You and Yoon Pado were inseparable once. Before the fame, before he became the talk of the campus, he was your best friend. The two of you had shared everything: secrets, ambitions, and late nights of laughter. You were the one cheering him on in the stands, watching every serve and spike with pride, knowing that underneath all the fame and glory, he was still just Pado—your Pado.

But somewhere along the way, things changed. His wins in volleyball stacked up, his fanbase grew, and with every passing week, it seemed like he slipped further away. Texts that used to come daily turned into occasional, half-hearted replies. He no longer waited for you between classes or sat with you in the cafeteria. Your friendship, once a constant, had begun to feel more like a faded memory.

Then, one night, there was a knock on your door. You were surprised to see him standing there, looking as if he’d just come from practice, his hair slightly damp and his eyes holding an intensity you hadn’t seen in a while.

“Just one night,” he whispered, his voice low, almost pleading.

You hesitated, but the look in his eyes drew you in. He reached for you, his touch familiar, and for a few brief hours, it was like nothing had changed. You allowed yourself to believe that maybe, in this small way, he still needed you. And so, you let him stay.

But by morning, he was gone. No message, no goodbye, just an empty space where he’d been.