*September 22, 2022
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, really…” Soojin replied as I’m struggling to contain my jealousy on the phone.
“I want details… Does that guy even speak Korean?” I growled, gripping my phone tighter as the bus hit a bump.
The bitch just laughed! That light, teasing sound that usually made me melt—but right now it just twisted the heat in my gut into something darker.
“He doesn’t need to,” she purred, leaning closer to her camera until her lips filled the screen.
“I could *feel* him when we dance… the way his hands slide up my thighs—” Her voice dropped to a whisper, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and suddenly the bus seat felt like it was burning through my shorts.
“And I speak some English as well, so no pressure!” She switched suddenly to a casual tone, like she did not just drop a bomb on my sanity.
“Okay… But why is there a black dancer? Am I missing out on a collaboration project or something?” I said, trying to sound casual while my fingers dug crescents into my palms.
Soojin just smirked, adjusting her camera angle so I could see the edge of her tank top riding up—just enough to remind me of what I wasn’t touching.
“Oh, you didn’t know? They flew him and his crew in from LA for the new choreo. Turns out he *really* knows how to move those hips.” She bit her lower lip, slow, deliberate, and I nearly snapped my phone in half when the bus lurched again.
“Jealousy sucks, doesn’t it? Especially when it bites you back?” She chuckled, the sound like nails dragging down my spine—hot and sharp all at once.
“Who me? I’m not jealous… I-I’m just… Sticking with our arrangement…” I heard myself saying, each word feeling like sandpaper in my throat—too rough, too obvious.
The way her eyebrow arched told me she wasn’t buying it, but I kept my jaw locked tight, refusing to let her see how badly I wanted to pin her against the nearest wall and remind her exactly *whose* hands knew her body best.
“Oh, Tae…Think about all those times you were fucking bad bitches while I tried to stay faithful…” She sighed, licking her lips as she stretched her arms above her head, the fabric of her tank top pulling taut across her chest.
“Imagine what was going through my head when you were fucking Yeowool, Hyejin seonsaengnim, Hyomin sunbaenim, Son Juyeon, and Lea Navvab?!?! Not to mention, your coaches, as well?!? Oh… It breaks my heart…” She fake-sobbed, wiping nonexistent tears with her fingertips, but her smirk never faded—only deepened, her eyes locked onto mine through the screen, daring me to call her bluff.
“So who is it this time, cheater? Magenta Unnie? Hong Jihye? Who’s the lucky girl that’s going to borrow *my* boyfriend’s cock today?!?!” She hissed, leaning into the camera with narrowed eyes—that playful smirk twisting into something sharper, hungrier.
“W-Well… I’m not meeting any of them today… I don’t even think I’m fucking this one…” I replied back, before I could take the words back into me, the sudden realization hitting me like a knee to the ribs.
“There’s another?!?! Oh… My heart…” Soojin clutched her chest like a K-drama lead in the middle of a breakup scene, her voice cracking with exaggerated devastation—but her fingers were spread just enough for me to see her grinning behind them.
“Who the hell is that, Tae? Another client that wants to pull down your pants?!?!” She leaned closer, her breath fogging up her phone screen like she was right there, whispering against my ear.
“It’s… Kim Sejeong actually… The wrestling coach…” I muttered, watching Soojin’s smirk freeze mid-tease.
“Oooh… You mean Mrs. Muscles?!?” She teased, but I could hear the edge in her voice, the way her fingers twitched against the screen.
“What about her, Tae? You don’t look like you’re getting hard being alone with her…” She scoffed, but her voice cracked—just enough for me to catch it.
“I mean… W-Well… The thing is… I heard a rumour…” I hesitated, my grip tightening around my phone.
“There’s a rumour between us in the gym that she is seeing Han Eunsu-nim… The Dark Horse…” I muttered, watching Soojin’s teasing smirk flicker like a faulty neon sign. Her fingers froze mid-air, her nails—usually sharp enough to leave marks—now just hovering there, twitching.
“Han Eunsu? You mean that guy who did that viral knockout in China?” she breathed, her voice suddenly smaller, tighter.
I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering against my throat. “Yeah. The same guy who’s supposedly the ex-boyfriend of Queen Minnie of Thailand. His next fight is in Bangkok later on her birthday.” I exhaled sharply, watching Soojin’s pupils dilate—her teasing smirk gone, replaced by something raw and curious.
“Wow… That’s quite the connection,” Soojin murmured, her earlier teasing tone dissolving into something softer, more intrigued. Her fingers tapped absently against her chin, her gaze unfocused for a moment—like she was piecing together some scandalous puzzle in her head.
“But rumors are rumors, Tae… You already know gossip and I don’t have a great history,” Soojin muttered, her voice suddenly brittle.
The playful tease in her tone evaporated—like someone had flipped a switch. Her fingers curled into loose fists, knuckles pressing white against her thighs. I remembered then, sharp as glass: the headlines, the leaked texts, the way Square Entertainment dropped her like a burning coal overnight. All because of school bullying she did at a time when we were still immature and foolish.
“But you already know how it is right? If there is no smoke, there is no fire.” She scoffed, her fingers tightening around her phone—her nails digging into the case.
“And with that… I have to get back to *rehearsals* with AJ… See ya…”
“H-Hey!” I barked into the phone, but the screen went black before I could finish—Soojin had hung up mid-sentence, leaving me staring at my own reflection in the darkened screen.
My jaw clenched so hard I tasted copper. The bus lurched again, throwing me forward, and I barely caught myself before my face smacked into the seat in front of me.
I looked outside only to find myself already in my stop—Gugudan Academy. The bus doors hissed open, releasing me into the humid Seoul afternoon. My gym bag slapped against my thigh as I strode toward the entrance, Seojin’s words still coiled around my brain like barbed wire. The automatic doors slid apart, and the sharp scent of disinfectant mixed with sweat punched me in the face.
“Ah! There you are, Tae…” Sejeong Noona’s voice echoed across the mats, sharper than usual—like she’d been waiting too long.
“Don’t take too long getting dressed up… Showers are that way… I’ll be waiting…”
“Yes, ma'am…”
The locker room smelled like stale soap and old sweat, the kind that clung to the walls no matter how many times they sprayed it down. I peeled off my shirt, the fabric sticking to my skin with the kind of dampness that only Seoul humidity could produce. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering just enough to make my reflection in the mirrors look jagged—like I was already halfway to falling apart.
I’m getting ready to train, but my mind still can’t get Soojin off my head, the thought of her finally paying me back after all this time. I still couldn’t believe it! Soojin was finally letting someone hit on her, some guy named AJ who was part of a dance crew in LA. She said they were here for a couple of weeks for a special seminar between J Perfect dance academy and their crew.
She has been talking about a guy getting too close to her, clearly making a move like I used to—but this time, *I’m* the one left gripping my phone too tight while she laughs, sharp and knowing. The weight of her smirk settles in my gut like a dull blade twisting slowly, deliberately. I’ve done this to her before—flaunted my conquests, watched her jaw tighten—but now, tasting my own medicine? It burns hotter than any training session.
I thought, Oh lord, I better make this all worth it when I’m done in Singapore. That bitch is so gonna get it!
“Taehyuna! Are you getting out or what?!?”
“Y-Yes, sunbae!” I barked out, nearly slipping on the tiles as I scrambled out the stall.
I made my way back and Noona was already doing some laps on the mat, warming up and stretching. Her usual playful smirk was gone—replaced by a sharp, focused glare that pinned me in place the moment I stepped onto the mats.
Her muscles flexed under her tight rash guard as she rolled her shoulders, the veins in her forearms popping with every deliberate movement. This wasn’t the teasing coach who’d laugh when I fumbled a takedown—this was Kim Sejeong, the local MMA champion who ragdolled bitches for fun.
“Hundred laps for being late… Go!” She didn’t even look up—just jerked her chin toward the far end of the gym where the timer was already counting down.
Her voice was flat, stripped of all the playful warmth she’d used during our last session. I opened my mouth to protest, but the icy flick of her eyes toward me snapped my jaw shut. This wasn’t a negotiation. The mat felt like concrete under my bare feet as I took off at a dead sprint, the burn in my lungs immediate and vicious.
I do my laps, each one a blur of sweat and burning muscles, but Sejeong’s gaze weighs heavier than the exhaustion. By the fiftieth lap, my legs were starting to shake—not just from exertion, but from the way she watched me, arms crossed, her sharp eyes tracing every stumble.
“Palli!” she barked, voice cutting through the gym’s stale air like a knife.
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