Play Hard, Love Harder

Han Jisung couldn’t believe it. Another spike. Another win. Another round of Lee Minho’s annoyingly smug grin that seemed permanently etched on his stupidly attractive face. The sound of his teammates groaning echoed in his ears as the ball hit the ground, signaling yet another victory for Minho’s team during their scrimmage match.

“Nice try, Jisung,” Minho called out as he passed him on the court, his voice carrying just the right amount of teasing to set Jisung’s blood boiling.

“Save your commentary, Minho,” Jisung shot back, hands on his hips. “You might want to work on your humility—it’s seriously lacking.”

“Funny, I thought winners didn’t have to worry about that,” he quipped, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he sauntered away.

Jisung seethed, clutching the volleyball in his hands. Lee Minho was everything he disliked in a person: arrogant, overly confident, and, worst of all, talented enough to back it up. He couldn’t stand the way Minho always seemed to be one step ahead of him on the court, as if he had memorized his every move. And yet, he couldn’t deny that Minho’s skill as a player pushed him to play harder, to be better. Not that he’d ever admit that to him.

Their rivalry had started almost a year ago when Jisung transferred to Incheon University, known for its competitive sports teams. Volleyball had always been his passion, and he had expected to step onto the court as one of the best players. But then there was Minho, the golden boy of the team and the captain of the boys’ squad. From the moment they met, sparks flew—though not the romantic kind. Minho had made a comment about his overhand serve (“Not bad for a newbie”), and Jisung had immediately decided he would wipe the floor with him one day.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ

It was a Wednesday evening, and the air in the gymnasium was thick with tension. Both teams were running on adrenaline, the stakes higher than usual, even for a scrimmage match. Han Jisung’s squad had been neck and neck with Lee Minho’s team, neither willing to give an inch. The clash was personal, as it always was when the two captains were involved—every set, every spike, every dig felt like a personal challenge.

The match began with Minho’s team pulling ahead. Minho, as always, was dazzling on the court—his calculated movements and perfect timing left Jisung fuming as Minho landed powerful spikes that seemed impossible to block. Jisung’s team scrambled to keep up, relying on his sharp instincts and aggressive plays to claw back points. But Minho didn’t make it easy. He read Jisung’s strategies like an open book, countering with swift attacks and clever feints that kept Jisung on edge.

By the second set, Jisung’s frustration was boiling over. His serves were sharp, fast, and relentless, forcing Minho’s team into defensive positions. When Minho effortlessly returned one of Jisung’s best serves, Jisung clenched his fists in fury. “Lucky shot,” he muttered under his breath. Minho grinned, calling back, “Skill, actually.”

The third set was where things truly reached a fever pitch. Minho and Jisung were practically dueling, their rivalry overshadowing the team dynamic entirely. Jisung pushed himself harder, diving for impossible saves and delivering spikes with enough force to make his teammates wince. Minho, meanwhile, stayed calm and collected, using precision to counter Jisung’s brute force. Their clash was electrifying to watch but chaotic for their teams, who struggled to keep up with the intensity.

Near the end of the match, the score was tied, and the gym was silent except for the squeak of sneakers and the sharp sound of the ball being struck. It was Minho’s serve—a flawless jump serve that sailed straight over the net. Jisung sprinted into position, jumping high to return it, but his angle was slightly off, and the ball slipped through his fingers.

Jisung clenched his jaw so tightly it felt like it might crack. The cheers from Minho’s teammates were deafening, drowning out the groans of disappointment from his own squad. Minho turned, his smirk as sharp and infuriating as ever, his towel slung casually over his shoulder like he hadn’t just destroyed Jisung’s team for the millionth time.

“Nice try, Jisung. Maybe next time,” Minho said, his tone laced with mock sympathy.

Jisung’s grip on the volleyball tightened, his knuckles white against the leather. He felt his frustration bubbling up, threatening to boil over. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to say something—to wipe that smug look off Minho’s face with words sharp enough to cut through his overconfidence.

“Maybe next time you could actually make it a challenge,” Minho added, cocking his head to the side, his smirk growing.

The ball slipped from Jisung’s hand, bouncing once on the floor before rolling to a stop. His teammates watched silently, sensing the storm brewing. Jisung took a step forward, his eyes locked onto Minho’s. The air between them seemed to crackle, the tension thick enough to suffocate.

“You’ve got a lot to say for someone who wouldn’t survive without his team backing him up,” Jisung said, his voice low but firm.

Minho raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “Last I checked, volleyball’s a team sport, Jisung. Don’t tell me you’re still trying to play hero.”

“I don’t need a hero to beat you,” Jisung snapped, his voice rising despite his attempt to stay composed. “You act like you’re untouchable, but we both know you’re not as good as you think you are.”
The smirk faltered just slightly, a flicker of something—annoyance, perhaps?—crossing Minho’s face. He stepped closer, closing the distance between them.

“Funny, considering the score,” he said coolly, his voice quieter but no less cutting. “You can talk all you want, but I think we both know who’s better.”

The gym was unnaturally quiet, the tension between Jisung and Minho thick enough to cut with a knife.
Inches apart, the two stared each other down, eyes locked in an unspoken challenge that neither was willing to back away from. Their teammates froze, exchanging uncertain glances, unsure whether to intervene or grab popcorn.

Hyunjin, always the dramatic one, widened his eyes as he nudged Felix with his elbow. "Are they seriously about to throw down right now?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. He adjusted the strands of his perfectly styled hair, as though preparing himself for an unavoidable disaster. "I swear, if this turns into a fistfight, I’m recording it."

Felix, leaning awkwardly against the wall, bit his lip to stifle a laugh. "You are so bad," he whispered back, shaking his head. But even Felix couldn’t help the amused grin spreading across his face. This was classic Jisung and Minho—a spectacle only they could pull off. "Should we, like, step in or just let them keep going? It’s kind of… entertaining."

Hyunjin pursed his lips, faking deep thought as he scanned the scene. “Nah, let’s just watch the fireworks. You know Minho lives for this. And Jisung? Well, Jisung lives to hate him.”

“Good point,” Felix replied, settling back against the wall and crossing his arms. “Though… this is kind of intense. What if they actually explode?”

Hyunjin snorted. “Explode? Who do you think they are—comic book characters?” He paused for a beat, glancing back at the two captains as neither blinked, neither moved. “Actually, wait. With them? I wouldn’t rule it out.”

As the standoff stretched on, Hyunjin finally broke under the pressure of awkward silence, unable to resist stirring the pot. “Hey Minho!” he called out, grinning widely. “When are you gonna crack, dude? Or are you just waiting for Jisung to blink first?”

Felix gave him a playful shove, muttering, “You’re the worst. Seriously.”

Minho didn’t react, nor did Jisung—their focus unwavering, their determination absolute. The atmosphere was so thick with tension that Felix leaned closer to Hyunjin and whispered, “Should we start chanting? You know, Fight! Fight!—just for the drama?”

Hyunjin barely held back a laugh, his shoulders shaking as he whispered back, “You read my mind.”
But before either of them could escalate the situation further, Mr. Park’s booming voice cut through the silence like a referee in a championship match. “Jisung. Minho. My office. Now.”

Hyunjin let out an exaggerated whistle, leaning down to whisper to Felix as Jisung and Minho broke their deathly gaze and turned toward the coach. “And the match ends in a draw. What a cliffhanger.”

Felix grinned and whispered back, “Yeah, but wait for the sequel. Something tells me it’s going to be just as messy.”

As Jisung stormed past them, muttering under his breath, Hyunjin patted him on the shoulder dramatically. “Don’t worry, buddy. You definitely had him sweating.”

“Hyunjin, I swear—” Jisung growled, glaring at him as Felix barely suppressed a laugh.

Minho passed by next, his smirk firmly in place, as though he’d somehow won something. Hyunjin called after him, “Minho! Good effort! I’d say you two should have a rematch, but you might destroy the gym next time.”

Felix’s grin widened, whispering as they watched both captains march toward Mr. Park’s office. “So… what are the odds they actually listen to him?”

Hyunjin shook his head, still smiling. “Zero. Absolute zero.”

And with that, the two best friends followed slowly behind, ready to revel in whatever chaos their favorite frenemies would inevitably stir up next.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ˚₊

“You two need to figure this out,” he said, fixing them with his no-nonsense glare. “Your rivalry is great for competition, but it’s starting to disrupt the team dynamic. So, I’ve decided to pair you up.”

Jisung blinked. “Pair us up? For what?”

“For the off-season training program,” Mr. Park explained. “You’ll be working together on drills, strategies, and leadership skills. Think of it as a test of teamwork.”

Jisung opened his mouth to protest, but Mr. Park held up a hand. “No arguments. You’re both captains next season, and you need to set an example. Dismissed.”

As they left the office, Jisung turned to Minho, who looked far too amused for his liking.

“Don’t get any ideas, Minho. This changes nothing,” he muttered, his tone sharp.

Jisung didn’t even wait to hear what Minho had to say in reply—he stormed out of the gym, muttering under his breath as Felix and Hyunjin trailed behind him, struggling to keep up. The streetlights flickered on overhead, casting a soft glow on the pavement as they began their walk home. Felix had a cookie in his hand—because, of course, he did—and Hyunjin was scrolling through his phone with an air of dramatic disinterest.

“I swear,” Jisung started, throwing his hands up in the air, “this off-season is going to be the end of me. Minho is going to be the end of me. I can already feel it.”

Felix took a bite of his cookie, chewing thoughtfully before replying. “You say that every year, though. And yet, here you are. Alive and kicking.”

Hyunjin snorted, glancing over at Jisung. “Barely. Did you see his face after Minho said to make their next game a challenge? Jisung looked like he wanted to crawl into the nearest dumpster.”

“I still do!” Jisung snapped, glaring at Hyunjin. “He’s so smug. And obnoxious. And cocky. And—”

“Devastatingly handsome?” Hyunjin interrupted, smirking.

“What? No!” Jisung spluttered, his face turning an impressive shade of pink. “That’s—that’s not even relevant! Why would you—ugh, never mind.”

Felix grinned, nudging Jisung with his elbow. “Minho does have that whole ‘heartthrob athlete’ vibe going on. I mean, it’s annoying, but you gotta admit—he is kind of good-looking.”

“Stop making this worse,” Jisung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t care if he looks like some model from a sportswear catalog. He’s still Minho—arrogant, infuriating, impossible Minho.”

Hyunjin leaned closer, his grin widening. “You sound like you’ve been writing hate poetry about him. ‘Oh Minho, my nemesis, how your smirk haunts my dreams—’”

“I swear to everything holy, Hyunjin, if you finish that sentence—”

Felix chuckled, clearly enjoying the show. “To be fair, though, he does push you to be better. Like, your plays have improved a ton since you started going head-to-head with him.”

Jisung grumbled something unintelligible, kicking a stray pebble down the sidewalk. “That doesn’t make him less annoying.”

“Maybe not,” Felix agreed, munching on his cookie. “But if you’re going to be stuck with him all off-season, you might as well find a way to survive. You know, like—maybe focus on the positives.”

“Positives?” Jisung repeated incredulously. “What positives? There are no positives! The only positive is the fact that I haven’t throttled him yet, and even that feels like a miracle.”

“See? Progress,” Hyunjin said brightly. “You’ve already outdone yourself.”

Jisung let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as they turned the corner toward their neighborhood. “You two are useless. Why did I even bother complaining to you?”

“Because we’re your best friends,” Felix said cheerfully, tossing the last crumb of his cookie into his mouth. “And because you secretly enjoy the chaos.”

“And because we’re the only ones who’ll listen to your rants about Minho without running away,” Hyunjin added.

“That’s debatable,” Jisung muttered, but his lips twitched upward in the faintest hint of a smile. As much as his friends drove him crazy, their teasing somehow made the whole ordeal a little more bearable.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ˚₊

On this particular afternoon, the gymnasium echoed with the rhythmic thuds of the volleyball bouncing off the floor and the faint squeak of their sneakers against the polished wood. They were working on setting drills, a task that required precise timing and coordination—two things that, until now, they lacked entirely as a pair.

Jisung wiped the sweat off his brow, frustration evident as another attempt faltered. The ball spun erratically, hitting the floor instead of Minho’s waiting hands. Minho raised a single eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in amusement.

“You know, setting is supposed to help the team, not the floor,” Minho said, his signature smirk firmly in place.

Jisung glared at him, gritting his teeth. “Maybe if you focused instead of making jokes, we’d get this done faster.”

“Maybe if you relaxed instead of turning everything into a life-or-death situation, we’d have fewer mistakes,” Minho countered, his voice maddeningly calm.

The exchange left both of them simmering, but the drill continued. Jisung resolved to prove Minho wrong—his focus sharpened, his movements more deliberate. This time, his set soared high and clean, landing perfectly into Minho’s hands. There was a brief pause before Minho nodded in approval.

“Nice,” he said simply, his tone devoid of sarcasm or teasing. It caught Jisung off guard. For once, Minho sounded genuine.

Jisung didn’t let himself linger on the rare compliment, but inside, a flicker of pride sparked. They tried again, and again, until Jisung was consistently nailing sets with a finesse he hadn’t felt before. When he faltered on a particularly tricky sequence, fumbling the ball just short of its mark, Jisung braced himself for Minho’s inevitable quip.

Instead, Minho stepped forward, catching the ball mid-air before it hit the floor. “You’re rushing it,”

Minho said, tossing the ball back lightly. His tone was steady, almost patient. “Take your time. Watch the spin on the ball—it’ll help you control the direction.”

Jisung adjusted his stance again, focusing intently on the ball as Minho tossed it back into play. He concentrated on its movement, watching the spin as Minho had instructed, and timed his hands just right. The set was clean and high, sailing effortlessly into Minho’s waiting grip. For the first time during their drills, the motion felt natural—like everything had clicked into place.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Minho said, giving Jisung a genuine nod of approval.

The praise came without smirks or teasing, and while Jisung still wasn’t accustomed to this version of Minho, he couldn’t ignore the growing feeling of satisfaction. Working together was still far from easy, but moments like this hinted at what they could accomplish if they truly found common ground.

“Don’t get used to it,” Jisung replied, smirking slightly as he leaned down to grab the ball from the floor. He lobbed it back to Minho with enough force to make Minho raise an eyebrow in amusement.

Minho caught it with ease, a practiced reflex that made Jisung internally curse his talent. “You know,” Minho said, casually spinning the ball on his fingertips, “if you stopped being so stubborn, we might actually make a decent team.”

Jisung scoffed, crossing his arms. “And if you stopped being so annoying, the world might actually stand a chance.”

The playful banter was new—not quite friendly, but less charged than usual. Minho tilted his head, considering Jisung with an expression that was almost amused. “You’ve got a sense of humor buried under all that intensity. Who knew?”

Jisung rolled his eyes, already regretting letting his guard down even slightly. “Focus, Minho. We’ve got drills to finish.”

Minho chuckled but didn’t push further, bouncing the ball a few times before stepping back into position. “Alright, Captain. Lead the way.”

They continued their practice, the rhythm of the drills becoming smoother with every repetition. The tension between them wasn’t completely gone, but it had shifted, softened into something more constructive. Jisung found himself begrudgingly impressed with Minho’s ability to adapt, while Minho started to recognize the relentless determination that drove Jisung to excel.

As the gym lights flickered and the sun began to set outside, Jisung felt a strange sense of accomplishment—not just from the progress they’d made in their techniques, but from the subtle changes in how they interacted. It was far from camaraderie, but it wasn’t the fiery rivalry it had been either.

“You know,” Minho said as they packed up their equipment, breaking the silence, “you’re not half bad when you’re not trying to outdo me every second.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Jisung replied, sliding his bag over his shoulder.

Minho grinned, his trademark confidence shining through. “Too late.”

Jisung sighed, shaking his head as they walked toward the gym exit.