Chapter Text
Minho didn't train with anyone. Not when the coach asked him to, nor when a teammate wanted to keep up. Minho trained alone. Always.
The Incheon High Performance Sports Specialized School operated with a strict routine. Mornings were for academic subjects, afternoons for technical training. There were branches of all kinds: swimming, taekwondo, gymnastics, volleyball, track and field. Each student had a training plan tailored to their discipline. Even recess had schedules based on the group they belonged to.
Minho was in track and field. His gray sweatshirt with black stripes identified him without words. Some knew him, but most only recognized him by his personal best in the 400 meters and the fact that he didn't talk much.
He didn't get involved in conflicts, group friendships, or hallway conversations. He arrived, trained, and left. Sometimes he ate lunch with the team. Other times, he preferred to sit alone in front of the second-floor window overlooking the training track.
At that time of the afternoon, the track was half empty. The sun was beginning to set behind the covered gym, and the wind blew gently, carrying some dust from the outside areas. Minho preferred to train like this, when the bustle of the students had already dissipated and the teachers had turned off the classroom lights.
However, that day, as he approached the edge of the dance floor, he noticed a figure waiting for him. Seungmin, hood up and arms crossed, was watching him from one of the metal benches.
His expression wasn't much different from its usual counterpart: somewhere between patient and annoyed. Minho watched him from afar. He could already imagine where the conversation was going.
—No, before you say anything. —he said as soon as he was level with him, without stopping.
—It's just a favor. —Seungmin replied, standing up to keep up.
—I'll pass.
—You don't even know what this is about.
—I don't want to know.
—Minho.
Seungmin walked beside him, with the same calmness he used when they argued in sports strategy class. They both knew Minho wasn't one to be drawn into anything he didn't want to do. But they also knew that sometimes, with the right explanation, he could give in.
—There’s a second-year boy. He needs to improve his speed. He asked if I knew anyone in track and field who could help him. I mentioned you.
Minho stopped at the side of the track, turning slightly.
—And why me?
—Because you’re fast. And because you don’t make fun of anyone when they run badly. —Seungmin replied, shrugging.
Minho was silent for a few seconds. His eyes scanned the empty track, the long jump area, the hurdles stored in a corner. Everything was the same. And he preferred it to stay that way.
—I’m not a coach.
—You don’t have to be, Minho. Just run with him for an afternoon... —Seungmin thought. —Half an hour. Let him see you and try to keep up. That’ll do it for him.
Minho bent down to tie the laces of his sneakers. He did it calmly, as if thinking about it during that brief movement might make a difference.
—What’s his name?
—Han Jisung.
—And what else?
—Nothing. I just know he wants to improve and that he runs as if his head were faster than his legs. He lacks technique. But he wants to learn.
Minho hesitated for another second. His fingers finished the last knot and he stood up.
—Once. And then you leave me alone.
—Done —Seungmin said, relieved. —Tomorrow at four. Right here.
Without adding anything else, he left. He knew if he insisted any longer, he could ruin the agreement. Minho watched him walk away along the path that connected the track to the central pavilion. When he was no longer in sight, he took off his sweatshirt and began to jog.
The wind was fresher now. His breathing adjusted easily, as if his body knew exactly what to do. The rhythm returned, automatic, precise. His shadow stretched across the track as he ran.
He wasn't thinking about Han Jisung. Or what Seungmin had told him. Just about running. The same old circuit. The same controlled speed. Every step in its place.
However, even if he didn't notice it yet, this small change in his routine was already making a difference. Something different. A minimal variation. But enough to make a difference.