a note from the author: hello everyone, sorry for the brief two-week hiatus. apart from being busy with my own “love life” (or so i like to call it lol), i was rather uninspired. i’ve been slowly gaining the motivation to write again, so hopefully i won’t be gone for so long again. thank you for those who came back and commented saying they were still anticipating for the next chapter. they were friendly reminders that helped support me through this quiet period. this isn’t the best chapter i’ve written, but i hope it’s okay for you guys ;;

“Crying isn't going to solve anything,” Coach Park said gruffly to a seven-year-old Jihoon whose knees were skinned. Beside the young boy was the soccer ball he had failed to score a goal with because he had punted it right into the goalie's awaiting hands. A few lines of faint red fade onto his his knees where the tiny pebbles in the grass had scratched his skin, but he listened. He sniffles as he falls back to the end of the line behind his teammates to try the drills once more. Though his pupils wavered from holding back the tears welling up in his eyes, he did not cry because crying wasn't going to solve anything

“Crying isn't going to change anything,” Coach Park snapped at a thirteen-year-old Jihoon whose head hung low as he hunched over the grass in all fours. Beside the teenage boy was the soccer ball he had fumbled before the timer ran out; a haunting reminder of how he had single-handedly lost the championship game him and his teammates had put all their hopes and dreams in. There was a brief silence once Jihoon's shaky breathing came to a slow stop. Gritting his teeth, the soccer team's captain pushed himself up to his feet and asked instead to gather up the team and them practice would resume as scheduled tomorrow morning. With the back of his sleeve, he dabbed his swollen eyes dry because crying wasn't going to change anything.

“Crying is a waste of your time,” Coach Park barked over his shoulder at a now fourteen-year-old Jihoon whose fists balled tightly as he grasped at the field's imitation grass beneath him. Surrounding him were several soccer balls he was unable to receive and return during the day's drills. Practice was long over hours ago; however, Jihoon remained on the field to continue training. His father - who, at this hour, would normally be back at home and on the couch with his wife watching a movie of her choice - remained with Jihoon to monitor his progress... progress Jihoon was rather unsatisfied with. He waited until the door to the indoor field closed behind his father before reaching out to one of the nearby soccer balls. With his shoulders heavy and a deep exhale, Jihoon dropped the ball from his waist-height and kicked it with much force towards the goal. Jihoon resumed his practice because crying was a waste of his time.

To Jihoon's frustration, the ball changed its course midair, curved, and bounced off the metal goal with a clang. A growl rumbled in his throat as he angrily grabbed at his hair, mentally cursing at himself for missing something so easy. There was no goalie to stop his shot, no obstacles to block its path - he was really just aiming poorly. His accuracy was just getting worse and worse with every attempt. Closing his eyes, Jihoon placed his hands on his hips and rolled his head; this was something he did to try and relax and re-focus. His teammates at Lila would during timeouts in their games because they knew that if Jihoon needed to calm himself down, it was because he was getting angry. He shook his head as if to ward off any more negative thoughts that dared enter his mind. Maybe he had been working on this exercise for too long now. Maybe trying another drill would get him back on track.

He dribbled a ball between his feet as he made his way towards the cones. He hadn't used them for the day's exercise, but younger kids from his father's soccer team had. Cone weaving was one of his favorite drills because in his early player days, he had a bad habit of losing control of the ball and having to run after it before he finally learned how to do it properly. The cone drill was a friendly reminder to him that when he was starting to think something was impossible to do, he will always figure out a way to do it. After another brief ritual, he took off and rounded the first cone, picking up his speed after the second. He tackled the next few with ease, hope rising in his chest - could he finish without messing up? But of course, he would get his hopes up before fumbling and knocking over a cone.

“Forget it,” Jihoon mumbled under his breath, kicking the ball to the side where it rolled to a stop beside the ball basket. He spent a few minutes cleaning up the supplies others had left behind before heading back to the locker room. As if his evening couldn't get more aggravating, he had to take a shower in cold water because there was no hot water running. And so, he left the locker room shivering like a wet dog in a wrinkled tracksuit.

With his gym bag in tow, Jihoon headed down the hallway. Luckily for him, it wasn't like those scary movies where he was the lone dark shadow wandering in an equally dark hallway. Because there was a 24-hour gym at another part of the complex, they were required to leave the lights on. He wasn't alone though. In fact, he had just bowed to a janitor that was passing by. That janitor had been the same janitor since he started coming here in elementary school. He would always make sure to lock up the indoor soccer field when the last person - usually Jihoon - left. The middle-aged man disappeared around the corner just as Jihoon heard one of the giant metal doors slamming shut in the distance. He turned his head towards the direction it came from; it was a little further down the hallway to the gymnastics gyms. He had never been there himself, but he knew those gyms were generally noisy. Usually during the day, one would hear them chanting alongside their upbeat dance music as they practiced their routines. Sound travels.

Peering down the hallway, Jihoon saw a familiar ginger-haired classmate heading his way. She looked like a flustered mess of sorts; she was fast-walking (practically running) while staring down at the floor, angrily muttering something under her breath. She was so trapped in her own thoughts that she didn't even see Jihoon - she walked right past him. “I was just trying to be nice,” was the only thing she said that Jihoon was able to catch.

“So, Hyeri practices here, huh?” Jihoon wondered aloud, watching her exit through the automatic doors and into the car parked out front. When the car drove away, he threw a quick glance over his shoulder towards the hallway Hyeri just came from, "What was she so mad about?"

“Miyoung? Are you in here?” Hyeri’s voice bounced off the walls as she slipped into the empty bathroom. Taking a few steps past the sinks, she saw only one of the dull pink stall doors were closed. In the occupied stall, she could see the occupant kneeling. She recognized those trainers anywhere – they were Miyoung’s lucky pair. Hyeri rushed hurriedly to the door, shaking the handle to try and open it. Her voice was pained with panic as the door handle continued to rattle to no avail, “Miyoung, what’s wrong? Answer me, please!”

No, please. No. Go away.

Miyoung gripped the sides of the bathroom stall with the tips of her fingers, steadying herself as she hovered over the bowl. Wavy strands cascaded down the sides of her face, sticking to her forehead and lips. For a second, her half-hooded eyes widened at the sound of her friend’s voice – someone had come looking for her. Weakly lifting her head, she opened to tell her friend that everything was okay before a sharp pain struck her in the gut. Her hand instantly clutched her side; her stomach churned, and she gagged. The rush of nausea tuned out Hyeri worriedly calling out to her.

I don’t want you to see me like this.

After her stomach settled for the time being, Miyoung allowed herself to let go of the wall to sit and lean back against the door. She fought back another urge to gag as she wiped with the collar of her shirt. A relieved sigh left her lips when she threw her head back; though her head was spinning, the physical pain was somewhat more tolerable. Above her head,