Blessing in Disguise

Chapter Twenty-Five

Y/N

1/2/2019

The gym was nearly empty, the sounds of cheering long faded, replaced by the hollow echo of a basketball hitting the hardwood floor. Y/N stood at the free-throw line, taking shot after shot, the ball slipping through the net, but it brought him no satisfaction. The final buzzer had sounded a while ago, signaling a victory, but tonight, it didn't feel like one.

It was the first game he'd played since Yunjin had gone back Korea, the first time in a month that she wasn't in the stands. In that brief time she had been back, they'd formed a little tradition: she'd come to his games, cheering him on in her teasing, flirty way, always wearing his jersey. Afterward, they'd head to her place, where they'd sing karaoke for hours in her room, laughing until they couldn't breathe, belting out random songs. Y/N smiled faintly at the memory, her voice ringing in his ears, the warmth of her presence still lingering in his mind.

But the warmth quickly faded as reality pulled him back.

He hadn't played well tonight—not by his standards. They had won, sure, but Y/N had struggled, his shots off, his rhythm disrupted. The coaches and his teammates had told him it was fine, that everyone has an off game now and then. "You'll bounce back," Coach Carter had reassured him, patting him on the back. But the words felt hollow.

Why didn't I play better?

The pressure, the expectation—it weighed on him, an invisible force tightening around his chest. The fear of letting everyone down gnawed at him, especially after everything that had happened this season. The college scouts, the praise, the dreams of scholarships—it was all supposed to be coming together, but tonight, it felt like it was slipping away.

The gym was silent except for the steady rhythm of the ball hitting the floor, bouncing back into his hands, and then swishing through the hoop. But even as the ball left his hands with perfect form, there was no sense of relief. No sense of satisfaction. Just the nagging voice in his head telling him that he wasn't good enough.

Y/N wiped the sweat from his brow, his breathing heavy as he stepped back for another shot. His wrist twinged slightly—a subtle reminder of his healed injury—but he ignored it. He had to keep pushing. He had to keep shooting.

The loneliness of the gym, without Yunjin in the stands, made the weight feel even heavier. She wasn't there to pull him into one of her sweet, warmth-filled hugs, to laugh and tell him he was overthinking everything. She wasn't there to distract him with her karaoke sessions or her teasing remarks. It was just him, the empty gym, and the pressure.

As the ball hit the floor again, Y/N's shoulders sagged. He stood still for a moment, the ball lying at his feet. His hands hung at his sides, his mind spinning with doubt, anxiety creeping in. The fear of failure loomed larger than ever, and even though the victory was theirs, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had somehow lost.

The gym lights buzzed softly overhead, casting long shadows on the court, and Y/N stood there, staring down at the ball, his heart heavy.

Y/N stood there, staring at the ball at his feet, his breathing ragged as the weight of the night bore down on him. The victory meant nothing to him. His mind spun with thoughts of how he had failed—failed to perform, failed to meet the expectations that seemed to grow larger and heavier with each passing game. The college scouts had been there, watching him miss shot after shot, seeing him fumble with plays he should've executed perfectly. His teammates had reassured him, but their words felt distant, drowned out by the loud, relentless voice in his head telling him he wasn't enough.

He bent down, picking up the ball again, gripping it tightly as if it could somehow anchor him. He had been putting in the work, more than ever since his injury, but nights like this made it feel like none of it mattered. No matter how hard he worked, he couldn't shake the pressure—couldn't outrun the fear of being a failure. Of being just another player who peaked in high school.