Second Overtime | JENSOO & CHAELISA

Chapter XXXII

Jisoo's knee had been aching since fourth period.

It was a dull, familiar throb that settled deep in the joint and stayed there, pulsing every time she shifted in her seat. By the time the final bell rang, she'd stopped pretending to take notes. Her notebook sat open to a blank page, her pen uncapped and forgotten beside it. She'd spent the last twenty minutes staring at the clock, willing the minute hand to move faster, not because she was eager to get to practice, but because sitting still made the ache harder to ignore.

The hallways were chaos as usual: students shoving toward lockers, backpacks swinging, voices overlapping in that end-of-day roar that always felt louder than it actually was. Jisoo moved through it on autopilot. She'd gotten good at weaving through crowds, keeping her gait steady even when her knee protested. Today, though, the pain felt heavier than usual. She'd pushed too hard the night before, three hours on the outdoor court, alone, running the same drills until her form blurred and her lungs burned. She'd told herself it was fine. She'd iced it afterward and wrapped it this morning.

It wasn't fine.

She could feel the heat radiating through the brace, the slight catch every time she straightened her leg. A small, insistent voice in the back of her head whispered that she should tell someone, the trainer, Coach, even Irene, but she silenced it the same way she had for weeks. If she stopped, she'd have to think. If she had to think, she'd remember Jennie's face on the video call, the way her voice had cracked when she said I have to go. If she remembered that, she'd fall apart, and she couldn't fall apart. Not yet. Not here.

So she kept walking.

The gym doors were propped open when she arrived. The familiar smell of polished wood and sweat drifted into the hallway, and for a moment, Jisoo felt something loosen in her chest. This was her place. Her sanctuary. The one corner of the world that still made sense.

She stepped inside.

The team was already warming up. Seulgi had a ball tucked under one arm, gesturing wildly with the other as she narrated some dramatic story. Moonbyul was stretching near the bench, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and resignation. Jeongyeon was bent over her shoelaces. And Lisa, Lisa stood near the free throw line, bouncing a ball with one hand in a slow, steady rhythm.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Jisoo looked at her, waiting. For a glance, a nod, something. But Lisa didn't look up. She just kept bouncing the ball, her jaw tight and eyes fixed on the rim.

Something cold settled in Jisoo's stomach. She adjusted her brace without thinking, a nervous habit she'd picked up during rehab. It wasn't obvious, at least, she didn't think it was. But Coach Minzy was watching from the sideline, and she never missed anything.

"Office," she said.

Jisoo stopped near the three-point line. "Coach?"

Coach Minzy's expression didn't change. "Office, Kim."

The use of her last name hit like a warning shot. Jisoo glanced toward the court one more time. Seulgi quickly looked away, Moonbyul went still, Jeongyeon gave her a small, worried look, and then she followed Coach Minzy across the gym floor, her knee throbbing with every step, dread coiling in her chest.

The office beside the locker room was small, familiar, and suddenly too quiet. The old desk sat in the middle, crowded with folders, a whistle, a half-empty water bottle, and a stack of practice notes. The whiteboard on the wall still had plays drawn in fading marker. Jisoo knew all of them by heart.

Coach Minzy stepped inside and pointed to the chair across from her desk. "Sit."

Jisoo sat. Not because she wanted to but because it was Coach Minzy. Because even with everything boiling under her skin, she respected her too much to make this harder than it already was.