Chapter Text
Back in good form: Kim Mingyu sets Korean tennis record with Brisbane title
Hankyoreh, 06 Jan 2025
Men’s tennis player Kim Mingyu won a close final in the evening hours of January 5 to clinch the Brisbane International, the third ATP Tour title of his career and the most of any South Korean player to date.
The 27-year-old beat world No. 28 Jiří Lehečka in a dramatic three-setter: 4-6, 6-3, 7-6(5). With this latest result, Kim will rise four spots in the rankings to No. 27 after more than a year outside the top 30.
Kim first captured hearts in 2022 with his maiden title win in Seoul. A second title the following spring brought him to a career-high ranking of No. 17—the highest of any South Korean player, edging out Chung Hyeon’s prior record of No. 19. Known for both his social media presence and his tennis prowess, Kim is credited with reigniting local interest in the sport, though his own performance has been lacklustre since his initial breakthrough. But with a fresh title under his belt, Kim seems to be starting the year with a bang, and fans may eagerly await what else he has in store for the 2025 season…
Jihoon lets his phone screen fade to black before dropping it back down onto the sheets, careful not to jostle Mingyu where he’s still asleep on Jihoon’s chest. The hotel room is dimly lit by the dawn beginning to filter through the curtains, just enough for everything to look soft. They’d all crashed here after the victory party but Jihoon barely slept, too keyed up from the night before, and now he’s awake again at 5am, stuck (comfortably) under a demigod, scrolling through the press.
It’s good to know that it’s good. But Jihoon doesn’t want to think about the rest of the year. Not yet. Not now.
Right now Mingyu is slumbering away, getting much-needed rest, oblivious to the world. Head pillowed on Jihoon, face smushed into his skin, an arm and a leg slung over him, breathing deep and steady. Somewhere, in his dreams, Jihoon hopes Mingyu is happy.
Both of them are shirtless. It doesn’t mean much except that it’s January in Australia and even the nights feel heated through.
On top of him Mingyu is warm and heavy and wrapped up close in a grounding way, like a weighted blanket, and only a little sticky. He’d showered after the match, only to get all sweaty again. There might be champagne in his hair. There’s definitely champagne in his hair. Jihoon soaks in the feeling of it all and doesn’t want to leave.
A couple feet away Bumzu’s sleeping haphazardly on the couch. Hyunseok the physio is starfished on a pile of pillows in the corner. The rest hopefully made it back to where they’re staying safely enough. Their travel team’s really not that big, but it basically tripled last night as they celebrated with a bunch of locals Mingyu had somehow managed to befriend, in between everything else, in the three weeks they’d been here. He’s just that kind of guy.
Somewhere not too far away, the actual Brisbane trophy is sitting in a case, freshly engraved with Mingyu’s name, but here in the hotel room they have something better: Mingyu’s replica trophy. Only half the size of the real one, about thirty centimetres tall, but this is the one they get to take home with them and keep forever. Right now the trophy’s nestled against Jihoon’s waist with Mingyu’s arm curled over them both. Like he’s holding them together.
Gradually, the room brightens by the slightest touch, and Jihoon feels the change in breathing as Mingyu stirs awake. The way he stills then relaxes into a puddle as he realizes where he is. A long moment passes before he tilts his face up to look at Jihoon, loose and languid, still half-asleep. “Hyung,” he murmurs.
“Hey. Morning.”
“…what time is it?”
“Nearly six, I think.”
Mingyu groans and presses his face back into his chest. Jihoon snickers quietly, gently petting his hair. “Why are you awake?”
“Couldn’t really sleep. But you can sleep a little longer if you want. We’ve got, like…a few more hours until we have stuff to do.” Mingyu hums, bleary yet inquisitive, and Jihoon keeps whispering to him as he lets the rest of the world back in. “Eunsong-noona’s got interviews lined up already. Interviews, photoshoots. And then…then we gotta go to Melbourne.”
“Melbourne…” Mingyu breathes out. Reverent, but also hungover. “Oh my god…”
“Yeah. So sleep while you can.”
Mingyu sighs and holds him a little tighter. “D’you need to leave? To go back to your room?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Okay…can we stay like this until you have to go?”
Jihoon closes his eyes and lets his hand fall still on the warm skin of Mingyu’s shoulder. “Yeah. We can stay as long as you want.”
—
Jihoon first met Mingyu in 2019 when Mingyu was trying to get back on the pro circuit after finishing enlistment. At the time Jihoon was in his third year of college, studying sports science, doing music work on the side for extra cash, when he got a call from an old sunbae asking him to help with some guy he was starting to coach.
“He needs a hitting partner and we can’t always find someone else,” Bumzu told him over the phone. “My knee’s still shit so I can’t do this by myself. Also, if you could help with his fitness, that would be massive. He just got discharged and needs to get back into shape.”
“Okay.” Jihoon rubbed his brow. “And you want me to do all this for free?”
“Well…you can use it as a credit for school or something, can’t you?”
“Wowww, hyung. Taking advantage of the penniless student. I see how it is.”
“We’ll pay for all the court time. You can use the KTA gyms. Lots of fancy stuff in there.” Bumzu sighed. “Look. I’m asking because I know you can hit, you already work out every day, and you could use the extra social life. Just let him tag along with what you’re already doing.”
That last point…Jihoon couldn’t argue with that. “You said he just got discharged. From the military?”
“No, from the hospital. Yes, of course I mean the military.”
“How old is he now?”
“Twenty-two. International age.”
Jihoon did the math in his head. “Don’t most athletes put it off as long as they can? So they can try to win a medal big enough to get an exemption?”
“Yeah. And most of them fail.” Unsaid in their conversation was the fact that Korea’s not a tennis powerhouse to begin with. The KTA—their national tennis association—does its best, but with lower funding, fewer sponsorships, fewer local tournaments to help players develop…it’s tough. “Anyways. This guy—Kim Mingyu. Did well as a junior, won a couple Challengers but struggled to break into the top circuit. His old coach sucked, he was barely scraping by, then he got unlucky with a back injury. So he was like, fuck it.”
“Might as well get it over with early.”
“Exactly.”
“So now he’s done enlistment. And trying to get back on the ATP Tour.”
“Mhm.”
“What was his ranking when he stopped?”
“Four hundred-something.”
Jihoon winced. “Okay. This four hundred-something guy, who may or may not have a wonky back. You think he even has a chance?”
Bumzu’s smile was audible through the phone. “I think his chances are pretty good. Come by for a practice. You’ll see what I mean.”
A few days later Jihoon rolled up to an outdoor hardcourt in a quiet part of Seoul, where Bumzu introduced him to a guy in a tank top and comfy shorts. Kim Mingyu. Tall, tan, and muscular with a fang-toothed smile, glowing in the late-spring sun. Jihoon watched him do drills as he did his own stretching on the side. Not bad for someone who spent the past twenty months or so rotting in the barracks.
Then it was Jihoon’s turn to take him for a spin. On the other side of the net, he watched Mingyu twirl his racquet—lefthanded. And if Mingyu was worth anything at all, he knew how to use that to his advantage.
“So.” Jihoon started nice and easy, bopping the ball in. “Bumzu-hyung said you were ranked four hundred-something.”
“What? Okay, listen. I was at 402. But usually I was higher than that.”
“What was your highest?”
“160.”
Jihoon blinked and fumbled his next shot. “That’s better, but not great.”
“I know.”
“What’re you aiming for this time around?”
“As high as I can go.”
“Gimme a number.”
“Top ten.”
Good. “And you think Bumzu-hyung can help get you there?”
“Why not?” Mingyu hit a gorgeous backhand like it was nothing. “I believe in him, he believes in me. We’ve got a mutual thing going on. And now you’re here too!"
Jihoon kept poking and prodding as they sent the ball back and forth. Testing him out. Mingyu’s groundstrokes were solid. His serve was ridiculous, but he was six-foot-two, so of course his serve was ridiculous. It was the rest of his game that needed work. Jihoon kept getting him on the drop shot, which…
“You can’t have someone like me doing that to you,” he told Mingyu at the water break.
Mingyu nodded, but then stared at him for a long time. “You’re pretty good, though.”
“Shut up.”
“You are. You’ve got…what’s that thing coaches like to say? Soft hands.”
Soft hands. Tennis lingo for: the ability to redirect the ball with finesse. Winning through touch and feel rather than sheer power.
“Did you ever think of going pro?” Mingyu asked as they started playing again.
“Nah. I got into it too late.”
“When was that?”
“High school. Then I got better in college. That’s how I met Bumzu-hyung. What about you? When’d you first pick up a racquet?"
“When I was six.” Mingyu hit a forehand. “And I watched Federer win Wimbledon."
“Ahh. Of course you’re a Federer guy.”
“What do you mean, ‘of course’?”
“Your playing style’s nothing like his. But the way you look and carry yourself…Federer fanboy. You might as well be wearing the hat.”
Mingyu grinned. “The hat’s at home. Shoulda worn it today. And you? Who was your fave?”
“Among the Big Four? I didn’t have one.” Jihoon tried a passing shot which Mingyu reached with ease. “I always liked rooting for the underdog.”
Mingyu’s face brightened. “So you’re gonna love working with me.”
Jihoon cracked up, and to his credit, Mingyu stopped the point so he could settle down.
The rest of the session they did less talking, more hitting. Mingyu wiped the floor with him, which was embarrassing, but Jihoon already knew if he was going to do this, he’d have to up his own game.
Mingyu kept stealing looks at him as they packed up their gear. “So you don’t want to go pro yourself. What about travelling with a pro?”
“Is that an offer?”
“Maybe.”
Jihoon bit back a smile. At that point, he’d never travelled outside Korea in his life. “Ask me again when I graduate. If you’re still interested by then.”
Mingyu was. Mingyu asked. And Jihoon said yes. From there it was years of hauling Mingyu through workout after workout, following him to the ends of the earth, stepping in as a hitting partner when they couldn’t find anyone better, and—in the beginning—couchsurfing with Bumzu in the little time they spent in Seoul, back when Mingyu wasn’t making enough prize money to keep them all afloat. Because here are two things about professional tennis. Number one: it pays like shit at the lower levels. You really do need to make it to the bigger tournaments to make any kind of living. And number two: the tournament schedule is relentless. January to November. Constant travel. Basically no off-season.
But if you love it enough and luck is on your side, it can be worth it. Years of swinging through the rankings, clawing their way up. Watching Mingyu hit his stride. Literal blood, sweat, and tears to reach the here and now: Melbourne in January for the Australian Open, the first Grand Slam of 2025.
Second round match: Kim versus Borges. John Cain Arena, also known as the People’s Court. Rowdy as hell, in a good way, but even here the crowd knows to shut the fuck up when the players are ready. The chair umpire looks from side to side then says the magic words.
“Ready…play.”
Borges starts them off with a serve that hits 190 km/h. Mingyu’s sharp on the return, hits it deep in the corner, but Borges gets there and draws them into a rally which he wins with a well-placed forehand. The camera angles used for TV don’t do this sport justice; courtside, you get a real sense of how hard these people are hitting the ball.
Jihoon leans forward in his front row seat in the player’s box, close enough for each shot to feel like a bullet, tapping into the tempo of the match as he flips through his mental dossier. Nuno Borges. Bouncy guy, likes his slice, a bit underpowered compared to other guys on tour but makes up for it by mixing up his shots. He watches Borges hit a tasty backhand that gets oohs from the crowd and a fist pump from his own coach at the other end of the court. Playing well today. Technically unseeded in this tournament, but just barely, and in the world rankings he’s only six spots below Mingyu. In other words: Borges probably sees this match as a very feasible win. He’s looking to snipe Mingyu out of the sky, and he will, if Mingyu lets him.
“What are you thinking?” Bumzu asks from the seat beside him during the changeover. “You worried at all?”
Jihoon watches Mingyu step up to the baseline to serve, glowing already with exertion but otherwise looking unruffled. “Nah,” he replies. “Mingyu wants this too badly to go down without a fight.”
Six years later and Mingyu’s serve is still a wonder to behold: natural power by virtue of his build, shaped over time into a work of art, with a graceful motion that has him reaching up and up as if for the midday sun. He holds his first service game easily, grinning a little at the end as his confidence visibly bubbles. In his second Borges reads him better, at one point managing to get him on the run, only for Mingyu to fish himself out of trouble with a cheeky forehand that gets his box and most of the arena up on their feet.
“This is good,” Eunsong notes as they sit back down. “He’s still fresh after Brisbane. Was that a good warmup?”
Bumzu nods. “Yeah, he really liked the courts there.”
“Alright. I’ll mark it down for next year.”
Eunsong is Mingyu’s agent. She doesn’t always travel with them—she can do most of her work from an office in Seoul—but she flies out for the Slams.
(“How many netizens are going to assume I’m Mingyu’s girlfriend this time around?” she muttered to them before the start of the match. “I’m taking bets.”)
Three games all, both players holding serve. Mingyu starts piling on the pressure, cracking open the Borges backhand like an egg. He may not always be the underdog anymore, but one thing that hasn’t changed is the way he always gives his all on the court. Every point, every second, never taking this shit for granted. And Jihoon will never get tired of watching.
Break point. Borges gets a little sloppy and makes the mistake of getting in a baseline slugfest with Mingyu. Shot after shot, the air fills with the satisfying signature pop of the ball rocketing off of strings. Then, an opening. Mingyu hits a winner up the line and the People’s Court goes wild.
“Game, Kim. Kim leads four games to three. New balls please.”
Mingyu nabs the first set but Borges makes a comeback in the second. It’s a Grand Slam and he doesn’t want to go home either. Mingyu manages to break his serve again only to be broken right back, and as they go deeper in the second set, Mingyu starts looking more and more to his player’s box. In the time between points, the pauses in play, the brief moments he has to himself on their side of the court, he looks up, and every time his eyes seem to fix upon Jihoon.
He does this a lot. He’s done it practically every match of his that Jihoon has attended, which, as his trainer, has been almost all of them. It happens no matter how well or how badly he’s playing, though he tends to do it more when he’s in a tough spot. Jihoon asked him about it early on when they first started travelling together.
“Do I distract you when I’m sitting there on the side?”
“No, never. It’s the opposite. I like having you there.”
One day, when he’s brave enough, Jihoon might ask Mingyu what exactly he looks for every time he looks up at Jihoon during a match. If it’s simple reassurance or something else. Because the way he looks at him is the kind of look that makes the world go quiet. Like he’s taking a long cool drink of water, or looking into Jihoon’s soul and seeing something there that only he knows, before turning around again and getting back to work.
Whatever it is, today it seems to give him what he needs as he swashbuckles through a second set tiebreak and raucous third set.
“Game, set, match, Kim. Three sets to love. 6-4, 7-6, 7-5.”
Mingyu bounds up to the net for the handshake. He thanks Nuno sincerely like the sportsman he is, and then proceeds to charm the pants off the whole arena in his oncourt interview. When Jihoon sees him again at the cooldown bikes, Mingyu’s still buzzing.
“So? What did you think?” Mingyu beams up at him as he leans forward on the handlebars. Always seeking his more casual opinion after getting the full rundown from Bumzu.
Jihoon makes a show of affecting nonchalance, even as he shoves more electrolytes into Mingyu’s hands. “Meh. Thought it was okay.”
“Just okay? You’re getting harder to impress.”
“Isn’t that why you keep me around?”
Mingyu eyes him up, and if Jihoon thinks about it too hard he’ll go nuts. “I keep you around for plenty of reasons. But really, hyung. What did you think of the match?”
“I think…” Jihoon lets himself smile for real. He really can’t resist. “I think you could’ve cracked his serve a little earlier, but besides that, yeah. You did great, Minggu-yah. Now let’s get ready for the next one.”
They really do need to get their shit together too, because waiting for them in the next round is none other than Carlos Alcaraz. Effectively the second coming of Rafa Nadal. Young hotshot, 21-years-old, currently No. 3 in the world and always in contention for the No. 1 spot. Hard to dislike, a joy to watch as a spectator, but when you’re the one playing against him…sheesh.
In the end Mingyu manages to peel a set off him before coming up short in the fourth.
“Game, set, match, Alcaraz. Three sets to one. 6-4, 6-4, 6-7, 6-2.”
And just like that the dream is already over. Yet another Australian Open run hitting a wall in the third round. In the tunnel afterwards Mingyu is a ball of frustration, and it takes Bumzu forever to get him out of his head.
“He’s not untouchable,” Bumzu finally says. “Nobody is. And you’ve beaten Alcaraz before.”
“Yeah. Once. Four years ago. He’s better now.”
“So are you.”
“Am I?”
“You are. You’re better than you were, and you’re still getting better.” Bumzu passes him some water and a banana. “Jihoon and I will review the tape. For now, focus on recovery. Try to get some rest.”
They all go with him to the post-match press con, watching from the side. Lining the wall like guardian angels. Mingyu is gracious in defeat, english rolling off the tongue as he says all the right things. Jihoon’s the one who’s free to feel hollow on the inside.
Afterwards, Bumzu gives him a nudge. “I’m going to talk to Hyunseok. You go with him to the ice bath. Make sure he doesn’t freeze to death or brain himself.”
The onsite ice baths at Melbourne Park are blessedly empty—newly renovated, tricked out to look like high-end mini swimming pools with concrete pretending to be marble. Jihoon gets out a timer as Mingyu undresses, cursing under his breath as he eases into the freezing water. One stint in the bath, five to ten minutes. For the sake of recovery. Even if you just lost and feel fucking terrible. Because there’s always the next one, and the next one, and the next. He sets the timer for six minutes then sits down on the tiled floor next to the bath, as close as he can, knees pulled to his chest, to let Mingyu know he’s there even if there’s nothing to say.
Smooth, polished walls echo back the soft sound of their breathing. Besides that, the two of them are silent. Jihoon’s seen him like this often enough that it doesn’t really dazzle anymore so much as it inspires a profound ache. He watches Mingyu stare into the water, droplets clinging to bare skin and the contours of his face, and thinks back to his words from the tunnel.
It’s rare, nowadays, for Mingyu to seriously doubt himself. But a Grand Slam is a Grand Slam. This is the kind of loss that will always sting.
As if he feels him looking, Mingyu looks up to meet his gaze and moves closer to him in the water, bringing his arms up to prop on the tiled edge. Barely trembling, even though he must be freezing. The kind of poise that comes from experience and from being an athlete comfortable and competent in his own body.
He has more muscle mass now than he did when they first met. A little more maturity too. More of a lot of things.
“Hyung,” he says, resting his chin upon his hands.
“Yeah?”
“How many more of these do you think I’ve got left?”
“How many more what?”
“Aussie Opens.” Mingyu sinks a bit further into the water. “Years of my career in general.”
Tennis tends to favour the young. Enlistment’s already shaved a couple years off the start of Mingyu’s career. With his thirties starting to loom, it’s fair to wonder how much longer he can go.
Jihoon closes his eyes and tries to give an honest answer. “At least five. Five good years. Maybe more than that.”
“You’re optimistic.”
“Must be your bad influence.”
Mingyu laughs and flicks him with the ice water. By the time the timer goes off, both of them are soaked.