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generalfringsAuthor:
generalfrings Rating: R
Fandom: 스물다섯 스물하나 (Twenty-Five Twenty-One)
Pairing/Characters: Na Hee Do/Go Yu Rim
Length: 59k words
Summary:
Hee Do had rehearsed this answer. "I don't think about touring when I go abroad for a competition,” she tells her mother, just like she’d practiced. “I just want to sleep once it's over."
Which, to be fair, isn't not true.
Disclaimer: The TV show Twenty-Five Twenty-One was written by Kwon Do Eun and is owned by Hwa&Dam Pictures. I do not own or purport to own Twenty-Five Twenty-One or any of its characters. All rights to Twenty-Five Twenty-One are owned by Hwa&Dam, tVN, and Netflix. I do not own any of the songs quotes. The lyrics to Foule Sentimentale were written by Alain Souchon and all rights to the song are owned by Parlophone and Warner Music France. The lyrics to Read My Mind were written by Brandon Flowers, Dave Keuning, and Mark Stoemer and all rights to the song are owned by The Island Def Jam Music Group. This work is a piece of fanfiction written under fair use and for entertainment only; as its author I earn no compensation in any form, including monetary, from its creation or publication.
Author's note:To be clear, there has never been an Olympic Games in Madrid, so everything pertaining to that I made up. Also, in our world the Games happen on even years, but we're committing to the in-universe canon here. How the games actually work, mind, is based in reality. A lot of my inspiration for the Olympic grounds come from Madrid's 2016 proposal to host the Games, which you can look at here in case you're curious.
Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4
July 24th
Foule sentimentale
On a soif d'idéal
Attirée par les étoiles, les voiles
Que des choses pas commerciales
Foule sentimentale
Il faut voir comme on nous parle
alain souchon - foule sentimentale
Sentimental crowd
We are pining for ideals
Attracted to the stars, to sails
Only to non-commercial things
Sentimental crowd that we are
You should see the way they talk to us
The fencing calendar at the Olympics has officially started.
Hee Do has the schedule with her at all times, in her diary, and she has already added the locations and hours of each competition from the sheet they’d been given. She’s also made sure to tuck in the maps of the entire Olympic grounds between her diary pages so that she doesn’t get lost on her own (which she half expects to still do when she eventually tries to explore anything else).
Though Hee Do herself will obviously compete in the women’s solo sabre event, each day of the week has at least one fencing mode medal competition slotted. Unlike other sports, all rounds of each competition mode are done in a single day, which means you either finish the day with a medal or you don’t.
For Korean fencing, they have the men’s individual sabre competition and individual women’s épée today, and then nothing tomorrow. The only other slots they’re competing in are the men’s team foil, which closes the week and the fencing calendar both, and Hee Do’s own women’s individual sabre competition, which is in two days.
They hadn’t been able to classify for team sabre without Yu Rim. Sometimes Hee Do starts to wonder what it would’ve been like if-
No. There’s no room for ifs right now. She has to prepare.
The first floor of the building Korean athletes are placed in at the Olympic Village houses their own Korea Team room. Their athletes are welcome to come in to the Team room to get away from all of the happenings of the Games at any time of the day, grab a snack and enjoy the free little souvenirs.
Hee Do’s already rummaged through the stickers they have there and gotten as many as she thought would be acceptable… and then a few more, just for good measure. Not many people will want them anyway, right? Her favourite is the one with the Madrid mascot holding hands with the tiger mascot from the Seoul Olympic Games from 1989. She’d already even carefully placed it onto the schedule page in her diary.
She plans on making a pit stop by the Team room to grab a shake before she heads to the fencing venue to watch today’s competition, which should take all of two minutes. When she enters, though, there’s a huge circle of athletes with jackets of all colors under the sun talking animatedly all at once.
It’s a lot of people.
She briefly considers turning back around, anxious to get going, but she does need her morning shake lest her caloric intake drops. Plus, she now represents the entirety of Korea through fencing or whatever (no big deal). So she swallows down her shyness, focuses on her curiosity, and steps forward with what she hopes is a convincing grin.
Thankfully she locks eyes with Jun Myeon, one of the Korean male fencers who is standing to the side of the large group of athletes, and promptly heads over to stand next to him.
“What the hell is going on?” she hisses through her teeth still placed into a grin.
He laughs at her obvious discomfort and ruffles her hair. “We’re trading pins,” he says, then shows his open palm containing a few pins of other countries’ flags. “I got a few just now too.”
She does now notice how everyone seems to be exchanging something. Someone with what she recognizes as the Mexico uniform has an entire plastic bag full of little Mexican flag pins that they’re handing out.
Her grin eases into an excited smile. “Oooh! How do I get one?”
Jun Myeon waves her over to the table holding the Korean flag pins she’d gotten some of the other day. “Just take a bunch with you and trade away. People always want to get at least one from each country, so you shouldn’t have a hard time.” He nudges her. “Everyone is super nice about it.”
He nudges her again, stronger this time, and she lets herself step forward shyly. A girl whose uniform is very red - wait, is she from Russia? Oh. No, it’s Switzerland - notices Hee Do standing there and waves her over to the main group of people.
Hee Do feels young and, frankly, somewhat short amid all of these fit Olympic athletes, so she has no clue what to say. She’s barely stepped into the quasi circle of people before the Mexican rower she’d noticed greets her with a near shout and offers her a pin from his bag, and from there… Well.
She barely needs to answer each question thrown at her from all sides because they each go by so fast. When does she compete? Is this your first time? Have you seen Alexei Nemov has his own room? Want a pin?
She “trades” - rather, is gifted - pins from at least ten countries before she’s even able to ask for one. Mexico, Cuba, Sweden, Switzerland, Kenya, South Africa, and then she can’t read the badges fast enough or hear the English well enough, which means she will need to embarrassingly look up which flag is which when she’s by herself some other time. Did the world always have this many countries?
Then someone shouts “let’s go to China!”, and the entire group starts shuffling out of the room in laughter, Hee Do among them after shoving as many Korean flag pins as she could in one of her jacket pockets.
Coach Yang was apparently waiting just outside the room, because as soon as Hee Do steps out, she grabs her by the collar of her non-competing uniform jacket and brings Hee Do to a screeching halt.
“I was coming to meet you!” Hee Do instantly defends herself as she tries to recover from her ungracious stumble backwards.
Coach just gives her a knowing look and hands her her shake before leading the way to the fencing venue.
They are there to watch the women’s épée competition and support So Jin-unnie, who’s rooming with Hee Do, but that doesn’t end up taking much of their time because So Jin gets disqualified early in the preliminaries.
Hee Do’s stomach goes a little queasy as she watches from the stands and notices So Jin-unnie crying on the benches after she steps off the piste. Whatever other thoughts she could manage are interrupted by Coach pulling her away and briskly telling her they have to go sit elsewhere so they can watch the men’s sabre competition.
Hee Do thinks Coach Yang is trying to distract her from realizing that she might well fail too before she even gets to the finals; that Hee Do isn’t guaranteed a win and that this is competition at a whole other level. Maybe she thinks Hee Do will be impacted by seeing Korea so easily lose.
She appreciates the thought, but she has no intention of losing like that.
The men’s individual sabre competition starts without delay, and she watches it avidly, pen ready to take notes. They might be separated by gender, but it’s still the same sport - still the same sword.
Men’s bouts are much more explosive than the ones Hee Do would encounter when competing among female fencers, and she enjoys watching them. She’s found that guys don’t change directions as much since they are able to fence across a wider distance granted by their height. This means they also take slightly longer than she personally would to engage into each next decisive action.
She’s always briefly envious that these guys don’t have to deal with breasts - not only does having them make your chest automatically a closer target, but it hurts when you get hit right on the boobs, even with padding.
Some of these fencers’ attacks are needlessly aggressive, which makes Hee Do scoff. They seem to think they can brute force their way to a win, but that thankfully peters out as the preliminaries end and the quarter finals start.
Korea is still in the run for the semifinals, and Hee Do scribbles furiously in her diary as she considers things to try to add to her training routine. She really likes the lunges she starts seeing as they get closer to the semifinals. These competitors’ added height versus the female fencer average means that crossing the distance in the piste is much more about speed and strength than the careful strategy employed in her circles sometimes. It’s the type of lunge she loves doing and loves hitting, but that can be disastrous if it’s predicted by her opponent.
The Korean fencer, Ji Hoo, loses the bronze medal to France.
“Shit,” Hee Do lets out, melting back onto her seat with her hands on her head.
She watches incredulously as they start preparing the stage for the final match between Italy and Japan then looks up at the ceiling of the stadium in despair. “Shiiiiiiiit,” she whines again, kicking her feet against the floor petulantly.
Coach Yang steps back over from where she’d been standing and gives Hee Do a knowing look. “It’s on you now, kid.”
If Korea wants to take home a medal for individual fencing, they only have Hee Do to count on.
July 25th
The Olympic Village houses all nations’ athletes, and it’s always distributed by geographic borders. Hee Do loves being in it.
Even taking the elevator to her floor feels like being at a truly international event - athletes of all types are constantly around speaking in all manner of languages, and she always tries to figure out which one it is before she looks at their badges to confirm her guesses.
Korea has an entire two floors of apartments reserved for their athletes and staff in this building, which they share with China (who has a whopping four floors for themselves), Japan, and many more Southeast Asian nations like Thailand, Indonesia, and Singapore.
This distribution means Team Russia should be in the building right next to theirs.
That fact is not not in the back of Hee Do’s mind.
She wonders if Russia has four floors for themselves too, or maybe even more. She’s heard from the volleyball team that the United States sometimes gets an entire building to themselves depending on how many sports they classify in, but these buildings are so large she doubts them or Russia had gotten that benefit this time. That means that if she paid attention, she would most definitely see Russian athletes walking around.
Athletes have to wear their uniform at all times when inside Olympic grounds, so she could recognize them at a glance. Korea’s is quite nice, actually: the nylon feels familiar by now, and it’s saved her more than once from getting lost among a huge crowd making their way to a venue - she could spot other athletes by a glance, and generally hurried over to follow them instead of trying to trust her decidedly less than confident reading of the Olympic ground maps.
Her favourite part is probably the absurdly comfortable sponsored sneakers though. Sponsored. Sneakers! They’re sponsoring team Korea, not her, obviously, which means the shoes are customized with the Korean flag colors. Which means she has a new pair of running shoes for as long as these last her, because they’re awesome.
Given that today there’s no fencing competition that she must watch, she finally gets some time to open the goodies bag that all athletes had been given by the Olympic welcoming committee. She’s by herself in the apartment, Soo Jin nowhere to be seen when she’d woken up (though Hee Do’s note for her, offering her congratulations for getting here and offering to go out for a drink, was also not there, which makes Hee Do think she’d seen it).
When she giddily opens the bag and drops the contents onto her bed, she squeals.
There’s stickers of various Spanish items (score!), a steel letter opener in the shape of a sword (cool!), a bunch of samplings of what the pamphlet inside tells her is iconic Spanish food including some ham, bite sized sausages, and chocolate (big score!!), some fancy-looking bottle of olive oil and a tiny jar with saffron (maybe her mom would like these?), and, the best part: custom earbuds with colored strings and the Madrid 2001 logo printed on the outside.
She happily pockets the earbuds and takes the ham and sausage with her to munch on as she makes her way to practice. It’s the last day before her competition, so she and Coach plan on making the best of it.
“I can see you did some socializing,” Coach greets her when Hee Do steps into their training area not much later, the chest of her jacket filled with all sorts of countries’ pins.
Coach is smiling, surprisingly, even though Hee Do was a whole two minutes late, so Hee Do grins back and hops over to her to show off the pins.
“I’ve been collecting!” Hee Do says excitedly. She points at one of the flags she has no idea what country it’s supposed to represent, but that she’d just gotten in a hurry on the way there. “I got this from a guy so strong he was warming up by lifting two swimmers!”
Coach gives her a strong look, though she looks amused. “Don’t be swayed by all the muscular men around here who could lift you, Hee Do.” She points at Hee Do sternly. “Your mother would kill me if you came back anything but pure.”
“Aaack!!” Hee Do screeches, dropping her own hand like it’d been burned by the pin. “Coach!” She gags on air for good measure.
“Exactly,” Coach says, nodding proudly. “Keep it that way.”
Hee Do sticks her tongue out at her and goes to grab her fencing gear to get ready for their practice bout.
She doesn’t often get to face off against Coach, and there is no one who knows her fencing better. Well - no one other than one person, at least. Hee Do has to take that seriously and make this bout count.
She goes through her usual competition preparation routine one by one:
She tapes her fingers the usual way, with the usual tape, to help with calluses and grip stability. She dons her gloves and tests her grip repeatedly to make sure she hasn’t limited herself from using too much tape.
She visualizes the bout ahead as she checks the shoelaces on her fencing shoes. Coach won’t be taking it easy on her, and will thoroughly explore any opening Hee Do gives. Coach is smart as well though, so she won’t be fooled easily by any fake outs.
Still, Hee Do knows she can beat her. She makes sure to remind herself of why while she ties up her hair and arranges it in the way she does so it won’t bother her under the helmet strap. Hee Do is faster. Stronger. She wants this more.
They say Hee Do is at her peak. She knows she isn’t - not yet. She can still get better, bigger, stronger. She can still learn from all of this, and she intends to do so one last time before her competition, so she watches Coach get ready while grabbing her water and towel and placing them neatly on her bench.
Coach looks somber now, and Hee Do spares one last thought to wonder how this all must feel for her before she grabs her sabre, presses her palm to its tip, and tests its bend.
It’s perfect. The sabre’s weight is just right, its handle familiar, and the recently shined blade is in pristine condition.
Hee Do’s heart pounds in her ears as they get into position and test the contact of their blades. Everything but the adrenaline and her opponent fades from view.
Hee Do leans into the feeling and advances.
The first few points progress well. Hee Do takes into account the details of Coach’s positioning: Hee Do always does better against her when she takes the chance to be spontaneous and uses her height to her advantage. It gets her a small lead, but she has to quickly adjust the angle of her arm when she sees Coach is preferring her left side.
Then something weird happens.
The buzzer goes off, and Coach scores.
That in and of itself isn’t what was weird. Hee Do takes a moment to ponder, then shakes her head and refocuses, waiting for the go.
Coach scores again.
“What are you doing?” Hee Do asks in frustration, dropping her sword and taking off her helmet. The way Coach is playing isn’t right. It doesn’t fit her. It’s too… too graceful. Elegant.
She’s leaning forward all too subtly when she’s thinking of attacking. She’s pulling her back foot different than usual to get ready to retreat, further back. The issue isn’t that Hee Do can’t read it - it’s that she can, all too easily, and despite her focus, it still rattles her.
She knows those movements. She knows that stance, and it’s not Coach’s.
“Put your helmet back on,” Coach tells her simply, getting back into position.
Hee Do frowns, but obeys. She can’t afford to doubt herself during a match, any match, so she follows her instincts. If she knows this stance, that simply means that she knows how to counter it.
This time, when Coach’s back hand changes angles slightly, Hee Do knows what it means, so she advances.
Her sword is promptly parried to the side, and Coach hits her easily.
“Na Hee Do,” Coach calls out loudly, dropping her sword and taking off her helmet. “You think you know Go Yu Rim?”
Coach’s loud words echo around them, and Hee Do takes a step back. She knew it. Coach was fencing like Yu Rim.
“If you know her,” Coach says, pointing her sword at Hee Do’s, “then she knows you too. This isn’t like the first time you competed, Na Hee Do.” She levels a serious look at Hee Do, almost disappointed. “Yu Rim might well use how well you think you know her. It’ll probably change how she enters this competition.”
This is nothing Hee Do hasn’t thought of before, but it still stings. She refuses to lower her eyes though, because if Coach is telling her this then it means she has to hear it. The scoreboard reflected as much.
“It’s been a year. You haven’t seen her train, and Russia will not have just let her continue training as usual. You think she hasn’t learned anything since then?” She tsks at Hee Do. “Have you?”
“Yes,” Hee Do says promptly, thinking of unanswered e-mails and empty chat logs. “I have. I know.”
“Then act like it,” Coach says, putting her helmet back on. “Prête.”
Hee Do puts her helmet back on.
“Allez.”
July 26th
I never really gave up on
Breakin' out of this two-star town
I got the green light, I got a little fight
I'm gonna turn this thing around
the killers - read my mind
Hee Do wakes up smiling after a great night of sleep. She stretches her arms above her head with a happy groan, whining into it until she hears her spine crack satisfyingly.
She drops her arms back to the bed and sighs. She’s pretty sure she’d just had a really nice dream, though she isn’t sure what about. All she can remember is feelings: tremendous relief, followed by a warmth that still clings to her as she grows awake. She hugs her arms around herself and sighs again as the feeling starts to drain out of her body slowly.
Her moment of peace is broken by the bedroom door slamming open.
“Get up!” Coach Yang shouts, slapping her hands for good measure. “Shower! Breakfast!”
Hee Do’s forehead scrunches up and she whines in frustration, kicking at her covers. Coach sounds just like Hee Do’s mother.
Unlike her mother though, Coach’s hits actually hurt, so Hee Do hurries up before she has to go into competition today with a needless bruise. She’ll probably walk out with plenty of those as it is.
She lets her stomach squirm with nerves all the way through her morning routine as she hops around gathering her clothes and takes the bathroom for herself. It’s kind of nice to get butterflies before a competition. She considers it her body being as excited as she is, so she revels in it and lets herself frazzle about as she brushes her teeth and gets into the shower.
Once she’s fresh and done, only needing to finish putting up her hair, it’s time to stop.
“Let’s go Na Hee Do,” she tells her reflection in the mirror, giving a small throw of her fist. Her reflection looks back, resolute, and Hee Do nods determinedly.
Her stomach is feeling good, so she’s looking forward to a full breakfast in the Olympic Village. Salivating at the notion, actually, because it turns out that Madrid had world renowned chefs working on the food for the athletes. She’s not sure whether that’s true; she just knows that the food is freaking delicious. Every meal she’s had leading up to today has been huge, including last night’s dinner. They must be given how much energy she spends to train and compete, but she hadn’t expected to have so much incredible food she’s never had before available.
The morning shake she always has in the morning of a competition is already over by the time she parts with Coach and steps into the cafeteria that does the carb-heavy menu rather than protein. She chucks her cup out and happily fills up her tray.
She’s learning a lot during these Olympic Games. For example, she never knew that people seasoned their toast (it’s bread after all?), but there’s this one type that they serve here that she knows from experience is delicious. She gets herself a couple of extra slices and then some, licking her lips as she carefully adds the different types of jam and spreads offered to each slice.
She sighs mournfully as she adds some obligatory plain cereal to her tray, but gets a bit more enthused about it once she’s plopped a load of fruit and sugar into the bowl for good measure.
It’s all looking like the perfect tranquil breakfast before a competition. The media have zero access into the Olympic Village, so Hee Do’s been enjoying the peace of mind of only being surrounded by like-minded people without having to worry about them.
She’s chomping away happily, looking around at the ample seating area mindlessly, when it happens.
Hee Do sees her.
As soon as she does, she also chokes on her food.
Hee Do slams a fist to her chest, hacking and coughing loudly as her eyes tear up. “Water, water,” she wheezes to herself, reaching for her glass and draining it hurriedly before taking in a few huge gulps of air back in.
People are staring at her now.
She can imagine her mother getting the call, and then reporting it on the news the same day: Korea fencer Na Hee Do dies of asphyxiation at the Olympic Village on the morning of her competition. Na Hee Do could not restrict herself to biting as much as she could chew and perished to her breakfast. The people of Korea are disappointed not to get their promised medal. Hee Do’s funeral will be held in secret shame, and her ancestors will be dishonored.
Okay, no. Hee Do’s fine. She’s fine!
She gives herself one last punch on the chest to be sure she’s in the clear, then waves her hands vaguely around herself to try and express she’s alright to any worried onlookers. Once the people at the table closest to her start turning away, she lets her forehead slam down onto the table in embarrassment.
“Na Hee Do, can you not do this?” she tells herself, head still pressed to the cool tabletop. “Get it together!”
She’s there. Hee Do is sure it’s her: that girl from New Zealand that she’d seen the other day while picking up ice from the infirmary during a break from training. One of the girls, at least.
It’s impossible to mistake her. Both because of New Zealand’s distinct uniform - nearly entirely black uniform jackets with the smallest of blue details - and because Hee Do has had the girl’s face imprinted in her memory ever since that day.
Hee Do forces herself to sit back upright. She rubs at her forehead and fixes her bangs before she starts eating again, somewhat more carefully now, only looking up from her tray to steal glances at the table where the girl is sat with some other people.
Hee Do wonders where the other New Zealand girl she'd seen with her is, then forces more cereal into her mouth to snap out of it.
It’s not like those two would… again. Here. Right?
Why is she even thinking of that? Seriously! Who even does that at breakfast anyway?! With everyone around, too!
Though no one had seemed to care that day, Hee Do’s mind is sure to remind her.
Okay. Well. Hee Do had wondered how come everyone around her had just… kept going about whatever they were doing, like two women athletes hadn’t just kissed right then and there. On the lips. In front of Hee Do- in front of everyone.
Not that there was a problem with that. Hee Do wasn’t some type of… of… prejudiced asshole! Of course not! It’s the new millennium!
It’s just.
No one had seemed to mind, or notice. So Hee Do’d had to pretend that she hadn’t either. Both so as not to to embarrass the athletes, who were laughing with each other as they held hands and headed out, and so as not to embarrass herself, because…
Because it wasn’t a big deal, clearly. To anyone.
So then why did Hee Do feel like she’d been punched in the gut for the rest of the day?
Hee Do is not one to question her own feelings. She feels that it’s useless most of the time anyway - it’s not like questioning her feelings will make her stop feeling them, so what’s even supposed to be the point? Just feel them so she can move on is what she’d rather do.
So then what does it matter if every time she sees a New Zealand uniform now, her attention snaps to it until she can see who the athlete is? If anything, it’s become a reaction time practice. She’s keeping her reflexes sharp.
And so what if the other night when she’d gone to bed, her chest had this weird feeling in it, like it was full of something yet empty at the same time? So what if it felt like she’d found something then lost it all at once? She hadn’t.
Hee Do has a golden medal to win. She knows that none of these feelings will compare to climbing on that podium, so she has to let things that have nothing to do with that pass her by so she can focus. That includes New Zealand uniforms, and Russian ones too for that matter.
Until now.
She fiddles with her fingers for minutes after she finishes eating.
She doesn’t have a lot of time. Her leg bounces nervously, and she practices what she’s going to say in her mind: once, twice, and then she has to go, now, or she won’t be able to get to the fencing venue with enough time to spare.
“Hello,” Hee Do says shyly in English once she’s next to her table. Her badge says she’s a rugby player. Her name is Olivia.
Olivia looks up at Hee Do with a smile. Hee Do doesn’t blush. “Hi there!”
“Um… I…” Hee Do stutters. Her English fails her, and all her brain can come up with all of a sudden are French words to fill in the gaps. How does she say this again? She was wondering if… “Do you want…”
Hee Do extends her open palm, offering a South Korea flag pin. “Trade?” Hee Do says at last with a small smile.
Olivia, with her pale skin and pale hair, lets out a loud oh. “Of course!” she says then, and Hee Do trembles with relief. “I haven’t gotten Korea yet, you’re my savior!”
She takes the pin from Hee Do’s hand and deposits her own New Zealand flag in its place. Hee Do closes her hand around it with glee. “Thank you!” Hee Do says. “I will cheer for you,” she adds, raising her fist slightly. “Bonne chance!”
Olivia doesn’t react to the sudden French in any visible way. “Hey, thanks! You too. Fencing, right? Don’t you compete soon?” Hee Do nods, and Olivia reaches out to pat her arm. “Good luck! I will look for you in the podium!”
Hee Do grins and doesn’t even try to promise Olivia out loud that she will definitely be seeing Hee Do in the podium. Instead, she thanks her again and bows deeply before turning around and skipping out of the cafeteria.
She counts this as just her first win of the day. She pockets the pin and makes her way to the venue where she’s going to collect the rest of them in.
Previous chapter: Chapter 1
Next chapter: Chapter 3
