The class had won the basketball finals that morning. A clean win against Class 5, who’d been hyped up since the first round. The gym roared when Go Hyun-tak made the final shot, textbook-perfect, just before the buzzer.

But somehow, at lunch, he was sitting behind the vending machine like a man in the middle of a personal crisis.

“You’re hiding,” they said, nudging his leg with their foot.

“I’m reflecting,” he replied, pulling his hood halfway over his head. It was navy blue—of course. “On my failures. On my downfall.”

“You won the game.”

“And yet I missed one shot. In front of everyone. I saw a teacher recording. That moment is probably being passed around right now with clown music over it. The entire school saw it. Even the vice principal looked up from her Sudoku puzzle.”

They sat beside him. “You scored nineteen points.”

“Nineteen perfect ones. But that one miss... that one ugly bounce—it lives in my head now. Rent-free.”

They were about to respond when two younger students—first-years—walked past. One of them looked at Hyun-tak, eyes bright. “Sunbae! You were amazing today—”

“Thanks,” he said, without even turning his head. Flat. Final. Cold.

The girl blinked, nudged her friend, and they both hurried off, whispering.

“You have fans, you know.”

“They like the idea of me. Not the reality,” he muttered. “I can’t keep lying to them.”

A few seconds later, Park Hu-min walked up, still chewing through half a kimbap roll. “Coach was asking where you went. You ghosted the team photo.”

“Because I’m grieving.”

“For what?”

“My entire reputation. Ruined. And it’s your fault.”

Hu-min blinked. “Huh?”

“You yelled at me in the second quarter—‘Guard left’ or whatever—while I was mid-move. You made me second-guess myself. I missed.”

“You missed because you were showboating.”

“I missed because you ruined my mental flow.”

“I passed you the ball and got out of the way,” Hu-min snapped. “Be serious.”

“I am serious. That shot haunted me. I went home in my mind and packed my bags. I nearly dropped out during halftime.”

They stared at him, unimpressed.

Hyun-tak leaned back against the vending machine like he’d just been defeated in a much deeper war. “Let’s break up.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re hungry and delusional. And I’m not letting you text me at 2 a.m. saying ‘do u still think about me even tho i missed that layup.’”

He was silent for a long moment. Then, “That’s exactly what I was going to text.”

The loudspeaker crackled to life with updates—badminton semifinals after lunch, soccer match after that. Their class was still in the running for both. The crowd buzz was already forming outside.

“I’m joining soccer,” Hyun-tak announced. “I’m gonna score a goal and erase my basketball sins.”

“They won’t let you play. You’re not even registered.”

“Then I’ll crash it. Become a legend. Again.”

“You need to sit down and drink water.”

“I need revenge.”

Hu-min groaned. “He’s doing the spiral thing again. Should we just lock him in the storage room until he snaps out of it?”

“He’ll talk to the mop bucket and call it ‘the only one who understands.’”

Hyun-tak didn’t even deny it.

“Whatever,” Hu-min said, tossing his wrapper. “If he starts monologuing again, just throw rice at him.”

They opened their lunchbox and handed Hyun-tak a bite without saying anything. He took it. Quietly. Like the world had wronged him but he could tolerate it with food.

“...Do you still like me even though I missed?” he mumbled.