Chapter Text
The familiar sound of shoes squawking against the polished floor and volleyballs being spiked onto the hardwood had once brought comfort to Seonghwa. Comfort had become a rarity in college, and an even rarer luxury in collegiate volleyball. Park Seonghwa, third year setter and team captain for Haneul Global University, had learned to thrive in discomfort. The headlines that started trailing him his freshman year forced him to. Seonghwa had never been one to bask in the attention; he had always preferred to let the light shine on the rest of his team. However, once he was labelled as the top setter in the country, the spotlight didn't ask for permission. It simply followed.
He pushed his thoughts aside as the team gathered behind him, their footsteps reminding him he could not stay in his head for long. Walking into the gym felt different. New. He had never pictured himself as the one in the front of the line, but his teammates seemed certain he belonged there. As captain, the sounds that once brought comfort now pooled as anxiety in his stomach, a weight that never fully dissipated. This was his first season wearing the captain title, and they had been testing his limits since day one. As the doors to the gym opened, Wooyoung slung his arms over his shoulders.
“Move aside people, the superstar is coming through,” Wooyoung announced far too loudly.
Seonghwa sighed. “Please don’t start.”
“What? I am just supporting our captain.” Wooyoung said, winking.
Yeosang nudged his shoulder. “Don’t you know our captain is… the Architect?”
Yunho snorted from behind them. “Architect Park. Very official. Very intimidating.”
Seonghwa rolled his eyes but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.
As the Haneul players shuffled into the gym a group of home-team players paused mid stretch. Their voices dropped, but not enough to go unheard.
“Is that him?”
“Yeah, Haneul’s setter. The Architect”
“I heard he used to run plays with that other guy in High School. What did people call them again?”
“Matz. Or something like that.”
“Oh yeah, I heard they were insane together, shame they picked different schools.”
“Think he’s still that good without the other one?”
Seonghwa’s footsteps faltered for half of a heartbeat. Wooyoung caught it immediately. He dropped his arm from Seonghwa’s shoulder and swung around in front of him. “Ignore them,” he muttered, glaring in their direction.
“I am,” Seonghwa lied.
Yeosang approached from behind, voice low but firm. “If they think you’re weak, they’re idiots.”
From behind Yunho called “Coach wants warm-ups started in two, Captain.”
The moment passed. But the pressure lingered beneath his ribs.
Seonghwa nodded, took a deep breath, and kept walking. Even so, the question lingered in the echoing gym.
Think he’s still that good without him?
The team reached their bench area and Seonghwa set down his bag. The familiar smells of resin, sweat, and floor polish mingled in the air. There was a steady rhythm of volleyballs hitting against palms, whistles cutting through conversations, and shoes squealed like punctuation marks. Even though this was just a practice match, Seonghwa's nerves tightened beneath his ribs. He crouched next to the bench as he adjusted his knee pads, his fingers fumbled for a split second before finding the steadiness. Warm ups were muscle memory, drills he practiced since he was a kid, yet today even routine movements felt heavier.
Coach Seo blew the whistle hollering “Partner passing, lets move.”
Seonghwa clapped his hands together and guided the team as they broke off into pairs. He watched as Wooyoung immediately grabbed a ball and dragged Yeosang toward the center of the court.
“Let everyone watch these passes. We should be the center of attention,” Wooyoung smirked.
“No one is watching you,” Yeosang replied, unimpressed.
Their bickering blended into the sounds of the warmup as pairs continued forming. Seonghwa glanced around noting Yunho paired with another Middle Blocker and a couple first years paired as well. As the pairs formed, Seonghwa could not help but notice the lone player lingering by the bench, ball held defensively against his stomach.
Lee Minjae
The freshman noticed Seonghwa looking his way and froze like a kid caught doing something wrong. He shuffled forward with an awkward bow and eyes wide.
“S-sunbaenim,” Minjae stuttered. “Can I… or well should I pass with you?”
“Come here,” Seonghwa said gently.
Minjae hurried closer and immediately dropped the ball. It bounced off his foot and rolled across the floor. His face flushed a scarlet red.
“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. I swear I don’t usually do that.”
“It’s okay. It was an accident,” Seonghwa smiled as he retrieved the ball. “Ready?”
Minjae nodded, though the sweat on his palms said something completely different.
They began passing. Minjae's first touch went too high, the second barely making it half way back. With each mistake he muttered an apology under his breath.
Then without a warning he sent a clean, perfect pass straight back to Seonghwa. The perfect posture, a solid angle, the textbook formation. For a moment he was even surprised with himself.
Seonghwa caught it with ease, “That’s perfect, just like that,” he said.
Minjae brightened for a heartbeat before tripping on his feet and nearly colliding with the bench. He steadied himself with a weak laugh before apologizing.
After his successful pass, and Seonghwa's warm praise Minjae seemed to release some of the tension that caused his slip ups. Warm ups continued around them in a steady hum. The music of each pass lightened the weight on Seonghwa's shoulders. The muscle memory filled him with comfort as the simple rhythm worked its way through his muscles.
Coach Seo’s whistle cut through the air.
“Time to switch up, setters to the net. Hitters outside.”
Minjae gave a small bow and murmured, “Thank you, sunbaenim,” before hurrying to the sidelines with the other defensive players.
Players shifted without hesitation. Volleyballs rolled across the floor, sneakers scuffed against the court as everyone fell into the familiarity of their roles. Seonghwa stepped toward the net, wiping his palms on the sides of his shorts as Yeosang jogged to the backline, already calling for balls.
Wooyoung took his place on the left pin, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. Yunho settled into the middle line, shaking out his shoulders. The gym seemed to tighten around them, the loose energy of partner passing replaced by a sharper concentration.
The first ball came from Yeosang, a clean, controlled pass that arced perfectly toward Seonghwa. His hands rose instinctively, the familiar click of contact settling into his palms. He pushed the ball outside, a smooth, high set that met Wooyoung in stride.
Wooyoung slammed it down with more enthusiasm than necessary, landing with a grin.
“Nice one,” he called out.
Another ball.
Another pass from Yeosang.
Another set from Seonghwa.
This time he sent it quickly and low toward Yunho. The middle rose effortlessly, driving the ball downward in a clean, precise hit that snapped against the hardwood. Yunho gave a small nod when he landed, quiet but reassuring.
For a moment, the rhythm soothed him.
Pass. Set. Hit.
The kind of sequence he had run thousands of times.
Something his body remembered even when his mind wouldn’t.
The next ball came with that precision that Yeosang had perfected. Seonghwa lifted his hands, letting instinct take over as he pushed the ball out to the left side again. Wooyoung rose into the approach and sent it down with another sharp crack that echoed across the gym.
“Again,” Coach Seo called out.
The movements blurred together, steady and predictable, even as his thoughts refused to settle. The drills moved quickly, repetition blending the team together as the gym hummed with the steady cadence of impact and movement. A rhythm Seonghwa had known longer than he could remember. His body followed every beat without hesitation.
For a moment, the pressure in his chest loosened.
Just a moment.
Yeosang sent the next ball faster, a little sharper than the rest. It was still easy for him, a ball he had handled more times than he could count, but as it reached his hands an uninvited thought pushed its way to the front.
Think he’s still that good without him?
His timing faltered.
Not visibly, not enough for anyone but a setter to notice, but the ball left his hands a breath too late. It drifted tighter than intended, forcing Wooyoung to adjust midair to avoid clipping the antenna.
Wooyoung managed to save it, sending the ball over with a controlled smack. He landed, shook out his shoulders, and looked at Seonghwa with a questioning glance. Before he could say anything, a whistle snapped through the tension.
“Focus, Park,” Coach Seo commented.
It was not harsh, but it hit like it was.
Seonghwa inhaled slowly, teeth pressing together before he could stop himself. He nodded and held out his hands again.
“Give me another one,” he said.
The next ball came. He set perfectly, like his hands were shaped by the gods for this specific set. There was no mistake, but his earlier slip up lingered beneath his ribs. A quiet reminder of the question he tried so hard to ignore.
Coach Seo blew the whistle again, signalling the end of drills. ‘Captains,” he called.
Seonghwa stepped forward wiping his palms on his shorts as he crossed toward the center of the court. The opposing captain met him there, tall with broad shoulders, and the confidence of someone who had led his team for a while.
That confidence flickered for a heartbeat when their eyes met.
Recognition flickered.
Everyone knew Haneul’s setter.
The opposing captain let his gaze linger up and down Seonghwa's form with a half-smirk.
“So you’re The Architect. I’ve heard a lot about you. Guess we’ll have to see if you live up to the hype.”
It wasn't necessarily harsh, but it landed like a pressure against Seonghwa's ribs.
He bowed politely instead of responding.
The referee held out a coin. “Call it.”
“Heads,” the other captain called.
The coin spun upwards catching the gym lights as both teams watched. It clattered into the referee's hand.
“Heads. The home team serves.”
“Good luck, Captain,” the opposing player said with a wink. The smirk on his face suggested something else. A challenge.
Seonghwa dipped his head turning back to his team, his stomach tightened despite the familiarity of the moment.
Players broke away, grabbing quick sips of water before jogging into formation. The shift from drills to gameplay sharpened the air around them. Seonghwa took his place stepping into right back, rolling his shoulders once as he tried to settle the tension beneath his ribs.
Yeosang moved into the middle-back, posture sharp and focused. Yunho took his place at the net, steady and unreadable. Wooyoung shook his arms at the left side, already bouncing with restless energy.
Across the court, the home team’s server bounced the ball twice, eyes locked onto Haneul's formation. The gym quieted in anticipation. It was as if the world around them had frozen, locked into this moment. Then within the stillness, a whistle blew.
The serve flew over the net. Yeosang read it instantly, sliding into the path of the ball and sending a steady pass forward. It rose with easy precision as it made its way towards Seonghwa. This was the kind of ball he could set in his sleep.
His feet were already moving.
Hands lifting.
Mind narrowing.
Set.
He pushed the ball high to the outside. Wooyoung was there immediately, rising into his approach with sharp momentum before sending the ball across the net. Narrowly missing the blockers on the opposite side, it hit the floor with a smack.
A clean point.
Wooyoung jogged back with a satisfied grin. “Captain, please tell me you saw how perfect that was.”
Seonghwa allowed himself the faintest smile. “I set it. Of course it was perfect.”
Wooyoung blinked, caught off guard, before bursting into laughter. “Oh you’re getting bold today.”
“Just honest,” Seonghwa replied with a shrug.
“Look at him,” Wooyoung muttered, pointing at Seonghwa as if announcing a crime. “Our captain woke up confident.”
“Get in formation,” Seonghwa said, but there was a warmth sitting quietly in his voice.
The team reset, the air settling back into something steadier.
Seonghwa collected the ball for the next point, turning it once in his hands before stepping behind the end line. The familiar weight of it settled his breathing. He bounced it once, eyes scanning the opposite formation.
Short corner open.
Middle slightly late on shift.
Outside hitter leaning forward too early.
Simple enough.
He tossed the ball and sent a controlled serve skimming over the net.
Not aggressive, just steady, the kind of serve meant to force a pass rather than earn an ace.
The home team's libero dropped low and guided the ball upward with a smooth receive. Their setter moved beneath it, calling the play with a quick glance across his hitters.
Haneul adjusted instantly.
Yunho tracked their middle.
Wooyoung narrowed his focus on the left side.
Yeosang shifted one step back, scanning the entire court in a single breath.
The set went outside. Their hitter rose fast, swinging toward the deep right corner.
Yeosang moved before anyone else could. He slid across the floor, arms firm as he absorbed the hit and lifted a sharp, controlled dig skyward.
The ball raced into Seonghwa's space again. Familiar. Predictable. Comfortable.
He stepped into it. His hands lifted on instinct as he connected his hands to the ball.
Wooyoung's voice carried from the left side, “Send it here.”
Seonghwa nodded once, setting the ball perfectly into Wooyoung's path. Wooyoung rose, his approach clean and confident, and struck the ball with a sharp snap straight past the blockers and onto the hardwood floor.
Another point.
Wooyoung landed with a soft laugh, turning toward him. “That was clean. Keep feeding me like that.”
Seonghwa gave a short nod, “Then keep scoring.”
Wooyoung grinned, energized by the challenge.
The referee signaled the next ball into play. Seonghwa retrieved the ball again, the leather warm from his last serve. He stopped behind the end line, rolling it once between his palms. His breathing steadied, but the faint pressure beneath his ribs stayed.
He bounced the ball lightly.
Once.
Twice.
The gym quieted again, the air waiting with it.
The serve left his hand cleanly, steady, and precise. It drifted into the home teams backcourt, where their libero stepped forward to receive it. The ball drifted with rhythm he recognized too quickly. A quiet ache surfaced before he could stop it
Their setter called for the outside.
Haneul shifted.
Yunho tracked the hitter.
Wooyoung adjusted at the left side.
Yeosang watched the entire play unfold, already preparing for the dig.
The hitter rose high and swung with force. The ball snapped toward a deep corner with a sharp angle.
Yeosang, to no surprise, was there first. He slid low, arms firm, absorbing the hit with a perfect dig that lifted the ball into the air.
It rose with a rhythm he had not felt in years. Something inside him stilled.
Slow enough to read, high enough to breathe under, exact in a way that unsettled him.
Too familiar.
He moved into position, but the court around him felt distant for a moment. The sound of the rally softened. The lights above blurred slightly. His pulse thudded in his ears, steady but too loud.
That pass.
That tempo.
The exact height that had once matched him perfectly.
A rhythm he had not seen since high school, yet one his body remembered without effort.
He reached for the ball, but the present slipped.
For a single heartbeat, he was somewhere else entirely.
A different gym.
A different season.
A different boy waiting for the perfect set.
The ball descended into his reach.
The memory opened.
The smell hit him first.
It was not resin and floor polish like the courts he became familiar with. It was the faint sweetness of old wooden bleachers and dust that clung to the air of their middle school gym. The lights hummed a soft, low tune overhead, a sound his heart could never forget.
A ball reached him, rising into his space at the exact tempo his hands had learned years ago. His younger palms lifted automatically, settling into the posture of a boy who was still discovering how to trust his own timing.
“You’re too stiff when you set like that,” a younger voice said, light and matter-of-fact.
Seonghwa blinked. The present dissolved completely.
In front of him, a boy with short dark hair stood on the other end of the net, a ball tucked under one arm. His expression was focused, but not stern. Curious. Sharp. Already analyzing a play that had barely happened.
Hongjoong.
They were both younger. Their jerseys hung a little too loose on their frames, their knees wrapped unevenly because they hadn’t learned how to properly tape them. It was long after school hours, sunlight slipping in through the high windows and pooling on the aged floor.
Hongjoong bounced the ball, watching as it lifted in a smooth line.
‘“Your hands know what to do. Trust them.”
He paused, tilting his head slightly.
“Here, I will send it again.”
Seonghwa nodded, stepping into place automatically, even here inside a memory.
Hongjoong tossed the ball and passed it to him with a clean, smooth angle. Not perfect yet, but close. Close enough to show the instinct that would make coaches pay attention later.
Seonghwa lifted his hands and caught the rhythm without thinking. The ball left his fingertips in a gentle rise, floating neatly to the outside target.
Hongjoong’s face lit up.
“That one. That’s how you should set.”
Then he laughed under his breath, soft and warm.
“If you do that every time, I will not miss.”
Seonghwa smiled, “Then that's how I'll set. Every time”
They ran it again.
And again.
The gym had grown dimmer around them, but neither noticed. They spoke little, but the rhythm between them was loud enough for the two of them, each repetition growing the tempo that would become authentically theirs.
Pass.
Set.
Hit.
A pattern that would follow them for years.
At one point, Hongjoong paused and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his forearm. He looked at Seonghwa with a small warm smile.
“People think volleyball is hard because they play with people who do not match their rhythm,” he said.” But when you find someone who does, everything feels simple.”
The gym snapped back into focus with the sharp echo of the ball hitting the floor.
It took Seonghwa a second to realize it had landed on their side.
A point lost.
Wooyoung was already jogging toward him to reset, but he slowed just slightly, eyes narrowed in quiet confusion. He did not say anything. He never said anything in games unless it mattered, but the pause was enough. A question without words.
Yeosang glanced at him too from the back row, not with concern, just calculation. He had noticed the rhythm break, he always did.
As the home team regrouped for their next serve, one of their players muttered to another, low enough that it was not meant to carry.
“The Architect is easier to read without his partner.”
Seonghwa did not react. Just blinked hard once, steadying his breath. His palms felt too warm, his fingers tingling as if the ball from his memory lingered there instead of the one in the present.
“Reset,” he said, voice even. “We take the next one.”
Wooyoung nodded immediately. “Yes, Captain.”
Yunho stepped into place at the net, giving him a brief, grounding look before turning forward again.
The moment passed quickly, but the rhythm in Seonghwa's hands felt different.
Just slightly.
Just enough for him to feel what was missing.
The next serve came hard and fast, skimming just above the tape. Yeosang moved to receive, steady as ever, and sent a sharp pass forward. This one rose cleanly into Seonghwas space. The tempo was different than before. Not too slow. Not too perfect. Just normal.
Normal should have helped.
His hands lifted, finding the ball with the ease of muscle memory, yet something in his chest faltered for half a heartbeat. He pushed the ball outside to Wooyoung. The set was workable, but a breath too tight. Wooyoung adjusted midair to keep it in play, sending a controlled shot to the deep corner.
The rally continues, neither side giving much. A long exchange, back and forth across the net, the kind that demanded focus but left room for thoughts to slip where they didn’t belong.
By the time the ball hit the floor again, the point belonged to the home team.
Yunho reset his stance with a quet exhale.
Yeosang cracked his knuckles once, eyes steady.
Wooyoung bounced on his toes, shaking off frustration with a shake of his head.
Seonghwa swallowed, forcing the tension down.
“We take the next one.”
And they did take the next one.
Then another.
The rhythm never fully settled.
Some rallies looked sharp, clean, in sync. Others dragged, pulled out of place by inch-long misreads or hesitation that had not been there before. Haneul fought through every point, but practice matches had a way of revealing every insecurity.
When the final whistle blew, the scoreboard reflected it:
Home team: 25
Haneul: 23
Close.
Competitive.
A match they could have taken on any other day.
The players gathered their things with the causal fatigue of a normal scrimmage. Wooyoung clapped Seonghwa on the shoulder before he could overthink the loss.
“Not bad for the first match of the season,” he said lightly. “We’ll get the next one.”
Yeosang nodded in agreement. “Our coverage shape looked good. Just needs some time.”
Yunho added, “We’re fine. It’s early.”
They all meant it.
Their faith in him had never been questioned.
Seonghwa offered a small nod, doing his best to match the steadiness they gave him.
“Good work today. Now go rest up.”
But as he slung his bag over his shoulder and followed his team toward the doors, his fingers still felt the ghost of a pass that did not belong to this gym. A tempo from years ago. A rhythm he had not realized he still remembered.
And for the first time since the whispers began, he did not know how to answer them.