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I left the Serenity Retreat with a taste of surrealism in my mouth. The sky was lightening up, a ghostly veener of fog curling out of the ground and covering the streets. I inhaled the humidity with a pleased smile.
I've always found myself strangely at peace with mornings such as these. Not too cold, just the right amount to hit that spot.
Everything around me had a blurry quality to it; I could be just wandering in place, never actually getting anywhere, for all I knew. The street was deserted. It was like I was in a world of my own. Now, if only I had my headphones...
I craned my neck, sighing softly.
My back still stung with the scratches left behind by my vixen of an elder sister and my entire body felt strangely sated. I might have a better understanding of my abnormal self as of that evening.
Or better, a slight, tentative speculation, at least.
For the past few weeks since we'd decided to become, well, a thing... my libido was unusually high and out of my control.
Even now, I had to stop myself from fantasizing about the new set of bruises, bite marks and scratches, while still sober. Otherwise, my mind would take a plunge right back to the chaotic, lust-induced romps we'd had on those plush beddings.
Of course, I was still highly capable of functioning during the day, attending all the training sessions as per my responsibilities. It simply was... overwhelming when the day was over. My sex drive was cranked up to full power, like the control over it would somehow revert back the moment I removed the restrictive harness known as practice.
At the very least, I had more than enough mental exercise to exhaust my thoughts when I arrived at the center. Just in time to make it seem like I never left, though I doubted my escapade was fully unseen.
And I also suspected that Coach Ahn Ki-seok knew, in some way or another. There must've been someone reporting to him that I've been going in and out of the premises.
He never said a word.
Maybe he saw my skill and that was all that mattered to him. Or perhaps he was simply the type who liked to watch his players self-destruct and learn their own lessons.
I didn't think he was that petty, so perhaps I was getting away with a lot of favoritism. I couldn't really know if that was truly the case; I've never been this undisciplined in my previous life. I always strived for excellence, never letting women—especially women—get in the way of my goal.
That trait of mine didn't carry over upon rebirth. Or, if it did, it was slowly corroded and whittled down by a single young woman that was more than happy to do that work.
In the span of a few weeks, I did things I wouldn't have done before, all in the single-minded pursuit of chasing my personal interests. Shit, I didn't even know how I could ever face Eun Ha if she knew the depths of depravity I've gone through with my own sister.
Football kept me distracted enough not to overthink things and revert into a mental catatonic state.
But it was obvious that when we were alone, when the deed was done, when we lay back to back, catching our breath... things were still changing.
It seemed silly to put it so plainly, but I felt like our relationship, well, new and odd as it was, was fundamentally altering into something greater than itself. Or perhaps worse.
I didn't know what that entailed exactly. And frankly, I couldn't let myself care, because while change was good—though, maybe not in this specific case—there was only so much a person could absorb at once without imploding.
For now, all that mattered was the Quarter Finals. I brushed aside the thoughts of lavender-scented hair and soft curves, and focused back on my early-morning routine.
The rest of my teammates were slowly pouring in, each one of them appearing dazed or irritated due to the morning haze, or both, most likely both, and some were even yawning as they trudged across the compound.
There were a few nods and half-assed salutations that came my way, while some other fellows went back to the sleeping quarters.
We moved to the cafeteria.
It's safe to assume, that after a full meal, everyone's morale would increase and so would their energy to go through all the tough drills and exercises.
"Where have you been last night?" Jong-su approached me with a playful glint in his eye.
"Does it matter?" I answered offhandedly as I spread strawberry jelly onto the warm bread roll, careful to avoid the hungry bear staring intently at my morning meal.
"Of course it's important! Our dear captain vanished without a trace last night and came back early in the morning..." Sung-tae suddenly chimed in, joining us at our table. Dae-hyun and Jun-hwan followed shortly after, their own trays in hand.
So they did notice, huh. Well, not surprising, really. I slept in the same dorm as them. At least I trusted them enough to babble it around.
"Who do you think he's fucking...?" Jong-su interrupted while reaching his greedy paws for my fresh sandwich—I swatted it away with an unimpressed, stony glare. This piece of shit.
I let out a sharp sigh and a warning tone followed it right afterwards. "Might I suggest thinking about something other than the activities I partook in outside? Like, the fuck?"
Jong-su stopped trying to steal my lunch. Jun-hwan stifled a laugh behind his can of diet coke.
"Well, buddy, it's because it's kinda obvious that you're seeing someone."
I scowled.
"Your face is so radiant right now. And not the glow-y, post-training-exercise kind of radiant either." Jong-su elaborated, while gesturing animatedly with his hands. "Like your ass was thoroughly pounded into the next day, ya get?"
There was a general sense of disgust all around. The expressions ranging from Dae-hyun's twitching lips to the rolling of Jun-hwan's eyes.
"I didn't get my ass pounded..." I mumbled begrudgingly, taking a sip of the orange juice.
"Still, last time you brought her here, and now the gossip-mongering magpies in the camp want to hear more juicy stories." Jong-su whispered mischievously while waving an apple between us and took a hearty bite, the juice streaming down his chin and forearm. "I mean, you're Cha Jae-il, I'm not surprised you're having this type of popularity. Is it a fan? A Noona? An actress? All three of them?"
Jong-su's face had gotten so close that I had to push his annoying mug away from my personal space.
"I didn't meet anyone. No fans. No Noonas. And no actresses." I emphasized while holding that motherfucker at fork-point. "Just dropped back home to check up on my family. Eating, gaming and sleeping at home. A relaxing downtime. Period."
Jong-su pouted, but didn't prod any further.
"Who are these… magpies you've been talking about?" Dae-hyun asked innocently.
Jong-su shrugged, taking another bite of his apple. "The Track & Field Noonas over there. Of course they've heard the legendary tales of our captain's midnight disappearances." Jong-su finished, jerking his chin toward the far end of the cafeteria. "They've been keeping an eye out for Jae-il ever since we got here."
Four women in navy-blue tracksuits were pretending to study their phones while stealing glances at our table. One of them—tall, ponytail like a whip—met my eyes for half a second and immediately looked away, cheeks pink as she idly twirled a strand of hair.
Dae-hyun whistled low. "They're from the 400-meter relay squad. Coach Ahn's been bragging about their new exchange program with Japan. Says they're 'disciplined.'"
"Disciplined enough to start a betting pool on Jae-il's love life. Ridiculous." Jun-hwan muttered, stabbing a piece of kimchi.
Sung-tae leaned in, voice hushed. "Look, we're not idiots. You come back smelling like someone's dumped you in a bath of perfume. Same scent every time. Either you've got a very dedicated sponsor, or—"
"Or I'm allergic to the dorm detergent." I cut in. "Drop it."
"Fine, fine. Unlike Jong-su right here, I know when to shut up." Sung-tae said, raising both hands in surrender. "But if you ever need an alibi, I've got a cousin who runs a jjimjilbang in Mapo. Twenty-four-hour saunas, no questions asked."
Jong-su opened his mouth, probably to offer his own cousin's karaoke room, but I kicked his shin under the table. Hard. He yelped, apple forgotten.
Across the cafeteria, the relay Noonas were now openly staring. The tall one, her name tag read KIM JI-WON, lifted her phone like she was taking a photo of her rice, but the lens was pointed straight at me. Flash off, but still obvious.
Jun-hwan snorted. "Congratulations, captain. You're trending on the Jincheon Kakao group chat."
I groaned. "There's a group chat?"
"Three, actually." Dae-hyun supplied helpfully. "One for track, one for swimming, one for 'miscellaneous thirst.' You're in all of them."
I dropped my forehead to the table.
We filed out of the cafeteria in a loose knot, the clatter of trays fading behind us. Jong-su and Sung-tae kept up their usual chatter—something about a viral penalty miss from last night's J-League highlights—but their voices blurred into white noise.
I walked a half-step ahead, hands buried in the pockets of my hoodie, the morning chill already needling through the cotton.
My mind was elsewhere: lavender sheets, the ghost-pressure of teeth on my collarbone, and the single unread message still burning a hole in my phone.
The locker room smelled of damp towels and menthol rub. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as we changed.
I peeled off my civvies and pulled on the training kit—shorts, compression top, socks rolled to the ankle. The fabric clung to the fresh bruises along my ribs; I angled away from the mirror. No need for anyone else to catalog the evidence.
When we reached the training grounds.
Coach Ahn waited at the center circle, whistle glinting against his chest, clipboard tucked under one arm. The grass was still silvered with dew.
When the last cleat clicked into place, he didn't bother with pleasantries.
"Tomorrow." Coach began, calmly but no less sharply. "Tomorrow is the Quarter Final. Eight teams left. We're one of 'em. Your journey was nothing short of triumphal, and, in many ways, symbolic of what this team represents. This, gentlemen. Is the chance we all have dreamed for. The chance to fight our way back to the top. We can't afford to lose it. While our ticket for the World Cup is already guranteed, nothing says we shouldn't win this."
Everyone was quiet, and for a brief, unsettling instant, I couldn't help but wonder whether any of the faces watching were doubting the conviction of their own determination.
Coach didn't stop to collect any questions or concerns.
"We'll be playing against Australia." He stated, loud and crisp, as he lifted the clipboard. "They have two dangerous forwards. Tim Matthews and Connor Hendrick. One is slippery like an eel, the other kicks like an ox. They're dangerous, but not unstoppable. I believe we have all the right cards to take this one home too, so listen damn closely."
He lifted two fingers.
"Two things. That's all I'm asking. One: press like they insulted your seven generation of ancestors. If you've got the ball, move it quick. If you don't, close the lane. No standing, no watching. Two: when we win it back, hurt them. Use your brain, use your feet. You've got talent—now use it like you're trying to prove something."
He paused. A gull cried overhead. Someone sniffed. Another one sneezed.
"I'm not gonna stand here and scream about destiny or whatever. You're not kids. You know what's on the line. You lose tomorrow, you go home. You win, you get another week. That's it. That's the deal."
He glanced at me, just for a second.
"Captain's got the armband. You follow him. I'll be on the line yelling when you forget. Which you won't."
He tucked the clipboard under his arm.
"Video at seven. Full squad. Miss it and you're scrubbing boots till Christmas. Now get warm. We've got work to do."
He blew the whistle—short, sharp—and turned toward the sideline, already pulling out his phone to check the weather.
In perfect harmony, all of us bowed.
"Yes, Coach!"