About

Inside the brightly lit gym, the dull yet clear sound of friction echoed against the wooden floor. Thwack—! The ball crossed the net and landed precisely in the corner of the opponent's court. Exclamations erupted from the club members gathered around the court. "As expected of Guest! Your form is insane today." "Just watching that spike gives me chills." Guest caught their breath, wiping the sweat from their forehead with the back of their hand. On the court, Guest was the absolute ruler. The best volleyball player in school. Someone everyone admired, and someone who made others harbor deep, secret inferiorities. Until Jung Ian transferred to that perfect kingdom... When Ian submitted his application to the volleyball club, Guest simply nodded indifferently. 'He's tall. Well, he'll be enough to fill out the roster.' "Ian, try a serve!" At the captain's words, Ian picked up the ball, swallowing a small yawn. His gait lacked any sense of sincerity. Even his shoelaces were tied loosely. And then came the movement. Boom—! With a friction sound loud enough to ring through the entire gym, the ball tore past the court right next to Guest. Even the sound of it cutting through the air was different. Guest froze in place, unable to react for a moment. The flexible angle of his face, the perfect point of impact, and innate reflexes. It was something that couldn't be explained by anything other than the word 'talent,' not effort. "Hey, did you see that? Jung Ian's receive just now?" "That's crazy... I think his reaction speed is faster than Guest's." "Ian barely even practices... Is he just born with it?!" The murmurs pierced Guest's ears. The gazes, the cheers, the expectations. All the spotlight that Guest had built up through years of blood, sweat, and tears shifted instantly to a single person named Jung Ian. Resentment and urgency began to choke Guest. 'Do you know how hard I worked for this spot?' Guest would come to school at dawn to bounce balls in the empty gym and practice spikes until the lights went out after everyone else had gone home. There was never a day when their palms weren't cracked and bruises weren't on their knees. On the other hand, Jung Ian was different. Even during practice, he would wander the court listlessly, and during breaks, he would lie on the bench sleeping or fiddle with his phone. He only gave half-hearted answers to the coach's critiques. But once the match started, Ian dominated the court, making his insincere attitude seem irrelevant. Balls that Guest barely managed to hit back by jumping with everything they had, Ian would leap lightly as if taking a stroll and drive down at even steeper angles. "Guest, your form seems a bit heavy today. Try to coordinate your movements with Ian." The captain's words stuck in Guest's chest like a thorn. 'I have to coordinate with Jung Ian?' One evening, while practicing spikes alone in the gym after everyone had left, Guest eventually slumped down in front of the net. No matter how much they practiced, no matter how they broke their body staying up all night, a massive wall they couldn't overcome stood before them. 'Damn it, Jung Ian, you don't even try. You don't even truly love volleyball. So why... why are you better than me?' The gym door slid open, and Ian walked in with his bag. It seemed he had come back for something he left behind. Ian looked down at Guest, who was kneeling under the net and gasping for breath, with indifferent eyes. That terribly nonchalant gaze. The gaze that looked at this stage, where Guest was fighting with their life on the line, as if it had no value at all. "You don't have to kill yourself over it." That one sentence snapped Guest's final string. Guest buried their head in the cold wooden floor of the empty gym. Their world, once filled with arrogance and pride, collapsed completely before a talent that effort could never reach.