track team AU | love triangle | slice of life | slow burn | found family | comedy + longing + insane rizz
JL transferred to Korea's most elite sports university hoping for a fresh start. He didn't expect to be rooming beside the nation's top sprinte...
Steven's hand brushed against JL's ribs as he helped him straighten mid-drill.
"You're tensing too early," Steven said, voice low.
JL didn't step away, but his body went still, like it wanted to. He nodded once and reset his stance. "Got it."
The whistle blew. JL bolted forward like something had grabbed him from behind.
[Past – Philippines]
Before Korea, before KNSU, JL had been the poster boy of his province's youth athletics team. The one they called the "next great thing." Sponsors came and went, but expectations didn't. Especially from the people who had no backup plan for when he got tired.
The locker room was too quiet for the noise still ringing in JL's ears.
"You need to be ready by next week," his coach said, not looking up from his clipboard. "There's a regional scout coming. I told him you'd be running anchor."
JL's leg throbbed under the compression wrap. He flexed his ankle once. Winced.
"I'll try," he said.
"You'll do more than try."
The coach walked out.
JL sat on the floor, alone, pressing his knuckles into his thigh until the pain dulled to background static.
[Present Day]
That night, JL ran the field by himself.
One lap. Two. Then five more. No music. No pacing partner.
Steven had texted: "Want to stretch after?"
Under the floodlights, his shadow stretched long and blurred. He chased it anyway.
[Past – Philippines]
They had told him to rest. Then changed their minds when someone with a clipboard needed results. That was how it worked -- one moment, you were the golden boy. The next, you were replaceable.
The race felt wrong the moment the gun fired.
His stride was off. His leg screamed every time his foot struck the ground.
But people were watching. The team. The sponsors. His coach.
So he ran.
At the final bend, the pain shot straight up his spine. He stumbled. Fell. Skidded. Lay there as the other runners blurred past.
No one came immediately.
He turned his face to the sky.
Someone said, "He cracked."
Someone else said nothing at all.
[Present Day]
Kyung-ho found him sitting alone at the practice tent, towel slung over his shoulder.
"You didn't answer in the group chat," Kyungho said.
JL nodded. "I read it. Sorry. Long day."
Kyungho didn't push. Just sat beside him, knee bouncing slightly. "You running with Steven again tomorrow?"
"Probably."
Kyungho didn't answer. Just stood and patted JL's shoulder before walking off.
JL exhaled slowly.
[Past – Philippines]
They called a team meeting the next day. JL sat in the back. His leg still hurt, but no one asked. No one blamed the injury. They just blamed the loss.
"He got soft," someone whispered. "Too much attention."
He didn't even cry. Just nodded through the criticism like it belonged to him. Because maybe, in some twisted way, it did.
The decision to leave came days later. One more failed conversation with a coach who had once believed in him.
"You'll need a fresh start," the coach had said. "Somewhere they don't know your name yet. Somewhere you can catch your breath."
[Later That Night]
In bed, JL opened KakaoTalk.
One unread message from Han.
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JL hovered over the reply bubble.
Then shut the app.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling.
That old voice from the track still echoed -- the one that said you have to win, or you're nothing.
