Offseason (11)
Team workshop.
Back when I was a player, we'd go on one or two off-season workshops a year, either domestically or abroad, doubling as vacations.
They weren't anything grand—just like a school field trip, really.
We'd follow a loose schedule: hanging out together, eating meals, bringing in a rec instructor for quizzes and games, or opening up about our inner thoughts...
At the time, I grumbled about why we even bothered. Honestly, I still don't get it.
But one thing that did work was the heart-to-heart sessions. Spilling whatever we wanted to say without any lingering grudges cleared the air and brought us closer. Sure, it came with the downside of an awkwardly suffocating vibe afterward.
Most teams hold one during the off-season like this, and we were no exception.
At Manager Kim Ki-hyeon's suggestion, we planned a two-night, three-day workshop at a pension in Chuncheon, Gangwon-do.
Maybe because they were girls, they were way more excited about it than my old teams had been. Our players packed their essentials, humming tunes as they hopped into the team van.
About an hour's drive later, we arrived at the pension, where the company marketing team staff were already setting up. Barbecue grills, board games like Buru Star, folding chairs—everything you'd need for a camping trip.
Han Sang-cheol, the agent who'd handled our group profile shoot last time, grabbed his camera—no separate film crew this round—and snapped pics of us piling out of the van.
"Hello!"
The players greeted the staff cheerfully first.
"You got here faster than expected. We're not fully set up yet..."
Han Sang-cheol scratched his head.
"Need a hand?"
"No way, we can't have the players doing grunt work. It won't take long—go ahead and unpack, relax for now."
"But we'll get bored..."
As Seona grumbled, Han Sang-cheol pondered for a moment before handing over a corporate card.
"If it's okay, how about you all grab whatever you want for tonight's barbecue party? There's a mart in town, about ten minutes by car."
"Whoa! Can we get anything?"
"W-well, no strict limits, but don't go overboard... Just reasonable amounts..."
"Sweet! Thanks! Hayoung, come shopping with me! Coach! Give us a ride?"
Seona snatched the card from Han Sang-cheol's hand with a triumphant whoop.
"Sure, I've been craving stuff too. Who's else coming?"
"Me. Sitting around here's gonna be boring anyway."
"Hurry up! Yuna unnie, Sera?"
"I'll go. Can't trust Hayoung's taste. She says pineapple pizza is good, can you believe it?"
"Wh-what's wrong with that? As long as it's pizza! That was my first pizza ever! Yuna unnie, you don't know anything!"
"I don't wanna be alone either. Count me in."
And just like that, we'd barely unpacked before piling back into the car and heading downtown.
At the mart, the players scattered, grabbing their faves—pork, beef, chicken, salads, mushrooms, veggies, ssamjang, salt, snacks, ramen, drinks, booze—and loading up the carts.
Once the pension setup was squared away, Manager Kim Ki-hyeon arrived, and staff mixed with players for games like tail-tag and towel-twirling.
Honestly, who finds this fun? If we're filling workshop time with pointless nonsense, why not play a real ball game?
Worse than a single practice room match. Time dragged on, leading to a tennis tournament next.
At least this might be decent.
Better than tail-tag idiocy—actual physical exercise.
"Winner of the tennis tournament gets 100,000 won!"
Han Sang-cheol's announcement lit up everyone's eyes—staff and players alike.
"100,000 won...?"
"Mine!"
"That's my money!"
"We'll do a tournament—draw lots for brackets!"
After draws, the first match pitted Yuna against Seona.
"Heh heh, drawing me first? Tough luck, Yuna unnie."
"Pfft, what? You know my nickname's 'Korean Sharapova,' right?"
"Ooh, Sharapova. That's so last-gen granny. Hmph, I've been dying to smash you anyway! Get ready!"
"Don't cry when you lose!"
And five minutes later...
"Hah... hah... N-no way... Why are you this good...?"
"Hoo... Sharapova, remember?"
"Wahhh, my money..."
Yuna's superior athleticism—honed by constant training—made short work of Seona, true to her self-proclaimed title.
Meanwhile, I was steamrolling my side.
"Nooo! My 100k...!"
"Sorry, Eunjae. I want it too!"
I knocked out Eunjae and the rest—players and staff—to reach the finals. Against Yuna, naturally.
"Didn't know you played tennis that well, Coach. Full of surprises."
"You're no joke either. You really just eat and train?"
"All for today! That 100k's mine!"
"Sorry, can't yield on this!"
Yuna's blazing serves flew like fireballs; I fired back, and for the first time, we played actual tennis.
Problem was, our skills were too even—no end in sight.
Over 15 minutes of deuce, drenched in sweat, gasping, we gritted our teeth. Yuna's competitive fire was legendary on the team; as a pro who'd clawed to the top, mine was no slouch.
The prize was forgotten—we just hated to lose.
The longer we played, the more impressive Yuna seemed. Even sans Eternal Combat, holding her own against a peak-condition adult male? What was she made of?
I led in deuce, but her relentless chase showed freakish physicals.
"Hah... hah... Hey, Kang Yuseong! You make bank—why hog 100k? Yield!"
Frustrated and fading, Yuna ditched rank, age, sanity for trash talk.
"Huff... huff... Dig a hole, does 100k pop out? Who said you could talk casual!?"
"F-fine, my call! Workshop and you're still on rank? That's my money!"
"Win it then!"
I smashed a sudden serve. Yuna, spent from yelling, reacted late—point lost. Consecutive deuce breaks sealed my win. I tossed my racket in victory; Han Sang-cheol captured it all on cam.
"Jerk... jerk... jerk..."
Collapsed on the ground, Yuna muttered curses through pants.
"Coach and unnie are something else, huh?"
"Not impressive—two money-grubbing beasts who sold their souls. Double the prize, they'd fistfight."
Our tennis match streamed live on the team's Facebook account, with in-game pics hitting socials right after.
Around a hundred viewers tuned in live; clips of my Yuna duel already racked up comments.
Evening brought the barbecue. Players grilled their hauls with staff, laughing, chatting, eating, drinking.
The team's socials overflowed with pics and vids; the casual vibe had everyone in high spirits.
Day one passed. Day two: more silly fillers like "body talk" games, interspersed with tennis or volleyball—standard stuff.
Then, night two.
No more staff with cameras trailing us. Just the team, crammed in one room for a snack party.
Chatting workshop vibes, rec gripes—the mood warmed when I made a pitch.
"Hey, wanna try something?"
"Ugh, please no. We've done every clown game today—I'm over it."
Yuna shuddered.
"Not weird games. Rare chance to chill sans training talk."
"What?"
"Like heart-to-hearts. Spill what you wanna say, ask curiosities, answer honestly. We've been a team over half a year—still tons we don't know. Deeper understanding as teammates."
"Truth or dare?"
"Like force-feeding me drinks last time?"
"Got it!"
Eunjae clapped, firing at Sera first.
"Mm... Sera! Why so quiet? Hate us? Or just shy...?"
"Me...?"
"Yeah! You're always silent. Us bothering you?"
"Not that I hate you all..."
Sera glanced my way. Only I knew her backstory here.
I nodded. "Say if you wanna. No pressure."
Emboldened, Sera deep-breathed and spilled her past.
Players' faces cycled shock, horror, rage as details emerged. Yuna, trembling furious, slammed the floor.
"What scum exists!? Abusing his own niece... And those thugs!!"
"Sniff... Sera, s-sorry... Didn't mean to pry like that..."
"Eunjae unnie, don't cry. I'm okay now."
"That scrim too, then..."
"Yeah... Sorry."
"No. Not your fault. Sorry, Sera. We'll make sure only good stuff happens from now on."
Hugs and pats followed. Sera's eyes welled too.
Sera to Yuna: "Unnie, chill in games. Why so angry? Wondered forever."
Hayoung to Eunjae: "Why the sudden practice glow-up? Used to sleep through wake-ups."
Yuna to Hayoung: "You've said pizza, Netflix—firsts? For real? How?"
"Ah... We were super poor."
"Wait, really? No pizza ever?"
"Yeah. Mom worked mart checkout, always busy. Welfare family—no birthday cakes, no aquarium, no zoo... Oh, but aquarium recently! Hehe."
"Right, so fun with you! But why just Mom? Dad?"
Hayoung hesitated, then resolved.
"Dad... died when I was eight."
"Oh... Sorry."
"It's fine."
"How...?"
"Dad was SA Electronics factory worker. Overworked, no rest, forced back—press accident..."
"...... Huh?"
"Poor Hayoung. They cover work injuries there??"
"Nah. Blamed 'worker negligence'—barely got anything."
"Fuckers! Big corp like SA dodging liability by framing workers? What assholes!!"
"It's okay now. Earning big. Next vacation, Mom and Busan for sashimi."
Hayoung stayed composed sharing her pain; players offered trips together as comfort.
"Anyone got questions for Seona...? Seona?"
I turned—froze. Seona trembled, biting nails.
"Seona, you okay? Sick?"
"...Huh? Y-yeah, no. F-f-fine."
"Don't look fine."
"R-really...? Maybe ate too much dinner, stomachache...? Sorry, just... rest a bit. Questions for me tomorrow... or anytime..."
"Okay, if it's indigestion, take meds and lie down. Holding it in makes it worse."
"Y-yeah..."
Seona staggered up. Hayoung rose worriedly.
"Seona, bad? Sweat... Need support? Or hot water?"
"Eh? N-no! F-fine. Yeah. Sorry."
"Huh? For what?"
"I mean... thanks. Stomach talking weird? Ahaha... Gonna rest."
Seona fled.
Others kept on her.
"Overate, obviously. Loves freebies too much."
"Yuna unnie, what if she's really sick? Talulla much?"
"Hayoung unnie babies Seona unnie hard."
"Yeah, total mom vibes."
"Hehe, me and Seona that close? Vacation aquarium, karaoke, arcade, escape room—she showed me firsts ever. Gotta repay."
Hayoung puffed proudly.
Post-aquarium trio trip, she'd bonded extra with Seona.
Great—tight team bonds are ideal.
Seeing Hayoung-Seona solidarity eased my mind.
Sharing unearthed awkwardness, but honest Q&A bred understanding. Experience-proven.
Such times subtly foster care, smoothing team life.
...Or so it should have.
About two months later, things veered from my expectations—and experience.