Jeon Jungkook is Korea's next gymnastics hopeful, preparing himself for the 2012 London Olympics. With the competition months away, Jungkook's coach pushes him into an American training camp in the state of Arizona where he will train alongside only...
I have to get back to practice, back to the one sport that keeps my own aura breathing...
Gymnastics.
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"TOO LOW! POINT YOUR FUCKING TOES, JEON! HOW MANY MORE TIMES DO I HAVE TO REPEAT MYSELF!"
A tall, imposing coach jerks and tosses his arms around as he studies the elite athlete training in front of him. In his judgmental hand is a clipboard, which gets scribbled upon angrily every time a fault is detected. Every time the gymnast in front of him cannot get only the perfect form down, the pen strikes upon paper. Listing imperfection, inking down deduction.
"SHOULDERS OPEN! SHOULDERS OPEN!"
Veins bulge in the flushed neck of the male athlete as his body circles round and round on the worn pommel horse. Like clockwork, his hands raise up and slam down on the brown surface to keep his body suspended. His fit body glides over the handles, a perfected, squeezed board. The heavy slaps of his calloused palms against the leather object echo off of the tall gym ceiling.
Fans whir overhead, cutting through the chalky air of the Busan gymnasium. The weathered athlete breathes heavily as his torso suddenly rises into a controlled handstand. With grace, he twists multiple times on top of the pommel horse. He sticks his intricate dismount, heels planted on the mat, chin held high.
The coach scribbles some more.
"That was subpar. Not your best." Eyes remain glued to the clipboard. "Based on what I've deducted from your execution, you're at an 8.2. Added to your difficulty, that's only a 14.8. Leonardo Costa's difficulty is a full point ahead of yours on pommel. Costa's scoring in the 15's. Need to clean up your fucking form, Jeon. Either that, or discount a medal on pommel."
Sweat beads on Jungkook's forehead at the temples. He reaches a red hand up, wipes the sweat off. He rolls out his wrists.
"Got it, coach."
The coach starts at the flippant response. "You got it? No, you don't. You'll be in America in less than a week with Costa, and all you can tell me is got it?"
"I'll work harder."
Rolling his eyes, the coach steps closer to the pommel. The fans block out the coach's enraged cussing from reaching Jungkook's ears. The critique sheet gets yanked off of the clipboard and thrust into Jungkook's chest. "Just stay on top of your game, Jeon. I know you, and I know you have it in you to beat him. You just have to be more aggressive. You've been slacking lately."
Jungkook curls his fingers around the sheet that lists numerous capitalized deductions. He scans them over like a student might gaze at their class schedule. Curious, yet uneasy.
