jab-cross-front leg roundkick-spin sidekick-cross

The steady beat of landed attacks on the swinging punching bag is peppered with the labored breaths of the only soul in the room.

It is a rhythm that Seokjin knows well, as it’s one of her favorite combinations. And “favorite” often becomes automatic and effortless in the martial arts world as combinations are cranked out in sparring matches before the mind can even register.

In the empty training room with its front wall of mirrors and navy blue carpets, it’s a welcome routine to the change that’s happening around her.

On the other hand, however, when moves become automatic, it frees the mind to wander. So, Seokjin is left remembering why she’s even like this. Training like she’s fighting against a tidal wave, struggling underwater, gasping for air, lungs burning.

Because in a way, she is.

Because at this rate, there might not be any more matches on these floors. No more training, no more forms, or grappling, or board breaking...

Stopping to tug off her red foam helmet and unraveling her long black hair from the tight ponytail, she stares down at the forehead piece, thumb running over the peeling white logo.

At least not with this school’s name on it.

The feeling she’s been fighting for the past two weeks is catching up to her now. The choking sensation that has hot tears burning at the corner of her eyes and deep inside her chest. Ever since it was announced that this taekwondo school – her haven, her second home – is closing down.

Busan School of Taekwondo (or Blood, Sweat, and Tears, as the higher ranks affectionately called it) hadn’t been doing well, and everyone knew it. It wasn’t because the lack of members or bad management, actually far from it. It had been run by Jungkook’s father, Mr. Jeon or Mr. J, after Jungkook’s grandfather passed away.

Mr. J was always tough and fair in a gruff sort of way, essentially adopting every one of his students as his own. But he was stubborn and a traditionalist and stuck by the rules set from before him. Even when the rent prices for the space went up earlier last year, he refused to raise the monthly prices, stating that even making students pay for self-improvement was already ridiculous.

So, everyone saw it coming, before the recent shipments of boards had turned out to be flimsy at best and before new orders of sparring gears was held off until it reached a certain bulk size to minimize shipping cost. Until they stopped coming altogether earlier this week.

Everyone took the news fairly well. When Mr. J broke the news to his team of instructors before the rest of the public, Seokjin mostly held it together, though it may have been shock or wanting to maintain face in front of her peers.

But it had really, really hit her today when one of her closest friends, Hyosang, left.

It didn’t take a fourth degree and fulltime instructor like her to tell. Seokjin had known he had been losing interest for a while now, yet just stuck around to spend time with her and his other friends.

But it doesn’t hurt any less seeing him fold away his uniform, zip up his battered gear, and shake hands with Mr. J with soft condolences through the open office door.

And it didn’t hurt any less when he paused on his way out the front doors to see her watching him. Hefting a comforting grin, he reached over the counter and ruffled her hair and said the words that are catching up to her now:

“I know you’ll stay with this place even if it was reduced to ashes, but I just hope you don’t get burned in the process.”

Real tears are threatening the edges of her lips and eyes now, but then the sound of the front doors opening stops them in their tracks.

The school itself is just a part of a long strip of stores that expand from its left side. The training room wall that is shared with the convenience store is gilded with full length mirrors. The right wall has two windows that look out onto the street and a door in between them that is propped open, winter or summer, when it gets too hot inside. To the left of the mirrors is a wall with glass separating the onlookers and the students that serves as the entrance into the training room.

Through the glass, Seokjin sees a slender figure stride in. The newcomer is a young girl, not much younger than herself, with soft bangs and shoulder length chocolate hair. She’s carrying a messenger bag across a hoodie that has seen better days and baggy sweatpants.

They make eye contact through the open door of the training room, and the only word that comes to her mind is soft .

Soft cheeks, soft lips, and most of all soft eyes.

Those round brown eyes scan over her too before she breaks into a smile first – all bunched cheeks and straight teeth.

It says something about Seokjin’s emotional state that it takes her longer than usual to work her face into a passable smile. “Sorry, we’re closed for the day.”

The other girl bows her head respectfully, but doesn’t step inside. “Ahh, I’m sorry,” she says. Her voice is light and airy. “I was just visiting.”

Seokjin tilts her head to the side, surveying her. “And… you are?”

She’s not really sure why she had asked, because the hooded eyes and bright smile are vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place...

The other girl looks a little crestfallen for a moment. But it’s so brief that Seokjin wonders if she had just imagined it.

“Jimin,” she says, brushing the straight bangs from her face. “Park Jimin.”

“Oh, the Hooker,” Seokjin says without thinking. The words have no sooner had left her lips, she claps her hand to , flushing red. “Oh . Sorry, I didn't mean–”

Even this far away from Seoul, Park Jimin's trick Hook kicks are infamous. Jungkook, who had watched Jimin at a conference last year, swears that she’s never seen anyone move with that much flexibility and precision, and if someone strapped a blade to the inside of her knee, Jimin could behead anyone in ten seconds flat, maybe even five.

To her relief, Jimin laughs. “Looks like my reputation precedes me, guess I'll never be rid of that title,” she says, shaking her head. “I can't believe Taehyung made that a thing. But…” she lifts a hand to her chin and makes an adorable expression of contemplation, “it does have a certain ring to it.”

Seokjin cracks another grin despite herself and decides to start putting her gear away, setting the helmet off. First come off the shin guards and foot gear, the loud velcro sounds bouncing off the walls.

She’s straightening to take off her wrist guards and adjust her belt when Jimin asks, “May I?” while gesturing into the room from her spot at the door.

Considering it a moment, Seokjin nods. Why not, no one else is coming today and she almost welcomes the change to keep her mind off… other things.

Jimin sets down her bag on the seats outside and takes off her sandals before walking to the edge of the mats meets hardwood. Then she bows, low, firm, and the full 90 degrees, then steps gingerly in.

Seokjin is reminded of something of a sleek cat in the way Jimin walks, the engaging muscles and purposeful steps. The way her brown hair flutters almost like whiskers, and the way her round-eyed attention moves like shifting ears, taking it all in.

When she stops in front of the wall of mirrors, Seokjin catches her own reflection – smaller and behind Jimin – and realizes she’s been staring. Not of suspicion (not that she thought Jimin would do anything wrong), but more of intrigue and curiosity.

And there’s a sensation more than the feeling that they have met before. It’s a feeling that Jimin has been here many times before, in this training room, and Seokjin has never known.

Jimin answers her unspoken question.

“It's been a long time since I've been back,” she whispers, talking to Seokjin through the mirrors. In the quiet of the space, it sounds like she’s right next to Seokjin. “And…I’m sorry to hear about everything.”

Seokjin starts.

This doesn’t escape Jimin’s notice and her smile is kind and gentle. “I trained up to blue belt here a few years ago. I started around the same time as Jungkook. But then I got injured.” She sighed. “By the time I healed, it was time for college, so I went to Seoul Academy instead. But wow. I never thought … I guess I always thought I could always come back.”

Something bitter rises in the back of Seokjin’s throat, so she busies herself with stuffing her gear unceremoniously into her bag.

She can feel Jimin’s eyes on the back of her neck as she re-ties her belt. “Sorry,” Jimin says suddenly looking like she had crossed a certain line. “I hope I wasn't interrupting–”

“No, not at all. I was finishing up,” Seokjin cuts in, waving her hands. She’s better than this, she berates herself, she can’t be making a stranger worry about her. She reaches up and ties her long hair back and smiles when Jimin slides in next to her, round eyes searching Seokjin’s face.

Beside Jimin and quietly admiring her fluffy hair, Seokjin’s intensely aware how sweaty and gross she is and must be reeking. She steps back and says, “Hey, do you want to grab some food or something? I mean, if you’re not doing anything else…”

The blinding smile she receives is so breathtaking seems to consume Jimin’s entire face and all Seokjin can think is “ Wow ” before she brushes it off.

Jimin follows her out and looks up at her expectantly when they’re at the doorframe.

“ Chadyea (attention),” Seokjin says, and the sound of them simultaneously snapping their arms to their sides bounces around the room. “ Kunye (bow).”

When she locks the doors after she and Jimin step out, Seokjin casts her gaze around the room one more time. Jimin’s words echo back in her head.

I never thought … I guess I always thought I could always come back…

One month…

 

 

Not long after finds Seokjin is staring at Jimin, with a shrimp spring roll halfway to , now entirely forgotten.

They decide to go to the new Vietnamese restaurant down the road and finds it surprisingly empty for a Saturday night.

Once they have sat down, ordered, and settled into their first few bites, Seokjin finds that Jimin is actually very familiar with the academy, knowing not just Jungkook, but also Hoseok, and even Hyosang by name and face.

(“Sorry to hear that Hyosang left,” Jimin says, trying valiantly to fight a small laugh. “But I honestly was under the impression he was forced to be there against his will.”

Seokjin, thinking back about two years ago to how she had all but bodily tackled him and squeezed out every ounce of Hyosang’s dignity to get him to join, so that he could ‘woman up’ and pay her back, agrees that Jimin  really isn’t wrong. )

But the real shocker is a few minutes later when Jimin reveals that, yes, they have met before.

And here they are, Seokjin too shocked to remember that it’s impolite to gape, especially where there is a quietly dripping spring roll from her chopsticks.

“It was you? ” she manages to splutter. “You’re the one who beat me at primary testing?”

Jimin ducks her head behind her own pair of chopsticks and blushes slightly as she finishes chewing her mouthful of pho. Most likely buying herself time before she has to reply.

“Yeah?”

Seokjin tries not to raise her voice in the restaurant, but really needs to make something happen, so she compromises by slamming her chopsticks down a little more forcefully than necessary. “I was a red belt for a year because of you!”

She isn’t angry, she really isn’t. It just hurts her pride just a bit (okay a lot) that because she failed the sparring round, she not only had to wait another year to test, but also watch Hoseok move on without her. And if there is an opposite of a sore loser, then he would be a sore winner. He already is borderline too much with his megawatt smile, and that’s just his default state.

Once she had released the energy and said what she wanted, she settles down. For some reason, she’s finding herself intrigued and drawn to the way that, while Jimin did look a little rattled by Seokjin’s outburst, she did not back down nor stir the fire. Instead, she took all of this in stride, a curl never quite leaving the corner of her lips.

Like she understood her frustration. Maybe she did.

A quiet falls between them as they continue to eat. Somehow, it’s an easy one, lingering more like a comfortable silence between old friends than re-acquaintances. Neither of them seem to mind.

“But you didn’t use your hook kick on me,” Seokjin notes a few minutes later, as she pushes away her empty plate.

“Ahh,” Jimin says, nodding. “That’s because I had gotten injured the round before, but didn’t want to admit it. Otherwise,” she grins, “I’d have to wait a year to test again, since there isn’t, you know, secondary testing for after brown belt...”

Yup, Seokjin thinks. There it is.

But she just hums and asks for the check. “Time really flies, doesn’t it? What rank are you then?”

“Fourth degree,” Jimin says proudly. “Never thought I’d ever get it.”

“I did.”

Jimin raises her eyebrows. “You did?”

Seokjin shrugs. “Taekwondo is my life, I’d never live without it, or with myself if I didn’t try to achieve the best I can. Though,” she sighs, “it’ll be a while before I can test for fifth, and I’m not getting any younger. And with the school closing…” Her voice trails off and she hates the small crack that manages to creep in her voice.

Across the table, Jimin bites her lip. Neither of them say anything as they pay separately and walk out the restaurant together.

It’s already dark out and all the streetlights are casting their different levels of glow onto the highway not far ahead, empty long after evening rush.

But then, when Seokjin turns to ask how she is going home, Jimin’s face brightens so quickly and widely that for a second, it looks like the sun had risen early.

“I have an idea!” she says, springing on her toes and her hair bouncing against her shoulders. “Let’s hold a tournament!”

When Seokjin makes a face, Jimin isn’t deterred in the slightest. In fact, she seems emboldened by the older’s initial reaction.

“ Think about it , Seokjin,” she says, clasping and unclasping her hands. “A tournament hosted by BST and against Seoul Academy! It’s been ages since we’ve competed, since there are so many closer schools to each. But then it gets the name out, get people interested again.”

All of these words are falling out at a rapid speed and Seokjin is quite amazed she can still keep up and understand.

“Maybe we could reignite some friendly competition,” Jimin continues, “and we attract the attention of some newspapers or sponsors and show them what real martial arts is. Something worth keeping and worth continuing! And I’m sure there are archives on how to pull this sort of thing together really quickly. Well, what do you think?”

Seokjin doesn’t give an answer. She wants to believe with all her heart, she really does, but is something like that going to be enough? So many things could go wrong…

They part their ways when the purple line transfers to red, with Jimin transferring to a different subway with all kinds of hopes and dreams written all across her face. Seokjin remains quiet, opting to stare out as the moving wall panels blur by, which really don’t compare to the thoughts racing through her mind.

She still doesn’t reply when Jimin takes her phone from her hand before she leaves and sends herself a whole slew of happy emojis so that they had each other’s number. She doesn’t answer when they are exchanging affirmations of making it home safe and good nights later that night. And Jimin doesn’t ask.

But when she’s lying in bed, staring at the dark ceiling and watching the small trains of light from the cars below flit across the surface, she remembers how Jimin had beamed up at her like that, so full of wild joy and optimism.

And how because of that, Seokjin can’t help but think as she drifts off to sleep that, if anyone, Jimin would be the one who could make anything happen.

 

 

Once set in motion, the preparations for a tournament pick up at a breakneck speed.

After that first meeting, Jimin goes bac