Work Text:
If you asked Sung Hanbin how he spent his weekends, he would say they were frequently ruined by circumstances beyond his control.
If you asked Zhang Hao, he would say Hanbin had never once truly minded.
And if you asked Kim Gyuvin, he would insist destiny itself personally arranged everything.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, destiny that day involved tennis.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
“I don’t understand why we have to go.”
Hanbin said this for the fifth time as they stood outside the university tennis courts, arms crossed.
Spring sunlight stretched across the courts. The rhythmic thwack of tennis balls echoed through the air, punctuated by whistles and distant cheers.
Hao adjusted the brim of his cap to block the afternoon sun.
“You agreed,” he reminded.
“I was emotionally manipulated.”
“You said yes immediately.”
“That was before I knew it involved sports.”
Ahead of them, Gyuvin turned around while walking backward, nearly colliding with a fence in his excitement.
“You guys are going to love him,” Gyuvin announced. “He’s amazing. Talented. Matu—”
Hanbin narrowed his eyes. “You met him last week.”
“That’s enough time when fate is involved.”
Hao laughed. "Didn’t you say that to Choi Mina three weeks ago?"
Gyuvin clasped both hands dramatically. “Park Minho is different.”
Hanbin glanced at hao, annoyance softening instantly. “We could have stayed home,” he muttered. “We had plans.”
Hao hummed.
He remembered perfectly.
Lunch together. Possibly a walk afterward. Hanbin had even researched dessert places in advance, which meant he had been serious.
Then Gyuvin had appeared.
Breathless. Declaring destiny.
And destiny apparently played competitive tennis.
“We still do,” Hao said gently. “We’re spending time together.”
Hanbin looked unconvinced.
“This is not the together time I imagined.”
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
The university courts were crowded. Students gathered along metal benches while players warmed up behind the nets.
Gyuvin pointed dramatically towards Court Three.
“There! That’s him!”
Park Minho stood near the baseline, stretching his shoulders. Tall, athletic, effortlessly confident, he looked exactly like someone Gyuvin would decide was his soulmate within minutes.
Minho waved when he noticed them.
"Hey," Minho said easily, offering a quick smile. "You made it."
Gyuvin nodded. "I told you, I’m going to cheer for you."
Then Minho laughed lightly and lifted his hand. Gyuvin stared at it for a half a second before slapping his palm against it.
Minho’s gaze shifted then, landing on the other two.
"And you are…?"
"Hao," Hao said with an easy smile.
Minho nodded, then looked at Hanbin, eyes widening in recognition.
"Oh, you’re the campus detective, right?“
Hanbin blinked. "…I just solve things occasionally."
Minho grinned slightly.
"Hanbin…yeah I heard about you." His gaze flossed back to Hao. "Didn’t expect the pretty muse though."
Silence.
Gyuvins eyes widens.
Hao raised his eyebrow.
"He’s not my muse," hanbin said flatly. "He’s my boyfriend."
"Oh…sorry, I didn’t—"
"Minho!"
A voice called from the court.
Minho glanced back, then nodded.
"Duty calls," he said lightly. "Nice meeting you Hao…Hanbin."
He jogged back without waiting for a response while silence lingered for half a minute.
"I don’t like this guy."
"Oh come on! He’s nice he didn’t meant it like that."
Hanbin just side eyed him before grumblingly sitting down.
(Meanwhile, Gyuvin was working very hard to convince Hanbin that Minho had absolutely zero interest in Hao.)
Hao sat beside Hanbin, their shoulders brushing lightly. Hanbin melted almost immediately, leaning just enough that their arms stayed touching.
“I don’t understand tennis.”
“You don’t need to. Hyung will explain to you.”
Hanbin watched Hao instead.
How the sunlight rested softly against Hao’s face. How the breeze lifted a few strands of hair near his eyes. Hao leaned forward slightly, attentive, relaxed.
Hanbin felt his irritation weaken—maybe this wasn’t entirely terrible.
Then Gyuvin screamed again.
“MINHO HYUNG FIGHTING!”
Hanbin flinched.
Correction. Entirely terrible.
⸻
The match began shortly afterward.
Minho moved confidently across the court, striking the ball with practiced precision.
Applause followed every winning point, growing louder as his streak continued uninterrupted. Between games, he jogged toward the sidelines where a person waited, offering a towel and a quick word that made Minho grin.
They exchanged an easy high-five before Minho turned back without hesitation, confidence settling over him like sunlight.
Another rally began, another clean winner, and the scoreboard ticked upward again. Momentum had chosen its favorite, and for now, Park Minho could do no wrong.
“That serve!” Gyuvin gasped.
Hanbin squinted. “It looked like all the other serves.”
“It was different.”
“They all hit the ball.”
Then he sighed dramatically again. “I could solve at least two minor crimes in the time between serves.”
“Hyung!” Gyuvin whined. "You already have your love of your life. Let me get mine too."
“That is not the point.”
"So you hate me?"
And cue bickering between the two bins has began while the match was still on.
Then, midway through a rally, something changed.
Minho stumbled.
It was subtle at first. A slight misstep. A delayed reaction.
Hanbin straightened instinctively.
Minho swung again, missed entirely, and staggered backward.
The racket slipped from his hand.
He collapsed.
For a moment, the world froze.
Then chaos erupted.
A person rushed forward. Coaches shouted. Someone called for medical assistance.
Gyuvin stood frozen. “Is… is that part of the game?”
“No,” Hanbin said quietly.
The tone of his voice changed.
Hao felt it immediately.
Hanbin’s eyes sharpening as he watched the scene unfold.
“Stay here,” he told Hao automatically.
“I never do.”
Hanbin hesitated.
“…Stay close to me, then.”
Hao smiled.
“Always.”
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Medical staff surrounded Minho, checking his pulse before carefully lifting him onto a stretcher.
A whisper spread through nearby spectators.
“Did he faint?”
“Was it heatstroke?”
Hanbin’s gaze narrowed.
“Too sudden,” he murmured.
“What is?” Hao asked.
Gyuvin grabbed Hanbin’s sleeve. “He just collapsed! He was fine!”
Before Hao could respond, an official approached the spectators near the front.
“Please remain seated. We may need statements from witnesses.”
Gyuvin swallowed nervously. “I didn’t do anything.”
Hanbin slowly turned to him.
“…Why would you say that?”
Gyuvin froze.
“…No reason.”
Hanbin turned toward Hao.
Hao shook his head slightly, communicating through eyes.
At the end hanbin just sighed.
⸻
The police arrived within twenty minutes.
Questions began immediately.
Players. Staff. Spectators near the front rows.
When an officer approached their group, Gyuvin stood abruptly.
“I support him but I have an alibi!”
Hanbin closed his eyes briefly.
The officer frowned. “Sir… please calm down.”
Gyuvin nodded too quickly. “I am calm.”
He was on fact not calm.
The questioning continued until another officer approached holding a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was a sports glove.
The officer looked toward Gyuvin.
“Is this yours?”
Gyuvin blinked.
“Yes? I think? I dropped it earlier…”
The officer’s expression hardened.
“We found traces of poison on it.”
Silence fell.
"We‘re going to need you to come with us," the officer said.
"Until we sort this out, you’re our primary suspect."
Gyuvin’s soul visibly left his body.
“…what?!”
"Please come with us. We have some questions."
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Gyuvin sat on a bench twenty minutes later, looking like destiny had personally betrayed him.
“I just wanted love,” he whispered.
Hao patted his shoulder gently.
Hanbin paced nearby, deep in thought.
The situation was absurd. Too absurd.
Gyuvin as a calculated poisoner made no sense. He lacked subtlety, planning ability, and basic emotional stability under pressure.
Which meant only one thing.
Someone wanted him to look guilty.
Hanbin stopped pacing.
“Walk me through everything,” he demanded.
Gyuvin sniffed. “I arrived early. Talked with Minho hyung. He high-fived me before warmups. Then I bought snacks, sat with you, and he came back again. Talked with us, high-fived again, and then the game started.”
Hanbin froze.
“…He high-fived you two times?”
“Yes?”
Hanbin’s eyes narrowed.
“Which hand?”
“My right.”
“And the glove?”
Gyuvin weakly pointed to his hand.
“…Right hand.”
Hanbin turned slowly toward the court.
“I need to see where he collapsed.”
Gyuvin blinked. “Are you allowed to do that?”
Hanbin hesitated half a second.
“…Probably not.”
Then he walked anyway.
Hao followed immediately—not because Hanbin asked, but because he always did.
The entrance to Court Three was blocked by yellow tape and a uniformed officer.
“Sorry,” the officer said before Hanbin spoke. “Restricted area.”
Hanbin stopped just short of the tape.
“I only need a quick look,” he said politely. “I was nearby when it happened.”
The officer shook his head. “Only staff and investigators.”
Hanbin opened his mouth, already forming an argument from pure logic and stubbornness.
“I might be able to help. The timing suggests—”
“Kid.”
The word landed firm, but not unkind.
“You’re a witness. Please stay behind the barrier.”
Hanbin fell silent.
For a moment, irritation flickered across his face.
He nodded once. “…Right.”
He stepped back but didn’t leave. His eyes stayed on the court, tracing invisible paths, reconstructing movements only he could see.
Hao watched him. The tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened when he felt useless, the barely hidden frustration. Hanbin hated unfinished puzzles—and being dismissed before he even started.
He turned slightly toward Hao, preparing a joke to cover it.
Before he could speak, another voice called out.
“Wait a second.”
A second officer approached, squinting. Recognition dawned slowly.
“…Sung?”
The officer brightened.
“Oh. You’re Chief Sung’s son, right? You helped on that campus theft case last semester.”
The first officer straightened instantly.
“Oh—I didn’t realize. Sir, you can go through.”
The tape lifted. An apology followed quickly.
“Sorry about that.”
Hanbin didn’t move. For a second too long.
“…It’s fine,” he said finally, ducking under the tape.
Hao followed quietly.
The crowd’s noise faded as they stepped onto the empty court.
For several steps, Hanbin said nothing. Hands in pockets. Hao matched his pace.
“You’re walking faster,” Hao said casually.
“I always walk fast.”
“Not like this.”
Hanbin exhaled through his nose. Silence stretched. Hao let it sit. He knew better than to push.
They reached the baseline where Minho had fallen. Chalk dust marked faint disturbances.
Hanbin crouched, attention shifting to the scene, tension still lingering. Hao watched him a moment, then nudged his shoe lightly against Hanbin’s. Not enough to interrupt—just enough to anchor.
“You hate it,” Hao said softly.
Hanbin didn’t look up.
“Hate what?”
“When they recognize you because of your father.”
His fingers paused. A faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“It’s useful sometimes.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Hanbin glanced at him. Hao’s expression was gentle, not pitying.
“I didn’t do anything just now,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t convince him. Didn’t notice anything impressive. The door opened because of my last name.”
Hao tilted his head.
“And yet you hesitated before walking in.”
“…You noticed that?”
“I notice everything about you.”
The words came easily. Naturally.
Hanbin looked away first. A faint flush crept into his ears.
“I just…” He searched for phrasing. “I want people to listen because I’m right, not because of my father.”
Hao hummed. Then he crouched beside him, shoulders brushing.
“They will. You solved cases before anyone knew who you were.”
Hanbin glanced at him. Hao smiled.
“And you complain every time,” he added. “Clearly fame hasn’t corrupted you.”
A reluctant laugh. “That’s not funny.”
“It is a little.”
Their shoulders stayed touching. The tension loosened. Hanbin’s focus returned.
“The collapse point was here,” he murmured, gesturing to faint scuff marks.
“But he adjusted his grip earlier…”
Hao watched the familiar transformation, sparkle returning piece by piece. His lips curved.
Hanbin looked up.
“Now, let’s see what everyone else missed.”
This time, when he leaned forward to investigate, Hao stayed beside him. Exactly where he belonged.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Gyuvin bounced on the balls of his feet, clutching his water bottle like it was a lifeline.
“Uh… do you guys want a drink or something?” he asked, voice cracking.
“Water? Soda? Coffee? I can run—”
Before anyone could answer, a group of Minho’s underlings appeared from nowhere, eyes locked on Gyuvin like he’d just declared war.
One of them stepped forward, arms crossed. “Gyuvin. People are saying… you poisoned Minho.”
Gyuvin’s eyes widened. “Me?” He pointed at himself with both hands. “Me?”
Hanbin pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling like he’d just been slapped in the face by nonsense. His mental flow was gone.
Hao, leaning slightly forward, pressed a hand to his mouth to suppress a laugh, eyes sparkling. The absurdity of the moment—Gyuvin standing there like a cartoon villain accused of unthinkable crimes—absurdly entertaining.
“I didn’t poison anyone!” Gyuvin cried, voice high and trembling. “Not a single drop! I swear!”
One of the underlings stepped closer, expression stern. “Then why did people say—”
Gyuvin raised both hands dramatically, cutting him off. “Because someone wants me to look guilty! Someone wants me framed! You have to believe me!”
Gyuvin turned dramatically toward Hanbin. “Tell them! Tell them I’m innocent!”
Hanbin sighed, eyes still closed. “Gyuvin."
“I am a man of devotion!”
“My God Gyuvin.”
“I am misunderstood—”
“STEP. BACK.”
Gyuvins jaw hit the floor. "WHAT?!"
“You’re being loud.”
“I’m being accused of poisoning my future husband!”
“HAO!” Gyuvin cried. “Do something!”
“Can’t do,” Hao said smoothly. “I’m… documenting.”
Gyuvin shot them both a glare that promised revenge at their next date.
The underlings, confused by the bizarre theatrics of their supposed suspect and the calm detective, shifted awkwardly.
Gyuvin, chest puffed and still trembling, whispered to no one in particular, “I swear on my feelings—I did nothing. Nothing at all!”
Hanbin sighed again, standing and brushing chalk dust off his knees.
“Good. Let’s start investigating. Everyone stay calm.”
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
The noise of the tennis courts had faded into something distant and uneven, like sound heard underwater.
Police tape fluttered lazily in the warm afternoon air. Officers moved between benches and equipment bags, their conversations low, controlled. Somewhere nearby, a camera shutter clicked. The match that had drawn cheers an hour ago now existed only as chalk marks and tension.
Hao sat beneath the wide shade of a tree just outside the court fence, exactly where Hanbin had insisted he stay.
“You’re overheating,” Hanbin had said earlier, already guiding him there without waiting for agreement. “Observe from command center.”
Hao had rolled his eyes but stayed there anyway.
Hanbin moved slowly across the court, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed enough to look like he didn’t belong to the investigation at all. No badge. No notebook. Just sharp eyes tracing invisible lines across reality.
The courts.
The benches.
The equipment bags lined neatly against the fence.
People nearby whispered nervously, glancing toward Gyuvin every few seconds.
Hao followed Hanbin’s gaze.
Hanbin crouched near the baseline, studying the ground.
“Poison doesn’t appear randomly,” Hanbin muttered, mostly to himself.
Hao tilted his head, voice soft. “Let me into your mind.”
That did it.
Hanbin exhaled quietly.
“…There’s structure,” he said.
“Everything here happened in sequence.”
Hao tilted his head. “Then start at the beginning.”
Hanbin finally sat beside him.
For a moment neither spoke. The breeze shifted overhead, scattering light through leaves.
Hao watched the court again, thinking aloud because he knew Hanbin was listening. Hanbin always listened. Even when silent, especially when silent.
“…Everyone says Minho collapsed suddenly,” Hao began. “But it didn’t look sudden.”
Hanbin’s eyes flicked toward him.
“He touched his racket first,” Hao continued slowly. “I remember that. He adjusted the grip before serving.”
Hanbin said nothing.
Encouraged, Hao kept going.
“And earlier… there was that high-five. With the coach. Everyone cheered.”
Hao frowned, searching memory.
“It felt… staged? Not fake. Just...”
Hao glanced sideways. Hanbin was watching him, fully attentive.
“…Okay, maybe I’m overthinking,” Hao murmured. “I don’t understand crime logic like you do.”
Hanbin immediately shook his head, “Keep going.”
His voice softened.
“I’m listening.”
He reached over and gently took Hao’s hands in his own, thumbs resting against Hao’s knuckles. The gesture was natural, absentminded almost, like anchoring himself while thinking.
The world outside the shade seemed to blur.
Hao blinked, momentarily distracted.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“You think better when you talk,” Hanbin replied simply.
Hao huffed a quiet laugh but continued.
“Alright… if I were the culprit,” he said carefully, “I wouldn’t poison food or water. Too obvious and risky. Someone else could drink it.”
Hanbin nodded once.
“So… contact poison,” Hao said. “Something transferred.”
He glanced toward the evidence table.
“The glove.”
Hanbin’s grip tightened slightly.
“Why a glove?” Hanbin wondered aloud.
Hao thinks, “Tennis players don’t normally wear them during play. So it has to appear natural… maybe during encouragement?”
He paused, eyes widening slightly as thoughts aligned.
“The high-five.”
Hanbin didn’t interrupt.
Hao leaned forward now, fully engaged.
“If the substance was on the glove… Minho wouldn’t collapse immediately. He’d transfer it somewhere else first.”
His gaze snapped toward the court.
“The racket grip.”
Hanbin’s lips curved faintly.
Hao noticed and frowned. “You already knew.”
“I suspected,” Hanbin said.
Hao squinted. “Then why make me say it?”
“Because you noticed why it works.”
Hao looked confused again, but continued thinking.
“…Okay,” He hesitated. “That means timing mattered. The culprit needed Minho to touch the racket soon after.”
Hanbin nodded.
“Which means,” Hao added slowly, “they were close enough to control the moment.”
His gaze drifted across the court… then toward the coaching area.
“…Someone with authority.”
A breeze passed between them.
Hao fell quiet, thinking harder now.
“But then,” he said softly, “why Gyuvin?”
Hanbin’s expression shifted slightly. That was the missing piece.
Hao squeezed Hanbin’s hands unconsciously.
“Gyuvin doesn’t even know Minho that well. He just… admires him.” Hanbin smiled faintly.
“But everyone noticed him,” Hao continued. “He stood out… easy to blame.”
“If someone wanted a suspect… Gyuvin is perfect. People already think he’s chaotic.”
Hanbin’s eyes darkened thoughtfully.
Hao kept talking, thoughts spilling freely now.
“The glove being found later means the culprit needed distance from it. Hiding it inside a tennis ball…” He shook his head. “That’s weird. Almost theatrical.”
Hanbin’s gaze sharpened again. "What do you mean by it?"
“The culprit wanted it discovered,” Hao realized. “But not immediately.”
““It doesn’t feel like an attempted murder,” he admitted.
Hanbin watched him carefully.
Hao continued, softer now.
“If someone truly wanted Minho dead, there were easier ways. This is complicated. Controlled. Almost… educational.”
He frowned at his own wording.
“Educational?”
Hanbin repeated the word softly.
Hao nodded uncertainly.
“Like… proving something. Showing they could do it.”
A long pause followed.
Hanbin’s posture changed immediately.
Hao noticed the shift.
“…Was that stupid?” he asked.
Instead of answering, Hanbin leaned closer, eyes bright with sudden realization.
“Say that again.”
“The educational part?”
Hanbin stood abruptly.
Everything clicked.
Medical knowledge. Controlled dosage. Non-lethal poisoning. Public demonstration. A scapegoat to absorb suspicion.
A test.
Not murder.
Proof.
Hanbin turned back, grabbed Hao’s face gently, and kissed him quickly, firmly.
“Hao,” he said breathlessly, “I love you.”
Then he was already moving away.
Hao stared after him, stunned.
“…Hanbin?”
No response.
Hanbin was halfway across the court, energy completely transformed, heading straight toward the coaching area.
Hao blinked several times.
“…He does this every time,” he muttered, standing slowly.
Then louder:
“Hanbin! You can’t just kiss me and run off!”
Several officers glanced at him.
Hao sighed, brushing grass from his pants before following at a much calmer pace.
Under the tree, the shade remained quiet.
But the case had finally begun to make sense.
And somewhere ahead, Hanbin was already chasing the answer Hao had unknowingly handed him.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Hanbin slowed before reaching Taeyeon.
Not because he hesitated.
Because timing mattered.
A detective rushing toward the truth often scared it away. A detective arriving casually let the truth walk straight into its own reflection.
Taeyeon stood near the equipment benches, speaking with an officer who soon excused himself to answer a call. The moment opened naturally.
Perfect.
Hanbin approached, hands tucked loosely into his pockets. Up close, Taeyeon looked composed. Too composed for someone whose player had just collapsed mid-match.
“Hi,” Hanbin said lightly. “You’re Minho’s trainer, right?”
Taeyeon shook his head. “Assistant coach.”
His eyes scanned Hanbin quickly, categorizing him. Spectator. Student. Irrelevant.
Good.
Hanbin glanced toward the court as if still processing the chaos.
“That was scary,” he said. “I’ve never seen someone collapse like that.”
A harmless statement.
Taeyeon relaxed slightly. “Heat and exhaustion happen.”
Hanbin nodded.
“Even when hydration levels are monitored?”
The correction came instantly.
“We track electrolyte intake before matches.”
Taeyeon stilled. Just slightly.
Hanbin tilted his head, expression openly curious.
“You must be really thorough,” he said.
“It’s standard,” Taeyeon replied, but now he watched Hanbin more carefully. Awareness had awakened.
Hanbin crouched beside an open equipment bag, inspecting a row of identical tennis balls.
“Can I ask something?” he said casually.
Taeyeon hesitated. “…Sure.”
“You were first to reach him.”
“Yes.”
“You checked his pulse immediately.”
“Yes.”
“And you stopped anyone from giving him water.”
Taeyeon frowned. “Because that could’ve been dangerous.”
Hanbin looked up. “Dangerous how?”
A pause. Slightly too long.
“If someone loses consciousness,” Taeyeon said carefully, “you avoid forcing fluids.”
Technically correct. But incomplete.
Hanbin rolled a tennis ball between his palms.
“Right,” he murmured. “Unless ingestion was already the problem.”
Taeyeon’s gaze sharpened.
“You’re asking strange questions.”
Hanbin laughed softly. “Sorry. I like strange questions.”
He tossed the ball lightly into the air and caught it.
“So poison spreads faster through the bloodstream when absorbed through skin, right?”
Taeyeon answered automatically. “Yes, depending on the compound.”
He stopped. Too late.
Hanbin’s eyes flickered. A quiet confirmation. No poison type had been publicly mentioned.
Hanbin hummed thoughtfully, pretending not to notice.
“Wild,” he said. “I assumed food contamination.”
Taeyeon said nothing. Correcting him again would mean revealing knowledge.
Hanbin set the ball back into the bag.
“You must feel awful,” he continued gently. “Being responsible for equipment.”
Taeyeon blinked. “Responsible?”
“Well,” Hanbin gestured vaguely toward the benches, “gloves, rackets, towels. Staff handles those, right?”
“…Yes.”
“And players don’t usually share gloves?”
“No.”
“So if a contaminated glove appeared…”
He let the sentence fade.
Taeyeon crossed his arms, defensive. “You think staff poisoned him?”
Hanbin smiled faintly. “I didn’t say that.”
A beat passed.
Then Hanbin added quietly, “I’m just trying to understand why someone would choose something non-lethal.”
Taeyeon’s breathing shifted.
Hanbin continued conversationally.
“Dosage matters. Too little, nothing happens. Too much, someone dies.”
He met Taeyeon’s eyes now.
“This dosage was… precise.”
“You’re speculating,” Taeyeon said quickly.
“Of course.”
Hanbin’s tone remained warm.
“But whoever did it understood physiology. Timing. Public visibility.”
He gestured toward the stands.
“Middle of a match. Maximum witnesses.”
Taeyeon’s gaze flicked unconsciously toward the crowd.
Hanbin noticed.
“So,” Hanbin said softly, “not hatred.”
Silence.
“Not revenge.”
Taeyeon’s jaw tightened.
Hanbin tilted his head. “…Recognition?”
The word landed heavily.
Taeyeon inhaled sharply, then straightened, forcing composure back into place.
“You’re overthinking,” he said, attempting a small laugh. “It was probably dehydration. The medical team already said they’re evaluating that. You should let the professionals handle it.”
A redirect. A summary. An attempt to close the conversation.
Hanbin smiled politely, as if conceding.
“Maybe,” he said.
Then, softer:
“But you knew immediately it wasn’t heatstroke.”
Taeyeon froze. “…What?”
Hanbin’s expression didn’t change.
“You never checked for dehydration symptoms first.”
Understanding spread slowly across Taeyeon’s face. He had revealed too much.
Hanbin watched calmly.
There it was.
Fear, faint but unmistakable.
Hanbin’s smile softened.
Thank you.
He stepped aside, breaking eye contact first, as though the conversation had meant nothing at all.
“I hope Minho recovers,” he said politely, leaving Taeyeon standing alone beside the benches.
⸻
Hanbin walked until the noise of the court swallowed the conversation behind him.
Each step felt lighter. Not from relief. From certainty.
Pieces slid into place one after another.
Not an attempt to kill.
An attempt to be seen.
Hanbin checked the scoreboard clock instinctively. Officials were already moving faster now. Staff whispering. Phones out.
Once formal investigators arrived, everything would slow behind procedures and permissions. Evidence would disappear into reports. Statements would harden.
He had a narrow window before the story settled into the wrong shape.
Hanbin exhaled.
Limited time, he decided.
And then he turned toward the benches.
⸻
Gyuvin sat rigidly, staring at the ground.
“…Hyung,” he said quietly.
Hanbin paused.
That tone was new.
“…I didn’t do it.”
Hanbin’s expression softened, just slightly.
“I know,” he said.
Gyuvin looked up. “You didn’t even investigate yet.”
“I don’t need to.”
A beat passed.
“Then prove it,” Gyuvin whispered.
Hanbin held his gaze for a moment. Then nodded once.
“I will.”
He turned to leave.
⸻
Hao spotted Hanbin before Hanbin spotted him.
Which, frankly, was rare. Hanbin usually moved like a compass needle locked onto purpose, impossible to miss once he chose a direction.
Now he was already walking away from Gyuvin, hands tucked into his pockets, the faintest smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Hao crossed the grass toward him.
“Hey,” he called.
Hanbin stopped immediately and, without a word, reached out and took both of Hao’s hands.
Hao blinked, caught off guard as warmth spread from their palms up his arms.
“…Where are we going?”
“Center court,” Hanbin said.
He started moving again, gently pulling Hao along.
Hao let himself be dragged two steps before laughing under his breath.
“For what?”
“We need everyone present.”
“That did not answer my question.”
Hanbin glanced sideways, visibly reorganizing his thoughts.
“I’m gathering witnesses,” he corrected. “To solve the case.”
A small pause.
Then, quieter, almost to himself:
“Before the truth gets replaced by an easier explanation.”
Hao studied him for a moment, recognizing the look in his eyes.
The case was already solved in Hanbin’s head.
Now he just needed the world to catch up.
“…You found the culprit.”
“Yes.”
“and you want me to come along because…?.”
Hanbin frowned faintly. “Should I not have you near me?”
"And?"
Hanbin shrugged, pulling Hao a little closer. “…Because you make me think clearly when you talk. And because someone has to translate my words.”
Hao laughed softly. “Ao I’m just your translator, huh?”
“Yes,” Hanbin said. “Which means I need you.”
God, he loved him.
They walked across the courts together, Hanbin still holding his hand absentmindedly, navigating around cables and benches without looking because his attention was clearly somewhere internal.
Hao squeezed his fingers lightly.
“So,” he said, tone casual, “tell me.”
Hanbin shook his head immediately.
“No.”
“No?”
“I want to confirm reactions in real time.”
Hao raised an eyebrow. “You’re saving the reveal for dramatic effect?”
Hanbin considered this.
“…Efficiency.”
“That is literally drama.”
“It is structured information delivery.”
Hao grinned. “You rehearsed this in your head, didn’t you?”
A pause.
“…Maybe.”
They walked a few more steps before Hao asked softly,
“What was the moment?”
Hanbin’s grip tightened slightly around Hao’s hands as he replayed it.
“When he wasn’t scared of being blamed.”
“He was scared of being understood?”
“Yes.”
Hao exhaled. “God. That’s such a medical student crime.”
Hanbin blinked. “Explain.
Hao shrugged lightly. “Not murder. Demonstration. ‘Look how capable I am.’ People like that don’t want death. They want acknowledgment.”
Hanbin stopped walking.
Hao nearly walked into him.
“…What?” Hao asked.
Hanbin stared at him.
“You just solved the missing variable.”
Hao frowned. “I did?”
“Yes.”
“You already solved the case.”
“I solved the mechanism,” Hanbin corrected. “You solved the motive.”
Hao looked genuinely confused for a second, then realization dawned slowly.
“…Oh.”
Hanbin’s face lit up in that rare, unfiltered way Hao loved most. The expression that meant excitement had overridden self-consciousness entirely.
“Hyung,” he said, almost breathless, “I really like how your brain works.”
Hao smiled softly. “You say that every time I accidentally help.”
“It’s not accidental.”
And before Hao could respond, Hanbin leaned forward and kissed him.
Right there in the middle of a crime scene like it was the most reasonable action available.
Hao blinked as Hanbin pulled away immediately afterward, already turning again toward the courts.
“…You cannot keep doing that,” Hao said, following.
“Yes I can.”
“At least warn me.”
“I didn’t have time.”
They reached the courts where officers were still coordinating witnesses.
Hanbin finally released Hao’s hands, only to immediately gesture toward the gathering crowd.
“Now we explain everything.”
Hao crossed his arms, watching him with fond disbelief.
Showtime.
Hao watched the shift happen in real time. The softness folded away, replaced by precise attention.
“Stay next to me?”
Hao didn’t hesitate. “Obviously.”
Hanbin exhaled once, steadying himself. Then he stepped forward, voice clear but calm.
“Excuse me,” he called to the officers. “Could everyone involved gather for a moment? I believe the incident with Park Minho can be explained.”
Murmurs spread immediately.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
It didn’t take long.
On a university campus, rumors outran logic.
An officer nodded. “You said you have information?”
Hanbin inclined his head.
“Yes. This wasn’t a random poisoning.”
The murmuring died instantly.
“Park Minho collapsed because poison entered his body during the match,” Hanbin said. “But not through food or drink.”
He gestured toward the court.
“Through contact.”
Confusion rippled.
“One of his hands,” Hanbin continued. “Specifically, the racket grip.”
A player frowned. “He didn’t touch anything unusual.”
“He did,” Hanbin said softly. “You just didn’t notice.”
He crouched briefly, mimicking a grip adjustment.
“If toxin transfers onto the hand, then onto the grip, absorption becomes inevitable.”
The officer narrowed his eyes. “Transferred from where?”
Hanbin looked up.
“A glove.”
Gyuvin made a wounded sound. “I knew the glove would ruin my life.”
Hanbin ignored him with visible effort.
“The poison traces on Kim Gyuvin’s glove are real,” he said. “But he isn’t the culprit.”
“Then why was it there?” another officer asked.
Hanbin turned slightly toward Gyuvin.
“You said Minho high-fived you before warmups.”
“Yes,” Gyuvin said quickly. “Possibly romantically.”
“Ignoring that,” Hanbin said, “transfer occurred during contact.”
The crowd shifted.
“That explains the delay,” an officer murmured.
Hanbin nodded once.
“The poison needed time.”
He let the silence sit before continuing.
“And someone relied on that delay.”
Now people were leaning forward.
Hanbin began pacing slowly.
“The plan depended on three things,” he said.
“A public setting.”
“A delayed reaction.”
“And a suspect who would panic loudly.”
Gyuvin gasped. “I react normally!”
No one agreed.
A coach spoke up. “Why Gyuvin-ssi?”
Hanbin paused.
Then glanced sideways at Hao.
A tiny look.
Hao understood immediately.
Hanbin stepped back slightly. “My partner explains this better.”
Several heads turned.
Hao blinked. “…Your partner?”
“Yes.”
Hao stepped forward, composure settling naturally into place.
“Gyuvin wasn’t chosen randomly,” he said. “He was chosen because people notice him.”
Gyuvin sat taller.
“…That sounds correct.”
“He’s expressive,” Hao continued gently. “Emotional reactions look suspicious to strangers. Panic creates a story before facts exist.”
Officers exchanged looks.
“And he openly admires Minho,” Hao added. “That creates motive in people’s minds even if none exists.”
“My love is pure,” Gyuvin whispered.
“Yes,” Hao said patiently. “But perception matters more than truth.”
“The culprit didn’t need evidence,” Hao finished. “Only a believable narrative.”
He glanced back at Hanbin.
Did I do it right?
Hanbin’s expression softened instantly.
“My partner is very smart,” he said quietly.
For a moment, the crowd disappeared. Hanbin brushed imaginary dust from Hao’s sleeve. Hao’s ears tinted faintly pink.
Someone coughed loudly.
Reality returned.
An officer spoke. “You’re assuming intent. How do you know this wasn’t accidental?”
Hanbin straightened immediately.
“Because accidents spread,” he said. “This didn’t.”
Hao picked up smoothly.
“If contamination were random,” he added, “multiple surfaces would test positive. Equipment. Benches. Towels.”
He gestured lightly.
“But we see a single chain.”
He counted softly.
“Glove. High-five. Grip. Collapse.”
A clean line.
“The dosage was controlled,” Hao continued. “Enough to cause collapse. Not death.”
Murmurs sharpened.
“This wasn’t murder,” he said quietly.
“It was control.”
Silence followed.
Hanbin stepped forward again.
“The culprit needed medical knowledge, access to players, and understanding of how suspicion spreads.”
His gaze moved across the staff.
“And someone revealed knowledge of the poison before investigators disclosed it.”
Officers stiffened.
Hanbin folded his hands behind his back.
“So.”
His eyes settled on one person.
Unavoidable.
“Shall we talk about why you did it?”
The crowd turned.
Taeyeon stood very still.
“Why are you looking at me?” he asked evenly.
Hanbin tilted his head.
“I just have a question.”
An officer muttered, “Make it quick.”
Hanbin nodded politely.
“You were courtside the entire match?”
“Yes.”
“You greeted Minho before warmups.”
“…Like everyone.”
“Did you greet Gyuvin?”
Gyuvin straightened proudly.
“I am memorable.”
Hao gently pushed him back down.
Taeyeon hesitated. “Probably.”
“High-five?” Hanbin asked lightly.
A pause.
Too long.
“I don’t remember.”
Hanbin smiled faintly.
“I think you do.”
The officer frowned. “Where is this going?”
Hanbin didn’t look away from Taeyeon.
“You needed distance between contact and collapse,” he said. “Enough time so no one looks at you.”
Taeyeon’s jaw tightened.
“You’re assuming.”
“I confirmed it earlier,” Hanbin replied calmly. “You understood the poison’s precision before anyone mentioned poison.”
Silence pressed inward.
Hao stepped forward slightly.
“The glove wasn’t hidden to disappear,” he said. “It was hidden to be found.”
Officers exchanged looks.
“If Gyuvin were guilty,” Hao continued, “he would have thrown it away. Panic destroys evidence. Planning stages it.”
Taeyeon’s breathing changed.
Hanbin spoke again, softer now.
“You knew immediately it wasn’t heatstroke.”
“I’m medical staff.”
“Yes,” Hanbin said gently. “Which means you knew exactly what would happen.”
Taeyeon laughed once, thin and brittle.
“You’re building a story.”
“Yes,” Hanbin agreed. “Which means you knew exactly how this would end.”
Silence pressed in from all sides.
Taeyeon crossed his arms. “You don’t have proof.”
Hanbin tilted his head slightly.
“You’re right.”
A murmur passed through the crowd.
Then Hanbin added:
“But proof isn’t why you’re nervous.”
That landed harder than accusation.
Taeyeon’s jaw tightened. “I’m not nervous.”
Hanbin studied him for a long moment, expression unreadable.
“…Does it ever bother you?” he asked.
The question sounded almost casual.
Taeyeon frowned. “What?”
“Knowing the right answer,” Hanbin said softly, “and watching people praise someone else for it.”
The air shifted.
Several people glanced between them, sensing something change.
Hanbin continued, voice calm.
“You prepare them. Train them. Fix their mistakes. Keep them safe.”
His gaze flicked briefly toward the court.
“And when everything goes well… no one looks at you.”
Taeyeon didn’t respond.
Because he couldn’t.
Hanbin exhaled slowly.
“But there’s a difference between wanting to be seen… and forcing people to look.”
The words settled heavily.
Taeyeon’s composure cracked, just slightly.
“You think you understand me?”
Hanbin shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I think I understand the moment before a bad decision.”
A pause.
Long enough for everyone to feel it.
Hanbin met Taeyeon’s eyes fully.
“But hurting someone just to prove you were right…”
He stopped.
Not judging.
Just tired.
“…doesn’t make them respect you.”
Silence rang louder than shouting.
Taeyeon’s breathing faltered.
Hanbin added quietly:
“It just means the first time they truly see you… is the moment you regret being seen.”
Something in Taeyeon’s expression broke.
Not fear.
Understanding.
His gaze drifted toward the court. Toward the place Minho had fallen.
“I calculated the dosage,” he said faintly. “I checked it three times.”
No one spoke.
“I told myself it was safe.”
His voice sounded smaller now.
“I just wanted them to realize I mattered.”
Officers stepped forward slowly this time, almost gently.
Taeyeon didn’t resist.
As they took his wrists, he looked back at Hanbin.
“…You chose differently.”
Hanbin didn’t answer immediately.
Then:
“I had help.”
His eyes flicked toward Hao.
Taeyeon followed the glance, understanding settling quietly across his face before he allowed himself to be led away.
An officer approached Hanbin.
“Good work. That was… impressive.”
Hanbin shifted awkwardly. Praise never sat comfortably on him.
“…It was logical,” he said simply.
The officer nodded and moved away.
For a moment, the three of them stood together in the returning noise of the courts.
Then Hao turned toward Hanbin.
“You did well,” he said softly.
Hanbin looked at him like that mattered more than everything else combined.
“We did well,” he corrected.
Then Gyuvin groaned loudly.
“Can you two stop being emotionally competent for five minutes? I almost went to prison today.”
Hao laughed.
Hanbin nodded thoughtfully.
“…We should still get dessert,” he said.
Hao raised an eyebrow. “After solving a poisoning?”
“Yes,” Hanbin replied seriously. “We missed cake earlier.”
Gyuvin pointed at himself. “I deserve trauma cake.”
Hanbin considered this.
“…You may join.”
Gyuvin gasped. “Hyungs I love both of you.”
Hao shook his head, smiling as the three of them began walking away from the courts together, sunlight stretching long across the ground behind them.
Case closed.
Weekend ruined.
And somehow, exactly as it was meant to be.