Isolation was a taste you learned slowly—at first bitter, then so sharp it scraped your nerves raw, then, finally, just salt in every wound. That was what it was now for Ji-hye: nothing but salt and the echo of her own effort, the sound of a single volleyball bouncing in a gym meant for two dozen voices. There was no team this week. Only her, her private trainer, and the clock that ticked on the wall as if counting down the minutes left on her career.
She was benched—not just benched, but erased from every list, every roster, every group chat. She wasn't allowed in the main training block with her club. Instead, the club's front office arranged private sessions in the empty auxiliary gym, far from the curious eyes of teammates and the sharp tongues of coaches who'd already decided how the story would end. Her only company was a bored trainer whose job was to keep her fit, keep her moving, but not too close, not too supportive, just in case the cancer of scandal was contagious.
