Interlude! : "Jealousy in the Secret Room"

The first rays of golden morning sunlight had barely pierced the heavy blackout curtains of the Twice dormitory, casting long, sharp slivers of light across the hardwood floor. The air was still thick with the quiet, rhythmic breathing of exhausted idols, the scent of expensive lavender sleep-mists, and the lingering chill of the overnight air conditioning. It was a time for rest, a time when the world demanded nothing of them. But there was no time for a slow, groggy awakening. Not today. No time for the first cup of black coffee, no time for a quiet moment of reflection, and certainly no time for a quick wash.

Because today was Tuesday.

And for Minatozaki Sana, Tuesday was not just a day of the week. It was a religion.

She was already awake, her green-brown eyes bright and manic with an energy that bordered on feral. She stood in front of her full-length mirror, adjusting her outfit with trembling, eager hands. She wore a light pink, textured, cropped long-sleeved top, the fabric embossed with small, intricate patterns that clung perfectly to her B-cup breasts. A daring cutout at the center of her chest revealed a tantalizing glimpse of pale cleavage, the skin already flushed with a warm, rising heat. Below, she wore white, loose-fitting sweatpants with a tight elastic waistband that rode low on her hips, showcasing the smooth, toned expanse of her stomach. Her light blonde, shoulder-length hair was styled perfectly straight, framing a face that was practically glowing with what the other members privately referred to as her "nymphe main character syndrome."

She couldn't contain it. She didn't want to.

Sana bounded out of her bedroom, her bare feet padding softly but rapidly against the floorboards. She was a girl possessed, a squirrel vibrating on a frequency of pure, unadulterated lust. She hopped down the hallway, throwing open the door to Momo and Jeongyeon’s shared room.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up!" Sana sang out, her voice a sugary, melodic trill that shattered the morning silence. She threw herself onto the foot of Momo’s bed, bouncing the mattress violently. "Do you know what day it is? It’s Tuesday! The absolute best day of the entire week!"

Momo groaned, pulling a pillow over her head, her voice muffled and raspy with sleep. "Sana, please. My whole lower body is still throbbing from yesterday. Give me five more minutes before you start screaming about your sex life."

Sana giggled, a bright, bubbly sound that entirely lacked sympathy. She crawled up the bed, ripping the pillow away from Momo’s face. "Oh, poor Momo! But you didn't break him, did you? I know you didn't. You never do. He’s a machine. And today, that machine belongs entirely to me. My name is on the schedule. By midnight, I won't be able to walk, I won't be able to think, and my mouth is going to be so full of him I won't even be able to sing tomorrow!"

"God, you’re so filthy before breakfast," Jeongyeon muttered from the other bed, her eyes still squeezed shut. "We get it, Sana. You love getting your brains fucked out on Tuesdays. Just let us sleep."

Sana hopped off the bed, her hips giving an involuntary little roll at the thought of what awaited her. "I’m just reminding you to appreciate the day! Tuesdays are magical!"

Her explicit, unfiltered energy continued as she practically danced through the dorm, making sure every single member knew exactly what was on her agenda. But the moment they stepped out of the private sanctuary of their dorm and into the presence of their managers, stylists, and security detail, a switch flipped.

As they walked through the underground parking garage toward their waiting black van, a stylist offered Sana a sleepy smile. "You look energetic today, Sana-ssi."

Sana offered a perfectly constructed, sweet, idol-ready smile, tilting her head innocently. "Oh, I just really love Tuesdays! It’s such a great day! I always feel so refreshed!" Behind her, Nayeon rolled her eyes so hard it physically hurt, exchanging a knowing, exhausted look with Jihyo. They all knew exactly why she was refreshed, but the staff remained blissfully ignorant of the absolute depravity waiting for them in the JYP building.

Once they were safely inside the massive, partitioned VIP van, the heavy privacy screen sliding shut to separate them from the driver and the front-seat managers, the sweet facade instantly dissolved. The back of the van was a luxurious, soundproof bubble of leather and tinted glass, smelling faintly of expensive perfumes and iced Americanos.

Sana draped herself across the plush back seat, kicking her long legs over Tzuyu’s lap, entirely ignoring the maknae's sigh of annoyance.

"I swear," Sana began, fanning her flushed face with her hand, "I could already feel my pussy throbbing the second I put these sweatpants on. Do you think he’s going to make me strip the second I walk through the mirror, or is he going to make me dance for him first?"

"Sana, please, we literally just woke up," Mina murmured softly, resting her forehead against the cool glass of the window.

"I can't help it!" Sana whined playfully, turning her bright, predatory gaze toward Momo. "I know you tried your best yesterday, Momo-chan. I know you tried to drain him dry. But let’s be honest. Nobody drains Y/N. I bet his balls are already heavy again, just waiting to fill my throat. I’m going to milk every last drop out of that beautiful, thick eighteen-centimeter cock until he's begging me to stop."

Momo smirked sleepily, stretching her sore legs. "He never begs, Sana. He just takes. But good luck trying to ruin him. You’re going to need it. He was a beast yesterday. He stretched my Japanese cunt so hard I thought he was going to split me in half."

The blunt, filthy banter hung in the cool, air-conditioned air of the van. The others brushed it off with groans and eye rolls, but deep down, a heavy, secret tension settled over all of them. They were all exactly like Sana behind closed doors; they were all hopelessly, helplessly addicted to the strict, dominant European trainer who had systematically conquered their entire group. The only difference was that Sana simply couldn't keep her mouth shut about it. She thrived on the attention. She had a desperate, clawing need to be the main character of this twisted, beautiful harem.

When they finally arrived at the JYP building, the heavy double doors of the main dance studio swung open to reveal the man himself.

Y/N stood at the front of the room, adjusting the massive sound system. He was a towering monument of strict, unyielding masculinity. At 188 centimeters and 90 kilograms of pure, densely packed muscle, he commanded the room without saying a word. He wore his signature black Adidas training suit, the white stripes emphasizing the broad span of his shoulders and the thick, powerful columns of his legs. His short black hair was styled immaculately, and his dark brown eyes were sharp, alert, and terrifyingly perceptive.

Sana’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart hammered a violent, frantic rhythm against her ribs. She looked at him—strong, fresh, radiating an aura of total control. Momo hadn't broken him. He looked like he could fuck them all right there on the hardwood floor and still have the stamina to run a marathon. A wicked, irrepressible grin spread across her lips, and a soft, breathy chuckle escaped her.

"Good morning, Y/N Oppa," Sana purred, her voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness that completely masked the absolute filth running through her mind.

Y/N turned, his brown eyes locking onto hers. He saw the flush on her chest, the way the light pink cutout of her top framed her cleavage, the way her hips naturally tilted toward him. He knew exactly what she was doing. He knew what day it was.

"Positions, girls. We’re starting from the top of the bridge," Y/N commanded, his voice a low, booming rumble that vibrated through the floorboards and straight up Sana’s thighs.

The dance class was a grueling, sweat-drenched affair. The air in the studio grew heavy and thick, smelling of ozone, heated skin, and the sweet, floral perfumes the girls wore. But for Sana, it wasn't a workout; it was a four-hour foreplay session.

You could always tell it was Tuesday by the way Sana moved. She danced entirely differently. Every pop of her hips, every arch of her spine, every slow, deliberate drag of her hands down her own body was calculated, targeted entirely at the man in the Adidas suit. She was trying to turn him on before it was even her turn. She locked eyes with him through the massive mirror, biting her plush lower lip, letting her chest heave exaggeratedly as she caught her breath. You could practically see the wet heat building between her thighs just from the anticipation of what was coming after class.

And Y/N loved it. He would never admit it to the others, but what he loved most about Sana was this exact, squirrel-like, erratic, highly-charged nature. She was always on the go, a constant, buzzing wire of electricity. Unlike some of the other girls who approached the secret room with a sense of nervous submission or quiet duty, Sana demanded it. She would never, ever skip her Tuesday routine. He had noticed it everywhere—the way she would discreetly rub her thigh against his during van rides, the filthy, lingering eye contact during photoshoots, the way she brazenly flaunted her body just for him.

Finally, the grueling rehearsal came to an end. The girls collapsed onto the floor, panting and chugging water, waving their goodbyes as they slowly filed out of the studio to hit the showers or grab lunch.

Sana didn't leave. She waited until the heavy studio doors clicked shut, locking them inside.

The silence that fell over the massive room was deafening, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning and her own ragged breathing. She turned to the mirror wall, approaching the hidden pressure plate. With a soft, practiced push, the invisible seam gave way, the mirror swinging inward like a vault door.

She stepped into the secret room—the cozy little nest that was Twice’s ultimate downfall.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. The sterile, bright lights of the dance studio were replaced by the warm, flickering, golden glow of dozens of expensive candles scattered around the room. The scent of melting vanilla wax, rich amber, and Y/N’s lingering, woodsy cologne was intoxicating. The room was meticulously climate-controlled, a perfect, comfortable temperature that sent a shiver over her sweat-dampened skin. There was the plush velvet sofa, the massive 52-inch TV, the small stocked fridge, and the large, luxurious bed in the corner, covered in dark, ruined silk sheets that held the phantom memories of a hundred orgasms.

And taking up the entirety of the far wall was the masterpiece: the weekly schedule. It was a corkboard shrine to Y/N’s absolute dominance, listing the days each idol was lucky enough to be claimed by him, surrounded by an absolute sea of illicit Polaroids. Photos that would make any fan foam at the mouth and empty their bank accounts. Candids of the world's most famous idols in states of total, explicit debasement—girls in sheer, soaked underwear, naked bodies arched in pleasure, close-ups of dripping pussies and bruised tits, mouths smeared with thick white cum, faces flushed and ruined. It was a visual catalog of his conquests, taken in hotel rooms, dorms, vans, and backstage dressing rooms.

Sana didn't even wait for Y/N to fully enter the room. The moment the secret door closed, sealing them in, she began to strip.

She pulled the light pink textured top over her head, tossing it carelessly onto the velvet sofa. She hooked her thumbs into the elastic waistband of her white sweatpants and shoved them down her legs, kicking them away. Within five seconds, she was standing in the center of the golden-lit room wearing nothing but a matching set of delicate, sheer white lace panties and a tiny, useless bra that barely contained her B-cups.

She walked over to the small fridge, popping open a can of sparkling water. She took a slow, deliberate sip, the cold condensation dripping down her fingers. She turned to face the door.

Y/N was standing there, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He watched her, his dark brown eyes taking in the sight of her standing in her underwear, sipping her drink, and grinning at him with a look of absolute, feral lust, mixed with that trademark, dangerous touch of innocent sweetness.

He uncrossed his arms and pushed off the doorframe. He walked slowly toward her, his heavy footsteps muffled by the thick rug. He moved like a predator closing in on a cornered, willing prey.

As he reached her, Sana didn't hesitate. She dropped the can onto a side table, the metal clattering loudly. She threw her arms around his thick, muscular neck and launched herself upward. She lifted her hips, her 163-centimeter frame suddenly towering over his 188 centimeters as she wrapped her bare legs tightly around his waist.

Y/N caught her effortlessly. His large, strong hands immediately clamped down on her bare, soft ass cheeks, his fingers digging into the flesh through the sheer white lace to steady her weight. He pressed her deeply into his pelvis, letting her feel the hard, thick, unyielding ridge of his erection straining against the fabric of his Adidas pants.

They collided.

Their lips smashed together in a passionate, desperate, wet kiss. It was an explosion of pent-up tension. Sana opened her mouth eagerly, her tongue darting out to meet his, tasting the mint and the dark, earthy musk of his breath. She kissed him like a starving woman, her head tilting, her teeth gently grazing his lower lip. She whimpered into his mouth, her body humming with electrical energy as the heat radiated rapidly between them.

She broke the kiss for just a fraction of a second, her lips hovering millimeters from his, her breath ghosting over his skin.

"I’ve been looking forward to this all week, Oppa," she whispered, her voice a breathless, raspy purr. "But especially since this morning. The moment I woke up, I was already wet for you."

Y/N smiled, a dark, incredibly sexy smirk that made her stomach do a violent flip. He squeezed her ass harder, lifting her slightly higher.

"You’re lucky you’re so cute, squirrel," he growled, his voice a heavy vibration against her chest. "Otherwise, I’d have thrown you out of the studio hours ago for that filthy little mouth of yours. You’re too obvious."

Sana’s green-brown eyes flashed with a wicked, triumphant light. She leaned in, her nose brushing his. "You love my mouth. Don't lie to me."