Chapter 7: The Tennis Match

The sport Yeon-chae chose was tennis. Tennis? Was he out of his mind?!

“Why tennis all of a sudden? Badminton, maybe, but tennis?”

I shrieked, my face hardening, and Yeon-chae, looking flustered, offered a defensive explanation.

“Tennis is similar to badminton, you know.”

“Hey, don’t lie. How are tennis and badminton similar?”

“They’re both ball sports where you hit the ball over a net with a racket….”

“By that logic, are table tennis and regular tennis the same sport? Huh?”

Yoonwoo, who had never managed to properly hit a ball over a net three times in a row, whether it was badminton or table tennis, jumped up and down in frustration. Yeon-chae, in response, pouted, a prim expression on his face.

“But Senior, you learned tennis before.”

“Hey, that was ages ago….”

Had he ever told Yeon-chae that he learned tennis? Yoonwoo desperately wanted to smack his own mouth for having carelessly blurted it out at some unknown point in the past.

When Yoonwoo was young, before his family’s financial situation worsened, their apartment complex had a tennis court. It was so close that he could see it clearly from the corridor window, and every morning, the crisp *pang-pang* of a racket hitting a pale green tennis ball would echo through the air.

Yoonwoo had no interest in sports, then or now, so naturally, he had no intention of learning tennis. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, he ended up taking lessons at that tennis court for over a year.

‘Why did I even learn it back then?’

Regardless of Yoonwoo’s protests, Yeon-chae approached him, his face slightly puffed, and pressed a tennis racket into Yoonwoo’s hand. Yoonwoo tapped the tip of his sneaker with the racket, trying to dredge up his memories.

His older brother, Seowoo, preferred soccer or basketball over tennis, and his twin younger siblings were still too small. So, the person who had held his hand and learned tennis with him was likely…

‘It was probably the kid who lived next door back then.’

From his hazy recollections, he remembered trembling every time a tennis ball flew from the opposite side of the court, yet he would somehow block it with his racket, terrified the kid next door would get hit.

The kid next door was so small, their eye level didn’t even reach Yoonwoo’s shoulder. It felt as if they might collapse if hit even once, so Yoonwoo would frantically run across the court, desperate to return the balls that flew his way. After thirty minutes of such exertion, he would be so out of breath he felt on the verge of collapsing. Seven- or eight-year-old Yoonwoo truly felt life wasn’t worth living back then.

If he hated it so much, he should have just quit. But the kid next door loved tennis so much. Yoonwoo must have given in to their pestering and ended up getting dragged along. This continued every day until Yoonwoo turned ten, right before his family’s sudden move to the countryside.

Tennis was a sport without many pleasant memories for him. He hadn’t held a racket since then, so it was obvious he wouldn’t be able to hit the ball as well as he did in his childhood, when he was at least good at running around energetically.

When Yoonwoo had agreed to go exercise with Yeon-chae, he had assumed they would go to the swimming pool, just as Yeon-chae had mentioned last time. He pictured himself floating lazily on a tube. He’d been thinking so calmly, and then suddenly, tennis!

Even though he had already been dragged to the tennis court, Yoonwoo couldn’t give up his lingering regret, grumbling.

“We should have just gone to the swimming pool to play with tubes.”

“You can’t bring tubes into an indoor pool.”

Yeon-chae retorted, equally sullen, his lips pursed.

“What? Then why did you suggest going to the pool if you can’t even swim?”

He reiterated the question he had found perplexing a while ago. Yeon-chae subtly avoided his gaze, lowered his head, and mumbled.

“…It would be nice if we learned together….”

Yeon-chae sounded just like the kid next door, who used to cling to a tennis racket almost as big as themselves, swaying, while pestering Yoonwoo to take lessons together.

The sky was a brilliant, high blue. White sunlight streamed down onto the tree-lined tennis court.

Yeon-chae, clad in a blue T-shirt, took a serve stance on the opposite side of the court. He tossed the tennis ball high into the air, extending his left arm, then arched his back gracefully, creating a sharp curve. As he leaped high, he swung the racket in his right hand, and with a *pang!*, the ball met the racket. His entire body leaned forward, and beads of sweat sparkled, fragmented by the light.

The ball swiftly cleared the net, landing quickly in the service box before bouncing up. Yeon-chae straightened his posture, looked this way, and smiled with his eyes. *Wow, I couldn’t even touch that.* Yoonwoo inwardly marveled, then called out, somewhat grudgingly.

“Serve ace.”

“Senior, shall we take a short break?”

“…Uh, sure.”

There was no need to suggest a break; it was already game over.

It was still early, as Yeon-chae had relentlessly messaged him since early morning. His eyelids, heavy from dragging his tired body around and running back and forth, kept trying to close.

Yoonwoo sat on a bench at one end of the court, rummaging through his bag. Even though he had been reluctantly dragged to the tennis court, Yoonwoo had dutifully brewed coffee and brought it in a thermos.

“Yeon-chae, come over here!”

Yoonwoo raised his voice, calling to Yeon-chae on the opposite side of the court. Yeon-chae, who had been casually wiping sweat from his forehead with the cuff of his T-shirt, looked startled, then turned and smiled. His soft cheeks plumped up into a round, heart-like shape.

“Drink this. Let’s have some coffee, and….”

And then we can just chat for a bit and leave.* Yoonwoo handed Yeon-chae a paper cup of coffee, swallowing his own little scheme. Yeon-chae, whose sweat-drenched face had instantly turned as soft and clear as cotton candy despite being wiped with a T-shirt sleeve, nodded vigorously and smiled again.

“Thank you for the drink.”

“I just brewed it roughly with a moka pot at home, so it probably doesn’t taste great.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Yeon-chae, holding the paper cup respectfully with both hands, said earnestly.

“It’s absolutely delicious.”

“Haha, really?”

“Yes, truly….”

And he stared intently at the dark coffee in the paper cup.

Yoonwoo felt a touch of awkwardness, so he idly shifted his gaze around and stretched.

“Ugh, I’m so tired already this morning!”

“Still, wasn’t it fun?”

“What’s fun about constantly losing…? And my whole body is creaking after moving around for the first time in ages.”

“Ah….”

A sudden shadow fell across his handsome, brightly smiling face.

He blinked his large eyes silently, his light brown irises half-transparent, half-dark. His brow furrowed slightly, as if he were deep in thought. Yoonwoo watched Yeon-chae’s eyes darting around. The expressions beyond his pupils were varied and complex.

“So, Yeon-chae, now….”

“Then, instead of a game, shall we do strokes?”

“Huh?”

Yoonwoo, about to suggest they leave, was cut off by Yeon-chae’s words. He could only gape, his mouth open.

“You want to do more?”

“Yes, it’ll be fun this time. I promise.”

“What? What promise….”

However, he couldn’t outright refuse because Yeon-chae’s face, usually so open, looked unusually serious and anxious as he avoided Yoonwoo’s gaze.

Unlike a game where they took turns serving, returning, and counting points, a stroke rally, which simply involved consistently hitting the ball back and forth, was definitely less stressful. Moreover, since Yeon-chae kept sending the ball right to Yoonwoo’s feet, Yoonwoo didn’t have to run around much.

“Senior, I have a lot of practice balls, so you don’t have to chase after the ones that go far.”

Yeon-chae even pulled out a large bag full of practice balls and stacked them beside him. Yoonwoo had wondered why he brought such a large bag, and it turned out to be for the practice balls.

If Yoonwoo couldn’t properly return Yeon-chae’s ball, Yeon-chae would let it roll away and pull out a new one. Yoonwoo didn’t have to struggle to reach the ball, or even bother to pick it up. He simply stood in place, lightly swinging his racket at the balls that flew perfectly to him. Each time the ball hit the sweet spot of the racket, a satisfying *tok-tok* sound echoed. Yoonwoo found himself feeling increasingly pleased.

“How was it? Was it fun?”

After a long rally, Yoonwoo gestured for a short break, and Yeon-chae quickly ran over to ask.

Yeon-chae must have worked hard to aim the balls where Yoonwoo could easily receive them, yet his clear cheeks were only slightly flushed, and his breathing remained perfectly even. Yoonwoo, who had merely stood in place and swung his racket at the balls sent to him, was instead gasping for breath, unable to say a word.

It was fun, actually. If the ball always came right to him, tennis seemed quite manageable. However, he felt utterly drained, as if every muscle in his body had been squeezed, leaving him unable to move. Yoonwoo simply flopped onto the court.

Stretching out his limbs, he lay on his back, gazing at the sky where cotton-candy clouds drifted. Yoonwoo reached out an arm towards the open air. The languid air, warmed by the spring sun, seemed to brush his fingertips. Yeon-chae, who had come to squat beside Yoonwoo’s head, asked again, his face anxious.

“Wasn’t it fun?”

Yoonwoo managed to pull the corners of his unresponsive mouth into a smile. Yeon-chae, however, still looked uneasy.

“It wasn’t good?”

It felt as if Yeon-chae would follow him forever if he didn’t answer. Yeon-chae had a strange competitive streak. He had known it since Yeon-chae had even sworn that this time it would be fun.

Yoonwoo reluctantly, stiffly, moved his cramped neck to shake his head.

“No, it wasn’t bad at all.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No. It was completely fun.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

Yeon-chae, having fulfilled his promise, finally wore a look of proud satisfaction.

It was late April, and every breeze carried the sweet scent of flowers.

*What’s making him so happy?* Yoonwoo, still lying on the ground, laughed incredulously at the triumphant Yeon-chae. Yeon-chae met his gaze and smiled back, not understanding Yoonwoo’s intention.

His long, slender eyes were without a trace of shadow. His fair cheeks were flushed, red like cherry blossoms. The wind blew gently across his clear, kind eyes.

Short spring days drifted by slowly.