Hidden Contract

Prologue

Choi Hyo-bin had walked from his home in Sillim-dong to Daehan Sports Academy in Bongcheon-dong that morning.

The long walk had drained his energy, and wasting that much effort before swim practice annoyed him.

The hallway was silent when he reached the building. He pushed open the classroom door and tried to avoid drawing attention to himself.

Half the class kept their heads down as he checked the room from the entrance. The front desk looked empty, so his shoulders relaxed, and he assumed the professor had not shown up.

Then the professor moved in his seat, and Hyo-bin finally saw him.

He mumbled an apology as he bowed low, keeping his eyes on his shoes while the professor watched him. Hyo-bin walked to the back row and found his friend from the swimming team, Park Soo-bin. He took the empty seat beside him.

Soo-bin leaned closer. "Why are you late?"

"I walked," Hyo-bin said.

Soo-bin raised his eyebrows. "Why did you walk?"

"I gave my last bit of cash to my drunk dad," Hyo-bin said, keeping his voice low.

Soo-bin turned fully toward him. "Why didn't you call me, Hyo-bin? I would've picked you up."

"I can't ask you for help every day, Captain. And walking is good sometimes."

"I'd come pick you up. Your place isn't exactly around the corner, and it's freezing outside. You're gonna complain about being tired at practice again tonight."

"Yeah, yeah, Soo-bin. Tell my dad that if you want. I think it'd be more useful."

"Lunch is on me. You're not dying of hunger today."

Hyo-bin chuckled. "Thanks, Soo-bin-ah¹. So... did I miss anything fun?"

"Nah. He hasn't even started lecturing yet," Soo-bin said. "He's just wandering around, chatting up random people."

"Perfect." Hyo-bin rolled his eyes. "He hasn't even started class, but he already tried to kill me with his stare."

Soo-bin laughed. "Ya, I'll pick you up tomorrow. We can go to school together, okay?"

"Don't be ridiculous. It's dumb to drive all the way from Gangnam to my place and then back to campus."

"It's fine. My dad's paying for gas, so we might as well use it. At least that way he actually does something as a dad. I don't want you showing up to practice tired, Hyo-bin-ah."

When the professor walked to the front desk and took his seat, their conversation ended. He looked at the class and raised his voice.

"All right," he said. "When I call your name, tell us which topic you picked. You'll have five weeks to present it, so you can't use practice as an excuse."

He scratched his head with his pen while checking the list.

"Kim Min-ji."

Min-ji answered from her seat. "I'm taking the topic on social class and access to university sports facilities."

"All right." The professor wrote it down before moving to the next name. "Joo Sun-woo."

Sun-woo lifted his head. "I'll take the one about mental health pressure on student athletes."

"Very good choice... Jung Hae-jin."

Hae-jin raised her hand. "I'm taking the topic about the media image of college athletes and how it's different from their actual campus life."

"Got it," the professor said. "Maybe this way, you'll give us some examples of your unbelievable behavior in MeTube interviews."

Laughter rose from the class as Hae-jin sat back down.

"Seo Seung-ho."

"I'm choosing the topic on social class and how it shapes an athlete's identity," Seung-ho said.

Hyo-bin spoke from the back row before the professor could answer. "Talking about social class like he's not part of the problem."

Soo-bin rubbed his temples before Seung-ho turned around. "Aissh²...Yaa³, Hyo-bin, why did you do that?"

Seung-ho turned around, his hands forming fists at his sides. "You saying that to me?"

Hyo-bin kept his eyes on him. "Pretend I did. What then?"

Everyone went quiet at once, but the professor stepped in. "What's the problem back there?"

Seung-ho faced forward. "I don't have a problem, sir."

Hyo-bin continued, looking down at his notebook. He wanted Seung-ho to have a problem. "So your project's gonna be about how rich kids have it easy in sports, right?"

Soo-bin felt like he had no choice but to step in. "If you don't cut it out, I'm gonna beg the coach myself to make you do twenty extra laps."

Seung-ho acted as though he had not heard him and kept his voice low. "You were crying in the pool yesterday. Wasn't that enough, Choi Hyo-bin?"

"The bruise on your chin says otherwise, bitch," Hyo-bin said.

By the time the professor raised his voice, Seung-ho was already on his feet, and Hyo-bin had pushed himself out of his seat.

"You two. Up here. Now!"

Everyone watched as they walked to the front and stood a short distance apart. The professor looked at both of them.

"I don't know what your issue is," the professor said. "The whole department is talking about you two now. I don't know whether you're trying to get expelled. Whatever. I'm giving you a chance to fix it."

Neither of them answered.

The professor tapped the paper once. "Seung-ho's project topic is now your project topic. Both of you. And in five weeks, you're presenting it together."

Seung-ho looked at him. "Professor, is that really necessary?"

"Two third-year athletes learning where and how they should behave? Yeah, I think that's definitely necessary," the professor said.

Hyo-bin frowned. "I didn't ask for this, sir. I don't wanna work with him."

"This isn't a discussion," the professor said. "Your project is assigned. Go sit down."

Both of them bowed to the professor.

Seung-ho turned away and walked back while Hyo-bin kept his eyes on him. They returned to their seats, muttering in low voices.

The five-week project started right then.

¹ 아 (-ah) A casual Korean vocative particle attached to the end of a name ending in a consonant. It signals an immediate shift from formal distance to a shared, personal space. In a narrative, it functions as a bridge of intimacy, indicating a bond where social barriers have been lowered and comfort has been established.

² 아이시 (aish) A common Korean exclamation of frustration or annoyance.

³ 야 (-ya) A casual Korean vocative particle attached to the end of a name ending in a vowel. Like -ah, it marks familiarity and personal closeness, showing that formal distance has been set aside. In a narrative, it can signal affection, comfort, urgency, or emotional intimacy depending on the context.