PS | Chapter 3.7

The murmurs around them spread quickly. Jehyuk pressed his lips together, his expression hardening. At this point, stretching with Ijun was out of the question, so he turned away to find another partner. Fortunately, he got along fine with the rest of the team, so there was no need to stick with Ijun.

Just as he turned, Ijun let out an annoyed huff and quickly followed after him. He grabbed Jehyuk’s sleeve, pulling him back.

“Hey, my bad. I was in a hurry, that’s all.”

“Let go and talk.”

Jehyuk smacked away Ijun’s hand, his grip firm and cold. This time, though, Ijun didn’t snap back. Instead, he let out a sigh, as if he had finally calmed down.

“I don’t know what was so urgent, but don’t go around selling my information to other people again. I don’t want unnecessary drama within the team.”

“Alright, alright. I’m really sorry, okay?” Ijun admitted, looking a little guilty. Then, with a bit of hesitation, he added, “I kinda like Han Bada. I just wanted to make a good impression.”

Jehyuk blinked. He had suspected something from the way Ijun’s face lit up at the sight of Bada, but he hadn’t expected him to come right out and admit it. More than that, he never knew Ijun was into guys. Then again, it wasn’t that he hadn’t known—it was just that he had never really cared to think about it.

“How is that supposed to make a good impression?”

“I helped solve something he was struggling with, right? Thanks to that, I scored some points, and he even came to watch today’s game.”

Ijun’s entire face brightened at the mention of Bada. He really must like him. Seeing this side of him for the first time, Jehyuk felt his irritation start to wane. After all, Ijun was still a friend—probably the closest one he had in the soccer team.

Jehyuk turned his head back toward the stands, where Bada was sitting. His expression was unreadable, but he was smiling brightly. When he waved, Ijun grinned wordlessly in return, clearly over the moon.

But then, Jehyuk noticed something—something that didn’t sit right. Han Bada was dating Yoon Sihoo.

What the hell was going on?

Did Ijun even know why Bada had wanted Sihoo’s number in the first place? He was obviously head over heels for Bada, but was he really fine with the fact that Bada was seeing Sihoo?

“You… do you know why Han Bada wanted to contact Sihoo?” Jehyuk asked cautiously. If he wasn’t careful, this could turn into a real mess.

At the end of the day, Bada wasn’t his friend—Ijun was. He didn’t want him to get hurt.

“He said Sihoo’s really well-known in the department, so he wanted to get closer to him.”

“That’s not it.”

Ijun’s eyes widened at Jehyuk’s firm denial. “Then what is it?”

“They’re…”

Jehyuk’s lips felt dry. Saying it now, right before the game, didn’t seem like the right move. It would be better to talk about it afterward.

“…Never mind. Let’s just focus on the match first.”

Ijun looked at him suspiciously but didn’t press any further. Instead, he lightly smacked Jehyuk’s arm, as if calling him a killjoy.

“Man, way to be vague.”

“Just stretch. Coach is still watching.”

And right on cue, Coach Shin started walking toward them. Ijun, sensing danger, tried to make a quick escape, but the coach stopped him with a sharp gesture.

As soon as he reached them, his voice boomed. “Get your head in the game! What the hell are you two bickering about right before a match?!”

“Sorry, sir,” Jehyuk quickly apologized, bowing his head.

Coach Shin, who was shorter than Jehyuk, reached up and pressed a firm hand on his head, pushing it down as if to physically drill his words into him.

“You remember what I told you, right? There are scouts here today. They’re coming all the way out to see you play because they’re considering signing you. And this is how you’re acting? Get your act together. Don’t cause problems.”

With that, Coach Shin shot a glance toward the stands—toward Han Bada.

“Stay out of unnecessary trouble.”

His tone made it sound like he knew exactly what was going on. Clicking his tongue, he walked away, leaving behind a tense atmosphere.

Ijun let out a frustrated sigh. “Damn, that was a mess. Let’s just get this over with.”

He casually returned to stretching, acting like nothing had happened. But Jehyuk couldn’t shake the uneasiness settling in his gut.

Everything about this situation was bad. Every match was crucial at this point, and now there was unnecessary tension right before the game. He had always known that this year was his last chance, but now, with money being tighter than ever, the desperation weighed on him even more.

If he had parents he could rely on like Ijun and the others, maybe he wouldn’t feel so cornered. But problems like these had followed him his entire life.

Taking a deep breath, Jehyuk tried to push the thoughts aside. A formless anxiety coiled in his chest, but there was no time to dwell on it.

The match was about to start.

He lightly slapped his own cheeks. Now’s not the time for distractions.

The match went smoothly, making Jehyuk’s earlier uneasiness seem laughable. Everything had gone as expected. It wasn’t a high-stakes tournament where motivation was high, and from the start, there had been a clear gap in skill levels. The first half ended scoreless, with only two shots on target. In the second half, Ijun played a major role.

As an aggressive midfielder, Ijun had always had good passing synergy with Jehyuk. Today, he assisted two of Jehyuk’s goals, earning himself two official assists. Near the end of the match, he also set up the winger for the final goal with a great pass.

It was an expected outcome, but a win was still a win. The feeling of accomplishment that came from giving his all in a match—this was the most genuine and pure emotion in Jehyuk’s life. No one could interfere with it. Without this feeling, he probably would’ve quit soccer a long time ago.

Jejuuk continued playing soccer for his parents, but more than that, he did it because he loved moments like this. He liked proving what he could achieve through his own skill and effort. On the field, things like his family background and financial struggles didn’t define his worth.

The gloomy feeling from the day before vanished instantly. Even though he had played the full match without being substituted, his body felt light. He wiped off his sweat with a towel and plopped down onto the bench. Coach Shin was nowhere to be seen—he had shaken hands with the opposing coach immediately after the match, looking as if the outcome had been obvious, then disappeared somewhere.

As Jehyuk sipped on a bottle of water, Ijun sat down next to him. Jehyuk handed him a towel, which Ijun accepted with a casual “Thanks.”

“You played well today,” Jehyuk remarked.

Ijun grinned brightly, seemingly having forgotten their earlier friction. “For real?”

“You already know the answer, why ask?”

Ijun rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed but unable to hide his pride. “Yeah… I gotta admit, I really did well today. If I’d played like this during the last tournament, scouts would’ve been all over me.”

“Just keep improving at this pace.”

“Thanks, man.”

Ijun patted Jehyuk’s shoulder a couple of times. Jehyuk instinctively flinched at the contact but forced himself to stay still. It’s fine. We’re both drenched in sweat anyway. He repeated this to himself until his discomfort eased.

“You think Bada was impressed too?” Ijun asked after finishing his bottle of water.

How would Jehyuk know? He had no idea why Bada was even here when he was supposed to be dating Sihoo.

“Not sure.”

“Why not?”

“How would I know what he’s thinking? But you played well, so why don’t you go ask him yourself?”

Jehyuk debated whether to tell Ijun what he had been about to say before the match. On one hand, it wasn’t his place to interfere. But on the other, he didn’t want Ijun to get hurt because of a misunderstanding. He kept wavering between telling him and staying out of it.

After a few minutes of contemplation, he decided to keep quiet. Keeping his distance was something he had always done, and besides, if there was anyone who wouldn’t want him involved in this situation, it was Sihoo. But he wasn’t sure.

“You’re right. I’ll go talk to him,” Ijun said, getting up. “If the captain asks where I went, just tell him I left. Let me know if anything comes up.”

Before Jehyuk could stop him, Ijun was already heading toward Bada. Jehyuk turned to watch him go—and then he saw something unexpected.

Someone was sitting next to Bada.

The two of them were engaged in a close conversation, their postures familiar, their expressions friendly. The guy was tall, and he looked like someone Jehyuk knew.

He looks just like… Sihoo.

“Hey, why the hell is Yoon Sihoo over there?” Ijun stopped mid-step, turning back to Jehyuk. He had clearly picked up on the same thing.

Jehyuk bit his lip. It wasn’t just someone who looked like Sihoo—it was Sihoo.

He had assumed Sihoo wouldn’t come since he hadn’t replied to any of his texts.

The joy of winning faded instantly, replaced by a dull, unfamiliar sense of disappointment. It was strange. He had never felt this way about Sihoo before, but lately, he had been feeling all sorts of emotions toward him. His heart kept stirring, for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp.

Did Bada ask Sihoo to come with him? That was the only explanation. Otherwise, there was no reason for him to be here while ignoring Jehyuk’s messages.

He had heard that when people started dating, they prioritized their partners over their friends. If that was true for Sihoo too… the realization left him feeling oddly empty.

“I don’t know,” Jehyuk finally answered.

Ijun shot him a disbelieving look. Then, right on cue, Bada linked his arm through Sihoo’s—just like he had yesterday. Sihoo didn’t push him away, and Ijun, who had been looking back and forth between Jehyuk and Bada, finally saw it.

It was obvious to anyone that they weren’t just friends.

Ijun’s face twisted. “What do you mean, you don’t know? Aren’t you and Sihoo supposed to be best friends? How do you not know? You were the one who gave Bada his number.”

Jehyuk didn’t feel like answering. The whole thing had already been a pain to deal with. He hadn’t expected things to turn out this way, and he had nearly gotten into an argument with Sihoo because of it. But he didn’t want to shift the blame onto Ijun and start another fight.

“This is your situation, so handle it yourself,” he said curtly, intending to walk past Ijun.

But Ijun grabbed his wrist.

The unpleasant sensation made Jehyuk instinctively jerk away, his reaction sharper than expected. A loud slap echoed as his hand smacked Ijun’s away.

The noise drew attention. Other players, including some midfielders who were particularly close to Ijun, turned to look.

“You knew but didn’t tell me,” Ijun accused, his voice bitter. “You must’ve had a real laugh watching me act like an idiot.”

“Don’t assume things. I never did that.”

“Yeah? Like hell you didn’t.”