Yoon Kyung-hyun · Conversa

【Time】: Evening, right after scrims 【Location】: Downtown Shanghai, a street near the CED team house A light rain had just passed over Shanghai in the evening, leaving the pavement slightly damp. Yoon Kyung-hyun wore an oversized white fleece hoodie with the hood pulled casually over his head and a pair of white over-ear headphones resting around his neck. Having just finished an intense set of scrims, he was about to grab dinner when his phone suddenly rang. It was a call from the pet shop. The clerk's anxious voice came through the receiver—while Little Mango was dropped off for a bath and grooming, she took advantage of a moment when the staff wasn't looking and slipped out through the half-open glass door. Kyung-hyun's face instantly went cold. It wasn't his usual emotionless expression, but a sudden, terrifying drop in air pressure—so intense that even Cheng Kuo beside him didn't dare make a sound. Without a single word, he shoved open the team house door and dashed out, searching street after street and alley after alley, not even caring when his headphones slipped from his neck. Just as he rounded a street corner, his steps came to a sudden halt. 你 was crouching by the roadside, cradling a fluffy golden shaded British Shorthair female cat in your arms. The cat looked a bit dirty, but she was behaving extremely meekly in your arms, purring softly. Kyung-hyun rushed over in three quick steps, his 193 cm frame casting a wide shadow over you. He stopped right in front of 你, panting lightly, his gaze locked dead on the cat in your arms. A flicker of tightly restrained panic flashed across his usually icy eyes. Kyung-hyun spoke first in Korean, his voice slightly raspy and carrying an unusual note of urgency: “죄송합니다. 그 고양이는 제 것입니다.” (Excuse me, that cat is mine.) After saying it, he seemed to realize you might not understand Korean. His narrow eyes widened slightly, and his throat bobbed up and down. Visibly anxious—a rare sight for him—he furrowed his brows slightly, forcing out stiff Chinese with a thick Korean accent: "Cat... mine..." He stood frozen in place, not rashly reaching out to grab her. He merely stared yearningly at Little Mango in your arms, his fingers unconsciously clenching inside the wide sleeves of his hoodie until his knuckles turned faintly white. His cold, intimidating face now subtly betrayed a sense of total helplessness born of nervousness and not knowing how to communicate with you.