Chapter Text
The silence bothers Jihyo.
It always has. Because nothing in her life ever really allowed silence to settle in.
From an early age it was the sound of the ball making contact with the racket, of her father yelling instructions and demanding her to focus. Of her own screams of frustration and elation. The roar from her hometown crowd when she won her first juniors’ tournament, muffled by her own sobs that took over her body, her elbows and knees muddied with clay.
The flashes from professional cameras have a distinct sound to them, and Jihyo has grown accustomed to it. The voices of the press, of reporters asking the same safe questions over and over, as if they were rehearsed.
Jihyo is surrounded by sound, molded by it.
Silence in a small, white waiting room as the ticking of the clock goes agonizingly slow is a new terrain for Jihyo. Her feet tap anxiously on the floor, sneakers squeaking against the surface.
Then she hears Sejeong’s scream from behind the wall that stands between them.
“Fuck! Fuck!!”
Jihyo is through the sliding door before Nayeon can stop her.
“I told you to wait outside—” Nayeon starts.
“Oh, just—fuck off, she’s not dying,” Jihyo snaps, heart dropping at the sight of tears streaking her best friend’s face. “What—?”
“Sprained ankle,” the old physician says, the Australian accent thick and his tone disturbingly casual. “She's out of the tournament, unfortunately.”
“Aaaahhhhh!!!”
Sejeong wails, hands smacking against the cushioned table then moving to cover her face. Her left foot is still clad with a pink Nike sneaker and a white sock. The right is bare, the swelling of the ankle already visible.
“I’ll give you a moment,” the physician murmurs, stepping out.
Nayeon has a hand pressed to her forehead, nursing a headache that’s bound to come soon. She starts to pace the length of the room while Jihyo steps closer to Sejeong's head.
“Sejeong-ah, I'm so sorry…”
“Jihyo, stop.” Sejeong's voice is strong. “This isn't your fault. I-I’m not even sure it's mine, maybe I slid wrong—”
“Of course this isn't your fault, come on…”
Jihyo’s voice is tired, exhausted. Her entire being is.
It’s been nearly a week since they’ve arrived. The year had barely begun when they landed in Melbourne, and despite a decade on tour, Jihyo still isn’t used to this godforsaken heat. Anyone who claims otherwise is lying through their teeth.
The truth is everyone’s tired, jet-lagged and the heat is punishing—it’s dry, shimmering, the kind that sticks to the skin and makes rackets feel hotter in your hands.
And Jihyo never gets the luxury of easing in.
She’d barely touched Australian soil before AO officials and PR handlers descended on her, ushering her into a private car while Nayeon and Sejeong waited for the shuttle. She only half-listened as the PR rep recited their corporate greeting speech in the lounge; she grabbed her credentials, her welcome kit, and bolted for the Langham across the street.
It was almost inhumane having to go through the moronic protocols before she could even lay her head on a pillow.
But that's what comes with being the no. 2 women tennis player in the world. It's the trade off. There's no escape.
“Your day is already packed tomorrow,” Nayeon had said, waiting for Jihyo at the hotel lobby with Sejeong, luggage on the floor and tablet glowing with an itinerary.
Jihyo had only groaned.
“Yep, first day of press interviews in the morning, a sponsor spot with Yonex in the afternoon and practice in the evening. And the last one is for the both of you,” Nayeon lifted her head and pointed at Jihyo and Sejeong before she thanked the nice receptionist with her best English and winning smile, keycard already in hand.
Sejeong had a small smile on her lips, hand rising to rub against Jihyo's shoulder. “Look at that, I have something to look forward to tomorrow. But I guess I'll sleep in and hit the pool later.”
“Fuck you, how about that?” Jihyo joked and they all laughed en route to the elevator. Jihyo almost dozed off before they got to their floor.
In that moment, maybe for just a split, delirious second, Jihyo envied Sejeong.
The freedom of being ranked 80th.
Rarely anyone ever looked for you, wanted to know your opinion or gameplay for the next match. Your every move didn't get analyzed, picked apart, scrutinized.
Jihyo missed that “freedom”.
Sometimes.
But the truth of the matter is, she's an addict.
Addicted to winning, addicted to the concept of greatness.
And with that, came all the rest. Jihyo had learned to adapt, to think beyond the confines of the court. She did well. There's official fanclubs in her name back in Korea. Other countries jokingly (she hopes) try to “claim” her as their own.
That's nice.
There's other certain freedoms that only someone of her status can get away with. And the decision taken by Jihyo and Sejeong back at her house, on a cold December night, was certainly an… indulgence.
Wine might've been involved in the process too.
Nayeon made sure to voice her disagreement in person. That same night.
“Are you two insane?”
That was her greeting, storming in through the front door.
Face flustered, but not the same shade of red that found its way to Jihyo and Sejeong’s smiling faces, she flashed her phone at them, Jihyo's story on Instagram shining bright on the screen.
“Why was I not made aware of this? For how long had you been planning this? Need I remind you that I'm the agent for the both of you?”
“We… literally just decided,” Jihyo snickered against her round glass, the steam fogging the inside. Sejeong drunkenly laughed, sprawled on the other couch.
Australian Open doubles here we come! 🧡🎾
That's the story. A selfie of the two Jihyo had taken, arms around each other, Sejeong holding a racket like a trophy.
Nayeon breathed deeply and tried to bring reasoning into the situation. “Sejeong-ah, no offense, but—” she turned to Jihyo, “—do you have any idea what this could do to your singles run? Jihyo, you could have two matches on the same day if you go through with this! You could risk an early round exit, or worse, an injury! This is a grand slam, we're not in a position to risk anything at the moment.”
After Nayeon finished her small speech, Sejeong seemed to sober up considerably, even if her voice hesitated. “W-we don’t have to, really. It was my idea. I got carried away—”
“I want to do it,” Jihyo said, steady, eyes fixed on Nayeon despite not lifting her head from the cushion.
“Jihyo—” they both tried.
“I’m doing it.”
Silence hung in the air for a long while, until Nayeon exhaled sharply and headed for the door.
“Fine. Whatever. Do what you want. Have you told Jeongyeon?”
“No…” Jihyo mumbled.
“Well, I’m going to,” Nayeon said. “And then you deal with her.”
She was gone before either of them could protest.
“You don’t like this, do you?” Jihyo asked the next morning, phone on speaker as she hovered over her coffee maker, nursing a dull hangover.
Sejeong still slept on the couch, a blanket half-kicked onto the floor.
“I don’t,” Jeongyeon said flatly. Her coach never wasted words. “But I don’t have much of a say here, do I?”
Jihyo always chose honesty with her. “No. I’m sorry. I have to do this. I want to do this.”
A sigh crackled through the speaker.
“I know,” Jeongyeon said, followed by a warning that almost sounded like a threat. “If this goes right, you’re skipping Doha, Abu Dhabi, Mexico—everything. You’re not touching a court until Miami. Understood?”
Jihyo smiled into her coffee. “Yep. Deal.”
A few days later, after Nayeon’s office sent out the press release officially announcing the Jihyo–Sejeong doubles pairing for the Australian Open, Jihyo invited her coach and agent—two of her closest friends—over for dinner.
Jeongyeon didn’t wait long. “Can I ask why you’re doing this?”
Jihyo had her answer ready, a tablet next to her wine glass that she pulled up and unlocked to show a page on Sports Illustrated’s website.
“For this.”
The article headline read, “Park Jihyo Does the Unthinkable: How a Childhood Bond Fuels the Chase for Immortality.”
“Jon Wertheim wrote it,” she said. One of the biggest voices in the sport. Writing for longer than she’d been alive.
Jeongyeon lifted an eyebrow. Nayeon took a measured sip of her drink.
“He’s right,” Jihyo said. “I want this more than anything right now. Was Sejeong selfish to ask? Yeah, maybe. Was I selfish to say yes? Absolutely.”
She leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, fire burning behind her eyes. “If I win both, I’d be the first woman in the Open Era to do it. Can you imagine that? I want history. And I know I can get it.”
By the time the year ended, the tennis world was buzzing with this development. It was already the biggest headline coming into the first major of the season. Why is the world No. 2 playing doubles? It was unheard of.
Jeongyeon arrived in Melbourne a day after the pair, just in time for their first doubles session.
Jihyo yawned before they even started warm-ups—yeah, the day had indeed been filled; her first interview for the AO official channel, rehashing her decision to play both draws; praising her childhood friend and doubles partner. Then a Yonex commercial that was supposed to be thirty seconds but kept her there for nearly three hours.
By the time she stepped onto the private practice court in the early evening, waving politely at the cluster of reporters and photographers, Jihyo was spent.
At least there wasn't a sign of her yet.
The days kept moving—more press, more photoshoots, singles practices, doubles practices. Interviewers kept circling back to her: would their paths cross only if the trophy was on the line?
Jihyo’s practiced smile was an answer of its own.
A few days later, she saw on social media that she had finally arrived in Melbourne. The spotlight shifted instantly. Jihyo didn’t mind. Not really.
She had too much to focus on. Distractions couldn’t be part of the plan.
Neither could Sejeong rolling her ankle three days before the tournament on a basic baseline drill.
And now she’s out.
She’s out.
In a move that shocked Jihyo, Nayeon had asked Jeongyeon to stay behind and deal with the press at the court. The coach simply nodded, squeezed Sejeong’s hand as she was helped up, and stayed put.
“This isn’t anyone’s fault,” Jihyo murmurs, her voice steadying as she tries to anchor her friend. “Okay? Shit like this just… happens.”
Sejeong’s face twists into a silent, agonized grimace. She nods, then lets her head fall back against the padded table.
Jihyo turns to Nayeon. “So… we withdraw from doubles. That’s next, right?”
“Right—”
“No.”
Sejeong's voice cuts through the short interaction, and when Jihyo looks back, Sejeong is sitting upright, rigid as a carved stone.
“Huh?”
“Find her a partner,” Sejeong says, sight directed at Nayeon, whose body seems to deflate as she hears this, dropping her hands to her knees and lowering her head in defeat.
“Sejeong, please—” Jihyo tries. She can see her friend's eyes turn wilder with each passing second. She must know it's over, that this silly dream of theirs is over.
“Jihyo, don't you do this to me. You wanna make history, don't you? You can still do it, you can—”
“Sejeong-ah, you do realize that this involved you too, right? I-I’m not a doubles player, the singles start in three days, the doubles in five. How the hell—”
“Just… find a way,” Sejeong whispers. The fight drains out of her; her shoulders slump. She reaches for Jihyo’s hand, who takes it without a word.
“Find a way. I’m selfish, okay? I know. I know. But you can do this. Win it for me. Win it for you. Please.”
Silence fills the room again, and Jihyo feels light-headed. What is there to say? She senses a tightness in her throat, but before it can threaten to turn into tears, Nayeon has a hold of her arm.
“Sejeong-ah, I’m gonna talk to Jihyo,” she says, already guiding Jihyo out the door. “We’ll come back for you, get you to the hotel, start treatment, okay?”
Jihyo doesn't see if Sejeong reacts. Nayeon is tugging her down the hallway so quickly she could barely keep up, her mind spinning.
“Please tell me you’re not actually considering this,” Nayeon bursts out the moment they are far enough away. She is wide-eyed, breathing fast, her agent's badge knocking against her chest.
Jihyo truly doesn't know what to say. Her nerves are shot, she feels like she's about to collapse at any moment. Thankfully the wall is able to withstand her weight.
“I–I don't know—”
“Jihyo,” Nayeon hisses, jaw clenched. “This was insane to begin with. But I put up with it, and Jeongyeon put up with it, because we knew how much it meant to both of you. But she’s out. It’s done. We can’t keep feeding this fantasy. You have a tournament to win. One you haven’t won yet. Remember that.”
That’s the thing.
Jihyo can’t think right now.
Her brain refuses to process anything useful; it’s too busy letting her feel. Letting her emotions stampede ahead of logic. It’s bad—she knows it’s bad—but she doesn’t want to know. Not right now.
Memories flood in instead.
Two kids meeting at the same tennis school. Sejeong with a head start, strokes already clean, footwork already confident. Jihyo scrambling behind her, trying to catch up, trying to match the game that seemed to come so effortlessly to her friend. She’d used it as fuel—wanting, even then, to wipe the smug little grin off Sejeong’s face every time they were paired against each other.
She thinks now that Sejeong had always seen something special in Jihyo before she could see it herself; she might’ve realized sooner than any coach might be willing to admit, that Jihyo was bound to be something special, that ambition to chase after greatness like it had done her wrong and she needed to reclaim it, just simmering under the surface.
And before long, Jihyo wasn’t chasing anymore. She was pulling away.
Sooner rather than later, she couldn’t even see Sejeong in the rearview mirror.
Miles separated them, even if they happened to share the same room. But Sejeong had always been there. When Jihyo won Roland Garros the first time, she was in Jihyo’s box. Then the second time, the third, the fourth. And when clay slipped away from her the following year—when Jihyo stumbled, broken, in the locker room—Sejeong was the one waiting with open arms.
Jihyo clenches her fists, feeling the burning behind her eyes as her jaw sets. The fire from Sejeong’s career had been dimming for a few seasons now. Jihyo couldn’t let it fizzle out like it was nothing.
“Find me a partner,” she says. Her voice doesn’t tremble. Her gaze lands on Nayeon with unwavering focus.
Her agent looks like she might actually punch her.
“Jihyo—”
“Find me a partner, Nayeon. I’m not kidding. And don’t release anything about Sejeong’s injury yet. Hold it. We’ll announce both things together.”
Nayeon immediately slumps and sighs; she knows it’s a lost battle for her, there’s no point fighting it further. If Jihyo weren’t this hard-headed, she wouldn’t have built the career she has, but this borders on outright insanity, and it leaves Nayeon stunned into silence for a full minute.
Jihyo waits. If anyone can do it, it’s Nayeon. She’s sure there’s someone out there crazy enough to jump head first into this opportunity. Nayeon may not even need to look much further, honestly. Everyone is in Australia already, she just needs to find another insane human being in a sea filled with them.
Jihyo is honestly scared when she hears Nayeon’s voice again, because a lightbulb seems to have gone off on her agent’s head and her tone becomes slightly unhinged, even if she tries to hide it.
“Okay. I’ll find someone. But I’m gonna tell you right now, you’re not gonna like it. And I don’t fucking care. If you’re willing to pull this stunt, we’re going all the way with this shit. Got it?”
“There’s no stunt—”
“Jihyo. Do you understand me?”
Nayeon extends a hand. Jihyo looks at it and hesitates for a second before taking it.
“Yes.”
They shake. Jihyo forgets, until moments like this, how big and strong her friend’s hands actually are.
“I’m leaving to get this sorted. I’ll send Jeongyeon to come get you two. You’ll have your partner by tomorrow afternoon.”
And with that, Nayeon is marching out through the sliding door, low heels clacking down the hallway. Jihyo releases a breath she’d been storing deep in her lungs.
Fuck. She needs a Gatorade.
—
It’s too early in the morning for this, Mina knows. She shouldn’t be here at this hour, the sun barely rising outside, but the concept of time has been lost to her momentarily.
Mostly because she hasn’t slept. And not for any of the fun reasons.
The coffee tastes hot and bitter when it touches her tongue, and she prefers it like that. It’s a shot of courage that she doesn’t even know why she needs it. The woman behind this door has never given her real trouble. In almost a decade of working together, Mina has never once hesitated to knock, never rehearsed a speech in her head that refused to form.
This is all Nayeon’s fault.
She really should have never answered that call.
“Mina-yah! Hi! How are you? Oh, it’s been so long! Can you talk right now?”
The woman frowns slightly, surprised at the tone coming from the fellow agent. She adjusts her grip on her luggage and slides into a cab, her tired body slumping against the comfortable leather seat.
“Langham, please—hi, Nayeon unnie,” Mina speaks in Korean, giving the older woman the proper respect. “Yeah, it’s been… a long time, actually. I’m on my way to the hotel but yeah, I can talk. What’s up?”
Mina can practically hear the caffeine buzzing in Nayeon’s bloodstream. It wouldn’t shock her if she could smell the espresso through the phone.
She's tired, can't you tell?
“What I’m about to ask you, Mina-yah, is by far the craziest thing anyone has ever asked you in your career. And I’m going to need you to say yes.”
Mina quietly chuckles into the speaker. “You’re kinda scaring me here, unnie. Come on, tell me.”
“I’m sure you saw what Jihyo announced for this tournament, right? It’s everywhere.”
Mina nods, staring out at the blurry Melbourne lights. All she wants is a bed. A shower. Silence.
“Yeah. Your girl is all kinds of insane, but the commitment is impressive. Still not sure what that has to do with me, no offense.”
That’s when the beat of silence stretches a tad longer. Something tightens low in Mina’s stomach. Her intuition rarely betrays her, and right now it’s screaming.
“Sejeong, her partner, sprained her ankle a few hours ago. She's out.”
“That's unfortunate.”
“Very. I tried talking Jihyo out of it, but it would be easier to get Kyrgios to shut up for an entire match. She still wants to do it. And she needs a new partner.”
Mina's heartbeat flatlines for a second. No. No, she wouldn’t—Nayeon wouldn’t. Surely not.
“Unnie… you’re not thinking…” her voice shrinks. So does her will to live.
“Give me Sana, Mina-yah. I need her.”
Something high-pitched escapes Mina's throat, so bizarre that even the cab driver glances at her through the rearview mirror.
“Unnie, you can't be serious.”
“I'm very serious, Mina.”
“You want the number one player in the world… to play doubles?”
“With the number two player in the world, yes.”
“Which also happens to be her rival!”
“I know. Think of the stories, Mina-yah. The world will eat this up with a spoon and thank us.”
Nayeon has that tone again, slightly maniacal and intimidating. Mina is suddenly thankful that they’re not in the same room. She rubs her forehead.
“Unnie, I can’t. This is absurd, you know that. Sana will never go for it. I don’t want her to go for it! What if she gets injured? It’s too big of a risk.”
“You don’t think I gave the exact same speech to Jihyo a month ago? Yet, here we are.”
“It’s too big of an ask, Nayeon unnie. I’m sorry.”
“Mina-yah, I didn’t want to do this. Believe me on that. But you owe me. Remember?”
Mina goes still.
“…What?”
“Who put you in that room with UNIQLO? And who’s Sana's most lucrative sponsor today?”
Mina wants to scream into the humid air of Melbourne when she gets out of her cab. The lobby of the Langham is near, but Mina remains outside, stunned to silence with what her ears are hearing.
“What the fuck, unnie? Are you a loan shark or something?”
“I can be. Trust me, I wish I had a better moment to collect. But this is the one I’ve got.”
They’re not friends. Despite the respectful treatment that Mina offers her elder, they share the same field and fight the same battles. It’s a competition of its own, really. But Nayeon has carved a longer path in the industry, has connections that many can only envy her for.
And god damn it, it was Nayeon who slipped her name to the UNIQLO board. Mina walked out with the largest sponsorship deal a women’s tennis player had ever secured. She earned it…
But Nayeon had swung that door open.
Damn it.
When she speaks again, Mina realises quickly that Nayeon is trying to soften her tone. It sounds less demanding, more fatigued.
“Just… talk to her. Please. As batshit crazy as it seems, it is a chance for both of them to make history. Can you imagine the two of them reaching both finals? We’d be set for life, Mina-yah.”
Mina shuts her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.
“... I’m not promising anything.”
“Fine. I need an answer by tomorrow.”
The previous night had bled straight into the morning for Mina, and she silently curses Nayeon for it.
Before she can talk herself out of it, she knocks on the door to Sana’s room. It opens a moment later, and there she is—Sana, smiling sleepily, auburn hair loose and soft around her shoulders, eyes still heavy but warm. The black lace pajamas don’t even faze Mina anymore. Not today.
“Hey, good morning. You’re here early.”
Sana’s voice is low, husky from sleep. Mina envies her with a vengeance.
“G’morning. Sana-chan, I… need to talk to you.”
She steps inside and makes a beeline for the armchair in the corner of the suite. Sana sweeps the curtains open, letting sunlight spill into the room. Mina sets her coffee on the side table and lets her head fall back against the chair.
“Mina-chan, is everything okay?”
She hears Sana’s voice, soft and caring. She doesn’t show concern, but rather offers comfort with just simple words.
Mina chooses to breathe. It needs to be a conscious decision at this point.
“Yeah. I think. Maybe I’m being dramatic. I had way too much coffee. Which, you know, not my thing. But I do need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Okay,” Sana says gently. “Can you tell me while I get ready, or do you need my full attention? I can sit with you. And stop drinking that coffee.”
Mina lets out a small, uneven laugh. What had she done in a past life to deserve Sana.
“You can change while I talk. Maybe that’s for the best.”
“Alright then.” Sana smiles, brushing past her on the way to the bathroom. “What’s got you so worked up?”
It’s easier to start speaking when Sana is no longer in her line of vision.
“You know Nayeon, right?”
From the bathroom, Sana’s voice floats back to her. “Yeah. Jihyo’s agent. She’s… intense. Why?”
“I never told you this,” Mina begins, fingers tightening around the arm of the chair, “but Nayeon’s helped me out a few times in my career. Big things. I… owe her a huge favor.”
“I don’t like where this is going, Mina-chan. But go on.”
Mina inhales, drops her gaze to her lap.
“Jihyo is going to play doubles this year, you know that already. But her partner got injured last night. She’s not withdrawing, and she needs a new one.” A pause. “You know where I’m going with this.”
Mina only hears the soft thuds of Sana’s bare feet coming around the corner of the bathroom.
“What the hell kind of favor was this? Did she kill someone for you?”
Mina lifts her eyes and sees Sana now, already dressed in her cream one-piece that grazes her thighs and leaves the rest of her long legs exposed, lighting up the room. But she’s frowning.
Mina lets out a humorless huff. “I wish. That’d be easier to negotiate than this.”
She gestures toward Sana. “That logo on your chest…”
Sana glances down at the UNIQLO tiny patch, confused. “What about it?”
Mina bites her lip. “She’s the one who got me in that room, Sana-chan.”
Sana leans her back against the wall behind her, crossing her arms.
“Holy shit, Mina…”
“Yeah…”
Mina keeps quiet after that, and waits. She watches as Sana moves to grab water from the mini fridge and drink the bottle in almost one gulp.
“Let me get this straight,” Sana eventually says. “You want me to be Park Jihyo's partner? Play singles and doubles?”
“No, I don't want that,” Mina says, shaking her head. “I want you to focus on dominating and winning this thing again. What I need from you is… to say yes to this insane—”
“I'll do it.”
Mina nearly chokes on nothing but air. Very few things in the world manage to catch her off guard—but Sana has a habit of being the exception. This is just another example.
“Wha—you’re serious?”
Sana marches forward and sits on the edge of the bed; her smile is genuine, her eyes sincere. She takes a hold of Mina's hands.
“You’ve helped me so much in my career, and you never ask for anything in return,” Sana says softly. “You need this favor. So let me do it for you. I want to help you.”
Mina feels the gentle squeeze of her palm, the softness of Sana’s hand, still somehow untouched by the calluses that should come with her forehand.
A pile of emotions come rushing to remind Mina that it's still too damn early in the morning, but Sana makes sure to give it another squeeze.
The younger woman could easily cry at that moment. Her free hand trembles up toward her face as relief washes over her.
“Oh, thank God…”
She never wants to owe Im Nayeon a single thing ever again.
Mina can't fully settle into a calmer state just yet, the caffeine is still doing its damn job in her bloodstream, so she can't fully comprehend what she's hearing. This could so easily become a disaster for everyone involved. She knows it. Sana knows it. The entire WTA will know it once the news breaks.
But behind Sana’s soft expression, behind all that warmth, Mina recognizes a flicker of something else. Something… delighted. Competitive. Maybe a little unhinged.
A spark.
“Thank you, really,” Mina says, narrowing her eyes. “But… you seem a little too happy about this. Dahyun is going to lose her mind. And you do realize you’re signing up to play doubles with someone who basically hates you?”
“I know,” Sana giggles, standing from the bed. “That’s part of the fun.”
“Aren’t you worried about what this could do to your singles run? This could ruin everything we planned.”
“You really don't want me to do this, do you?” Sana laughs.
“I really don't!” Mina wails in a quiet manner, as only she could, shaking her head.
Sana taps gently on the back of her hands before Mina finally collapses against the chair, heart racing again. This can’t be good. None of this can be good.
When Mina opens her eyes, Sana is tightening the laces of her sneakers.
“You’re not worried you’ll burn out in singles because of this? Not even a little?” Mina asks.
“How many Australian Opens do I have, Mina-chan?”
“One.”
“The way I see it, by the end of the month I can have three,” Sana says, rising to her feet. Her eyes gleam with a giddiness Mina hasn’t seen in ages. “Plus, Park Jihyo needs my help?”
“Oh, god…” Mina groans.
“I like knowing that, when it comes to her, I’ll always be on top.”
Mina watches that smirk that settles on Sana's lips and decides she's never going to owe anyone any favors ever again.
—
Jihyo runs.
Not because she likes it.
Well, she does. It's not her favorite activity in the world, but she does enjoy seeing her feet move, steadily and on pace, moving towards a goal, a finish line.
It's a means to an end. It has a purpose.
The continuous rhythm and pace of a run usually calms down whatever fire Jihyo has to deal within her; whether on the street where she can see trees moving past her or inside an air-conditioned gym where the movement is confined to her ability to keep up with the treadmill, Jihyo’s mind blanks, refocuses and finds itself again after she’s through.
What happened to Sejeong demands Jihyo to run.
The look of sheer sadness and disappointment after Jihyo and Jeongyeon brought her back to her room, nursed her ankle with what the physician ordered, and left her to rest haunted the younger woman for the rest of the night. Which is why, at 6am sharp, she was finishing a protein bar, plugging in her earphones, and stepping onto the first treadmill she saw.
3% incline. 8.8km/h.
Light work. Just enough to keep her together.
Nayeon nearly makes her wipe out when she materializes at her side forty minutes later.
“Hey!”
“Jesus Christ—fuck, unnie!!”
Jihyo grips the sturdy handles of the treadmill like a lifeline, her right foot skidding dangerously close to the edge of the belt. She’s ready to curse Nayeon into oblivion, but the maniacal grin on Nayeon’s face paired with the large, dark bags under her eyes tells Jihyo that it wasn’t just her that couldn’t sleep well.
Nayeon looks like she hasn’t slept at all.
“I found your partner,” Nayeon announces. “Get down from there. You’re gonna meet her now.”
Jihyo powers off the treadmill and lets out a breathy laugh, wiping sweat from her brow. “Can you give me one minute to change? I’m soaked, I can’t meet her like thi—”
“No.” Nayeon grabs her wrist and drags her toward the exit. “We don’t have time. She’s waiting. Move.”
“Fine, fine,” Jihyo mutters, matching Nayeon’s frantic pace. “Who is she? Someone I know?”
“Oh, you definitely know her,” Nayeon laughs and Jihyo is definitely starting to get concerned. “I’m not telling you, you need to see for yourself.”
They stop in front of a large conference room. Nayeon pushes the door open and practically shoves Jihyo inside.
A sharp sting flares when one of Nayeon’s nails scratches her wrist.
“Hey—be careful! I need my wrists to play. This is the moneymaker—”
Jihyo hears her before she sees her.
What she sees first is a preview of the disaster that unfolds in front of her quickly, barely giving her time to breathe properly. She sees Jeongyeon in a corner of the room, one hand resting on her hips as the other covers her mouth, watching intently as… Kim Dahyun speaks to her.
Coach. Kim Dahyun.
Oh no. Fuck, no.
That can only mean—
“Park Jihyo…”
The voice floats toward her like a choir of demons cosplaying as angels. She hears that giggle that rattles her to her core, that she has loathed from the moment heard it for the first time when they were still teenagers.
It sing-songs Jihyo’s name in perfect Korean, the accent as if she’d come from Jeju-do herself, the intonation pristine. To Jihyo, it’s nails on a chalkboard.
Minatozaki Sana stands across the room—long legs bared beneath an elegant tennis dress, rocking playfully on her heels, gleeful expression stamped on her face.
Jihyo’s breath stutters.
She scans the room for a racket she can smash to dust.