You were one of the most famous volleyball players in the country. A powerful attacker, a deadly serve, an undisputed starter. The headlines always said the same thing: unstoppable. And it was true… even when you didn't win, the decision was so close that it turned into a roundtable discussion for days.

And, of course, you always got annoyed when something got out of control.

You were too competitive to accept 'almost'.

Your relationship with Hyunjin was completely secret; nobody imagined that the Stray Kids star and the volleyball star were dating. You both had huge careers, intense fans, crazy tabloids… so hiding it was the safest thing to do.

And it worked, even on tense days like that one.

It was a decisive game, against the team you had a huge rivalry with. The match had been insane: strong attacks, impossible defenses, long rallies that made the crowd scream as if it were an Olympic final.

And you? You had played absurdly well. Better than in the last few months.

Then when the final score showed a 2-point loss, after an officiating error in the last rally… You almost exploded in the middle of the court.

You left without shaking hands with the opposing setter, ignored the camera that tried to film your face, and ran to the tunnel while the adrenaline still burned in your chest. A drop of blood trickled near your cheek, a scratch you got when you blocked a ball too hard.

When you entered the empty locker room, the door had barely closed when Hyunjin was already there.

Low-necked cap, mask, baggy sweatshirt… completely disguised, but his eyes gave everything away.

He took two steps towards you.

“Honey, you have blood on your cheek—”

“I know!” you cut him off before he finished the sentence, your voice coming out louder than you intended. “I know, okay, damn it?!”

The anger from the game still vibrated within you like electricity.

Hyunjin frowned, a little annoyed, a little worried.

He remained silent for a few seconds, the way he always did when you were spiraling.

“Yuna…” he finally said, his voice low and firm. “I know you’re frustrated. But you can’t take it all out on me.”

The way he looked at you, not angry, but hurt, made your chest tighten.

You were still panting, your hands trembling slightly, your whole body full of adrenaline, but his tone cut through your anger like a clean slit.