Until the final whistle

Assignment

Ha-Jun stared at Do-hyun.

“Say that again.”

Do-hyun raised both hands. “It’s just a rumor. Staff office. Someone mentioned your name near his when they were sorting the overflow list. Doesn’t mean—”

“It better not mean what I think it means.”

Ha-Jun bent, scooped up the stickhandling ball, and fired it hard against the concrete wall. The sound cracked across the empty stretch of pavement.

Twenty minutes from the complex. Private house. The golden boy who looked through me like I was furniture.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A group message from the Korean contingent.

Housing assignments posted. Check the board in the main lobby before 4 p.m.

Do-hyun read it over his shoulder and winced.

“Come on. Better to know.”

---

The main lobby was already crowded.

Players from every country packed around the large digital board mounted near the reception desk. Names scrolled in neat columns beside room numbers and, in a smaller section at the bottom, off-site assignments.

Ha-Jun pushed through until he could see clearly.

Most of the Korean players were listed in Dorm Block C. Do-hyun’s name sat three rows above his own usual spot.

Then he reached the overflow section.

Off-Site Housing – Private Residences

Von Stein, Arnold – Residence 7 (pre-assigned)

Kang, Ha-Jun – Residence 7 (temporary reassignment)

The words sat there in clean white text against the dark screen.

Someone behind him whistled low.

Woo-jin’s voice rose above the noise. “No way. They’re putting the angry Korean with the German prince?”

Jae-won appeared at Ha-Jun’s shoulder, quiet as always.

“Staff said the dorms hit capacity after the late Swedish arrivals. Highest-ranked forwards get priority for the private places. You’re second on the evaluation list after him.”

Ha-Jun’s jaw locked.

Highest-ranked. Of course.

Across the lobby, a small cluster of German players parted. Arnold stood near the far wall in a crisp white practice jersey, number 27 sharp against the fabric. He was reading something on his phone, expression unchanged. One of his teammates nudged him and pointed toward the board.

Arnold’s gaze lifted. He found the overflow list, then found Ha-Jun in the crowd.

For the second time that day their eyes met.

This time Arnold didn’t look away immediately. He studied Ha-Jun for a long second — the bruise, the taped lip, the barely leashed anger — and something unreadable moved behind those cold blue eyes. Then he slipped the phone into his pocket, said something quiet to his teammate, and walked toward the exit without another glance.

Do-hyun grabbed Ha-Jun’s arm before he could follow.

“Don’t. Not here.”

Ha-Jun’s voice came out low.

“I’m not staying in his house.”

“You might not get a choice. Overflow assignments are final unless Coach Park overrides them.”

Ha-Jun turned on his heel and headed straight for the coaching offices.

---

Coach Park was reviewing tablet footage with Coach Werner when Ha-Jun knocked.

Both men looked up.

“Kang,” Coach Park said. “I expected you.”

“I want a different assignment.”

Werner’s English was precise, lightly accented. “The private residences are limited. Your ranking qualifies you for the placement. Von Stein’s residence has the extra room.”

“I don’t care.”

Coach Park set the tablet down.

“You’re on thin ice already. Making demands about housing after yesterday’s incident is not the move. The assignment stands.”

Ha-Jun’s hands curled at his sides.

“For how long?”

“Until the dorm situation eases or the evaluation period ends. Whichever comes first.” Coach Park’s eyes were steady. “Pack your things. A car will take you at six.”

Werner added, almost mildly, “Von Stein was informed an hour ago. He raised no objection.”

Of course he didn’t.

Ha-Jun left before he said something that would get him sent home.

---

At 5:50 p.m. a black car waited outside the main entrance.

Do-hyun helped him load the single duffel bag into the trunk, then pulled him into a brief, rough one-armed hug.

“Text me when you get there. And try not to punch the furniture. It probably costs more than both our contracts.”

Ha-Jun gave him a look and climbed into the back seat.

The drive took eighteen minutes through quiet residential roads lined with trees. The houses grew larger the farther they went from the complex. Finally the car turned through an automatic gate and stopped in front of a modern two-story home of dark wood and glass. Clean lines. Wide windows. No unnecessary decoration.

The front door opened before Ha-Jun reached it.

Arnold stood in the doorway, still in the white jersey, hair slightly damp like he’d showered. He looked at Ha-Jun’s bag, then at Ha-Jun’s face, and stepped aside.

“The guest room is upstairs. Second door on the left. Bathroom is connected. Kitchen is free to use. I leave for morning practice at 6:15. If you’re riding with me, be ready.”

His voice was calm. Neutral. Like he was reading from a script.

Ha-Jun stepped inside.

The entryway smelled faintly of clean wood and something expensive he couldn’t name. Everything was orderly. A pair of white sneakers sat neatly by the wall. A single black coat hung on a stand.

Arnold closed the door behind him.

For a moment the two of them stood in the quiet hallway, the space between them thick with everything unsaid.

Arnold’s gaze flicked once more to the bruise on Ha-Jun’s cheek.

“There’s ice in the freezer,” he said. “If you need it.”

Then he turned and walked toward the kitchen without waiting for a reply.

Ha-Jun stayed where he was, duffel bag heavy in his hand, the weight of the closed door settling behind him like a second bruise.

Two weeks.

Maybe less.

Don’t touch anything. Don’t talk more than necessary. Survive it.

Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.

Arnold’s voice floated down, cool and clear.

“Kang. Your room has a desk if you want to review video. The Wi-Fi password is on the card beside the bed.”

Ha-Jun started up the stairs.

He had the distinct feeling that the real fight of the camp had just moved under the same roof.