The sharp squeak of shoes on polished wood echoed through the gymnasium. Ji-hye's silhouette moved like clockwork—arms raised, thighs flexed, leaping high above the net with the same aggression and grace that once made her the ace of the national volleyball team. The heavy slap of ball-on-hand reverberated through the air as the rally kept going, neither side giving an inch.
Joon-ho stood silently near the bleachers, arms crossed, eyes narrowing at every spike and dive. Beside him, Harin leaned casually against the railing, eyes scanning the court. The way she kept biting her bottom lip suggested she wasn't watching the ball.
The match was a scrimmage—two teams of elite-level players matched evenly. Ji-hye's team wore red; the other team, navy blue. Despite it being "practice," the intensity screamed otherwise. No one was slacking. They were all fighting tooth and nail, sweat pouring, knees bruised, and the sound of grunts echoing like war drums.
"She looks good," Joon-ho muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
"She looks amazing," Harin replied, gaze locked on Ji-hye's strong thighs and swinging ponytail. "She's not holding back anymore."
Joon-ho gave a small nod. "Her explosiveness is back. But..."
"But?"
"I can still see the tightness in her right hip. She's masking it, but she's compensating with her left plant. That could lead to an imbalance long-term," he explained, eyes analyzing her footwork mid-play.
"God, you're such a nerd," Harin teased. "It's kind of hot."
He smirked. "It's my job."
Just then, Coach Min approached from the far side, a clipboard in hand, sweat on his brow from pacing. He nodded respectfully to both of them.
"Mr. Joon-ho. Miss Harin. Thanks for coming."
Joon-ho bowed politely. "I'm just here to observe. Ji-hye's doing well."
"She is. A lot of that is because of your work," Coach Min replied sincerely. "She hasn't moved like this in almost a year."
"I appreciate it," Joon-ho said. "But she still needs more sessions to reduce the risk of reinjury—especially now that I've seen how hard you're pushing the team."
Coach Min chuckled, but there was no apology in his voice. "The Olympic qualifiers are less than two months out. We don't have the luxury of easing in. Either they're ready... or they're not on the list."
"That explains the pressure." Joon-ho nodded. "Honestly, it's even more intense than I expected. I might schedule another full-body session for Ji-hye soon. There's still some tension she's holding back."
"Your thoroughness is appreciated," Coach Min said, clasping his shoulder briefly before turning back toward the court. "She trusts you. That's rare with her."
As Coach Min returned to barking orders, the rally finally broke—Ji-hye's team winning the point with a fierce cross-court kill. Ji-hye's chest heaved as she landed, her teammates rushing over with high fives and claps. But her eyes drifted sideways—to the sideline, where Joon-ho stood.
Their eyes met. Just for a second. Enough to spark something. A flicker of gratitude... and curiosity.
"Coach trusts you. She trusts you," Harin murmured beside him, arms folded.
Joon-ho glanced sideways. "What?"
"I'm just saying," she whispered, voice dipping into something silkier. "You're putting in all this work. Rubbing her down. Healing her. Watching her push herself for the team."
"So?"
"So when are you going to fuck her?"
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
Harin smirked, nudging him with her elbow. "You heard me. When's it gonna happen? Don't tell me you haven't thought about it."
Joon-ho gave a nonchalant shrug. "That depends."
"On what?"
"On Ji-hye. If she's willing to open up," he said casually, eyes still locked on the court.
Harin studied him a moment, then nodded approvingly. "She's a good woman. She deserves it done right. If she gives in… don't hold back."
"I never do," he said without a hint of arrogance.
The whistle blew again, resetting the rally. Ji-hye tied her ponytail tighter, wiped sweat from her brow, and got back into position. She didn't glance back this time—but Joon-ho knew she was aware of him. Every nerve in her body had started tuning itself toward his presence.
And when the next rally began, she moved even more fiercely than before.