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“Another spectacularly played season ends with a brilliant victory for the South Korean national badminton team!”
Applause and camera flashes.
“Every player delivered an outstanding performance, but one member of the team deserves special recognition—you all know who I’m talking about!”
Excited cheers and autograph requests.
“Barely out of his teens, he won over a national-level coach with his skills—and, of course, his charm—and became the star who made South Korea’s dream of international victories come true!”
Security clearing the path to the private locker rooms and the long-awaited silence behind closed doors.
Millions of fans around the world have their eyes on him, yet inside, he feels so empty, as if something crucial has been mercilessly torn from him… But what?
He opens his locker and sees a lemon on one of the shelves, next to his lucky pair of rackets. He huffs, thinking their manager should find good-luck charms from their own culture rather than borrowing them from their Chinese rivals, but then he freezes, trying to remember how he even knows this.
Thoughtfully, he picks up the fruit and is surprised to find something else underneath.
A bright fortune-telling card stares back at him, the large letters spelling “FORTUNE”.
☽☼☾
“Our official school vacation starts in an hour,” comes an excited whisper from the front.
“Technically, we can’t call it a vacation anymore, since we’re graduating and—”
“Oh my God, Seungkwan, you’re being such a buzzkill again!” comes a much louder, irritated response. “We still have exams to take, so shove your ‘technically’ up—”
“We’re all very interested in where and what exactly Mr. Boo should shove, Lee Chan-ssi,” the teacher’s strict voice interrupts. “So please, don’t hold back your colorful expressions. After all, you have no reason to worry about me kicking you out of class—even if it’s just an hour before our final lesson officially ends.”
Chan shrinks into his notebook in embarrassment, while Seungkwan silently scoffs at him from behind.
Comments like these stopped bothering him a long time ago; they’ve become part of their class routine. Seungkwan gets along with everyone—people like him for his humor and quick wit, though that also comes with the annoying habit of “overexplaining” and “being a know-it-all,” as Chan likes to put it.
Something shifts beside him, pulling him from his thoughts. Seungkwan glances to the side and immediately spots a piece of paper turned toward him with a message written in the middle:
“You’re not the buzzkill—Chan’s just an idiot.”
He stifles a chuckle, which, of course, catches Chan’s attention. When he also notices the note, he shoots up indignantly, unable to verbally defend himself. That only makes Seungkwan laugh harder, and this time, the one who wrote the message joins in—until, inevitably, the teacher notices:
“If you want to laugh, do it outside my classroom, gentlemen. I won’t let your previously spotless behavior, Choi Hansol-ssi, or your athletic achievements, Boo Seungkwan-ssi, stop me from making your final hours here difficult.”
Seungkwan does his best to play the part of a respectful student, forcing the smile off his face and pretending to focus on his notes. But the moment the teacher’s attention shifts, his lips curl up again. He sneaks another glance to the side and locks eyes with Hansol, who grins at him, making Seungkwan’s cheeks flush with a warmth that has nothing to do with the summer heat.
Hansol, the quiet and steady pillar of their trio, has made Seungkwan’s heart race so often with his unwavering support and genuine care that hiding his feelings has only gotten harder with time. But soon, they’ll graduate, take their exams, and head to different cities to attend prestigious universities and become successful adults.
Seungkwan isn’t sure if there’s a place for a confession of love to his best friend in any of that.
He forces his attention back to his notebook, absentmindedly doodling a small heart in the margins—then immediately scribbling over it, as if erasing it could also erase the dull ache in his chest.
Hansol, ever the observant friend, quickly notices the shift in his mood. He waves at Seungkwan again, holding up a new message:
“Sofia still won’t stop asking to practice fortune-telling on me… Want to join?”
Seungkwan doesn’t reply right away. Hansol’s family has always been incredibly welcoming, and he and Hansol’s younger sister have teamed up for their fair share of pranks before. Normally, he would have jumped at the chance to visit their house.
But now… now he isn’t sure he can handle being in Hansol’s room.
That room, filled with years of shared memories, holds too much of their past. And if Seungkwan can’t see a future for them together, he’s afraid all of it will only remind him of what he’s about to lose.
He knows—he’s already been through this with his own room.
Hansol frowns and quickly adds something to the note, lifting it again, this time with an exaggerated “puppy eyes” expression:
“Please?.. T-T”
Seungkwan sighs internally, already knowing he’s lost. Hansol rarely asks for anything, but when he does, Seungkwan is utterly incapable of saying no.
A silent thumbs-up makes Hansol’s smile return, and Seungkwan, resting his elbows on the desk, hides his face in his hands—feeling ridiculously happy over something so small.
When the bell rings—marking the end of their high school lives—everyone leaps from their seats, forming little clusters to excitedly discuss their plans for the near (or far) future.
Seungkwan, in contrast, stands up slowly, weighed down by conflicting emotions.
Adulthood beckons with endless possibilities, but the price it demands terrifies him. He doesn’t want to lose the people who matter to him—not even the annoyingly loud ones like Lee Chan.
And Hansol…
Well, Seungkwan can’t even begin to imagine how he’ll pick up the pieces of his heart if Hansol turns out to be that price.
“We absolutely have to celebrate our graduation,” Chan declares. “I say we bike to the cliff at the edge of town and watch the sunrise!”
Seungkwan raises an eyebrow in surprise, while Hansol sighs heavily, shooting Chan an unreadable yet very pointed look. Chan just shrugs, his smirk not fading in the slightest.
“Do you realize how early we’d have to leave?” Seungkwan asks, eyeing the strangely behaving pair.
“Who cares, Kwan-ah? We’re on vacation—va-ca-tion, get it?” Chan stresses, waving off the concern. “We can stay up all night if we want. And none of our parents will object if we tell them we’ll look out for each other.”
Seungkwan opens his mouth to protest, but Chan steamrolls over him:
“Your mom loves me too much to say no—you know that. And if I tell her you need to unwind before exams, she’ll be the one kicking you out of the house.”
Hansol lets out a quiet laugh, and maybe it’s his good mood that finally makes Seungkwan agree. A distraction really wouldn’t hurt.
Chan, pleased with his victory, rushes off, leaving them alone. Hansol watches him go with that same strange look, but Seungkwan decides not to pry—everyone is allowed to have their secrets.
Especially when his own might just be the biggest one of all.
“You could stay over at my place,” Hansol suggests the moment Chan disappears down the hallway. “That way, you won’t have to go home and back again before we leave.”
Seungkwan barely suppresses another sigh, already knowing he has no real choice.
Of course he stays. Of course his parents let him go, trusting his friends. Of course, after a fun evening with the Choi family, Seungkwan spends the whole night awake, simply listening to the breathing of his friend, who gave up his own bed for Seungkwan and settled on the futon on the floor—an ordinary fact that makes Seungkwan feel both warmth from the awareness of Hansol's care and cold from the distance that keeps him from reaching out and touching Hansol's skin, even for a moment.
He thinks Sofia must have been wrong in her fortune-telling when she drew the Fortune card first out of three. He wasn’t a complete failure, but he had never considered himself particularly lucky either. Maybe it had something to do with his answer to her question about his greatest wish—after a quick glance at Hansol, Seungkwan had simply replied, “Success.”
But the cards couldn’t accuse him of lying—who doesn’t wish for success in their future? Seungkwan, who had brought countless trophies to his school through badminton tournaments, truly dreamed of getting into a prestigious university and becoming an international-level athlete.
Chan picks them up in the dead of night, saving Seungkwan from tormenting himself further with thoughts in his friend’s bed, and they set off—accompanied by the usual grumbling about how certain “slowpoke friends” always ruin his brilliant plans.
“Seungkwan-ah, come on, pedal faster! What were you even doing all night if you’re this sleepy now, huh?” Chan urges him every five minutes. “At this rate, we’ll barely make it to the mountain pass by sunrise!”
Seungkwan rolls his eyes but obediently speeds up, crossing the deserted streets. He’s grateful that the darkness hides his face, concealing the sudden embarrassment sparked by Chan’s comment. But at the same time, he feels a pang of disappointment—because for that very reason, he also can’t clearly see the smile so evident in Hansol’s voice:
“But the mountain pass is beautiful too. Does it really matter where we see the sunrise, as long as we do it together?”
The dull ache in his chest dissolves into a warmth that spreads through him, and Seungkwan can’t hold back a smile. Hansol is right. He’s always right.
He’s the unshakable constant in Seungkwan’s life—the one who supports him, the one he can lean on when the ground disappears beneath his feet.
And just like that, it suddenly feels easier to breathe. They’ve only just graduated. They have the entire summer ahead of them—vacation, after all (curse a certain stubborn but beloved idiot). And maybe the future is terrifying, but right now, in this moment, they’re just racing through the sleeping city on their bikes, together, and really… does anything else matter?
Seungkwan laughs, Chan keeps grumbling, and Hansol, as always, is simply there. And that’s enough. Maybe Seungkwan really did lie to the cards—but the cards themselves couldn’t lie, could they? They knew what he truly wished for, even if it didn’t match what he had asked for.
He thinks about that when Chan suddenly skids to a stop and gasps in horror:
“Oh no! I forgot—God, how could I forget?! For heaven’s sake!” He smacks his forehead, then turns dramatically under his friends’ puzzled gazes and declares, “Don’t wait for me—I’ll catch up!”
Seungkwan snorts, watching him disappear into the distance, and remarks dryly, “He’s overacting.”
“Definitely,” Hansol chuckles, without a moment’s hesitation.
They laugh. Something about the way Hansol reacts to Chan’s antics tells Seungkwan that he knows exactly what’s going on, but he still decides not to ask—just to enjoy the moment.
Chan doesn’t return by the time they reach the winding mountain road. He doesn’t catch up even as they climb higher and the sky begins to brighten.
They stop just short of the peak when they spot an abandoned truck by the roadside, its open cargo bed spilling lemons across the pavement. The driver is nowhere in sight, but the situation doesn’t seem serious, so they only glance around and shrug it off.
“Remember your first card?” Hansol asks with a knowing smile, picking up one of the fallen lemons and tossing it lightly in his hand.
“Fortune,” Seungkwan nods.
“Sofia’s cards are Chinese, and in Chinese culture, lemons symbolize luck,” Hansol continues, holding the fruit out to him. “Look around.”
Seungkwan can’t help but laugh as he accepts the lemon, glancing over the road littered with them.
“Success is guaranteed for you, Kwan-ah,” Hansol winks, and this time, they laugh together.
Seungkwan doesn’t actually believe in fortune-telling. But soon, on a sweltering summer day, he receives an offer for a sports scholarship to the university he’s dreamed of attending for years.
Less than two years later, he’s invited to the national team.
And then, Seungkwan becomes a star.
☽☼☾
He mindlessly flips the familiar card between his fingers while the microphone is being adjusted. Not that his own smiling face—staring back at him from countless posters and advertisements—isn’t proof enough, but the bold “STAR” printed on the glossy cardstock keeps drawing his attention.
“You’ve been staring at that card for a few minutes now, Mr. Boo. What does it mean to you? Please share with your fans, who are flooding our livestream with comments!”
He huffs out a soft laugh and replies with an easy smile,
“When I graduated high school, I had my fortune told about my future. And though I don’t believe in things like that, keeping this card feels like a way to honor…” He trails off, suddenly unsure what he was about to say.
“If I may say so, the prediction wasn’t wrong, was it?” The interviewer smoothly steers the conversation back on track. “I’ve heard rumors that just this week, you signed another contract with a sports nutrition brand—adding it to the long list of companies you represent. Isn’t that the very definition of a star?”
He lets out a modest chuckle. “Only if you say so. I never aimed for that title.”
“Because it chases after you instead, right? I’m sure all your fans would agree! But tell us—what exactly did you ask the cards back then, if it’s not a secret?”
He shrugs. “Whether I’d be successful.”
“And you still don’t believe in fortune-telling? Didn’t the cards give you exactly what you wished for, Mr. Boo? Or are you hiding something more embarrassing from us?”
The audience laughs, and he snorts lightly, playing along with the tone of the show.
“Not that I’m an expert,” the interviewer continues, “but my daughter recently got into this hobby, so I’ve become her unwilling regular client. And, you know, every reading comes at a price—so I’m starting to suspect she’s running a genius scheme to extort money from her own father! But I digress—this isn’t about me! I just hope you remembered to pay the cards back then. Because, thinking about it now, I can’t help but worry—shouldn’t the price be equivalent? And considering your current level of success, Mr. Boo, I hesitate to imagine what might have been taken from you in return…”
“I think… whatever the price was, I was happy to pay it,” he plays along, his grin easy. “It would have been unfair to get all this for free, don’t you think?”
Another pause for laughter, then a shift in topic.
“Of course, we’re only joking, Mr. Boo. I’m sure everyone watching understands that you achieved everything through your own skill and hard work. Your endless awards only prove that. Do you have any words of advice for your fans?”
Without hesitation, he delivers the classic answer:
“Never give up and chase your dreams.”
Then he adds, almost absentmindedly, “Lately, people confuse simple wishes with real dreams, so it’s important to…”
Something inside him suddenly tugs, stopping him mid-sentence.
“…not mistake the two.”
The interviewer thanks him for his “wise words” and announces a short break, asking viewers not to miss “everyone’s favorite star” when they return.
He just smiles in response—though, for the first time, he doesn’t feel entirely sure of it.
Something equivalent, something he gave in return, huh?
Or rather—what he paid for a lie?
It’s strange… His memories feel blurred. He remembers lying, but… to whom?
The cards?
Or… himself?
He stands up from his seat and removes the microphone under the confused gazes of the filming crew.
“Sorry, I… I have to go.”
He doesn’t react to the questions thrown at his back and heads straight for the parking lot, toward his car with his personal driver. He needs to hurry. He needs to go…
Where?
The driver waits patiently for instructions, and only now does he realize that he’s been gripping that cursed card tightly in his hand all this time. He carefully straightens it out and freezes, staring in confusion at the familiar large letters, which, for some reason, have now formed into something completely unfamiliar...
“DEATH” .
A loud honk.
He lifts his head, but all he sees before him is the blinding brightness of headlights cutting through the dawn twilight...
And then—darkness.
☽☼☾
“Seungkwan-ah?.. Can you hear me? Oh my god, he…” Loud exclamations break into choked sobs. “He’s waking up, he really is!”
“Please, Chan, don’t overwhelm him… We need to call a doctor, okay? Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, I… Of course, I… Right away…” Hurried footsteps fade into the distance, followed by the sound of a door closing.
A soft touch on his hand and then, more fragile, more broken than before:
“I… Thank you.”
Gentle lips press against his palm, and something warm drips onto his skin from above.
“Thank you for coming back to us, Kwannie. I don’t know… I really don’t know what I would have done if… if…”
The door opens again, and a calm but firm voice interrupts:
“Let me examine him, alright? Luckily, now you’ll have all the time in the world to talk.”
His hand is carefully placed back down.
“Hello, Mr. Boo. I’m your attending physician, and I know you can hear me. Can you try opening your eyes?”
He tries, but his first few attempts fail. No one rushes him, letting him take his time. He tries again—and this time, he succeeds. He squints at the bright light, only realizing after several long moments that the room is actually quite dim. He sees pastel-colored hospital walls and a woman in white standing before him. He is confused.
“Can you tell me your name?” the doctor asks.
“Boo… Seungkwan,” he barely manages to whisper, earning an approving nod and the feeling of a straw being placed at his lips, bringing what is, in this moment, the most delicious water he has ever tasted.
“Excellent.” The doctor examines him at an unhurried pace, checking the readings on the medical equipment. “Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”
Seungkwan thinks.
“Giving an interview after my latest victory with the national team and… signing a contract with a new sports nutrition company,” he slowly but deliberately describes.
A soft chuckle comes from the side, immediately followed by an uncontrollable sob.
The doctor smiles gently.
“Well, at the very least, your dreams seem to have been quite successful, I see. Don't worry—you'll still have the chance to achieve all of that in the future. But for now, I have to inform you that a month ago, you were in an accident and have been in a coma ever since.”
Seungkwan frowns in helpless confusion.
“Do you remember the accident?”
A loud honk, the glow of headlights, someone shouting his name in panic.
A hard impact and… lemons.
He nods hesitantly.
“Don't worry about lost time—summer vacation isn't over yet. If there are no complications, you’ll still be able to take your exams and enroll in university this year. But of course, the choice is yours—you have every right to take more time to recover and pursue your dreams next year instead.”
“And sports?..” Seungkwan asks, his voice filled with concern.
“You’ll definitely need rehabilitation, but after that, there shouldn’t be any obstacles preventing you from returning to the sport,” the doctor reassures him with a warm smile.
Seungkwan exhales in relief, for some reason immediately recalling the conversation from his… nonexistent interview.
So, in the end, the metaphorical price wasn’t as terrible as he feared. It's even funny how seriously he took it in his… dream. Chan will definitely call him an idiot.
“I’ll step out for a moment to contact your parents and let them know the good news, Mr. Boo. Don’t hesitate to talk things through with your friends—they have, without exaggeration, practically lived in this room for the past month. You should be grateful to have such people in your life.”
Seungkwan hums in embarrassment, sending the doctor a grateful glance before quickly shifting his attention to Chan, who immediately takes the now-vacant seat beside his bed.
“Seungkwan, I!.. God, I’m so sorry! I’m such an idiot, I… This is all my fault, you know?” His friend desperately grabs his hand, squeezing it too tightly in his emotional turmoil, making Seungkwan wince slightly, noting that this definitely wasn’t the same gentle touch from earlier. Chan notices immediately and loosens his grip, exclaiming all over again, now in distressed sobs: “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
Seungkwan snorts.
“Chan-ah, you look ridiculously stupid when you’re crying. Cut it out. What happened to your confident idiot persona?”
Chan laughs through his tears.
“You’d be surprised to know how much I missed this. Turns out, Hansol doesn’t have the habit of calling me an idiot unless you’re around… Can you imagine?” He seems to try keeping a smile on his face, but it shatters instantly as he falls back into despair. “But I really am an idiot, Kwan-ah. I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me, but please know that Hansol isn’t to blame for anything. This was all me, only me. Hansol just…”
“Chan, I don’t think this is a good idea…” a hesitant voice interrupts him. “Seungkwan isn’t in the right condition for this…”
“But he has the right to know! He got hurt because of this, don’t you get it?!”
“Yes, you’re right, but this isn’t the right moment…”
“You forget what happened the last time we waited for the ‘right moment’? Do you really want to wait again? Life is so predictable, isn’t it? Nothing ever suddenly appears out of nowhere and ruins all your plans, right?”
“Chan.”
Chan sighs, calming down.
“Sorry. You're not at fault. But admit it, if you two had been even a little less oblivious, maybe I wouldn’t have resorted to my idiotic plans that…”
Seungkwan watches their argument with his usual amusement, waiting to feel the familiar warmth in his chest—but… he feels nothing.
“Chan?..” he calls out in concern, not understanding what’s wrong.
“Yeah, Kwan-ah, sorry—we got sidetracked,” his friend quickly turns back to him, sniffling. “I really am sorry, do you hear me? I planned that whole trip to the cliff for Hansol’s confession, specifically setting it up so you two would be alone with the sunrise as the backdrop—the perfect, goddamn romantic moment, you get it? Hansol didn’t know—he might have suspected, but he didn’t know for sure—so don’t blame him, okay? He’s already been tearing himself apart over everything that happened, so…”
“Chan,” the other voice interrupts again.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m not interfering with your part, don’t worry. Should I step out or…” Chan starts to move away, letting go of Seungkwan’s hand, but Seungkwan suddenly grips it tightly, stopping him in place.
“Seungkwan?..”
Seungkwan, feeling an inexplicable emptiness inside, meets his friend’s questioning gaze, then shifts his own—lost—toward the person standing behind Chan.
Then back again.
“…Who is Hansol?”