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...
When the SUV curved through the final gate, the team stared, dumbfounded.
Shuaibo's family home wasn't simply a house. It was a massive compound -- symmetrical, sprawling, and edged with moon gates and carved stone lions. The tiled rooflines curved like brushstrokes across the sky. Vermilion doors, brass knockers, and lanterns in every corridor. Gold calligraphy etched into wooden beams.
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
"I thought you were rich, not dynasty-level final fantasy DLC rich," said Jeongwoo.
The courtyard alone was the size of a tennis court, with a water pavilion at the center and an ornamental stone bridge. Tall panels of carved rosewood lined the walkway, etched with ancient poetry none of them could read.
"Okay," Woongki muttered. "This isn't a mansion. This is a historical drama setpiece. Is there a brooding general who trained in solitude for revenge?"
"Probably upstairs," Shuaibo said dryly, glancing up a winding staircase with painted banisters.
"I feel like if I sneeze wrong, I'll offend an ancestor," Steven added.
Shuaibo smiled faintly. "Good. That's how you know you're in a Zhang house."
"Wait," Juwon said. "Is this the main family house?"
"No," Shuaibo replied, already halfway to the inner hall. "This is the guest house."
* * *
The dining hall had lacquered walls the color of dark tea, lit by hanging silk lanterns embroidered with phoenixes and cloud motifs. A painted screen of cranes and pine trees blocked the back wall, and an enormous circular dining table -- glossy rosewood with a lazy susan at its center -- waited beneath an overhead chandelier shaped like a lotus in bloom.
"Why is this room more intimidating than the track committee's boardroom?" Kyungho muttered.
"Because in the boardroom, no one's dressed like they assassinate warlords in their spare time," Steven said, eyeing the Zhang family elders seated across the table in tailored Tang jackets and qi pao.
Even Shuaibo had changed, into a high-collared black changshan that made him look like the heir to a legacy that spanned hundreds of years (which was probably accurate). JL barely recognized the restrained, dignified version of him that bowed to his grandfather and pulled out a chair with practiced grace.
Dinner began with ceremony. Dishes were placed in slow succession: beggar's chicken in lotus leaves, sweet osmanthus shrimp, jade tofu, and ginkgo congee in porcelain bowls rimmed with gold.
JL didn't know what to do with half of it. Juwon whispered, "Do we wait? Or...?"
"No one touches the lazy susan until the head of the family eats," Chih En murmured from two seats down. "It's rude."
"I'm hungry," Woongki mouthed.
The head of the Zhang family, Shuaibo's grandfather, finally lifted his chopsticks. Then the others followed.
"So," came a calm, accented voice. It was one of the uncles, in a charcoal grey tangzhuang with gold embroidery. "This is your... track team."
"They are my teammates," Shuaibo said.
"Not business students," his grandfather said. "Not even engineers."
"No, Grandfather."
"And what exactly do they do for you?"
Shuaibo's mouth tightened. "They train with me. We compete together. We represent our university."
A soft chuckle came from the other end of the table. "Throwing spears on a field is not a future."
"It's called the javelin," Steven said under his breath.
JL kicked him lightly under the table.
His father's voice, smooth and practiced: "What does this competition offer you, Son? More headlines? Temporary glory?"
"Discipline," Shuaibo said. "Independence. My own name."
"You already have our name."
"No," Shuaibo said, eyes like sharpened onyx. "I have yours. I want mine."
There was a flicker of silence.
"You left this home," his mother said softly. "And yet you bring strangers back to it."
"They're not strangers," Shuaibo said, rising to his feet. "They're the reason I became who I am. They're the people who saw me when you didn't."
"I'm ranked top in the university league. I'm this close to national level. I might make Olympic development next year. But that's not good enough, is it?"
He exhaled.
"Because I didn't do it your way."
He pushed his chair back.
"I'm not ashamed of what I left behind. But I'm tired of having to defend what I have now."
Then, in perfect Mandarin, he added, "Enjoy your dinner. I'll be drinking mine."
And walked out.
* * *
Shuaibo reappeared twenty minutes later with a black card in his palm and something steel in his expression.
"Oh, thank God," said JL in relief. "I thought you were going to leave us to our fate in here. I mean, the food was delicious, but --"
Shuaibo smirked and flicked the VIP credit card like a weapon. "Let's go," he said. "My dad's card has no limit and my patience has officially expired."
"Should we even ask what you told your family?" Kyungho asked.
Shuaibo shrugged. "Something about wanting to meditate in the temple. Come on."
The club was called Nian Club. Inside, it was chrome and crimson, with private lounges stacked above the dancefloor like pagoda tiers. A massive LED dragon twisted across the ceiling, flickering gold with every bass drop. The menu had QR codes.
JL skimmed the drink list and gawped. One bottle cost more than his monthly rent.
People started noticing them immediately. A nearby table of influencers lit up at the sight of Shuaibo, shouting his name and waving their phones. Within minutes, he and Chih En were surrounded.
Neither of them seemed fazed. Shuaibo accepted a glass of something expensive and leaned back in his seat. Chih En, calm as ever, took the other. They started speaking in Mandarin -- rapid, effortless, and just loud enough to be impressive. The people around them quieted to listen.
JL caught part of the conversation. Something about imported liquor and which hotel brands were overrated.
A girl tugged Juwon toward her booth. "You're the soft boy of the season," she said, starry-eyed.
Jeongwoo was dragged off by two older women in sequined cheongsams, one of whom whispered something in his ear that made him drop his glass.
Woongki leaned in and whispered, "We're ten minutes in and already getting drafted into a fan meet."
Steven raised his glass. "Welcome to Shanghai."
As the evening wore on, Kyungho and Woongki slipped away together -- smiling like conspirators.
Han was nowhere to be found.
Only Steven and JL stayed behind at the end of the night, watching Shanghai glitter through the open rooftop windows.
