When Jaemin was five, he told his mom he wanted to take up taekwondo lessons. At first, it was because the rest of his kindergarten class were enrolled in the dojang two blocks away from school so he wanted to play and kick and fight too. That sounded pretty awesome.

When Jaemin was eight, it had been a few months since his classmates stopped going to the dojang but he stayed and persevered on his own. He wanted to continue because he grew a liking towards the sport.

When Jaemin was twelve, he had officially become a junior black belter when he passed the promotion test. He was a little late, compared to the younger ones who were around 6-10 years of age but his coach then, a stubby man in his 60s, had told him he’d make it far. “You’re destined for something bigger, Jaemin.”

When Jaemin was fourteen, he won his first gold in a school-based competition. He remembers the way his parents hugged him right after his last match, how he went up the stage and grinned like an idiot when the principal placed the medal over his head, how it hung around his neck as it glinted.

When Jaemin was seventeen, he was a third dan black belter with over 60 medals ranging from bronze, silver and gold. It hadn’t been easy, he got busy with school and when the love for his sport faded, the only thing that motivated him at that point was a varsity scholarship for college so that his parents didn’t have to worry about the expenses. Jaemin still loved taekwondo, he lived and breathed it. But things started to change.

When Jaemin was eighteen, he joined a national taekwondo competition that attracted all athletes from around the nation with only two weeks of training. The craziest thing about it wasn’t him winning the gold medal in the featherweight division after eight, non-stop matches. It was how the director for the Korea Taekwondo Association marched up to him and offered him a place in the national team right then and there.

Now, Jaemin is twenty and is a participant in the Asian Games. Everything he ever worked for since he was five years old all boils down to this, to today. Jaemin might have fallen out of love with the sport a few years back but he found that spark again, a fire rekindled inside his chest that motivated him to jump higher and kick harder.

He’s got this, he has to. The whole of South Korea is depending on him and he’s absolutely not going to let them down.

“That was ing insane!” Mark bounds over to him when he’s limping (only slightly because his opponent had stepped on his foot by accident) down the steps and towards the resting area.

He almost gets tackled to the ground by his friend’s overly enthusiastic bear hug and it takes both Taeyong and Jeno to pry Mark off.

Jaemin is directed to the waiting area near the platform, where Thailand and Singapore were battling it out already. He gets to rest and sit back as he watches, drinking water every now and then while listening to Mark and Jeno yapping about his win.

“- and the way you turned and faked that roundhouse kick? Genius!” Mark was saying. “Right, Jeno?”

The boy in mention nods and smiles whole-heartedly. “Dude, you just beat the contender for Japan, the host nation and one more fight, you’re qualified for a bronze medal.”

“I know that,” he says to them. The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers and gasps when Thailand gets kicked in the face, totally not a pretty sight.

In his mind, he calculates the ways Thailand could’ve avoided Singapore’s axe kick and that’s what he does for the rest of the games while he waits for his next match. He calculates their moves, makes comments and tries to improve them in his head to keep him focused, sharp and attentive later on during his own game.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks. 

Jaemin’s hands were shaking, but not from nerves but at how amped up he was. He couldn’t wait to get back onto the mats and unleash his full potential. “I’m fine,” he manages to reply. “Just… I don’t know, psyched? I’m ready for the next match already.”

“Really?” there’s a sly, malicious tone behind Jenos’ words and when Jaemin gives him a look, the former points his finger towards a section in the other end of the arena, where a crowd of spectators were huddled.

At first, Jaemin doesn’t see who Jeno was referring to but after squinting his eyes and looking closer, he finally sees the familiar dark-haired girl waving a miniature Chinese flag over her head.

The corners of his lips turn up, without much thought when he realizes she was actually waving at him with the hand she was also holding her flag in.

Jaemin raises his own hand and waves back. He can obviously see her smile grow wider before she turns back to her teammates that were engrossed in conversation.

“Okay, what just happened?” Mark’s speaks out loud what Jaemin had been thinking the moment Shuhua turned her head away from him.

“I –“ Jaemin tries to come up with something, but fails. His eyes still linger on her seated figure before he looks back at his friends. “I approached her a few days back, during her game.”

He explains briefly about how he found out she was the Yeh Shuhua and how he found the courage to go up to her in the locker rooms to personally apologize. She wanted to give him back his hoodie right away but Jaemin had let her hold onto it for a while.

“Because you want to see her again.” Jeno says, sort of in conclusion. The smirk he has on his face is confirmation to Jaemin that they were indeed best friends. He can’t get away with anything from this guy. “Nice. Looks like she’s here for you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Jaemin rolled his eyes. “She’s here with the Chinese team probably supporting their representative.”

Jeno and Mark exchange knowing, unamused looks. “Sure.” They say in unison.

“Shut up,” he scowls at them. “I need to focus.”

A spotlight is pointed right at him and cheers went up all around when Jaemin steps into the mats again decked in full armor and determination to boot.

“Chong! Hong!” the referee points a finger to either side of him, indicating the players to take their positions.

Jaemin exhales, his heart beating a million miles per second. You got this, is the last thing he says to himself in his head before the referee raises his hand and yells at the top of his lungs, “start!”

“You’re lighter than most boys, Jaemin.” Coach Jeon, the man who told him he’d make it far when he was around twelve, told him he had an advantage amongst other players. “You’re quick on your feet. Swift, fast, full of power like a cheetah. Use your skills well.”

Side-step. Left foot roundhouse, follow-up jumping, turning long and axe kick with right and then left leg. Side-step again to avoid the opponent’s counter attack.

Jaemin inhales through his nose. One, two, three. He lunges forward, shouting.

Right forty-five kick, follow-up left roundhouse and right push kick. His opponent staggers back. Good. Left jumping, turning roundhouse follow-up axe kick and ten bullet kicks to the armor.

His opponent successfully blocks his last few kicks. Not good. Jaemin steps back, raises a leg to counter attack.

His opponent kicks him then and he feels himself get hit through the armor, one two three. He has a curse word in his head that he doesn't have time to say because they're too close, he could get kicked in the head from this distance. 

He slides back and turns on his heel, his body whirling and his feet connecting with the other boy’s head guard.

Yes.

The two minutes are up, just like that. That’s it for the first match. Jaemin is panting when he sits on the plastic chair and his coach wipes the sweat trickling down the side of his head.

“That was a good round, kid.” His coach says, handing him his tumbler of water. Jaemin downs almost half of it instantly, he didn’t realize he was so parched.

He tries to control his breathing. Just one more round.

"Tighten your turns, boy." his coach says. "Don't lose your balance, you were stable with your follow-up kicks but your turns are going to make you fall on your . Stay tight and alert."

His eyes travel over to the officiator’s table where the referees and officiating judge tally their points. He can feel his ha