Chapter 73: Ice, Strain, and a Storm on the Sidelines

Ye-rin lay on the court, her breathing shallow, face tight with pain. Coach Min was already kneeling beside her, one hand bracing Ye-rin’s shin, the other hovering just above her thigh. "Relax the muscle if you can," Min instructed, voice calm but firm. "Don’t tense up—it’ll only make it worse." "I... I can’t," Ye-rin hissed through clenched teeth, trying and failing to shift her grip from her leg. Coach Han crouched down on the other side. "Where exactly is it?" "Upper thigh—pulling toward my hip," Ye-rin said, her voice shaky. Min glanced around sharply. "Where’s the medical team?" One of the assistants hesitated. "Haven’t seen him this morning..." A junior, still catching her breath from the rally, piped up nervously, "Uh... I saw him earlier, near the back entrance. He was smoking and talking on the phone before we came in." Min’s face darkened instantly. "That idiot..." She looked at one of the coaches. "Go drag that imbecile here before I do it myself." The coach jogged off. Min’s gaze fell back to Ye-rin, her jaw tight. She hated feeling helpless when a player was in pain. Then Ji-hye’s voice broke through. "Coach... what about Joon-ho? He’s here. He can check her injury." Min hesitated for half a second, then nodded. "Call him over." Ji-hye turned, waving urgently. "Joon-ho!" He was already striding across the court, long steps cutting through the tense quiet that had settled over the players. His gaze swept over Ye-rin before he even reached her—reading the angle of her body, the way her right leg was drawn tight, her knuckles white where she clutched at her thigh. By the time he dropped to one knee at her side, his mind was already narrowing in on the likely injury. "Ye-rin," he said, voice even but carrying a firmness that brooked no hesitation, "I’m going to check your leg. Just answer me honestly if it hurts when I touch certain spots. Can you do that?" She nodded quickly, though her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts. Without looking away from her, he raised his voice just enough. "Coach Han, can you get me ice and a compression wrap?" "On it," Han replied, already moving at a brisk pace toward the equipment box. Joon-ho’s attention came back to Ye-rin, his hands moving to her thigh. "Don’t clutch it," he instructed gently but with a tone that left no room for argument. His fingers carefully pried hers away from the injured muscle. "You’re making the spasm worse. Let me handle it." She released her grip reluctantly, her leg trembling as she tried to obey. Han returned swiftly, tossing him an ice pack and a roll of wrap. Joon-ho caught them without breaking focus. He wrapped the pack in a towel—never directly on the skin—and positioned it precisely over the swelling. "We need to get the temperature down and control the swelling," he said, his tone more for the benefit of the nearby coaches than the player. "Keep your leg elevated, and absolutely no sudden movements." He glanced over his shoulder. "Do we have something to support her leg?" "Bag under the bench," Han called back, tossing it over with a soft thud. He slid the bag beneath Ye-rin’s calf, adjusting it until the angle aligned her hip and knee just right, taking the strain off the muscle. She inhaled sharply at first, then exhaled slowly as the pressure eased. Almost immediately, her shoulders loosened, the hard tension in her face softening as the ice began to numb the worst of the pain. Her breaths evened out, a faint sheen of sweat on her brow cooling in the draft from the air vents above. "Better?" "A little..." she admitted. "Good. I’m going to palpate your muscle now—tell me if it’s sharp pain or just sore." His fingers moved with practiced precision along the line of her quad, feeling for tightness and reaction. From the sideline, Ji-hye watched closely. A knot of jealousy coiled in her stomach at seeing his hands on another woman, even if it was professional. She forced herself to remember—this was about proving his skill to the coaches, about getting him one step closer to traveling with the team. Still, her arms crossed tighter than necessary. Ye-rin flinched when his thumb pressed near the hip flexor. "There," she gasped. "Overuse strain," he murmured. "Same chain from your old injury. It’s been building up because of your landing mechanics. Aggressive movement, high torque—it’s a matter of time without proper treatment." Coach Min’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She could already see how accurate his read was—too many times the club medical staff had brushed off repeated complaints as "minor." He wrapped the ice pack tighter. "Thirty minutes like this. After the muscle relaxes, I’ll do a gentle massage to restore mobility. But no high-intensity work for at least a few days." The other coaches exchanged glances, mentally filing away his words. Maybe it was time to push harder against the clubs to take player health seriously. The sharp bang of the double doors echoed through the gym, snapping a few players’ heads toward the sound. The national team physio came half-jogging in, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, the assistant coach who’d gone to fetch him trailing behind. His polo shirt was slightly wrinkled, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke even from meters away. "I’ll take over from here," he announced, already moving toward Joon-ho with an air of practiced authority. "Step aside, I’m the professional—" "Professional?" Coach Min’s voice cracked through the air like the crack of a serve hitting hardwood. The physio froze mid-step. She rose from her crouch in one smooth, dangerous motion, her eyes narrowing to slits. "You were outside—" she jabbed a finger toward the far exit, "—smoking and chatting on the phone while one of my players was on the floor screaming in pain. Professional my ass." A ripple of murmurs went through the players lined along the court. Even Ji-hye’s brows shot up, her gaze flicking between the two. "I—" the physio started, voice faltering, "I was just—" "You can explain it to the board," Min cut him off, her tone sharp enough to slice glass. "But you won’t be on my court again. Not after this." His mouth opened, closed again. "Coach, please, it won’t happen again—" Her hand shot up, palm out, the universal signal for enough. "Out," she barked, pointing directly at the doors he’d just walked through. The single word cracked like a judge’s gavel. The man paled, shoulders rounding inward. For a long moment, it looked like he might argue—but then he caught the look in Min’s eyes and thought better of it. Without another word, he turned on his heel and trudged toward the exit, head bowed. The sound of the doors swinging shut behind him left the court in a tense, echoing silence. Players exchanged glances, some grim, others quietly satisfied. Coach Min inhaled slowly, steadying herself, then turned back toward Ye-rin and Joon-ho as if the interruption had never happened. Joon-ho exhaled through his nose, the tension of the confrontation with the physio slipping off him like a coat he had no use for. He turned to Han without missing a beat. "Do you have a stretcher? We’ll move her to the medical room—it’ll be easier to treat her there." "Yeah, storage room," Han said, already on her feet. The captain followed without needing to be told, both women jogging toward the back corner of the gym where the equipment was kept. The court was quiet save for the low shuffle of sneakers and the muted murmur of players watching. Ji-hye lingered a step closer to him, her eyes tracking every movement as he kept Ye-rin’s leg steady. Within a minute, Han and the captain returned with a folding stretcher, its metal joints clinking faintly as they unfolded it beside Ye-rin. Between the three of them, they lifted her carefully—one person supporting her upper body, another securing the injured leg, Joon-ho guiding the movement with crisp, deliberate precision. Not a single unnecessary jolt. Ji-hye’s voice came then, softer than usual but threaded with something more than concern. "Can I come with you?" Coach Min’s gaze flicked over, her brow arching in mild surprise. "Why?" "I’m... worried about her," Ji-hye said, but the slight hesitation, the way her eyes darted toward Joon-ho and lingered—that told the real story. He caught it immediately, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. Leaning in, close enough for only her to hear, he murmured, "Fine." Then, with deliberate playfulness, he reached up and poked her forehead with one finger. "Come on." A ripple of amusement spread across the court. One of the senior players cupped her hands around her mouth and called, "Hey! Keep the flirting at home, you two!" A few juniors giggled; another smothered a grin behind her water bottle. Joon-ho just rolled one shoulder in an easy shrug, the picture of unbothered confidence, and started down the tunnel with the stretcher team. Ji-hye’s blush deepened into a rich pink as she hurried after him, eyes fixed anywhere but the smirking faces they left behind.