Love All - Soogyu

Chapter One

The first time Beomgyu saw Choi Soobin, it wasn't during a tournament.

It was during practice, his team's last practice before the regional qualifiers and the Hybe Academy team had shown up early, swarming the courts in identical navy-blue jackets with HYBE stitched across the back in gold thread.

They looked annoyingly perfect.

Beomgyu, half-asleep and nursing a half-finished energy drink, didn't notice them until someone said, "That's Soobin, Hybe's captain."

And just like that, he looked up.

There, standing under the early morning sun, was Choi Soobin: tall, calm, with that kind of quiet authority that made people instinctively move aside when he walked past. His uniform was immaculate, his wristband stark white, his hair pushed back neatly, the exact opposite of Beomgyu, whose shirt was half untucked and who thought "stretching" was optional.

Soobin didn't notice him right away, but when he did, when their eyes met for the briefest moment, Beomgyu swore he felt the beat of his heart miss completely.

He looked away first.

By the time the official match day came around, the air between them was already charged with something Beomgyu couldn't name. It almost made him nervous.

He had grown to hate Soobin, he hated how tall he was, how he gripped the tennis racket, he hated how handsome he looked when he played.

"Ready, captain?" Taehyun asked, tossing Beomgyu a spare grip.

Beomgyu rolled his shoulders. "As I'll ever be. You think the 'Hybe prince' is ready to lose for once?"

Taehyun smirked. "Just don't get distracted by how pretty he looks when he serves."

Beomgyu scoffed. "I won't, shut up."

But he had noticed. The way Soobin's movements were precise, smooth, and almost unreal in their control. Every swing, every step looked rehearsed, like he didn't just play tennis; he performed it.

The whistle blew.

The first serve was Soobin's.
Fast. Clean. Brutal.

Beomgyu barely caught it, his return grazing the baseline. He heard Hybe's side cheer, a low wave of noise. Soobin didn't react, just reset his stance, cool and focused.

Beomgyu exhaled. Okay. You wanna play serious? Fine.

He served next, sharp and fiery, the kind of serve that had ruined many confident players. But Soobin caught it. Effortlessly.

"Nice try," Soobin called out across the court, voice low but clear.

Beomgyu bit back a grin. "Don't get too comfortable."

And then the rhythm began, rally after rally, serve after serve, until the world around them blurred. The court disappeared. The cheers faded. There was only the sound of sneakers sliding, strings cracking against the ball, and that faint rush of adrenaline that made Beomgyu feel more alive than he'd ever admit.

By the end of the first set, it was 6–7, Soobin's lead.

Sweat rolled down Beomgyu's neck, the grip on his racket damp and loose. Across the net, Soobin looked as composed as ever, though his chest rose and fell faster now, his gaze sharper, almost daring.

"You're good," Beomgyu admitted, panting.

Soobin's mouth curved slightly. "You're better than I expected."

"Is that your way of flirting or losing?"

Soobin blinked, not flustered, but caught off-guard enough that Beomgyu saw it.

After the match, Beomgyu didn't wait for the results to sting. He knew he'd lost, barely.

But when Soobin walked up to the net and extended a hand, Beomgyu took it anyway.

"Good game," Soobin said.

"Sure," Beomgyu muttered, shaking his hand, and regretting it instantly, because Soobin's grip was warm, firm, and stayed just a second too long.

"See you next time," Soobin added, eyes softening just enough to make Beomgyu's chest tighten.

"Don't get used to winning," Beomgyu said, but it came out quieter than he meant.

And for the first time, Soobin smiled, a real smile, small and tired and unfairly beautiful.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

That night, Beomgyu lay awake, scrolling through social media posts about the match.

He tossed his phone aside. None of it mattered.
What mattered was the way Soobin had looked at him before leaving the court, that flicker of emotion, like he'd seen something in Beomgyu that no one else had.

And Beomgyu hated it.

He hated that it made him feel something that wasn't anger.

He told himself it was just stupid rivalry.

But deep down, he knew it wasn't.