SBB 2016 ENTRY #19: Ace (2/3)
Title: Ace
Pairing: Minho/Key
Rating: PG
Genre: Slice of Life
Warnings: None
Final Word Count: 16,500+ words
II
The Strongest
Sometimes Kibum’s thoughts drifted towards the tall boy with big, brown eyes he had met four years ago. Kibum was aware he was disliked by a great majority of the tennis players in Seoul, and of course, didn’t care about their opinion on him. Second-tiers didn't have anything to teach him after all.
Nevertheless, there was a particular second-tier who annoyed him more than he wanted to admit. Kibum supposed he was to pay his deeds by having that second-tier as a teammate during high school. Seoul High was his realm now. If he wanted to reach the Nationals during his senior year too, he had to take some drastic measures to make sure it happened before the current regulars graduated. Problem was his whole plan started with the boy who went by the name of Choi Minho.
“You want to know why you can’t win against me?” Kibum asked, eyes cold and cruel as he stared down at the younger boy across the net of the street courts. Kibum had won their first match of the second year in 3 straight sets of six to one.
Minho refused to look up. Usually, Kibum’s lips would have curled into a vicious, satisfied smirk by now. That day though, his expression became sterner instead.
“You aren’t smart enough to defeat me.” The shorter boy said, the middle of the racquet resting on his shoulder as he looked upwards. Spring was coming closer, he thought upon seeing some yet-to-bloom buds hanging from the trees' branches. “If you haven’t realized this by now, you should quit tennis already.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Minho clenching his jaw. He took then a good look of the sun-kissed boy's state. He was drenched in sweat, the curls of his dark brown hair damp and sticking to the sweatband on his forehead. It occurred to Kibum that perhaps this time around he had been more vicious than he initially thought.
“Never again pull cards you know nothing about,” Kibum snorted. “I couldn’t care less if I were a sad boy with a sad, sad past. Sorry to break it to you, but this is what I decided to be, this is my conviction. Victory is a consequence of doing things right, not that you know what that even means."
He sighed, brushing the dark blue locks of hair to the back of his head. "You better don’t drag down the team, do you understand?”
* * * * * * *
The truth was Kibum was indeed a young boy with something that resembled the beginning of a sad story.
There were not many things Kibum bothered to remember about his childhood. Every day he would come back home after school. After eating with his grandmother, he would head towards his room to take his racket and go out to the neighborhood's tennis courts to practice against a wall.
His mother had died when he was still a baby and his father was a strange presence in his life that he didn’t quite understood until he became older.
Kibum knew his father had been once a famous tennis player. At the club he attended to now and then, he had seen his pictures on newspapers hanging on the walls. In those pictures, his dad smiled after earning a few tennis tournaments in the country and overseas. But he had abandoned his career after Kibum had been born.
“Father?” Kibum had said one afternoon.
He was bouncing a tennis ball against the edge of his racquet beam, but his father didn’t stop reading the newspaper. The only acknowledgment Kibum received was a quiet hum.
“Let’s make a deal. If I hit a shot you can’t return that gets me a game, then you will leave the house,” nine-year-old Kibum had proposed, not taking away his eyes from the racquet and the ball.
The man he both admired and perplexed him didn’t do anything that proved he had listened. Kibum had been about to repeat his proposal though when his father lowered the newspaper to regard him in the same fashion Kibum found unnerving: as if he was measuring Kibum’s entire being only to find him wanting.
“Why?” his father asked, features not giving away anything.
“You clash horribly with the furniture,” Kibum answered, shaking off his nervousness. “You don’t belong here. So I thought I should do something to get you out.”
“Is that so?”
Kibum shrugged in response. He was aware his father was still looking at him, but he didn't want to face what might lay there. That way Kibum missed the opening of a smile settling in the corners of the man's lips.
“Very well. I accept your challenge,” his father had answered after a few seconds of waiting.
Kibum lost his first game to his father in the blink of an eye that day. But he never stopped trying from then on.
* * * * * * *
Winter was in Kibum’s opinion the most annoying season. Snow was everywhere and he was unable to play tennis most of the time like it was his routine. Sports practices outside were also often suspended at school. Instead of running drills or having matches in the tennis courts, coach Kwon had them doing an insane amount of exercises to improve their level of explosiveness and resistance.
“Kibum, what are you waiting for? Keep jumping. Now!” she exclaimed.
Kibum’s ears rang with her voice. He didn’t dare to click his tongue at her though. Coach Kwon Boa had earned his respect with an iron fist. Once, she had been a professional tennis player whose speed and technique seemed to know no bounds. What took away her chances of being at the top of the best players of all times had been an accident that sealed the potential of his left arm.
When he joined Seoul’s Middle School after moving from Busan to Seoul with his grandmother and father, coach Kwon had beaten his ass in one quick set with her right hand. Kibum had seen the way her arm flinched whenever she absorbed the power of his shots with two-handed backhands. She was still able to return them in the end as if they were nothing in the first place. With this knowledge, his respect for her had settled. Coach Kwon was strong, and nothing else mattered.
“KIBUM! ARE THOSE LEGS AN ACCESSORY? MOVE THEM!”
Kibum winced and grumbled under his breath, but did as he was told anyway. He jumped as high as he could, knees flexed when he landed on his feet. In the next second, he was down in a plank position to lower his body almost flat to the ground, arms flexing and core tightening. Then he returned to the former plank position and jumped slightly, bringing his legs towards his elbows and impulse himself upwards again. His forearms burned as much as the muscles of his legs and abdomen were screaming in agony, but amidst it all, there was a hint of a smile toying with the corner of his lips.
By the time an hour passed, all the members of Seoul Middle School’s tennis club were laying on the floor, chests heaving up and down as they fought to catch their breath.
Coach Kwon had her arms crossed against her chest. While her expression was as stern as ever, there was pride shining in her features.
“Why do we play tennis, kids?” she asked out loud.
Her students sprang up to their feet in no time. Their knees felt weak and some thought their arms would fall off their bodies, but the resolve in their eyes as they looked at her was exactly the same.
“Because we want to be the strongest, coach!”
Boa nodded, walking towards Kibum to pat his head.
“Is being the strongest fun, captain Kim?” she asked him.
Kibum blinked a few seconds. A self-sufficient smile curled slowly into his lips as he snorted, chin raising soon after.
“It’s our pride and joy, coach.”
Boa snorted in return, head shaking in amusement.
“Then I will see you all the day after tomorrow. We will conquer the nation again, won’t we?”
An unanimous chorus of ‘Yes!’ resounded in the school’s gym.
* * * * * * *
The day he finally took a game from his father’s grasp was during the end of summer of his third year of middle school. After countless days of almost being hit by neon balls that bounced back to him with twice the speed and strength he put into them initially, he had discovered the breach of his top-spin to make of it something unexpected. That evening, his dedication finally paid off.
His special shot got him the last point for a game, and the next morning, his father packed everything he cared about in a suitcase.
“Why do you want to keep playing tennis, child?” his father had asked at the entrance of their home before he left.
Kibum’s feline-like eyes didn’t look like those of a child as he stared up at him. Child-like features were hardened by resolve.
“Because I want to be the strongest.”
* * * * * * *
The spring of their third year as middle schoolers, Kibum met someone unexpected at the club's monthly ranking matches.
The middle-school freshman boy wasn’t anything Kibum had ever seen before. He played with a joy so pure it almost tasted like naivety to Kibum's senses. Yet the more the match advanced, the more Kibum was convinced that this kid named Lee Taemin was anything but naive in his playing. Right then and there, those thin and fragile-looking arms hid a strength Kibum had never seen in anyone the boy’s age, including him. Taemin didn’t care about winning like other fools Kibum had met until now, and with this his potential was open for the world to see. Meeting someone who played for the fun of it became then something special. Taemin's combination of unlimited strength paired and absolute joy for the game seemed to Kibum like a juxtaposition that somehow worked. This experience stole a part of Kibum's heart and gave him a new aspiration in return.
Taemin fought to return Kibum’s fast top-spin shots and unexpected back-spins. The moment Taemin got his first game from Kibum after a long tiebreak, the elder’s back straightened as a smile toyed with the corners of his lips.
“You are good,” he told Taemin as they changed sides.
Taemin’s eyes widened for a moment, then he beamed at Kibum, the smile carefree and wide.
“And you are a demon,” Taemin answered, making Kibum chortle. “Let’s have fun, yes?”
Kibum focused even more into the match. His wrists polished with Taemin's dangerous crossed backhands the perfect drop shot. His new shot earned him the win of the set and match. While they breathed harshly, Kibum allowed himself to relish in the unexpected joy Taemin had given him then.
Taemin fell on his ass right after the referee announced the winner, legs trembling and drops of sweat rolling down his cheeks and temples. The happiness on his face was as open and honest as it had been when their match started. Kibum did then what he hadn’t done before: he walked towards the freshman and offered his hand to help him back up on his feet. Then he raised their joined hands up in the air as the spectators cheered for them.
“I can’t believe how strong you are,” Taemin had said, sincere and pure like his tennis was.
Kibum smiled, still a bit cocky, but also playful.
“You are too young to challenge me now. By all means though try again soon.”
Kibum didn’t think it was possible for the younger boy to have an even wider smile, but just like it had happened in their match, Taemin surprised him again.
“I will take you on that,” the boy stated.
During the rest of the year, Kibum, to his major dismay not, came to discover Taemin was one to stay true to his word.
*
*
“Kibummie, the bouncy kid is here to see you,” his grandmother said from the threshold of their living room. Kibum had to hide his grin as he got up on his feet to receive Taemin. His grandma smacked his ass on the way.
“Be nice to the kid, alright? If you make him cry again, there will be no lunch for you,” she warned him.
Kibum pouted at her, feigning innocence that was received by a quirked eyebrow. He chuckled, crossing his heart to throw the ‘key’ to the floor.
“Promise.”
Once out, he had to blink quickly a few times when he saw Taemin’s blinding smile.
“Kibum! Let’s have a match!” Taemin said, bouncing excitedly.
“No way,” the elder replied, scrunching up his nose as he turned around to lead the way inside.
“Why not?!” Taemin whined, trailing after the elder boy. “I already defeated the junior champion in the club’s ranking matches!”
Kibum bit back a grin, but he continued walking with Taemin following close.
“Come on! We haven’t played in weeks! You said I had to focus on my opponent at the present time and I did. I won! You owe me!” the younger said, pouting even more.
Without any warning, Kibum suddenly stopped. Taemin bumped against his back, and Kibum didn't waste any time to catch Taemin in a headlock, ruffling his hair soon after.
“You cheeky brat! Keep whining like that and I will kick your ass again,” Kibum said, no animosity in his voice.
Taemin was laughing as he tried to break free from his hyung’s antics. In the end, after a few minutes they fell on the ground in a heap of limbs. Taemin scooted closer to the older boy and rested his head on his chest as they looked up at the skylight. Neither of them said anything as they basked into the warmth of the last beams of sunlight for the day.
“How is your injury going?” Taemin asked, nudging Kibum’s side.
Kibum cracked a smile. He lifted his right arm and moved it in circles.
“I will be a regular on my first year of high school, there is no stopping that.”
Taemin grinned, getting up quickly to kneel before him.
“I will follow you next year. And then we will get the nation together.”
Kibum ruffled his hair with a soft smile. He didn’t know Taemin’s heart was beating hard against his chest. Didn’t know that if the younger leaned into the touch wasn’t only because he enjoyed being petted. But he did know he was happy to know Taemin would walk beside him as a teammate too soon enough.
* * * * * * *
Something Kibum thought Taemin would never understand was his almost nonexistent relationship with Minho.
As reluctant as he was to admit he thought sometimes about the doe-eyed boy, Kibum was aware that their lives seemed to be intertwined enough to be unable to ignore him for too long. They had met the day Kibum was defending coach Kwon’s honor. After their match, Kibum hadn't felt like clearing the misunderstanding that had led to his confrontation with the high schooler Kibum humiliated when Minho stepped into the scene. Later on the same day, Kibum had won against the dork's older brother and also discovered the coach at the club he went to train on the weekends was their dad.
He supposed things could always get worse without a doubt.
“I don’t get why you are particularly vicious with him,” Taemin said one day. “You both are official representatives for the Sub-17 Tennis World Cup. He is your teammate now.”
Kibum looked up at the sky for a moment. They were enjoying of a free day at the neighborhood park. Taemin’s black hair had leaves stuck to it, and Kibum had been laughing at the sight before the younger cracked those words.
“I can’t stand him and the team can’t afford to not have the strongest players inside. People like Minho are the most annoying,” he answered with a low voice.
Taemin was puzzled by the reply, his frown told Kibum as much.
“What do you mean by that?” Taemin hadn’t resisted to ask, reaching out to brush Kibum’s fringe off his forehead.
Kibum closed his eyes.
“He’s like the sort of people who disappoint.”
* * * * * * *
Kibum didn’t think he was a complex person. His desires were simple, his attitude went in hand with his aspirations and skills. He lived for the challenges, and this he owed it to all the hyungs he met as a freshman in the high school's tennis club.
The first time he played against Yunho, he knew no amount of training could have prepared him for it. After twenty minutes, his right arm was tingling. It didn’t matter how fast he moved across the court to alternate between volleys and slices, the captain moved as if he had no openings in his game. Playing against him was as hard as resisting the pull of gravity was. Yunho’s skills were like fire threatening to swallow him up complete. But Kibum had been everything in his short life-time except a coward.
Nevertheless, when Yunho got the last game for the first set from Kibum in spite of the younger's attempts to get a point, the freshman realized his philosophy of not needing anyone but himself to get anywhere was foolish. He needed rivals to find his limits, teammates to support him and grow along with. It was the captain who taught him the humility coach Kwon tried to kick into his head for years.
From the second set on, to Kibum no whispering or murmuring existed around them. His senses were focused solely on the court, the ratio around Yunho’s frame and the way his body moved before he hit the ball. Kibum had finally gotten used to the speed and technique of the captain, so when the elder hit another lob that would for sure hit the baseline right behind him, Kibum sprang into action. He smashed it to the open side of the court with a slice effect, and the ball bounced outwards after making it into the singles court area. Just like he had expected, Yunho got there quickly, ready and in position to hit it as if it wasn't an uncomfortable position at all. This time though, Kibum was also ready to answer back.
The younger boy returned the ball with a strong forehand, his right arm propelling it with all his might. The spin the ball acquired made it dart right under Yunho’s legs. While the others let out a collective gasp after the feat, Kibum was already waiting on the come back he was sure that would follow.
True to the younger’s expectations, Yunho twisted his body fast enough to hit the ball, effectively returning it with a forehand that should have been impossible. Kibum shifted his weight from one foot to the other, cutting the angle of the ball and going for a drop-shot Yunho returned with a volley. Kibum didn't stop attacking. In a second, he was already there, wrist flicking in the right way to make the ball pass to the opposite corner of Yunho's position. The spin was so fast Yunho finally was unable to react on time.
Inwardly, Kibum cried out in joy for the accomplishment. Yunho blinked, the serious expression on his face softening the more he looked at the exhausted freshman's smiling face.
They continued to play until there was a winner, and by the time they walked to the net to shake hands, Kibum was completely out of breath and soaked in sweat, his blond hair in total disarray.
“I lost. Thank you for the game,” Kibum said, bowing slightly to the captain.
Yunho’s kittenish features formed a sweet, welcoming smile.
“You are strong, Kim Kibum. Seoul High School tennis club will rely on you from now on as a regular of the team. Let’s aim for the Nationals together, shall we?”
Kibum let out a soft exhale of air, nodding at the Captain’s words.
“I will defeat you one day though,” the freshman warned the Captain before letting go of his hand.
Yunho laughed, but the glint in his eyes told Kibum he would be waiting for that day to come. This was their pride as rivals and teammates.
* * * * * * *
If Kibum had to describe Minho, he would say the younger boy was constantly dangling from the past to the present and vice versa. Minho watched and analyzed more when he didn’t play against Kibum. When Kibum discovered this, he caught himself enough times watching Minho playing others.
Ever since, Kibum watched Minho playing some games during the middle-school tennis tournament, and a few more times when the younger boy had no idea Kibum was close by. The elder boy knew that Minho’s playing style had borrowed some moves from coach Choi, Kibum had experienced them for the enough time to recognize them anywhere.
But it wasn't just that what made Minho a better tennis player than most kids their age -on this, Kibum did not fool himself; Minho was good, but not good enough for him. It was true Minho wasn’t near the level the current regulars of Seoul High School tennis club had, and this made Kibum curious. He was sure Minho was being coached personally by his father, so why did he keep committing the same mistake?
During their last year of middle school, Kibum saw Minho win the club’s junior circuit. Minho’s friends were there, all joyful cheers and loud mirth when the younger boy was awarded. Minho looked content with the accomplishment, but Kibum thought that emotion didn't reach his heart.
Kibum clicked his tongue. As he was about to leave his spot under the shadow of a willow tree, Minho’s father joined him a few inches away. Kibum tensed up after being discovered. When the coach didn't say anything, Kibum let out a soft sigh. Then he turned to regard the eldest of the Choi and bowed his head in a greeting. “Coach.”
“Why don’t you go over there to congratulate him? I think it would make him very happy if you did,” Choi Yunkyum said, his voice gentle.
Sometimes, that voice got on Kibum's nerves. He was sure amusement hid in the man's tone, but he couldn't prove anything when his expression gave away nothing.
Kibum had to fight down the scoff threatening to leave his lips.
“For some reason, dunno which, I don’t believe that would be the case,” he replied.
“I think you would be surprised to know how mistaken you are,” the man dismissed his sarcasm with a smile. “How’s your arm?”
Kibum shrugged. “I went to practice a bit with the machines. It’s all okay.”
“Minho will be happy when he knows you are back,” coach Choi said and Kibum frowned.
Was coach Choi confusing him with someone else? He had been there when Kibum had kicked his son’s -and team’s- ass for the past few years. Surely he must be aware of the animosity his son held towards him and how much Kibum did nothing to reconcile those differences. Shouldn't he hate Kibum a little bit too?
“Why is he still lacking in the same area?” Kibum found himself asking instead of going along with the other's comment. “Haven’t you told him why he is unable to beat me, sir?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kibum saw Yunkyum sighing softly. His expression turned thoughtful, but then a little smile reached the corners of his lips. The look on his face was that of a proud father, a father that was able to see far ahead his son’s current path. For a tiny second, Kibum felt envious.
“Minho does things at his own pace. He will understand what he needs to understand when the time comes, young Kim.”
Kibum wrinkled his nose.
“If you say so, sir,” he said, pushing himself off the tree, crouching down to take his tennis bag and sling it over his good shoulder. “If that day ever comes, I still won’t have mercy on him.”
Yunkyum chuckled as the young boy waved him goodbye.
“I’m counting on you, young Kim.”
* * * * * * *
Just like Kibum had expected from captain Changmin’s rationality and vice-captain Jinki’s insight, the ranking matches to begin the high school year were one of the best scenarios to make every member of the club prove their worth as aspiring regular members.
The match he was anticipating more than his own though was that one between the ever-so-gentle vice-captain Jinki and the annoying loser of the youngest Choi.
Kibum had in mind that Jinki had learned how to explode his leader skills in the past year. Jinki, like Yunho, was a man who bore at the top of his mind the duty of coming up with ways to help his teammates reach their potential. Minho had yet to gain the most important skill any respected tennis player could develop, and Kibum knew time was running out for the Choi boy if he wanted to become a profe after high school ended.
“You seem oddly excited, hyung. You think Changmin-hyung will trash you around this year too?” Taemin teased Kibum with a laugh as they went through the rigorous warm-up exercises.
“Shut up, that was just one time,” Kibum grumbled.
Taemin laughed more as he reached his toes and kept flexing until his face was near his knees while Kibum helped him by pushing his back gently.
“You think Jinki-hyung has anything on mind for this year? Out of all the hyungs, he’s the one that worries me the most. That gentle smile of his fools us so easily into a false sense of security… Yunho-hyung and Jaejoong-hyung would be proud to see what he has become,” Taemin said, scrunching up his nose.
Kibum listened idly, and Taemin noticed, tensing up for a second. Kibum stopped helping him down as soon as he perceived the sudden tension of his muscles. When the younger turned to look at him, Kibum's mind came back to the present, puzzled by the indescribable expression Taemin had on his features.
“You have been thinking a lot about Jinki-hyung’s match with Minho-hyung,” Taemin claimed.
Kibum felt the tips of his ears burning, but he still scoffed, looking away.
“He is going to lose." Kibum said. "What’s there to see about that match? It’s what he always does against the hyungs.”
Taemin seemed deeply unimpressed by Kibum’s answer, and it made the older scowl.
“Have a match with me after the ranking ones,” Taemin said, all-too serious and not all like the young, bubbly boy Kibum was used to have around.
Kibum blinked, taken aback by the change in the other’s demeanor. He still nodded and then Taemin got up.
“It’s your turn to stretch out.”
*
*
As the ranking matches came to an end, more and more club members gathered in the court where vice-captain Jinki would play against second-year Minho. When the match began, silence reigned in the courts.
Every single member witnessed that day a side of Lee Jinki that made them all gulp in fear. By the end of the match, Minho fell on his hands and knees, sweat rolling almost in waves down his spine and face while Jinki stood before him like an unbeatable god.
“Your homework for the time before the next ranking matches roll around is to find out what you are lacking, Minho,” captain Chagmin said as he stepped into the court. “Everyone gather up.”
The rest of the club stepped inside and Minho was helped up on to his feet by Jonghyun. He smiled gratefully at him, Kibum noticed before Taemin nudged his arm.
“This year, every single high school out there knows that our team doesn’t have captain Yunho and vice-captain Jaejoong anymore as well as Junsu and Yoochun-hyung’s golden combo. They are hungry for victory, ready to pounce on us in revenge and take away our years as champions. Should we care about them?”
Most members looked at each other, unsure of what to answer to their new captain. Kibum rolled his eyes, stepping forward, racquet resting on his shoulder.
“There can only be a number one,” Kibum said, his trademark smirk settled in feline features. “That title belongs to us. Second-tiers can keep fighting for our scraps. We are the strongest.”
Changmin didn’t fight the grin taking over the seriousness of his expression.
“So let’s aim for our own style of victory. Seoul High School!” Changmin roared.
“FIGHTING!” the chorus of all the members followed.
* * * * * * *
The year Kibum would turn 17, he was invited for the last time to the Sub-17 training camp for the Tennis World Cup. In there, all the hyungs that had been his teammates until then had moved forwards through different paths.
Time had passed, Kibum noticed when he saw Taemin practicing with Jongin, Sehun and Kyungsoo. His eyes soon fell on the tall body of a person who had become a far too familiar sight to him.
The world was finally opening its doors to them, their time was coming, and nothing would stop it from happening.
“How strong are you, Kibum?” coach Choi asked, hands behind his back as he regarded the young man laying on the grass.
“As strong as my heart can be,” Kibum answered, laughing.
* * * * * * *
On quiet nights, Kibum climbed out from his window and took a seat on the roof to look at the stars. Sometimes he thought about the upcoming matches, about school and the color of hair he would get soon. His grandma often accompanied him by sitting on the window sill as she knitted mittens Kibum used when winter arrived.
“Your dad called,” she said one evening, her glasses perched on the bridge of her button nose. “He asked me if you are ready.”
Kibum’s attention perked up.
“There is no doubt in my mind that you are special, Kibum. I guess all parents feel the same way towards their children, but I am old and I can see who you are.” Kibum’s chest felt tight for a moment, as if some invisible force was squeezing his heart. “But who do you think you are?”
Coach Kwon had taught Kibum nothing could stop you from staying in the path you adored the most, that dedication was the price to stay there. Captain Yunho had taught him what it was to be a part of something bigger than his own ambitions; he had been the one to give Kibum the means to find a new pride born from growing along with comrades and exploring together paths he would have been unable to grasp on his own. Coach Choi had always been the lighthouse that merged all he was into one. And his father… his father was waiting for him to reach him out there, somewhere at the top.
“I’m someone who wants to find out where limits reside, grandma. No regrets.” Kibum answered, eyes bright with open honesty and eager determination.
The way his grandmother had looked at him right then became one of the memories no time could ever erase from his mind. She died in a peaceful slumber a week after the Sub-17 team won the World Cup, and Kibum got another reason to never give up.
Two days later, he took the first plane to the States and his journey to become a pro began.
* * * * * * *
The first Grand Slam he got had been a feat that left him shaking with adrenaline and anticipation. That year he had beaten Yunho and his father in the clay courts of Roland Garros in his pursue of the finals. Taemin had fled to watch him and cheer for him. That year he also saw Jinki and Jonghyun debut as a team for doubles. Things had felt like a dream then.
“I heard Minho caused quite a ruckus on his debut during the exhibition matches,” Jinki had commented while Jonghyun and Taemin were stuffing their faces with food inside Kibum’s hotel room.
Kibum chortled.
“I heard all the uproar was because of his looks. Some people told me he’s receiving proposals to start a modeling career. I’d say that path might get him better results than being a pro. You should advise him on it, hyung.”
Jinki chuckled.
“You are still as hard on him as ever. Must be tough to like someone so much from such a tender age.”
Kibum spluttered indignantly, face burning with embarrassment as he stared at Jinki, aghast.
“Hyung, your crazy is getting out of control. Please refrain from speaking to me from now on.”
“You have grown so much as a tennis player, but you have yet to mature in other regards,” Jinki singsonged, petting Kibum’s head.
The younger man scowled, brushing his fringe back into perfection.
“He will face you soon." Jinki hummed, forearms propped on the rail of the balcony. "His time is coming after all, and you never ceased to be like an ace to him. He will catch you, one way or another.”
“…you speak of me as if I were a pokemon, hyung.”
Jinki rubbed his chin, head tilting to the side in contemplation.
“I think tennis players deep inside are like frustrated pokemon masters. We try to catch all the balls, but we almost never succeed. It is fun though, isn’t it?”
Kibum sighed.
* * * * * * *
The day before his first Wimbledon match happens, his friends are there telling him they will be rooting for him. Kibum knows they should go back to USA to train for the upcoming U.S. Open, but Jinki brushes the worry aside by saying they are training too when they see him play. The bunch of fools warm Kibum’s heart up and he hopes they never find out of this fact.
That night, he receives ex-captain Jung Yunho in the hotel’s lobby.
They have dinner at a discreet and lovely English pub near the hotel. Yunho is not wearing a cast anymore.
“Next year you might find what you have been looking,” Yunho says with a little grin.
“What might that be?” Kibum hums, but the way Yunho is looking at him -the same way Jinki looked at him the night before- it all unnerves him.
“A career rival of course.”
Kibum snorts.
“And you all said I was far too ambitious for my age. Should I remind you I haven’t beaten all the best players in the world yet? I can’t have a career rival when I’m not even a seeded top player,” Kibum laughs.
“That’s precisely why you need a career rival.”
Kibum narrows his eyes as he looks at the elder.
“If you say Minho will be-”
Yunho laughs loudly.
“Oh, my dearest dongsaeng. But he has always been the one.”
Kibum pretends to be deaf. The red hue dusting over his cheeks tells otherwise.
* * * * * * *
Minho told him he has changed and Kibum’s heart has skipped several beats. It is foolish, he thinks as he bounces the ball absently while standing behind the baseline.
It is foolish and his heart feels lighter than ever. He tosses the ball up and while the spectators hold their breath, while Minho is probably somewhere in there watching him like he has always done, Kibum takes the first step. He moves forwards, and his racquet describes a fateful swing of volition.
“How can you tell you are strong, Kibummie?” his grandma had asked before she closed her eyes.
“It starts with an idea.”
Pairing: Minho/Key
Rating: PG
Genre: Slice of Life
Warnings: None
Final Word Count: 16,500+ words
II
The Strongest
Sometimes Kibum’s thoughts drifted towards the tall boy with big, brown eyes he had met four years ago. Kibum was aware he was disliked by a great majority of the tennis players in Seoul, and of course, didn’t care about their opinion on him. Second-tiers didn't have anything to teach him after all.
Nevertheless, there was a particular second-tier who annoyed him more than he wanted to admit. Kibum supposed he was to pay his deeds by having that second-tier as a teammate during high school. Seoul High was his realm now. If he wanted to reach the Nationals during his senior year too, he had to take some drastic measures to make sure it happened before the current regulars graduated. Problem was his whole plan started with the boy who went by the name of Choi Minho.
“You want to know why you can’t win against me?” Kibum asked, eyes cold and cruel as he stared down at the younger boy across the net of the street courts. Kibum had won their first match of the second year in 3 straight sets of six to one.
Minho refused to look up. Usually, Kibum’s lips would have curled into a vicious, satisfied smirk by now. That day though, his expression became sterner instead.
“You aren’t smart enough to defeat me.” The shorter boy said, the middle of the racquet resting on his shoulder as he looked upwards. Spring was coming closer, he thought upon seeing some yet-to-bloom buds hanging from the trees' branches. “If you haven’t realized this by now, you should quit tennis already.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Minho clenching his jaw. He took then a good look of the sun-kissed boy's state. He was drenched in sweat, the curls of his dark brown hair damp and sticking to the sweatband on his forehead. It occurred to Kibum that perhaps this time around he had been more vicious than he initially thought.
“Never again pull cards you know nothing about,” Kibum snorted. “I couldn’t care less if I were a sad boy with a sad, sad past. Sorry to break it to you, but this is what I decided to be, this is my conviction. Victory is a consequence of doing things right, not that you know what that even means."
He sighed, brushing the dark blue locks of hair to the back of his head. "You better don’t drag down the team, do you understand?”
* * * * * * *
The truth was Kibum was indeed a young boy with something that resembled the beginning of a sad story.
There were not many things Kibum bothered to remember about his childhood. Every day he would come back home after school. After eating with his grandmother, he would head towards his room to take his racket and go out to the neighborhood's tennis courts to practice against a wall.
His mother had died when he was still a baby and his father was a strange presence in his life that he didn’t quite understood until he became older.
Kibum knew his father had been once a famous tennis player. At the club he attended to now and then, he had seen his pictures on newspapers hanging on the walls. In those pictures, his dad smiled after earning a few tennis tournaments in the country and overseas. But he had abandoned his career after Kibum had been born.
“Father?” Kibum had said one afternoon.
He was bouncing a tennis ball against the edge of his racquet beam, but his father didn’t stop reading the newspaper. The only acknowledgment Kibum received was a quiet hum.
“Let’s make a deal. If I hit a shot you can’t return that gets me a game, then you will leave the house,” nine-year-old Kibum had proposed, not taking away his eyes from the racquet and the ball.
The man he both admired and perplexed him didn’t do anything that proved he had listened. Kibum had been about to repeat his proposal though when his father lowered the newspaper to regard him in the same fashion Kibum found unnerving: as if he was measuring Kibum’s entire being only to find him wanting.
“Why?” his father asked, features not giving away anything.
“You clash horribly with the furniture,” Kibum answered, shaking off his nervousness. “You don’t belong here. So I thought I should do something to get you out.”
“Is that so?”
Kibum shrugged in response. He was aware his father was still looking at him, but he didn't want to face what might lay there. That way Kibum missed the opening of a smile settling in the corners of the man's lips.
“Very well. I accept your challenge,” his father had answered after a few seconds of waiting.
Kibum lost his first game to his father in the blink of an eye that day. But he never stopped trying from then on.
* * * * * * *
Winter was in Kibum’s opinion the most annoying season. Snow was everywhere and he was unable to play tennis most of the time like it was his routine. Sports practices outside were also often suspended at school. Instead of running drills or having matches in the tennis courts, coach Kwon had them doing an insane amount of exercises to improve their level of explosiveness and resistance.
“Kibum, what are you waiting for? Keep jumping. Now!” she exclaimed.
Kibum’s ears rang with her voice. He didn’t dare to click his tongue at her though. Coach Kwon Boa had earned his respect with an iron fist. Once, she had been a professional tennis player whose speed and technique seemed to know no bounds. What took away her chances of being at the top of the best players of all times had been an accident that sealed the potential of his left arm.
When he joined Seoul’s Middle School after moving from Busan to Seoul with his grandmother and father, coach Kwon had beaten his ass in one quick set with her right hand. Kibum had seen the way her arm flinched whenever she absorbed the power of his shots with two-handed backhands. She was still able to return them in the end as if they were nothing in the first place. With this knowledge, his respect for her had settled. Coach Kwon was strong, and nothing else mattered.
“KIBUM! ARE THOSE LEGS AN ACCESSORY? MOVE THEM!”
Kibum winced and grumbled under his breath, but did as he was told anyway. He jumped as high as he could, knees flexed when he landed on his feet. In the next second, he was down in a plank position to lower his body almost flat to the ground, arms flexing and core tightening. Then he returned to the former plank position and jumped slightly, bringing his legs towards his elbows and impulse himself upwards again. His forearms burned as much as the muscles of his legs and abdomen were screaming in agony, but amidst it all, there was a hint of a smile toying with the corner of his lips.
By the time an hour passed, all the members of Seoul Middle School’s tennis club were laying on the floor, chests heaving up and down as they fought to catch their breath.
Coach Kwon had her arms crossed against her chest. While her expression was as stern as ever, there was pride shining in her features.
“Why do we play tennis, kids?” she asked out loud.
Her students sprang up to their feet in no time. Their knees felt weak and some thought their arms would fall off their bodies, but the resolve in their eyes as they looked at her was exactly the same.
“Because we want to be the strongest, coach!”
Boa nodded, walking towards Kibum to pat his head.
“Is being the strongest fun, captain Kim?” she asked him.
Kibum blinked a few seconds. A self-sufficient smile curled slowly into his lips as he snorted, chin raising soon after.
“It’s our pride and joy, coach.”
Boa snorted in return, head shaking in amusement.
“Then I will see you all the day after tomorrow. We will conquer the nation again, won’t we?”
An unanimous chorus of ‘Yes!’ resounded in the school’s gym.
* * * * * * *
The day he finally took a game from his father’s grasp was during the end of summer of his third year of middle school. After countless days of almost being hit by neon balls that bounced back to him with twice the speed and strength he put into them initially, he had discovered the breach of his top-spin to make of it something unexpected. That evening, his dedication finally paid off.
His special shot got him the last point for a game, and the next morning, his father packed everything he cared about in a suitcase.
“Why do you want to keep playing tennis, child?” his father had asked at the entrance of their home before he left.
Kibum’s feline-like eyes didn’t look like those of a child as he stared up at him. Child-like features were hardened by resolve.
“Because I want to be the strongest.”
* * * * * * *
The spring of their third year as middle schoolers, Kibum met someone unexpected at the club's monthly ranking matches.
The middle-school freshman boy wasn’t anything Kibum had ever seen before. He played with a joy so pure it almost tasted like naivety to Kibum's senses. Yet the more the match advanced, the more Kibum was convinced that this kid named Lee Taemin was anything but naive in his playing. Right then and there, those thin and fragile-looking arms hid a strength Kibum had never seen in anyone the boy’s age, including him. Taemin didn’t care about winning like other fools Kibum had met until now, and with this his potential was open for the world to see. Meeting someone who played for the fun of it became then something special. Taemin's combination of unlimited strength paired and absolute joy for the game seemed to Kibum like a juxtaposition that somehow worked. This experience stole a part of Kibum's heart and gave him a new aspiration in return.
Taemin fought to return Kibum’s fast top-spin shots and unexpected back-spins. The moment Taemin got his first game from Kibum after a long tiebreak, the elder’s back straightened as a smile toyed with the corners of his lips.
“You are good,” he told Taemin as they changed sides.
Taemin’s eyes widened for a moment, then he beamed at Kibum, the smile carefree and wide.
“And you are a demon,” Taemin answered, making Kibum chortle. “Let’s have fun, yes?”
Kibum focused even more into the match. His wrists polished with Taemin's dangerous crossed backhands the perfect drop shot. His new shot earned him the win of the set and match. While they breathed harshly, Kibum allowed himself to relish in the unexpected joy Taemin had given him then.
Taemin fell on his ass right after the referee announced the winner, legs trembling and drops of sweat rolling down his cheeks and temples. The happiness on his face was as open and honest as it had been when their match started. Kibum did then what he hadn’t done before: he walked towards the freshman and offered his hand to help him back up on his feet. Then he raised their joined hands up in the air as the spectators cheered for them.
“I can’t believe how strong you are,” Taemin had said, sincere and pure like his tennis was.
Kibum smiled, still a bit cocky, but also playful.
“You are too young to challenge me now. By all means though try again soon.”
Kibum didn’t think it was possible for the younger boy to have an even wider smile, but just like it had happened in their match, Taemin surprised him again.
“I will take you on that,” the boy stated.
During the rest of the year, Kibum, to his major dismay not, came to discover Taemin was one to stay true to his word.
*
*
“Kibummie, the bouncy kid is here to see you,” his grandmother said from the threshold of their living room. Kibum had to hide his grin as he got up on his feet to receive Taemin. His grandma smacked his ass on the way.
“Be nice to the kid, alright? If you make him cry again, there will be no lunch for you,” she warned him.
Kibum pouted at her, feigning innocence that was received by a quirked eyebrow. He chuckled, crossing his heart to throw the ‘key’ to the floor.
“Promise.”
Once out, he had to blink quickly a few times when he saw Taemin’s blinding smile.
“Kibum! Let’s have a match!” Taemin said, bouncing excitedly.
“No way,” the elder replied, scrunching up his nose as he turned around to lead the way inside.
“Why not?!” Taemin whined, trailing after the elder boy. “I already defeated the junior champion in the club’s ranking matches!”
Kibum bit back a grin, but he continued walking with Taemin following close.
“Come on! We haven’t played in weeks! You said I had to focus on my opponent at the present time and I did. I won! You owe me!” the younger said, pouting even more.
Without any warning, Kibum suddenly stopped. Taemin bumped against his back, and Kibum didn't waste any time to catch Taemin in a headlock, ruffling his hair soon after.
“You cheeky brat! Keep whining like that and I will kick your ass again,” Kibum said, no animosity in his voice.
Taemin was laughing as he tried to break free from his hyung’s antics. In the end, after a few minutes they fell on the ground in a heap of limbs. Taemin scooted closer to the older boy and rested his head on his chest as they looked up at the skylight. Neither of them said anything as they basked into the warmth of the last beams of sunlight for the day.
“How is your injury going?” Taemin asked, nudging Kibum’s side.
Kibum cracked a smile. He lifted his right arm and moved it in circles.
“I will be a regular on my first year of high school, there is no stopping that.”
Taemin grinned, getting up quickly to kneel before him.
“I will follow you next year. And then we will get the nation together.”
Kibum ruffled his hair with a soft smile. He didn’t know Taemin’s heart was beating hard against his chest. Didn’t know that if the younger leaned into the touch wasn’t only because he enjoyed being petted. But he did know he was happy to know Taemin would walk beside him as a teammate too soon enough.
* * * * * * *
Something Kibum thought Taemin would never understand was his almost nonexistent relationship with Minho.
As reluctant as he was to admit he thought sometimes about the doe-eyed boy, Kibum was aware that their lives seemed to be intertwined enough to be unable to ignore him for too long. They had met the day Kibum was defending coach Kwon’s honor. After their match, Kibum hadn't felt like clearing the misunderstanding that had led to his confrontation with the high schooler Kibum humiliated when Minho stepped into the scene. Later on the same day, Kibum had won against the dork's older brother and also discovered the coach at the club he went to train on the weekends was their dad.
He supposed things could always get worse without a doubt.
“I don’t get why you are particularly vicious with him,” Taemin said one day. “You both are official representatives for the Sub-17 Tennis World Cup. He is your teammate now.”
Kibum looked up at the sky for a moment. They were enjoying of a free day at the neighborhood park. Taemin’s black hair had leaves stuck to it, and Kibum had been laughing at the sight before the younger cracked those words.
“I can’t stand him and the team can’t afford to not have the strongest players inside. People like Minho are the most annoying,” he answered with a low voice.
Taemin was puzzled by the reply, his frown told Kibum as much.
“What do you mean by that?” Taemin hadn’t resisted to ask, reaching out to brush Kibum’s fringe off his forehead.
Kibum closed his eyes.
“He’s like the sort of people who disappoint.”
* * * * * * *
Kibum didn’t think he was a complex person. His desires were simple, his attitude went in hand with his aspirations and skills. He lived for the challenges, and this he owed it to all the hyungs he met as a freshman in the high school's tennis club.
The first time he played against Yunho, he knew no amount of training could have prepared him for it. After twenty minutes, his right arm was tingling. It didn’t matter how fast he moved across the court to alternate between volleys and slices, the captain moved as if he had no openings in his game. Playing against him was as hard as resisting the pull of gravity was. Yunho’s skills were like fire threatening to swallow him up complete. But Kibum had been everything in his short life-time except a coward.
Nevertheless, when Yunho got the last game for the first set from Kibum in spite of the younger's attempts to get a point, the freshman realized his philosophy of not needing anyone but himself to get anywhere was foolish. He needed rivals to find his limits, teammates to support him and grow along with. It was the captain who taught him the humility coach Kwon tried to kick into his head for years.
From the second set on, to Kibum no whispering or murmuring existed around them. His senses were focused solely on the court, the ratio around Yunho’s frame and the way his body moved before he hit the ball. Kibum had finally gotten used to the speed and technique of the captain, so when the elder hit another lob that would for sure hit the baseline right behind him, Kibum sprang into action. He smashed it to the open side of the court with a slice effect, and the ball bounced outwards after making it into the singles court area. Just like he had expected, Yunho got there quickly, ready and in position to hit it as if it wasn't an uncomfortable position at all. This time though, Kibum was also ready to answer back.
The younger boy returned the ball with a strong forehand, his right arm propelling it with all his might. The spin the ball acquired made it dart right under Yunho’s legs. While the others let out a collective gasp after the feat, Kibum was already waiting on the come back he was sure that would follow.
True to the younger’s expectations, Yunho twisted his body fast enough to hit the ball, effectively returning it with a forehand that should have been impossible. Kibum shifted his weight from one foot to the other, cutting the angle of the ball and going for a drop-shot Yunho returned with a volley. Kibum didn't stop attacking. In a second, he was already there, wrist flicking in the right way to make the ball pass to the opposite corner of Yunho's position. The spin was so fast Yunho finally was unable to react on time.
Inwardly, Kibum cried out in joy for the accomplishment. Yunho blinked, the serious expression on his face softening the more he looked at the exhausted freshman's smiling face.
They continued to play until there was a winner, and by the time they walked to the net to shake hands, Kibum was completely out of breath and soaked in sweat, his blond hair in total disarray.
“I lost. Thank you for the game,” Kibum said, bowing slightly to the captain.
Yunho’s kittenish features formed a sweet, welcoming smile.
“You are strong, Kim Kibum. Seoul High School tennis club will rely on you from now on as a regular of the team. Let’s aim for the Nationals together, shall we?”
Kibum let out a soft exhale of air, nodding at the Captain’s words.
“I will defeat you one day though,” the freshman warned the Captain before letting go of his hand.
Yunho laughed, but the glint in his eyes told Kibum he would be waiting for that day to come. This was their pride as rivals and teammates.
* * * * * * *
If Kibum had to describe Minho, he would say the younger boy was constantly dangling from the past to the present and vice versa. Minho watched and analyzed more when he didn’t play against Kibum. When Kibum discovered this, he caught himself enough times watching Minho playing others.
Ever since, Kibum watched Minho playing some games during the middle-school tennis tournament, and a few more times when the younger boy had no idea Kibum was close by. The elder boy knew that Minho’s playing style had borrowed some moves from coach Choi, Kibum had experienced them for the enough time to recognize them anywhere.
But it wasn't just that what made Minho a better tennis player than most kids their age -on this, Kibum did not fool himself; Minho was good, but not good enough for him. It was true Minho wasn’t near the level the current regulars of Seoul High School tennis club had, and this made Kibum curious. He was sure Minho was being coached personally by his father, so why did he keep committing the same mistake?
During their last year of middle school, Kibum saw Minho win the club’s junior circuit. Minho’s friends were there, all joyful cheers and loud mirth when the younger boy was awarded. Minho looked content with the accomplishment, but Kibum thought that emotion didn't reach his heart.
Kibum clicked his tongue. As he was about to leave his spot under the shadow of a willow tree, Minho’s father joined him a few inches away. Kibum tensed up after being discovered. When the coach didn't say anything, Kibum let out a soft sigh. Then he turned to regard the eldest of the Choi and bowed his head in a greeting. “Coach.”
“Why don’t you go over there to congratulate him? I think it would make him very happy if you did,” Choi Yunkyum said, his voice gentle.
Sometimes, that voice got on Kibum's nerves. He was sure amusement hid in the man's tone, but he couldn't prove anything when his expression gave away nothing.
Kibum had to fight down the scoff threatening to leave his lips.
“For some reason, dunno which, I don’t believe that would be the case,” he replied.
“I think you would be surprised to know how mistaken you are,” the man dismissed his sarcasm with a smile. “How’s your arm?”
Kibum shrugged. “I went to practice a bit with the machines. It’s all okay.”
“Minho will be happy when he knows you are back,” coach Choi said and Kibum frowned.
Was coach Choi confusing him with someone else? He had been there when Kibum had kicked his son’s -and team’s- ass for the past few years. Surely he must be aware of the animosity his son held towards him and how much Kibum did nothing to reconcile those differences. Shouldn't he hate Kibum a little bit too?
“Why is he still lacking in the same area?” Kibum found himself asking instead of going along with the other's comment. “Haven’t you told him why he is unable to beat me, sir?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kibum saw Yunkyum sighing softly. His expression turned thoughtful, but then a little smile reached the corners of his lips. The look on his face was that of a proud father, a father that was able to see far ahead his son’s current path. For a tiny second, Kibum felt envious.
“Minho does things at his own pace. He will understand what he needs to understand when the time comes, young Kim.”
Kibum wrinkled his nose.
“If you say so, sir,” he said, pushing himself off the tree, crouching down to take his tennis bag and sling it over his good shoulder. “If that day ever comes, I still won’t have mercy on him.”
Yunkyum chuckled as the young boy waved him goodbye.
“I’m counting on you, young Kim.”
* * * * * * *
Just like Kibum had expected from captain Changmin’s rationality and vice-captain Jinki’s insight, the ranking matches to begin the high school year were one of the best scenarios to make every member of the club prove their worth as aspiring regular members.
The match he was anticipating more than his own though was that one between the ever-so-gentle vice-captain Jinki and the annoying loser of the youngest Choi.
Kibum had in mind that Jinki had learned how to explode his leader skills in the past year. Jinki, like Yunho, was a man who bore at the top of his mind the duty of coming up with ways to help his teammates reach their potential. Minho had yet to gain the most important skill any respected tennis player could develop, and Kibum knew time was running out for the Choi boy if he wanted to become a profe after high school ended.
“You seem oddly excited, hyung. You think Changmin-hyung will trash you around this year too?” Taemin teased Kibum with a laugh as they went through the rigorous warm-up exercises.
“Shut up, that was just one time,” Kibum grumbled.
Taemin laughed more as he reached his toes and kept flexing until his face was near his knees while Kibum helped him by pushing his back gently.
“You think Jinki-hyung has anything on mind for this year? Out of all the hyungs, he’s the one that worries me the most. That gentle smile of his fools us so easily into a false sense of security… Yunho-hyung and Jaejoong-hyung would be proud to see what he has become,” Taemin said, scrunching up his nose.
Kibum listened idly, and Taemin noticed, tensing up for a second. Kibum stopped helping him down as soon as he perceived the sudden tension of his muscles. When the younger turned to look at him, Kibum's mind came back to the present, puzzled by the indescribable expression Taemin had on his features.
“You have been thinking a lot about Jinki-hyung’s match with Minho-hyung,” Taemin claimed.
Kibum felt the tips of his ears burning, but he still scoffed, looking away.
“He is going to lose." Kibum said. "What’s there to see about that match? It’s what he always does against the hyungs.”
Taemin seemed deeply unimpressed by Kibum’s answer, and it made the older scowl.
“Have a match with me after the ranking ones,” Taemin said, all-too serious and not all like the young, bubbly boy Kibum was used to have around.
Kibum blinked, taken aback by the change in the other’s demeanor. He still nodded and then Taemin got up.
“It’s your turn to stretch out.”
*
*
As the ranking matches came to an end, more and more club members gathered in the court where vice-captain Jinki would play against second-year Minho. When the match began, silence reigned in the courts.
Every single member witnessed that day a side of Lee Jinki that made them all gulp in fear. By the end of the match, Minho fell on his hands and knees, sweat rolling almost in waves down his spine and face while Jinki stood before him like an unbeatable god.
“Your homework for the time before the next ranking matches roll around is to find out what you are lacking, Minho,” captain Chagmin said as he stepped into the court. “Everyone gather up.”
The rest of the club stepped inside and Minho was helped up on to his feet by Jonghyun. He smiled gratefully at him, Kibum noticed before Taemin nudged his arm.
“This year, every single high school out there knows that our team doesn’t have captain Yunho and vice-captain Jaejoong anymore as well as Junsu and Yoochun-hyung’s golden combo. They are hungry for victory, ready to pounce on us in revenge and take away our years as champions. Should we care about them?”
Most members looked at each other, unsure of what to answer to their new captain. Kibum rolled his eyes, stepping forward, racquet resting on his shoulder.
“There can only be a number one,” Kibum said, his trademark smirk settled in feline features. “That title belongs to us. Second-tiers can keep fighting for our scraps. We are the strongest.”
Changmin didn’t fight the grin taking over the seriousness of his expression.
“So let’s aim for our own style of victory. Seoul High School!” Changmin roared.
“FIGHTING!” the chorus of all the members followed.
* * * * * * *
The year Kibum would turn 17, he was invited for the last time to the Sub-17 training camp for the Tennis World Cup. In there, all the hyungs that had been his teammates until then had moved forwards through different paths.
Time had passed, Kibum noticed when he saw Taemin practicing with Jongin, Sehun and Kyungsoo. His eyes soon fell on the tall body of a person who had become a far too familiar sight to him.
The world was finally opening its doors to them, their time was coming, and nothing would stop it from happening.
“How strong are you, Kibum?” coach Choi asked, hands behind his back as he regarded the young man laying on the grass.
“As strong as my heart can be,” Kibum answered, laughing.
* * * * * * *
On quiet nights, Kibum climbed out from his window and took a seat on the roof to look at the stars. Sometimes he thought about the upcoming matches, about school and the color of hair he would get soon. His grandma often accompanied him by sitting on the window sill as she knitted mittens Kibum used when winter arrived.
“Your dad called,” she said one evening, her glasses perched on the bridge of her button nose. “He asked me if you are ready.”
Kibum’s attention perked up.
“There is no doubt in my mind that you are special, Kibum. I guess all parents feel the same way towards their children, but I am old and I can see who you are.” Kibum’s chest felt tight for a moment, as if some invisible force was squeezing his heart. “But who do you think you are?”
Coach Kwon had taught Kibum nothing could stop you from staying in the path you adored the most, that dedication was the price to stay there. Captain Yunho had taught him what it was to be a part of something bigger than his own ambitions; he had been the one to give Kibum the means to find a new pride born from growing along with comrades and exploring together paths he would have been unable to grasp on his own. Coach Choi had always been the lighthouse that merged all he was into one. And his father… his father was waiting for him to reach him out there, somewhere at the top.
“I’m someone who wants to find out where limits reside, grandma. No regrets.” Kibum answered, eyes bright with open honesty and eager determination.
The way his grandmother had looked at him right then became one of the memories no time could ever erase from his mind. She died in a peaceful slumber a week after the Sub-17 team won the World Cup, and Kibum got another reason to never give up.
Two days later, he took the first plane to the States and his journey to become a pro began.
* * * * * * *
The first Grand Slam he got had been a feat that left him shaking with adrenaline and anticipation. That year he had beaten Yunho and his father in the clay courts of Roland Garros in his pursue of the finals. Taemin had fled to watch him and cheer for him. That year he also saw Jinki and Jonghyun debut as a team for doubles. Things had felt like a dream then.
“I heard Minho caused quite a ruckus on his debut during the exhibition matches,” Jinki had commented while Jonghyun and Taemin were stuffing their faces with food inside Kibum’s hotel room.
Kibum chortled.
“I heard all the uproar was because of his looks. Some people told me he’s receiving proposals to start a modeling career. I’d say that path might get him better results than being a pro. You should advise him on it, hyung.”
Jinki chuckled.
“You are still as hard on him as ever. Must be tough to like someone so much from such a tender age.”
Kibum spluttered indignantly, face burning with embarrassment as he stared at Jinki, aghast.
“Hyung, your crazy is getting out of control. Please refrain from speaking to me from now on.”
“You have grown so much as a tennis player, but you have yet to mature in other regards,” Jinki singsonged, petting Kibum’s head.
The younger man scowled, brushing his fringe back into perfection.
“He will face you soon." Jinki hummed, forearms propped on the rail of the balcony. "His time is coming after all, and you never ceased to be like an ace to him. He will catch you, one way or another.”
“…you speak of me as if I were a pokemon, hyung.”
Jinki rubbed his chin, head tilting to the side in contemplation.
“I think tennis players deep inside are like frustrated pokemon masters. We try to catch all the balls, but we almost never succeed. It is fun though, isn’t it?”
Kibum sighed.
* * * * * * *
The day before his first Wimbledon match happens, his friends are there telling him they will be rooting for him. Kibum knows they should go back to USA to train for the upcoming U.S. Open, but Jinki brushes the worry aside by saying they are training too when they see him play. The bunch of fools warm Kibum’s heart up and he hopes they never find out of this fact.
That night, he receives ex-captain Jung Yunho in the hotel’s lobby.
They have dinner at a discreet and lovely English pub near the hotel. Yunho is not wearing a cast anymore.
“Next year you might find what you have been looking,” Yunho says with a little grin.
“What might that be?” Kibum hums, but the way Yunho is looking at him -the same way Jinki looked at him the night before- it all unnerves him.
“A career rival of course.”
Kibum snorts.
“And you all said I was far too ambitious for my age. Should I remind you I haven’t beaten all the best players in the world yet? I can’t have a career rival when I’m not even a seeded top player,” Kibum laughs.
“That’s precisely why you need a career rival.”
Kibum narrows his eyes as he looks at the elder.
“If you say Minho will be-”
Yunho laughs loudly.
“Oh, my dearest dongsaeng. But he has always been the one.”
Kibum pretends to be deaf. The red hue dusting over his cheeks tells otherwise.
* * * * * * *
Minho told him he has changed and Kibum’s heart has skipped several beats. It is foolish, he thinks as he bounces the ball absently while standing behind the baseline.
It is foolish and his heart feels lighter than ever. He tosses the ball up and while the spectators hold their breath, while Minho is probably somewhere in there watching him like he has always done, Kibum takes the first step. He moves forwards, and his racquet describes a fateful swing of volition.
“How can you tell you are strong, Kibummie?” his grandma had asked before she closed her eyes.
“It starts with an idea.”