Until the final whistle

The locker room still smelled like sweat, ice, and cheap body spray. Kang Ha-Jun sat on the wooden bench with his elbows on his knees, towel draped around his neck, staring at the scuffed floor. Practice had ended twenty minutes ago, but most of the Korean contingent was still lingering, laughing too loudly, peeling off gear, throwing tape and water bottles around like children. He usually joined in. Tonight, he didn’t feel like it. I should’ve left ten minutes ago. Across the room, Captain Lee Min-jae was holding court near the showers, chest puffed out, voice carrying like he owned the place. Which, in a way, he did. Third-year. National team hopeful. The kind of guy who thought a “C” on his jersey made him untouchable. Ha-Jun had been ignoring him for the last ten minutes. That was apparently too long. “Hey, orphan.” The word cut through the noise like a blade. Ha-Jun’s head lifted slowly. The locker room quieted just enough for everyone to hear. Min-jae was smirking, arms crossed. “I’m talking to you, Ha-Jun. You planning on contributing next game or are you just gonna keep floating around the ice like a lost puppy?” A few guys chuckled. Others looked away. He stood up. The towel slipped from his shoulders and fell to the floor. “What the f**k did you just call me?” His voice was low, almost calm. “Huh? I dare you to say that again.” Min-jae’s smirk widened. He took a step forward, clearly enjoying the attention. “You dare me to say that again? You think I’m f*****g scared of you, you moron?” He laughed, looking around at the team for backup. “You want me to say that again? Fine. I called you a useless orphan, cause that’s what you are. I don’t even think your parents died. They probably just f*****g left you because you’re a useless piece of sh—” The punch landed before the last word fully left his mouth. A sharp, clean noise echoed through the locker room as Ha-Jun’s fist connected with Min-jae’s jaw. The captain stumbled backward, crashing into the lockers with a loud metallic bang. Blood immediately bloomed at the corner of his mouth. Silence. Min-jae touched his lip, stared at the red on his fingers, then looked up with pure rage. “Did you… did you f*****g hit me?” His voice cracked with disbelief. “Are you aware that I’m your sunbae and captain, you fucker?!” Ha-Jun didn’t step back. He stood there, breathing heavily, eyes fixed on Min-jae in a way that made some of the younger players flinch. “Say that s**t about me one more time,” he said quietly. “I f*****g dare you.” Min-jae lunged. The locker room exploded into chaos. Min-jae charged forward with a snarl, swinging wildly. Ha-Jun ducked the first punch and drove his shoulder into the captain’s chest, slamming him back into the lockers again. Someone shouted. Another player tried to grab Ha-Jun from behind, but he shook them off hard enough that the guy stumbled into a bench. “You piece of s**t!” Min-jae spat blood and swung again. This time his fist clipped Ha-Jun’s cheekbone. Pain flared hot and sharp, but Ha-Jun barely felt it. He grabbed Min-jae by the collar of his undershirt and yanked him forward, slamming his forehead into the captain’s nose with a sickening crunch. Min-jae howled. That was when the door burst open. “What the hell is going on in here?!” The voice belonged to Coach Park, but he wasn’t alone. Two other coaches stood behind him — one tall and blond with a German federation badge on his jacket, the other a sharp-eyed Canadian woman holding a tablet. The entire room froze. “Everyone out. Now,” Coach Park ordered. “Except you two.” The team scrambled. No one wanted to be next. Within thirty seconds the locker room was empty except for the three of them and the sound of Min-jae’s heavy breathing. Coach Park closed the door with a quiet click. He looked at Min-jae first. “Go to the medical room. Get that nose checked. And if I hear you opened your mouth about anyone in that manner again, you’re stripped of the captaincy. Am I clear?” Min-jae’s eyes widened. “Coach, he—” “Am I clear?” “…Yes, Coach.” Min-jae shot Ha-Jun a look full of pure hatred before storming out, one hand clamped over his face. The door shut again. Coach Park turned to Ha-Jun. For a long moment he just stared at him. Ha-Jun wiped the blood from his own split lip with the back of his hand and waited. He already knew what was coming. “You’re benched for the next two games,” Coach said finally. “And you’re on thin ice for the World Cup roster.” Ha-Jun’s head snapped up. “The World Cup?” “Don’t look so surprised. You’ve got the skill. Everyone knows it. But skill doesn’t mean s**t if you can’t control your temper.” Coach Park’s voice hardened. “I don’t care what he said to you. You don’t throw punches at your own captain in the locker room. Ever. Clear?” Some things deserve fists. He forced the words down. “…Clear.” Coach Park studied him for another second, then sighed. “Go get cleaned up. And Ha-Jun—” Ha-Jun paused at the door and looked back. “Next time someone comes for you like that… you come to me first. Or you end them on the ice where it counts. Not like this.” Ha-Jun didn’t answer. He just nodded once and left. --- The hallway outside was quieter than it should have been. Most of the Korean players had already cleared out, but a few lingered near the vending machines. One of them straightened the moment he saw Ha-Jun. Choi Do-hyun shoved a cold water bottle into his chest hard enough to make him wince. “You absolute i***t,” Do-hyun said. “I leave you alone for twenty minutes and you try to redecorate Min-jae’s face with your forehead? Are you serious right now?” Ha-Jun pressed the bottle to his swelling cheek. “He called me an orphan.” Do-hyun’s expression flickered. For a second the anger softened into something older and quieter. Then he clicked his tongue and grabbed Ha-Jun’s chin, tilting his face to check the damage. “Your cheek’s already swelling. And your lip looks like s**t. Come on. Medical’s going to be crowded with the German and Swedish guys still finishing late practice. We’ll go through the side.” They started walking. Around them the international evaluation camp continued like nothing had happened. Players from eight different countries filled the wide corridors of the training complex just outside Munich. Swedish defensemen laughed too loudly near the coffee machines. A group of Finnish forwards argued about face-off timing in their own language. Two Canadian coaches walked past with tablets, speaking in low, rapid English. “You know the German golden boy arrived this morning, right?” Do-hyun said. Ha-Jun kept the cold bottle against his face. “Who?” “Von Stein. Arnold Von Stein. The one with the private jet and the face that looks like it was designed in a lab. Apparently his family’s loaded. Like, disgustingly loaded. And he’s already being called the best forward in the camp.” Of course he is. Rich, talented, and probably never had to fight for a single f*****g thing in his life. “Good for him.” Do-hyun shot him a look. “That tone. Already? You haven’t even met him.” “I don’t need to. I know the type.” They pushed through the side door into the quieter medical wing. The nurse on duty took one look at Ha-Jun’s face and sighed like she’d already had a long day. While she cleaned the cut on his lip, Do-hyun leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. “Coach Park looked ready to murder someone. The German coach with him didn’t look much happier. You’re lucky they didn’t throw you out of the camp entirely.” “Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried.” Do-hyun’s voice dropped. “Don’t start with that s**t tonight. You’re here. You made the evaluation list. You’re this close to the World Cup roster. Don’t let Min-jae’s pathetic mouth ruin it.” Ha-Jun didn’t answer. He stared at the white wall while the nurse taped a small butterfly bandage over the worst of the split. Somewhere down the hall, a door opened and a new voice — calm, accented, precise — drifted through. “…the Korean forward with the temper. Kang, yes? I’ve seen the clips. He’s wasteful with his energy, but the talent is obvious.” Wasteful. Ha-Jun didn’t know who the voice belonged to yet. But he already disliked him.