ATEEZ imagines

K.Y.S | Always here but Invisible

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Bae Y/N stood in the shadow of her family's greatness. In a home where athletic prowess equated to worth, she always felt like an afterthought. The Bae household was filled with trophies, medals, and newspaper clippings that proudly displayed her brother's achievements. Bae Junseok had been a fencing prodigy from the age of five, his face often splashed across sports headlines. Even the family's dining room had a trophy cabinet dedicated to his successes. Every meal, every conversation, somehow found its way back to him.

Her mother, once Korea's most famous archer in the 90s, would reminisce about her glory days with pride. Her father, a former soccer player turned coach for Seoul's soccer team, always had something to say about the latest tactics or strategies. As for Y/N? She sat quietly, playing with her food, wondering if they even noticed she was there.

"Did you see Junseok's latest match?" her mother would ask, excitement in her voice as if it were the first time she'd ever seen him compete.

"He's untouchable," her father would add, nodding approvingly. "Just like me at his age."

The pride in their voices stung, a sharp reminder that no matter what Y/N did, she would never measure up in their eyes. She wasn't Junseok. She wasn't a national hero.

She was just... there.

Y/N's own badminton career felt like a side note in the family's history. While she wasn't on the national team yet, she was close—so close. But close didn't matter. Not in her household. Her brother's success dwarfed anything she accomplished, no matter how hard she worked. Sometimes she felt as though her family had already written her off as the one who would never quite make it.

"Why aren't you as good as Junseok?" her father would sometimes ask, not in anger but with genuine confusion. "You've been playing for years, Y/N."

His words clung to her like a weight, dragging her down. Badminton had been her passion since she was a child, the one thing that felt like hers. But even that, over time, began to feel like an obligation. Was she doing it because she loved it, or because she had to prove something?

The answer eluded her.

Her only solace was her team. The Seoul Smashers, as they called themselves, were a tight-knit group of nine: five women and four men, all chasing the same dream. They weren't the national team, but they were good—damn good. They trained together, lived together in the dorms, and had become something of a second family to each other. In this group, Y/N found acceptance, a place where she wasn't overshadowed by her brother's greatness. Here, she was a leader, someone the others looked up to.

But even in this sanctuary, a new threat loomed on the horizon.

-

Y/N was stretching at the far end of the court when Coach Kim gathered the team for an announcement. The hum of conversation died down as everyone turned their attention to the front, curious as to what this could be about.

"I've got some news," Coach Kim said, his expression unreadable. "We have a new player joining the team."

The murmurs started immediately. New players were rare, especially at this stage in their careers. Most transfers happened early on, before teams solidified their rosters for the bigger competitions.

"His name is Kang Yeosang," the coach continued. "I'm sure some of you have heard of him."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. Kang Yeosang. Of course, she had heard of him. He was practically a legend in the badminton world. Known for his precise footwork and clever plays, he had an almost uncanny ability to outsmart his opponents. He played like a chess master, always three steps ahead.