Almost blind | Haobin

27| Shattered dream |27

"Shit!" Hanbin cursed under his breath as the basketball bounced off the rim, spiraling into failure. He watched helplessly as it clattered against the polished wooden floor, rolling away as if mocking him. His jaw clenched, frustration bubbling beneath his skin as he raked a shaky hand through his damp hair, his fingers tangling in the strands.

The gym smelled of sweat, rubber, and the faint metallic scent of determination. Morning practices were supposed to sharpen them, make them better, but today, it felt like he was falling short.

A sharp whistle cut through the air, splitting his thoughts in half. The sound echoed against the high ceilings, demanding their attention. Their coach, an older man with years of experience carved into the lines of his face, stood in the center of the court, his eyes scanning each player with quiet scrutiny.

Hanbin exhaled heavily and jogged toward the group, joining his teammates as they huddled together. There was an unspoken rule that no one questioned the whistle.

"What's going on, sir?" Gunwook asked, his voice steady yet laced with curiosity.

The coach let the question linger in the air before responding. His tone was flat, unreadable. "That's it for today. Training's over. In a few minutes, the other class will take over for P.E." His gaze swept over the group, lingering just a second too long on Hanbin.

Something about the way he looked at him sent a prickle down Hanbin's spine.

The gym felt eerily quiet despite the faint squeaking of sneakers and distant murmurs from other students passing by in the hallway. Outside, the sun was still low in the sky, painting the world in hues of soft orange and pale blue. It was 7:40 AM-twenty minutes until school started.

The other players were already shifting, ready to grab their things and leave, but Hanbin wasn't done.

"And what about the match?" he asked, his voice cutting through the quiet. "The one against the big-city school?"

The question hung between them, heavier than it should have been.

That game wasn't just another match. It was the match. A chance to prove himself against one of the toughest teams in the region. Winning would mean everything-not just for the school, but for his future. It was a stepping stone, a moment that could set his basketball career in motion.

And it was the last game before Christmas break.

The coach blinked as if just remembering. He rubbed his chin, then straightened his posture, his face unreadable. "Ah, almost forgot."

Hanbin narrowed his eyes. Liar.

The coach took a deep breath and started listing names. One by one, he called the players who would be starting on the court. Hanbin felt his heart pound harder with each name spoken.

Then-

"Gunwook," the coach finished, his voice firm.

Silence.

Hanbin's stomach twisted. He waited, expecting to hear his name. But it never came.

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched at his sides, a surge of disbelief washing over him like a cold wave. Five starters. Seven substitutes.

He was a substitute.

His throat went dry.

The other players exchanged glances before grabbing their bags and heading toward the locker rooms, but Hanbin barely noticed. His world had shrunk to the suffocating reality of this moment.

No. This had to be a mistake.

His legs moved before he could think. He stormed toward the coach, his pulse hammering against his ribs. "Why am I not playing?" His voice was sharp, demanding. His arms crossed over his chest as if that could shield him from the rejection.