Chapter Text
The buzzer signalling the end of the game echoes through the arena a second after Seokjin sees the ball leave Yoongi’s fingertips. Breathing heavily, he turns towards the scoreboard, breaking out into a wide grin when he sees the numbers.
55-51
They won.
A weight that he belatedly registers as Hoseok slams into him, causing Seokjin to stumble forward. Hoseok’s arm is around his shoulders and he’s cheering, but Seokjin barely registers the sound, nor does he mind the roar of the audience as his teammate leads him to the centre of the court.
We won.
The thought finally sinks in as Seokjin shakes hands with the opposing team’s captain, a murmured, “Good game,” falling absentmindedly from his lips. He feels light, almost giddy, with adrenaline still rushing through his veins.
Their final and arguably most glorious victory. Seokjin doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that word—victory. They’ve come a long way as a newly built school with a half-complete team, barely enough players to hold proper practices. He understands, in this moment, what people mean when they say the feeling of victory is addictive. A force that pushes him forward, stumbling off the edge of the cliff and delighting in the spread of his wings, a course of flight that only he can control.
It’s intoxicating.
As he walks towards the bench, Seokjin feels a pair of eyes locked onto him, following his movements. He halts and turns towards it, his gaze meeting with the boy he was marking for the last few minutes of the game, a boy who couldn’t have been older than fourteen with his flushed cheeks and wide eyes. He tilts his head to the side in question, but the boy only stares at him, face set in a mask of—anger? Determination? Seokjin can’t quite tell.
He breaks eye contact first and continues on his course to the bench, where a towel is tossed his way from one of his teammates. It doesn’t matter. It’s their win.
First place at the Junior High Championships—a title that Seokjin can finally claim as his own.
---
Seokjin isn’t good at being late. He can count those instances on one hand, and that’s including the times where he’d only missed by a minute or so. He’s always had a lot of responsibilities, even back in middle school as captain of the basketball team, and punctuality is a second nature to him as a role model for younger students.
So believe him when he says that it really wasn’t his intention to be late to the first Cheongil basketball club meeting of the year, where the new members are introduced to the current ones. That means his presence, as vice-captain, is actually quite necessary. (Not a good start to the season, he knows.)
“You’re late, Kim,” his coach snaps, though his tone betrays his relief. “Get changed quickly and warm up.”
Seokjin does as he’s told, greeting his teammates and captain with nods and smiles as he heads towards the locker room. He passes a few freshmen running simple layup drills on two of the side nets and takes a moment to observe them. One in particular, whom he hasn’t seen before, catches his eye; a boy sporting a blinding grin as he hooks his arm under his defender’s and lands the shot.
Promising, Seokjin decides, turning away. This should be an interesting year.
When he returns, a yellow jersey hanging loosely over his T-shirt, the coach is calling the new members together and explaining the logistics of the club. Seokjin takes his place beside his captain, just as their coach begins to call out the names of those joining the second string. He can feel the anticipation in the room, until their coach finally announces the end of the list and a dejected line of those who weren’t called files out of the gym.
Seokjin studies the faces left in the gymnasium; seven remaining, with only two being first-years. The boy he noticed earlier is still here, a wide smile spread across his face as the coach lists a few basic rules about participating in games and the like before moving on to introduce the current first-string members, who were decided earlier in the week.
Seokjin watches that smile disappear without a trace when his own name is called. The boy’s elated expression is replaced by surprise, then what seems to be frustration tinged with anger. It confuses Seokjin, since he’s quite sure he hasn’t ever seen the boy before and there shouldn’t be a reason for his obvious dislike.
A hand claps him on the shoulder.
“Mesmerized by that kid’s beauty?” Hoseok jokes as he guides him away towards the bench. “Come on, we’re playing against the newbies.”
Seokjin laughs and shoves him gently. “Yah, where’s the respect?”
“Oops. Come on, hyung.”
He’s about to return another playful remark when their captain, genius second-year student Kim Namjoon, calls them together for a huddle.
“Okay, so not much to say here since we’re just testing their abilities.” Namjoon puts his hands together, addressing the second strong player who joined them. “Park Jimin, you’ll be replacing Yoongi-hyung today as shooting guard. Don’t worry about keeping up with plays and stuff, just keep it simple for today.”
The first-year nods eagerly, eyes shining with anticipation.
“The rest of you, try to see if you can assess their playing style and what that they need to work on, especially the little things that they might not realize they’re doing. It’s just a practice game of sorts, so don’t let your pride get to your head about winning, got it?”
The team choruses their agreement in unison.
As Seokjin walks to his starting position, Namjoon pulls him aside. “Hyung, do you know that kid over there?” he asks, nodding towards the boy from earlier. “He’s been staring at you like that since earlier.”
Seokjin follows his gaze and shakes his head. “Not that I remember. I feel like I’d know if I pissed off some first-year this quickly into the semester. What’s his name?”
“Jeon Jeongguk.” Namjoon frowns. “He looks like he wants to bite your head off or something. I wanted to make sure whatever grudge you have between you won’t affect the team, but if you don’t even know him . . .”
He pats Namjoon’s arm in reassurance. “Leave him be. We’ve got a game to play.”
The distraction of the game doesn’t quite do anything for Jeongguk’s apparent obsession with glaring at the vice-captain. Seokjin can practically feel his irritation radiating from his every move as he defends with aggression and borderline fouls that Seokjin waves off for the sake of continuing the game.
Inwardly, he’s far more irritated by the boy’s behaviour than he shows. In an official game, he’d already be taken off the court.
However, when one of his teammates subs in for Seokjin, his rough playing style ceases. Seokjin isn’t sure how to describe it, but it seems like he loosens up a bit and sharpens his focus, training his sights on winning the game instead of winning against his defender. His movements are fluid and well-practiced, and Seokjin can tell there’s natural talent beneath his current skill.
He narrows his eyes. So it’s a personal issue after all. But still, Seokjin can’t figure out where he seems to have seen him before.
“All right, come in,” Namjoon calls, waving them over to the centre of the court. “Good work, everyone. I’m gonna go over a few general points I noticed and then you can all change and head out.”
Seokjin listens intently to his captain’s words as always—Namjoon may be younger, but Seokjin learned early on that his intellect and observation skills are truly no joke. Combined with his natural basketball talent and years of experience, he quickly earned the title of the genius first-year point guard who led their team to semi-finals at the national high school tournament last year, a feat never before achieved by their school. But throughout the debrief, Seokjin couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him. (Again.)
“If you have any questions, ask now. Otherwise, you’re dismissed.”
There won’t be any, Seokjin thinks as he starts towards the locker room.
He doesn’t end up correct.
“Captain, what’s the requirement to become a starter?”
Seokjin whirls around, bewildered. He’s heard a lot of questions addressed to the captain in his many years of basketball, but no one’s ever asked one like that before. It’s usually general knowledge that the first string is composed of the best players to strategically begin the game (and often the most skilled).
Namjoon explains this concept the same Jeon Jeongguk from earlier, who, to Seokjin’s immense disbelief, follows up with,
“Then if I challenge the current starter and win, do I get to replace him?”
This time, he’s staring unabashedly at Seokjin.
The nerve of this kid.
Seokjin narrows his eyes and calmly walks towards them, replying to Jeongguk before Namjoon can formulate a (likely much better) response. “If the answer is yes, are you going to try?”
Jeongguk straightens a bit and takes a step towards him. “Of course. Do you accept?”
“Jeon Jeongguk,” Namjoon interrupts, “remember your honorifics. Challenge or not, Seokjin-hyung is an upperclassman and vice-captain, so if you’re going to be arrogant and disrespectful, we may need to reconsider your spot on this team.”
Jeongguk’s eyes don’t stray from Seokjin’s for even a moment. “Sorry, Captain, but I’m not taking back my challenge. This is something I need to do.”
Seokjin knows that Namjoon is about to tell them both off spectacularly for causing a fuss on the first day of practice. They’re attracting attention from the rest of the team too, which he’s sure to regret later on. But right now, his pride is on the line.
“I accept,” he announces, sending a don’t worry look towards Namjoon. “Let’s just get it over with right now.”
Their captain sighs and rubs his hands over his face. “Look, Seokjin-hyung, you’re my senior and I respect you, but I can’t let you guys disrupt the unity of the team like this,” he argues.
“Let them, Namjoon,” the coach’s voice interrupts, surprising them both. When they turn their heads towards him, however, he doesn’t elaborate on his decision.
Namjoon groans. “I really didn’t expect to deal with this on the first day,” he mutters. “Okay, grab a ball and pick a net, you two.” Jeongguk starts towards the ball rack, so Seokjin takes it as his cue to head towards the nearest net. “Rules are simple. One-on-one, first to ten points wins. Winner’s ball after a shot, double-check, and clear. Rock, paper, scissors for first ball.”
Seokjin holds up his fist triumphantly after a couple frustrating rounds of rock, paper, scissors and receives the ball that Namjoon passes to him with ease. He positions himself outside the three-point line and checks the ball to Jeongguk, who passes it right back with determination settling into his features.
I’ve seen this before, Seokjin thinks. But from where?
He lets the ball fall from his hand and begins.
Time passes in a blur. Seokjin tunes out everything other than the ball, the basket, and his opponent. How long has it been? Five minutes? Ten? Seokjin isn’t sure. He keeps moving, dribbling and defending and shooting and rebounding, over and over and over until the shrill screech of Namjoon’s whistle penetrates the air, interrupting the squeak of their shoes and the thud of the ball as it hits the ground.
“Ten to six, Seokjin-hyung wins.”
Seokjin can’t help but grin as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “Good game,” he says as he approaches Jeongguk for a handshake.
But the younger boy doesn’t move, doesn’t lift his hand to reciprocate the gesture. Instead, he clenches his fists and glares. “Again,” he demands. “I won’t lose to you this time!”
What a child.
Seokjin’s smile slips away as he shakes his head. “You lost, Jeongguk. Face it.”
“No! I can’t—not again—” He turns away, but Seokjin catches a glimpse of his face before he can hide it. Anguish, despair, hatred; a swirl of negative emotions twisting his otherwise rather handsome features.
(Seokjin would like to convince himself that he did not just find the first-year attractive.)
“All right, everyone out,” Namjoon commands, shooing away the remaining bystanders. “Jeongguk, a word.” He beckons him towards the coach, who was observing the ordeal with curiosity in his eyes.
Seokjin stares after them for a few seconds, now sure that he’s met the kid named Jeongguk somewhere before, but still unable to piece it together. Unwilling to dwell upon the thought, he busies himself with changing back into his regular clothes and collecting his belongings from the locker room.
On his way out, his coach stops him with a pat on the back. “Good work today, Seokjin. We’ve gained some valuable data because of you two,” he says before Seokjin can do much more than bow in greeting. “Betting on a starting position like that is a little reckless of you, considering you’re the vice-captain and a senior student—”
“Of course,” Seokjin agrees. “I’m very sorry about my actions. I won’t let this affect my contribution to the team.”
The coach chuckles. “Don’t worry about it too much. You’re a good kid. So is Jeongguk. I’m planning to put him on first string eventually, which doesn’t mean he’ll be replacing you, but he’ll play almost as much as you will. If you can work out your differences and help him improve, he’s got a lot of potential that we could use.”
Seokjin forces a smile, though it lacks a bit of his usual charm, and swallows all the thoughts of being relieved from his position because of one kid. “I won’t let you down.”
I’ll just try to get along with him for now, he thinks as he starts on his way home. How hard can it be?
---
Too hard. Much, much more difficult than he expected, though in Seokjin’s defense, it’s not really his fault. Sure, he might’ve overreacted a bit, but considering how much that kid was provoking him, it really is only to be expected.
He doesn’t think anything of it the first time Jeongguk gives his opinion.
“I think we should start with Namjoon-sunbae’s new drill instead,” the kid chirps.
Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
Jeongguk shrugs. “It’ll be more interesting.”
“Rejected.” The team will take time to get used to the new drill and we’re a bit short on that today.
He doesn’t really mind the second time either, though it irritates him a bit that Jeongguk is stepping in while he’s giving personal advice to a teammate.
“But it would be easier for him to just call a screen, wouldn’t it?”
Even the third time, when Jeongguk openly argues against the usual practice routines that Seokjin gives the team, he just sighs and forces himself to deal with it.
It’s the seventh or eighth time when Seokjin finally loses it. Normally, he tolerates a bit of rude behaviour from first-years, at least until the gruelling practices make them realize that instead of the middle school aces that they used to be, they’re the newbies on a high school team. But Jeon Jeongguk, who has effortlessly kept up with their training so far, is more arrogant than Seokjin was prepared to deal with.
“Seokjin-sunbae,” (as soon as Seokjin hears those words in that tone of feigned innocence from Jeongguk’s mouth, he knows what’s about to come), “wouldn’t it be better if—”
That’s it. “You know what would be better? If for once in your life, you would just shut up,” Seokjin explodes. “Not everything’s about you, Jeon Jeongguk. You’re a new member of this team and I expect you to respect me, the vice-captain, along with my decisions throughout practice. I don’t mind if you disagree, but your latest comments have been nothing but empty criticism and unnecessary disruptions to our training. Don’t you think it’s about time you stop?”
As Seokjin takes a breath, his right hand twitching in anger, he glances around at the eyes now fixated on his trembling form. Jeongguk, as expected, shows little remorse, though his expression reveals that he, too, is surprised at the outburst. Somewhere near the back of the gym, a basketball hits the floor, a hollow thud echoing through the silence.
Seokjin turns towards Namjoon and mutters, “Sorry,” before he strides out of the gymnasium. He shouldn’t have done that during practice. He needs to cool his head—and he knows that staying in the same room as the one who caused this isn’t going to help in the least.
Sometime after Seokjin lays himself down under the shade of his usual comfort tree and closes his eyes, he hears the rustle of footsteps approaching.
“Namjoon wants to know if you’re okay,” Hoseok’s voice says from above. “Coach is a little upset, but he’s worried too. Hyung, you’ve never not gotten along with someone like this.”
Seokjin cracks an eye open as his friend lies down beside him. “Is it okay for you to skip? Won’t Coach get even more mad?”
“Actually, he sent me after you.” He chuckles. “We need our teammates to be in top condition for the prelims, and that includes getting along with our new members.”
“It’s not like I don’t want to get along with him, he’s just . . .” Seokjin searches for the right word, but eventually settles with, “difficult. I gave him so many chances, but he just—” He sighs. “I still don’t know what his deal is with me. If he would just tell me why he doesn’t like me, maybe we could work something out.” Instead, he acts exactly like a child and tries to embarrass me at every turn.
“Why haven’t you asked him then, hyung?”
Seokjin stares at him incredulously. “Do you think I haven’t tried? It’s kinda hard when he just glares at me and walks away.”
Hoseok meet his gaze with a pointed look.
“Fine, fine,” Seokjin says. “I’ll speak to him after practice. Come on, let’s go back.”
Seokjin honours his word, as always. He pulls a reluctant Jeongguk aside as their teammates pass by on their way to the locker room, leaving no room for resistance.
“Look,” he starts, wasting no time, “I can tell you don’t like me and don’t agree with my methods, and I can respect that. But whether you like it or not, we’re teammates, and it’s disruptive to the rest of the team if this goes on.”
Evidently annoyed, Jeongguk scowls. “Well, what do you want me to do, Mr. Vice-Captain?”
Seokjin ignores the sarcasm dripping from his tone. “How about you start by telling me why you hate me so much?”
Jeongguk seems to study him for a moment, his brows furrowing. “You don’t remember?”
The older blinks, then shrugs. “I don’t. Do you know me from somewhere else?”
Jeongguk shakes his head as his (trademark) glare returns. “If you don’t even remember, then you don’t deserve to know.” He lifts his chin a bit. “I’m going to defeat you, Kim Seokjin. Just you wait.”
With that, he storms away, leaving Seokjin irritated and as confused as ever.