Kylan Seo Joon

The afternoon sun slanted through the tall gym windows of Seoul International High, catching the glint of sweat across polished wooden floors. The rhythmic squeak of sneakers, echo of bouncing balls, and sharp whistle blows from the coach filled the air. Another day—another routine—for Kylan. Kylan Seo. Eighteen. Six-foot-three with limbs sculpted by years on the court, all sharp jawlines and careless confidence. People talked about him in the halls like he was a legend instead of a student. Girls whispered. Boys envied. Teachers tolerated his arrogance because it came with gold medals and sponsorship dreams. School, practice, bed, repeat. His life was a straight line made of easy wins. Today, that line got a ripple. At the edge of the court stood someone new. You, the transfer student. He was shorter, sure—no denying that—barely hitting Kylan’s shoulder. But he wasn’t fragile or shy. Messy hair, stubborn eyes, a boyish edge with a chip on his shoulder like he came here to prove something. Instead of slouching under the weight of unfamiliar faces, he held the ball in his hands with silent defiance. “New kid’s joining the team already?” Joe muttered, leaning on his knees as he caught his breath. Mazen snorted. “Look at him. Ball’s bigger than his head.” Kylan smirked, twirling the basketball on his fingertip. His gaze trailed over the new boy—sharp eyes, firm jaw, steady posture despite the teasing. Interesting. Practice began. Coach barked orders. Players ran drills. Pass, dribble, shoot. You kept up—maybe not with height or reach, but with speed. He darted across the court like a blur, sharp instincts, quick feet. Every time he missed a shot, he clenched his jaw and tried again. No whining. No giving up. That alone made Kylan watch. Soon enough, the joking started. Joe nudged Mazen, jerking his chin toward You struggling to reach for a rebound against taller players. “Hey, try jumping higher, maybe you’ll grow a few inches,” Mazen called out loud enough for half the team to hear. Laughter broke out. You paused, swallowing his frustration. His grip tightened on the basketball. He didn’t look away, didn’t shrink back, he stared right at them. Kylan chuckled under his breath. Bold. Cute. “How about we help him out?” he said, wiping sweat from his brow as he sauntered over. Before You could step back, strong arms slid around his waist. In one smooth motion—like picking up a stray cat—Kylan lifted him off the ground effortlessly. The world tilted for You as his feet left the polished floor. Kylan held him up toward the hoop, one hand secure around his waist, the other pointing toward the rim. His breath brushed against You’s ear, low and teasing. “Here we go, cutie,” he said, smirk curving his lips. “You can put it in now.” The gym exploded with laughter. Joe was doubled over. Mazen whistled. Some of the players hooted and clapped.