Chapter 60: Mother’s Approval

When the front door clicked shut behind them, the air inside the villa shifted—sharp, still, and heavy with expectation. Coach Min sat upright on the living room sofa like a storm waiting to break. Arms crossed, her back straight, her sharp eyes locked onto the entrance the moment they stepped in. The television was off, no tea set out on the table, no signs of casual hospitality. This wasn’t a drop-by visit. This was an ambush. Ji-hye froze mid-step. Her heart lurched painfully in her chest. She hadn’t seen her mother since yesterday. And now she was here. Not at the training center. Not at the gym. But here, in the villa Ji-hye shared with Joon-ho and Harin. At their home. Her fingers curled tightly into the soft folds of her dress, knuckles pale. "Coach Min..." she said quietly, the words catching in her throat. The older woman’s gaze remained cold and unreadable. "You know why I’m here." Ji-hye nodded, her throat thick. There was no point in pretending. "I saw the photos," Coach Min added, voice low but steely. "The ones going around SNS this afternoon." The tension in the room thickened. Ji-hye looked down at her feet, guilt gnawing at the pit of her stomach. She’d been so caught up in the warmth of the moment—laughter, food, easy smiles. She hadn’t once thought about who might be watching, who might recognize her, who might post about it. "Joon-ho," Coach Min said finally, her eyes still locked onto Ji-hye, "I’d like to speak with you privately." There was no room for negotiation in her tone. "Of course," Joon-ho replied calmly from behind them. His voice was smooth, completely unfazed. He stepped forward without hesitation, slipping past Ji-hye as if this was just another appointment. Harin, sensing the sharp edge of tension slicing through the room, reached out gently. Her fingers brushed Ji-hye’s forearm, grounding her. "Come on," she said in a soft whisper. "Let them talk. It’ll be okay." Ji-hye didn’t move at first. Her eyes flicked between her mother and Joon-ho, searching for some kind of sign, a clue about what would happen next. Joon-ho caught her glance and gave her a small, reassuring smile—so calm, so infuriatingly composed. Harin tugged lightly, and Ji-hye let herself be guided down the hallway. But as she walked, she couldn’t help but look back. Joon-ho was lowering himself into the seat across from Coach Min, his posture relaxed but alert, like a man fully aware he was about to be interrogated—but not at all afraid of it. The door to the bedroom clicked shut behind her and Harin. And Ji-hye’s heart thundered in her ears. In the living room, the silence stretched like a drawn bowstring before Coach Min finally released it with a sharp breath. "Your face is all over SNS today," she said flatly. Her tone carried no emotion, but her words hit like stones. "Ji-hye, smiling like a teenager on a first date. You feeding her meat. Her laughing like she’s in a damn drama scene." Joon-ho didn’t flinch. He sat with one leg casually crossed, hands resting loosely on his knee. "I saw. It wasn’t intentional." "Of course not," Coach Min replied, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Everything on the internet just happens by accident. Luckily, netizens seem to accept the ’therapist’ narrative. For now." She leaned back, folding her arms. Her eyes didn’t move from him. "You know what kind of pressure she’s under. She’s not some rookie on her first season. She’s one of the faces of Korean volleyball. The federation monitors her. Sponsors follow her image like hawks. One slip, one scandal, and she could lose everything. It’s not just her career—it’s the trust we’ve built around her name." Joon-ho met her gaze evenly, calm as ever. "Understood. I’ll be more discreet. In public." Coach Min studied him in silence, her brows pinched, lips tight. "Yura warned me about you. Said you’re good—very good—but also..." She hesitated, trying to find the right word. "Tempting. That women tend to fall for you. That you don’t exactly push them away." He chuckled lightly, not mocking—just amused. "Yura likes dramatic warnings. She also said I was the best for Ji-hye’s condition. Both physically... and emotionally." "She also said you were trouble," Coach Min snapped. "That you don’t just heal—people get attached." "I never pretend to be someone I’m not," he said simply. "I help the way I know how. Ji-hye responded to it. And it’s not one-sided." Coach Min narrowed her eyes. "Did Ji-hye sleep with you?" "Yes," he answered without pause. His tone was calm, direct, without an ounce of guilt. "She’s not a fling. She’s one of my women." Coach Min stared at him like he’d grown a second head. "You say that like it’s perfectly normal." "To me, it is," he said. "But I know it’s not the norm for everyone. I’m not asking for your approval. Just your understanding that I care for her. I won’t put her at risk." A long silence followed. Coach Min exhaled and rubbed her temple slowly, as if trying to push away a headache. "You talk like you’re above all this," she said. "Like consequences are something other people deal with." "I deal with mine," he said quietly. "Always have." Coach Min’s expression softened—barely. "I don’t like you," she admitted. "You’re too smooth. Too unreadable. I’ve dealt with a lot of men who think they can play with athletes’ lives like they’re side characters in their story. I’m not letting that happen to Ji-hye." "She’s not a side character to me," Joon-ho said. "She’s someone I respect. Someone I care about. I’m not here to play house. I’m here because she needs support that no one else gave her. You’ve seen the change." Her jaw tensed, but she gave a stiff nod. "She’s stronger. Her reaction time is faster. She’s not dragging her ankle anymore. And mentally? She’s different. More open. She’s talking to her teammates again. Laughing." Joon-ho said nothing. He didn’t need to. Coach Min finally stood, arms at her sides. "I still don’t like your attitude. But I can’t argue with your results. So whatever unconventional therapy you’re doing, it’s working." She paused at the edge of the room. "Just don’t ruin her. Don’t break her heart in a way I can’t fix." Joon-ho stood as well. "I won’t." Coach Min turned to leave—then stopped. "One more thing. If this ever gets messy—if her name’s dragged through the dirt—I’ll end you. Not professionally. Personally." Joon-ho’s lips curved faintly. "Fair enough." Then, without another word, Coach Min turned and walked toward the hallway—where her daughter was still waiting for the verdict. In the bedroom, Ji-hye sat at the edge of the bed, wringing her hands. "I’m so screwed," she whispered. Harin lay next to her on her stomach, legs kicking lazily in the air. "Relax. He’s handling it." "You don’t get it. Coach Min didn’t approve of my last boyfriend either. And she was right. He got caught cheating and in some shady scandal a month after we broke up." "Exactly. She was right then," Harin said, nudging her arm. "But this is different. Joon-ho’s not some fame-chasing idol. He doesn’t care about clout." Ji-hye gave a nervous sigh. "Still... if she tells me to stop, I won’t be able to say no. She’s not just my coach. She’s my mom." Just then, a knock came at the door. "Ji-hye," Coach Min’s voice called from the hall. "Come to the living room." Ji-hye rose, legs stiff, stomach twisted into anxious knots. She stepped out, Harin following behind quietly. In the living room, Joon-ho was in the open kitchen, back turned as he prepped something quietly. Coach Min sat alone on the couch, serious. Harin gave Ji-hye’s hand a supportive squeeze, then walked into the kitchen to join Joon-ho, giving them space. Ji-hye approached cautiously. Coach Min patted the cushion next to her. "Sit." Ji-hye did, shoulders tense. "I know," Coach Min said quietly. "About your relationship with him." Ji-hye’s eyes widened, breath catching in her throat. "I—I..." "It’s okay." Coach Min let out a slow sigh, looking at her daughter. "I looked into him. Yura told me everything—his history, his methods, his... appeal. She warned me." Ji-hye froze, panic rising. But Coach Min just smiled, faint and resigned. "And I can’t lie, I’ve seen it myself. You’re happy. And you’re stronger lately—not just on the court. You’re lighter. Smiling more. Laughing like a girl your age should." Ji-hye’s eyes welled up, lips trembling. "Mom..." Coach Min opened her arms and Ji-hye collapsed into them, wrapping her arms around her mother. "I still want you to succeed," Coach Min said into her hair. "I still want gold. But I also want you to be happy. Just... don’t let love be your weakness. Choose someone who protects you, not someone you have to protect." "He’s good to me," Ji-hye whispered. "I can see that." They sat for a moment in quiet embrace. Then Coach Min pulled back, dabbing at the corner of Ji-hye’s eye. "Just remember, you’re not a civilian. You’re not invisible. Be careful. Don’t get caught slipping, especially with cameras around." Ji-hye nodded quickly. "I will. I promise." From the kitchen, Joon-ho called out, "Dinner’s almost ready." Harin appeared with bowls in her hands. "Stir-fried anchovies, grilled fish, doenjang stew, and kimchi—homestyle comfort food. Come eat, you two." Coach Min chuckled and rose. "Looks like I’m being spoiled tonight." Ji-hye stood beside her, cheeks still pink from crying, but her steps lighter. Joon-ho glanced at her as she walked into the dining space and gave her a small nod. She smiled back. And for the first time in a long while, Ji-hye felt like her two worlds—home and sport, love and ambition—weren’t fighting each other anymore.