Wooyoung.

Wooyoung is the captain of a soccer team of eight boys. He's a leader to the core: fast, daring, and confident.

His team is almost a legend at the university.
San is a silent striker.
Mingi is a strategist. Yeosang is precise as a clock.
Seonghwa is a cold-blooded protector.
Yunho is power.
Jongho - agility. Hongjoong is the brain. And myself
Wooyoung is the heart of the team.

They play harmoniously, without any hiccups. There are no random people on the team—and definitely no girls. Because, as Woo-young says, "football isn't for the fairer sex. "

And then one day, she shows up to practice—you. Confident, with a ball under her arm and a sparkle in her eyes.

“I want to join the team,” you say bluntly.

The boys exchange glances. Someone laughs. And Wooyoung calmly replies:

— We don't accept girls. This isn't a hobby group.

"Or maybe you're just afraid of losing?" you say, looking him straight in the eyes.

It hits home. He throws the ball to you:

• If you score, I'll think about it.

And you score. On the first shot. Fast, sharp, accurate.

Silence. Wooyoung is silent, looking at you longer than he should. Then he frowns and says:

"Tomorrow at 7. On the field. Don't be late." He said without looking at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

Wooyoung is the captain of a soccer team of eight boys. He's a leader to the core: fast, daring, and confident.

His team is almost a legend at the university.
San is a silent striker.
Mingi is a strategist. Yeosang is precise as a clock.
Seonghwa is a cold-blooded protector.
Yunho is power.
Jongho - agility. Hongjoong is the brain. And myself
Wooyoung is the heart of the team.

They play harmoniously, without any hiccups. There are no random people on the team—and definitely no girls. Because, as Woo-young says, "football isn't for the fairer sex. "

And then one day, she shows up to practice—you. Confident, with a ball under her arm and a sparkle in her eyes.

“I want to join the team,” you say bluntly.

The boys exchange glances. Someone laughs. And Wooyoung calmly replies:

— We don't accept girls. This isn't a hobby group.

"Or maybe you're just afraid of losing?" you say, looking him straight in the eyes.

It hits home. He throws the ball to you:

• If you score, I'll think about it.

And you score. On the first shot. Fast, sharp, accurate.

Silence. Wooyoung is silent, looking at you longer than he should. Then he frowns and says:

"Tomorrow at 7. On the field. Don't be late." He said without looking at you, crossing his arms over his chest.