othernightslikethis

[othernightslikethis]

White Emperor

Ningning x Male Reader x Winter (aespa)

Not really a couple with three btw, maybe.

It’s normal for frustration to become an unrelenting shadow, dogging your every step, and there’s something exasperating about how others seem to sneer at that reality. Not that it should matter to you—at least, that was the illusion you clung to. Life, up until now, had been kind enough that you never had to worry too much. And perhaps that was the true crux of the problem.

Real Madrid represents the pinnacle of any footballer’s career, an undeniable testament to the greatness that so few ever reach. Even the most inattentive observer recognises this indisputable truth, for it is the greatest club in the world—a monument erected upon history and immortal glory. To feel indifferent to the privilege of donning the white shirt would be an affront to the very nature of the sport

“We’re loaning you out.”

The words from the club official struck like a shard of reality embedding itself in your soul, reverberating with the force of a deafening crash. You had never imagined such a sentence could wound you so deeply, and yet it did—devastatingly so. The truth crashed down upon you like a runaway car slamming into a wall—sudden, inescapable, and catastrophic. No longer useful to Real Madrid. No longer indispensable. Reduced to the status of a disposable piece, an obsolete cog in the machine, a mere remnant of a glory that no longer belonged to you. Disgust coursed through your veins like a biting chill; bile surged up your throat, thick and acrid, and you swallowed it so quickly you barely registered the bitter taste burning your windpipe. Your eyes, vacant and wandering, swept across the room until they landed on the imposing figure of president Florentino Pérez.

— Y-you can’t…? — you stammered, suffocated by desperation. — Surely not! There must something… I’ll work harder… You can’t… I—” The firm weight of a hand on your shoulder cut your plea short. Your eyes blinked, dispelling the mist of tears beginning to form, and when your vision finally cleared, you found yourself staring at the imposing figure of your agent. More than an agent, he was a mentor. More than a mentor, he was your father.

— Where are we going? His voice, deep and unwavering, sought no explanation—only a destination. There were no pointless questions, no futile protests. Only acceptance—not resigned, but tinged with something worse. A certain… disappointment. No, that wasn’t quite right. What resonated in his tone was not mere dissatisfaction. It was disillusionment. And in that moment, you knew—you had failed.

— London — came the emotionless response. — Your destination for the next twelve months is Tottenham Hotspur.

The sentence was passed. The judgment, final. The weight of exile settled upon your shoulders like an unappealable verdict, and all that remained was to press forward, even as each step became a merciless reminder of what you had lost.

Your transfer would be finalised within a week, and the urgency weighed on you like an inescapable burden. You needed to gather your belongings and organise the essential paperwork for the transaction, even though the club had already handled most of the bureaucratic procedures. Time was slipping through your fingers like fine sand, and each passing moment served as a reminder that your departure was imminent. It was on one of those nights, as you returned home, utterly drained by the relentless routine, that a heavy sigh escaped you before you collapsed onto your bed. Just then, your phone buzzed, momentarily cutting through the exhaustion that had taken hold of your body. With your vision blurred by fatigue, you hesitated for a brief moment, debating whether to answer the call or let it fade into oblivion. But that hesitation vanished the instant your eyes landed on the illuminated icon on the screen.

Soulmate❄️

A smile—subtle yet undeniable—curved your lips as you immediately recognised the person behind the notification. Kim Min-jeong, or rather, Winter. A name that evoked vivid memories of an indelible past, shaped by a friendship that had withstood the relentless passage of time. You had grown up together, sharing not only the carefree innocence of childhood but also the turmoil and discoveries of adolescence. Though she was two years older, that difference had never been a barrier between you; if anything, it only strengthened the bond you shared.

As a child, you had been a timid boy, always hesitant, your words stumbling on your tongue before they could be spoken. Winter, however, embraced your fragility without hesitation, becoming both your shield and your voice when yours failed you. You were the shy boy who hid behind her, and she, the fierce storm that pulled you fearlessly into the world.

Yet, as the years passed, as childhood gave way to adolescence and, eventually, adulthood, the feelings you harboured for her began to shift. The fraternal affection transformed into a silent admiration, which in turn grew into a massive crush. And before you could fully grasp what was happening in your own heart, you realised that friendship was no longer enough. You loved her, and you knew it with the certainty of someone recognising an undeniable truth

Perhaps she even knew it too.

But then, Winter chose a path that led her away from you. She embraced the fleeting, dazzling life of an idol, and you, in turn, felt your world waver under the weight of that decision. You understood that each of you had your own ambitions and responsibilities, but that didn’t stop your heart from shattering as you watched her leave. Fate, ever cruel and unyielding, pulled your paths apart. And still, you hid your pain beneath a mask of quiet acceptance.

You never openly confessed the feelings that had taken root in your chest, but neither did you make any real effort to conceal them. Small gestures gave away what your voice never dared to say—like the fact that her contact was saved as "Soulmate" or that your wallpaper was still a photo of the two of you, arms wrapped around each other. Yet she never seemed to notice. And if she did, she never gave any indication of reciprocation.

But perhaps none of that mattered anymore. Life’s twists and turns had led you down separate roads. She had followed the fleeting glow of the spotlight, and you, in pursuit of your own dreams, had left Korea behind—drifting further away from the only person who had ever made your heart waver between hope and heartbreak.

Sliding your finger across the screen, your eyes caught the slightly sloppy text—likely due to the late hour. She must have just woken up or something.

"I heard u gonna switch again."

The message was simple, and yet you grin like an idiot when you see it, your fingers moving before you know it.

"Yeah. Feels like I’m lettin’ everyone down lately."

"Oh. So sad. I'll call ya."

When the phone rang, you already knew it was her. As you answered, her voice sounded familiar, yet tinged with a tone that made you shudder.

— I thought the circumstances were considerably better.

You nearly let out a laugh—dry, laced with a bitterness that would linger within you for weeks on end.

— If only everything in life were that easy. Your voice takes on a sharper edge. — Do you already know where they’re sending me?

— Tottenham. I saw the rumours on social media. Good luck?

That was when, at last, you surrendered to disbelief and burst into laughter—a loud, sarcastic, scornful laugh, as if the whole situation were nothing but a cruel joke, a distorted delusion of reality. Were you truly being forced to abandon the club of your dreams… to join the less decorated side of London?

— You must be joking! Do you have any idea when they last won the English league? Abeoji was still crawling around stark naked, mumbling his first words!

For reasons beyond comprehension, her laughter dissipated some of the fire raging inside you. For a fleeting moment, you almost forgot how delightful that sound was.

— Someone sounds utterly disillusioned. You can always come back home. She singsongs while you raise an eyebrow, though your expression soon darkens.

— No. The deal’s already done, only my signature remains. And stepping foot in that league, oversaturated with mediocre players, would be the equivalent of signing my own downfall.

On the other end of the line, she hesitates, lost in thought. Only after a few moments does she dare break the silence.

— You really think you’re better than the Korean league, yet you can’t even make the Real Madrid bench? Hmmm. Naughty boy.

You shrug, though she can’t see it, and reply with the unshaken calm of someone who harbours no doubt.

— I don’t think I’m better. I know I am.