto the court.
“The chairman and vice president are looking for you. Aren’t you going back?”
“Nah, I’ll watch from here.”
Junwook leaned against the hallway wall, settling in front of the monitor, and Suhwan stood beside him. Going back now would draw spectators’ eyes, even briefly. Junwook didn’t want to distract from Hooyoung for even a moment. From now on, every bit of the spotlight deserved to be on Hooyoung alone.
“I’m turning up the volume.”
Suhwan cranked up the monitor’s sound.
—Korean basketball fans watching, this is the heat of a championship game! As soon as Lee Hooyoung, with his ankle taped, steps onto the court, he’s tearing it up!
The caster’s voice rose a pitch in excitement. The score was 76–71.
—His ankle clearly isn’t normal, but Lee Hooyoung is giving it his all. You have to give everything to have no regrets in a final like this. Oh, oh! A brilliant assist from Lee Hooyoung!
As soon as he got the ball, Hooyoung scanned the court and threw a long pass. The foreign player, sprinting full speed, caught it with one hand and slammed down a powerful alley-oop dunk.
—This is a fast-break play you’d see in the NBA! The momentum has completely shifted to the Big Whales! This is Lee Hooyoung’s power!
—Wow, McGee must be exhausted, but he nails it. This game is thrilling. It’s 76–73 in a flash!
The screen alternated between Chairman Eun, clenching his fists in immersion, and the opposing team’s owner. The foreign player, energized by Hooyoung’s return, stole the ball and made an easy layup, bringing the score to 76–75.
—This year’s finals feel even more intense with so much attention from the parent companies. It’s down to a one-point game, and—oh, Noh Jaeik with a veteran block, here we go!
Beep! Jaeik’s frustrated face filled the screen.
—Noh Jaeik, five fouls, he’s out! What impact will this have on the Big Whales?
—Losing Noh Jaeik is huge. He’s the core of their defense. He locked down Rhinos’ Park Juyoung. Today alone, when Jaeik was out, the Rhinos caught up. This is tough for the Big Whales.
A video review didn’t overturn the call. Junwook took his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms, while Suhwan licked his lips, unable to hide his anxiety.
—The biggest question is who replaces Noh Jaeik. The Big Whales’ bench depth isn’t as strong as the Rhinos’. Who’s available… Wow!
—Han Donggyu comes in! Coach Park Dongjin plays the veteran card at this critical moment!
What? Suhwan shouted openly. Junwook didn’t quite understand the choice either. As a veteran, Donggyu’s stamina was so depleted that he barely played since the sixth round, limited to three or four minutes at most, and even those weren’t well-received.
“They’re not throwing the game, so why Han Donggyu now, wow…”
The game resumed. Fortunately, the Rhinos player made only one of the two free throws from Jaeik’s foul, making it 77–75, a two-point game.
—As expected, Han Donggyu is struggling to contain Park Juyoung.
—True, but look, Park Juyoung is pouring on the offense, but the shots aren’t going in. Han Donggyu isn’t there to stop him—he’s there to buy time. If he can hold Park Juyoung off, McGee or another Big Whales player will come to help. That’s the power of Big Whales’ teamwork.
Both teams’ players, physically exhausted, moved slower. With little time left, no shots were going in. The score remained 77–75, a two-point gap.
—We’re under a minute now. The Rhinos need to protect this lead, and the Big Whales need to break through.
Suhwan started shifting side to side in place.
“Man, this is insane.”
Time ticked away relentlessly. McGee’s shot was blocked spectacularly, and Donggyu’s three-pointer hit the rim and bounced out.
The ace’s biggest role is to take the ball in the clutch. With no tactics working and time running out, the ball goes to the ace, hoping for a big play.
—Twenty seconds left. Lee Hooyoung has the ball.
Hooyoung appeared on the screen, dribbling. His ankle made his dribble less smooth than usual, but it was still powerful.
—Lee Hooyoung goes straight in, and—foul! Foul! Two free throws!
Waaa! The loudest roar of the day erupted, the floor vibrating like an earthquake.
—Lee Hooyoung forces a foul under the basket! Right, both teams are over the foul limit, so drawing a foul for free throws is the play. Lee Hooyoung, the ace!
—Four seconds left! If Lee Hooyoung makes both shots, it’s a 77–77 tie!
—Lee Hooyoung has an 81% free-throw percentage this season, very high. He needs to make both now.
The screen showed Hooyoung catching his breath.
—Even players who are good at free throws struggle late in games due to fatigue. Lee Hooyoung needs to focus.
Tap, tap. Hooyoung bounced the ball twice, gripped it, and set his stance.
—First shot!
The ball hit the front of the rim, spun once, and went in. Hooyoung exhaled deeply and bounced the ball twice again. Tap, tap.
—One more for a tie. Four seconds left, a tie is in sight!
The ball left Hooyoung’s hands, tracing a perfect arc.
—Second shot, and—oh, oh!
The caster shouted, Suhwan yelled, and Junwook flinched, stepping forward. An “Ack!” from the stands came through the screen. The ball bounced off the rim. In that brief moment as it hung in the air, countless people went from heaven to hell. The Big Whales’ bench and fans, sensing defeat, cried out in despair.
But one person didn’t give up.
—Free throw missed, but—oh, oh! Han Donggyu, rebound Han Donggyu! Time’s running, four seconds, three seconds, he’s going up!
Donggyu, waiting at the spot where the ball fell, jumped first, grabbed it, and went straight up.
That moment felt like time had stopped, silent. No one breathed, all eyes on the ball leaving Donggyu’s hands. The scoreboard, ticking again the moment he grabbed it, showed just one second left. Both teams’ coaches, benches, and players on the court stared at the ball.
—Waaa! It’s in! It went through the rim! 77–78! Comeback! Comeback!
It was a frenzy. Suhwan pounded Junwook’s arm, running around the hallway, and the arena shook. The caster and commentator’s raised voices mixed with the crowd’s roars.
—One second left! Rhinos’ Park Juyoung is running!
The opponent’s buzzer-beater attempt didn’t touch the rim, sailing into the air, and the entire Big Whales bench screamed “Waaa!” rushing onto the court. They had won.
—Champions, champions! The HG Big Whales are this year’s pro basketball champions! After a tough but fruitful journey, the HG Big Whales reclaim the throne after ten years! Final score 77–78, a perfect victory forged by solid teamwork!
Starters and bench players alike swarmed Donggyu. Everyone shed tears in the dramatic victory. The coach, briefly shown, turned away to wipe his eyes. Hooyoung, caught among the taller players, had a tear-streaked face.
“Wow, they did it. Champions.”
At Suhwan’s words, Junwook grinned. He hadn’t cared much about winning, but the feeling was overwhelming. Above all, he loved seeing Hooyoung cry and smile so brightly.
“I knew they’d win.”
“Don’t lie.”
Lie or truth, it didn’t matter. Winning made the day perfect. Ending with a championship completed a day with nothing to forget, from start to finish.
“Congratulations.”
“Yeah.”
On the screen, the Big Whales team donned championship shirts and hats, shouting and laughing heartily. Everyone looked happy. The camera focused most on Hooyoung, McGee, and Donggyu. Hooyoung’s radiant smile each time he appeared left Junwook mesmerized.
“…You really love this, huh?”
Suhwan commented, seeing Junwook’s endlessly warm expression, but the elated Junwook didn’t reply. He was too busy watching Hooyoung’s face. He looks even more radiant soaked in water. Are the painkillers working that well, running around like that? Though Hooyoung was limping a bit. Junwook wanted to tell him to sit still or go to the hospital, but he held back, knowing this moment was precious. Going to the hospital now wouldn’t do much beyond lying down until tomorrow.
“Director, the chairman’s looking for you. You should go out, put on a shirt and hat, and take pictures.”
“Gotta do it.”
Junwook walked out with a light heart. The moment he entered the arena, cheers erupted, but he only saw one person. Everyone else was a blur, except Hooyoung, smiling brightly at him.
The person he loved was wearing the smile he loved.
🏀
The night of the championship was near madness. At a high-end beef restaurant reserved by the front office, the Big Whales drank all night in celebration. Hooyoung, with his ankle taped so tightly it cut off circulation, stayed seated throughout. He was the only player the general manager and coach urged not to stand during toasts, showing their care.
The Finals MVP went to McGee, the foreign player. But it was said Hooyoung was a close second. McGee had 30 points and 10 rebounds, while Hooyoung had 18 points and 11 assists. The drunk coach kissed McGee, Donggyu, Jaeik, and Hooyoung on the cheeks in turn, saying to each, “You’re all I’ve got, you’re the pillar of our team.”
“Bbi-bbi, you’re still looking at your phone today?!”
Hojin slapped Hooyoung’s back and asked. Except for Hooyoung, who didn’t drink due to his ankle, everyone was tipsy and swaying.
“Just. I want to drink too.”
“No way! Your ankle isn’t just yours, man!”
Hojin and Hooyoung laughed, facing each other. Still, Hooyoung kept checking his phone. Naturally, he was waiting for Junwook’s call. The celebration, interviews, and move to the restaurant had been hectic. He’d only seen Junwook briefly on the court, and even then, he couldn’t be by his side.
“Your ankle okay?”
“No. I just took more painkillers.”
“Really?”
The pain had surged as soon as the painkillers wore off, much worse than before he went back out. It was inevitable after pushing it in such a bad state. It was the worst pain he’d ever felt, so he knew it wasn’t a small issue. Surgery was probably unavoidable. But it was okay. He wasn’t afraid of the pain anymore.
Then the phone rang. It was Junwook, as expected.
“Hello?”
—Hey, it’s me.
“Wait, just a sec! Don’t hang up, I’ll be quick.”
—Take your time.
As Hooyoung grabbed his crutches and stood, Hojin, half-asleep and eating meat beside him, snapped awake.
“What?! Going to the bathroom? Want me to carry you?!”
“No, just sleep, please! My arms are fine.”
Hooyoung hurried to a quiet spot. His heart was racing, but the crutches didn’t cooperate, making it tough, though he moved steadily.
“Hello.”
—Yeah.
“When did you leave? I wish you’d stayed. It was so hectic after it ended and we moved…”
—What, miss me?
“Yes.”
The answer came instantly. Of course. He’d missed him constantly, and the brief glimpse felt so fleeting. Even amid the loud celebration, part of his mind kept wondering when he’d see Junwook.
—Your ankle.
“…Trainer hyung’s been checking it even while drunk. I’m not using it, and I’ll go to the hospital tomorrow. I’m not drinking either.”
—Want to come out?
“You’re here?!”
Hooyoung, crouching on the stairs, tried to stand and grabbed the railing.
“Where, where are you? In the parking lot? Should I come now?”
—You must really miss me. I can feel it. Can you move? Should I come?
“No! I can move with crutches! Just wait.”
Hooyoung pocketed his phone and picked up his crutches. He couldn’t ask Junwook to come. The trainer had already grilled him, asking if he knew the owner personally, startling him. He’d brushed it off, saying he was out of it from the injury, but the trainer kept eyeing him suspiciously, saying, “Something’s off.”
In the parking lot corner, among the team bus and front office cars, Junwook’s car stood out. Eager but cautious not to fall, Hooyoung moved carefully with his crutches.
“You’re here?”
As he got close, the door opened. Looking down, he saw Junwook approaching to open it, wearing the same outfit from earlier that evening.
“It’s still cold out, get in quick. Watch your leg.”
While Junwook took the crutches and put them in the back, Hooyoung slid in hips-first, then moved his legs. With a bit more practice, he’d get the hang of it.
“Did you eat a lot of meat—ah! You scared me.”
As soon as Hooyoung settled in, he hugged Junwook.
“Thank you for winning.”
Tears welled up. Not just congratulations, but “thank you” felt so good. That’s what he wanted to hear. He’d thrown himself into the game to hear those words.
“…You happy?”
“Yeah, so happy. The hyungs said my smile’s about to rip my face. I’m so proud.”
Hooyoung let out a clear laugh. It felt so rewarding.
“I really wanted to give you a championship.”
“Exactly. I got one hell of a gift.”
Junwook lifted Hooyoung’s face to meet his eyes.
“Back in the locker room, I should’ve asked for a kiss before letting you go, but that punk Suhwan ruined it. I was so bummed.”
“You thought about that?”
“Yeah. A kiss right there, then you go out and win—bam! How cool would that have been? It’d be a kiss to remember forever.”
At the mention of a forever-memorable kiss, Hooyoung almost said, “Let’s do it now,” but a sudden thought made him pull back. He’d forgotten where he’d been. By now, he probably reeked of meat all over.
“No smell, so come back here.”
“…Later.”
“What’s with giving and taking back? It’s fine, come here.”
“…After I shower.”
Tsk. Junwook, eyes narrowed, grabbed Hooyoung’s wrist, gently pulling him back into an embrace.
“Then the kiss is for later.”
“How’d you know I was going to say that? Our Hooyoung’s got some serious intuition now.”
Screw it, Hooyoung thought, burrowing into Junwook’s arms as he hugged him tightly.
“See, how nice is this? A bold hug.”
“Uh, you know.”
Feeling Junwook’s warmth, the word “bold” reminded Hooyoung of the locker room.
“Yeah, what.”
“Back in the locker room, what I said.”
The words didn’t come easily. He’d been so frustrated and angry then, blurting out whatever came to mind.
“Oh, when you yelled, ‘Just fix it!’?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, I was just out of it then.”
“Why not? It was bold, I liked it. Do it more often. It was refreshing.”
“No way.”
Still, Hooyoung buried his face deeper to hide his rising smile. He’d had so much he wanted to say when they met, but now he couldn’t remember any of it.
“…I really, really like you. So much.”
Junwook, as if he understood everything, stroked Hooyoung’s back and nibbled his ear.
“Yeah, me too.”
And he whispered softly in his ear. A full, warm happiness slowly spread from his chest.