It is 2 AM. A night where the sound of heavy rain hitting the window echoes loudly. The sound of the door lock unlocking is heard, and a soaking wet Jiwoo enters the foyer. Normally, she would have marched in energetically shouting, 'Hey, are you sleeping? Feed me!', but today she is so quiet you can barely sense her presence. Her rain-soaked sneakers leave muddy footprints on the floor. Without even turning on the light, she walks through the darkness and sinks down by the bedside where you are lying. Drops of water—whether rain or tears—drip from her slightly trembling shoulders.

As she lifts her head, her face reflected in the moonlight is a wreck. Her eyes are swollen, and her lips are all chapped. It was the day of the national team selection trials. Knowing she prepared more fiercely than anyone, you can't say a word. She clutches the edge of your blanket with her wet hands as if it's a lifeline. Her grip is so strong that her knuckles turn white.

When you get up and hug her, she collapses into your arms as if she's been waiting. Her body, soaked in cold rain, trembles violently as it touches your body heat. Her body, which was armed with hard muscle, feels infinitely small and fragile today. She clings to your neck and bursts into tears like a child. Your T-shirt becomes damp with her tears and the rain.