Chapter Text
“And that is all for team All-Net. Moving on to team Ace Dragons…!”
The sportscaster’s voice made Taemin snap his head up and stare at the big monitor, indirectly telling his babbling best friend to dry up and focus on the game for once, though it hadn’t officially begun yet. They were going to introduce the starting line-up for each team, which was simply Taemin’s second favourite part of the match.
“Lead up by Choi Minseok, then Shim Changmin—the big middle blocker. Next is Jung Yunho, followed by Lee Jinki, the setter, then Choi Minho, the outside hitter, and lastly, Kim Jonghyun, the libero of the dragons!”
With each name came a player in red, joyous and enthusiastic from the tremendous support from the bleachers around the arena. It was a big thing now in Seoul, where they sent amazing volleyball teams to fight for one championship title, but indeed, the title was not the only reward that kept these men flying.
The real deal about this was that the team who won the league would be sent off for professional training and that only meant one thing: a much brighter future with more pay and better benefits of travelling. It couldn’t be helped that the Asian Senior Men’s Volleyball Champion was coming too. These achievement-thirsted men desired exclusive tickets to those limited spots.
“Your hyung plays as what, again?” Kibum asked, his eyes squinted to find the familiar face on the court as the players readied themselves into position. “And who is that hottie?”
“First of all, Kibum, we are here to watch the game—not the boys,” Taemin admonished with a cheeky wave of his hand and grinned when his hand landed on Kibum’s cheek by accident. “Secondly, he plays as the setter. Just right there.”
Yeah, that was primarily the reason why Taemin was there. Jinki, the setter, was his brother.
Taemin had always been a volleyball fan, considering the number of matches he watched for fun with Jinki when they were still kids. Even so, his interest only stayed as a favourite pastime and nothing more.
Unlike him, though, Jinki pursued that hobby. As a result, he attended the volleyball academy (while Taemin struggled with the science stream in high school), graduated at 23, and joined Ace Dragons at 25. Being 31 now, nothing ever worked to snatch away his passion for being on the court, and that brought Taemin there—his first ever live game after all these years of supporting behind the screen.
All for his brother.
“You’ve got to ask him the name of that lad. The one’s wearing a different coloured jersey,” Kibum peeped before Taemin silenced him once more, just in time for the referee to blow the whistle and call the game to start.
Let the fun begin.
—
“In position, in position!” The captain yelled while bending his knees slightly.
Only 7 minutes in, and The All-Net already had three service errors, giving Ace Dragons three free points in addition to their existing five ones. But Minho knew it had fewer things to do with skills and more about their half-cooked strategy. It was corny.
One serve from the opponent and the ball dashed towards him. Then right on cue, Minho dug for it with his forearms before closing in towards the front row again, making space for Jinki to set and Minseok to attack. He did it with vigour, driven by a single purpose of claiming another point, but his movement was rushed, just way too predictable.
“Oh, what a brilliant save by Jung Jaeyoung of All-Net! He wouldn't let that one go.”
So no, of course, that was not enough.
The ball returned to their side of the court in a blistering spike, the one that sent Jonghyun sliding down the floor to punch it up and caught by Jinki again before the rhythm count returned to the back of their minds like a religious mantra.
Pass, set, tip.
Pass, set, attack.
Pass, set, spike.
One, two, three. One, two—
Minho gave Yunho a knowing sidelong glance before the taller man launched forward forcefully, prompting action from the All-Net blockers with their arms flailed high in a far-fetched attempt to shut off the hit.
However, what awaited them was not a charge from the opposite hitter but the captain himself as he jumped higher from the back row, slamming the ball right above the net and sending it straight to the ground in a booming thump while the crowd cheered aloud.
“And there he goes again, Choi Minho!” The announcer laughed heartily, taken aback but unarguably used to powerful spikes from the said man. “Beautifully done with the fake hit from Jung Yunho before the crosscourt monster piped and had it all the way in. 120 km/h from the back, that was sick, mate.”
And someone—a random someone—amid the rowdy audience on the bleachers seemed to agree with the comment because he couldn’t peel his hand off his mouth, still confounded by the whole scene that just unfolded before his eyes even after people had moved on and the game resumed as usual.
—
“Holy moly! He smacked the hell out of the floor, and the ball bounced to hit that poor bloke’s face!” Kibum screeched at the replay, even looked away at the slow-mo, but Taemin was quiet.
No, he fell silent.
No, he might as well fall in love with this man called the crosscourt monster. A crosscourt monster, huh. A captain, too. Who was he, again? Which one was he? The one with the blinding smile, right? That one? Choi what?
“—min. Taemin!”
He blinked in surprise and turned to face Kibum, whose facial expression was somewhat unreadable. Taemin scratched his nape while grinning apologetically, awkward and visibly flustered under his friend's scrutiny. “Y-yes?”
“I’ve been calling your name five times. What’s up with you? Focus!” Kibum chided while jerking his chin at the libero. “The second set is about to start.”
Oh. Right.
Taemin slid his gaze back to the main arena and continued observing until it was pinned to the man standing way outside the court box, skilful fingers rolling the ball back and forth in preparation for the first serve. It was the same man as before—the one who spiked so hard the world shook, the dragon’s most treasured crosscourt monster, the rightful leader.
And Taemin must be mentally ill already because within the next second, he was so sure that their eyes met (it was brief as hell), his blush darkened, and the captain smiled swiftly in his way.
Then the referee blew the whistle again, leaving Taemin all red on the bleacher as the ball flew high in the air.
—
The second set flew by surprisingly fast. The Goddess of Victory must be on Ace Dragons’ side, judging from how they consistently led the game from the start. First, it was 25-16 on the scoreboard, then 25-19, next, who knew?
Eventually, the third set began. The atmosphere in the arena had gone beyond heated, the air thick with the audience’s well-restrained frustration and the players’ dripping competitiveness.
They had different priorities here—for Minho and the team, they wanted to win, move on to the semi-finals, and call it a day, as simple as that. For Jaeyoung and the rest, however, they needed this win to redeem themselves for the additional set. That was the only way for them to turn the tables on Ace Dragons, so they were not planning to go easy this round.
Not anymore.
“One!” Jonghyun announced swiftly to accept the first ball, always so good at calculating the trajectory before steering it back to the middle, where Jinki was already waiting to set over to Minseok for a dramatic finish.
Yet, the rally proceeded. The opposing libero was not any weaker, and it was only a matter of time for the yellow volleyball to attack the Ace Dragons back, like karma but in the shape of a dangerous pounce.
“That way—that.” Minho hushed and nudged Changmin towards the right-end side of the net before they hopped off high, both arms thrust forward and outstretched, intending and successfully blocking the vengeful spike from entering their side.
The ball hit Minho’s palm and fell back onto All-Net’s court, out of reach from their teammates to the very last moment. That was another point for the Ace Dragons.
“That is a huge monster block from Shim Changmin and Choi Minho! Nothing could possibly move past that!”
They laughed, gave each other a messy high-5, and Minho jogged out of the court to catch a new volleyball from the helper team.
“Match point!” The referee announced loudly.
It was 24 to 21. The captain realised then, as he looked up at the scoreboard and noticed the 3 points difference from All-Net, that all he needed was another point to win this game. No mistake. Another point, and it ended, the semi-finals will be a certainty, a reality, just as they imagined their future to be.
So Minho took a deep inhale, back muscles flexing from the prolonged inhalation before he spun the ball up and jumped. It was as if his figure was sculptured exactly for flying, and with an accurate angle and absurd force, he slammed the ball down and targeted it right to their adversary’s unguarded libero. It went through the little spaces of opportunity at high speed.
And the strategy seemed to go as planned because as Minho landed back on his feet and tried to regain his position, the loud whistle rang in his ears. He had no time to react or question why, afraid he might’ve sent it too far it was a failure for his first ball.
However, when his team came in for an unexpected bone-crushing hug, almost toppling him over onto the ground, he knew it was the best of those two possibilities. The screen above their heads replayed the scene where Minho leapt, a massive swing of 115 km/h intentionally avoided by the All-Net players thinking that it would skid out but somehow landed perfectly on the line in a loud boom.
“Ball in!”
The grin split across Minho’s face as he pumped a fist high, a gesture full of pride, a sign of glory to the chant of “Choi Minho! Choi Minho! Choi Minho!” resounding throughout the arena. It still didn’t feel quite real, but one look at his teammates’ smiles and their silly dances on the court quickly batted away that off-putting doubt.
It was real, he convinced himself again when the local reporter came close, complimentary words already spilling out of his mouth before even reaching his ears. This was real.
“Congratulations, Captain! That was an impressive play from the start to the end, and I’m sure you’d be delighted to know that Ace Dragons is the first team to qualify for the semi-finals. Any words regarding that?”
“Is it?” Minho laughed and ruffled his hair, waving off his friends who urged him to be quick for the group photo. “Ah, I don’t know. I’m beyond happy right now—the boys have been working so hard, really. I only helped to ensure we stay coordinated and consistent throughout the match.”
“It’s a big help, I’d wager, Captain. Congratulations once again, and go celebrate it with the others!”
“Cheers!”
Then Minho turned around, threw himself onto Jinki’s back and smiled widely at the camera as the coach framed this memory in a picture. It would be nice to look back at it someday because each game only matured them for the better.
But then, in his peripheral vision, Minho glimpsed Jinki waving his hand enthusiastically at the bleachers. Curiously, he leaned over, propping his chin on the older man’s shoulder while following his line of sight. “Who are you waving at, Jin?”
“Oh! Those two. That’s Kibum, a childhood friend of mine but a best friend of my younger brother,” Jinki said while pointing at the guy in a beret, to which Minho gave only a short nod at him in greeting. “And that–the one next to him is my younger brother.”
This guy was so much smaller. His frame was slender, he was blond, but his face flushed deep red, and suddenly it clicked in Minho’s mind. An appearance so beautiful that he couldn’t have mistaken it for anybody else; this was the same person that Minho had caught staring at him before. It must be him.
“Ah,” Minho answered, a beat too late, with a fond smile gracing his lips. The warmth in his chest burst when Jinki’s younger brother blushed harder and attempted to look away, baiting a chuckle from the captain. “No wonder.”
—
Gentle knocks on the door drew Jinki out of his fictional world, so he closed the book and put it aside on the end table. “Come in.”
A blond head peeked in, followed by a cheeky grin on a flawless visage as Taemin stepped inside. He left the door slightly ajar. “Am I disturbing your rest, hyung?”
“No, not at all.” Jinki laughed. “What is it, Taemin? Are you hungry? Should I order food for us?”
“No–no, I’m not hungry,” Taemin replied quickly with a clumsy swat of both hands, almost hitting his knuckles on the doorknob. Jinki only eyed his younger brother intently, slightly tickled by his demeanour that night but said nothing more to make Taemin spill it out. “I just… wanna ask something.”
“And what is it, hmm?”
Taemin chewed on his lower lip, glanced up for a millisecond, and then darted his gaze back to his feet again. “W… when is your next game, hyung?”
Now, this was surprising. Taemin liked volleyball, yes, but he was never keen to watch it live. In fact, he never offered to attend any matches save for the one they had today, but that was only because Jinki pestered him.
“In two days,” he answered nonetheless, narrowing his eyes to recall anything that probably happened back in the arena but had already slipped his mind. “Why, Taemin?”
“May I come and watch, then?”
“You… want to come and watch us play?”
Taemin nodded fervently. He was brimming with excitement that Jinki couldn’t help but sigh and nod to the request, accusations shoved aside. “Fine, fine. I’ll get the tickets for you and Kibum.”
“Thank you so much, hyung!” Taemin exclaimed as he slid out of Jinki’s room, though a moment later, he popped back in, long eyelashes batting inquiringly. “One more question.”
“Yes, Taemin, what is it this time?” Jinki teased.
“The libero–what is his name?”
“Libero? You mean, Jonghyun?”
Taemin blinked once. “Likely. Jonghyun? Okay. Jonghyun.” And he pulled the door shut, leaving Jinki even more perplexed on the bed because he knew for a fact that Jonghyun was not anywhere close to Taemin’s ideal type to begin with.
So, why?
His phone suddenly vibrated, notifying a message from a fellow teammate.
From: Capt. #99
I found this arena pass, but I couldn’t be sure if it were your younger brother’s, so help me out. What’s his name? :)
Jinki raised both eyebrows. It took him a minute to understand the context of that random message, then another minute to realise that it was just a mindless statement without even a picture of the arena pass in question because all the sender wanted was the name of his younger brother.
“Choi Minho, you punk—”