Chapter 62: Morning Light

Ji-hye stirred beneath the sheets, the hazy pull of a dream giving way to the slow, dawning awareness of morning. Her body shifted slightly, and that’s when she felt it—warm skin pressed against hers, a steady breath brushing the top of her hair. Her bare thigh slid against something firm. Someone’s arm was draped around her waist. It wasn’t a pillow. Her lashes fluttered open. Early sunlight bled softly through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold. She turned her head and stilled. Joon-ho. Her cheek had been resting against his chest. She was tucked into him like a blanket, limbs tangled, her body half-draped over his. His arm had her pulled close like it had been that way all night. Ji-hye’s eyes widened as the memories returned in blurry fragments—being carried, mumbling something about her legs not working, asking him to undress her... Oh god. She froze. Had she said anything else? Done anything? Her hand gently slid down his chest, feather-light, as if trying to piece it together through touch. She didn’t think they’d done anything—not fully. But he’d seen her, undressed her, tucked her in... And now she was pressed flush against him, with nothing but her underwear between them. "Are you done inspecting my chest yet?" came his voice—low, amused, and very much awake. Ji-hye jumped, blushing furiously. "You were awake?!" "I was. Since you started squirming. But I didn’t mind." She stared at him, lips parting, unsure if she wanted to yell or hide under the blankets. Then his hand moved, sliding up her back in a slow stroke. He leaned forward and kissed her—softly, unhurried, lips brushing hers with warm morning tenderness. Ji-hye melted into it. Her hand found his shoulder, her fingers curled. When they broke apart, her cheeks were still pink. "I still... I can’t believe Mom approved." Joon-ho smiled gently. "Believe it. She loves you." "And she didn’t even hit you." "She considered it." They both chuckled. They eventually peeled away from each other and rolled out of bed. Joon-ho pulled on his pants and shirt from the night before. Ji-hye tugged on a fitted activewear top and shorts from her gym bag. The morning was quiet—eerily so. Downstairs, the villa still slept. The hallway lights were off, the living room empty. "I’m going for a run," Ji-hye said, tying her hair into a ponytail. "I’ll start breakfast," Joon-ho said, watching her stretch by the door. "How long will you be?" "About thirty minutes. Maybe less." She paused, leaned up, and kissed him again. "Thank you. For everything." Then she slipped out the front door into the soft glow of early dawn. Ji-hye jogged along the paved path that circled the national training complex, her steps light, almost buoyant. The world was still wrapped in early morning silence—the kind that only existed between the last yawn of night and the first stirrings of day. Dew clung to the neatly trimmed grass along the trail, glistening like crystals in the pale blue light. The air was cool and fresh, tinged with the faint scent of pine from the trees lining the campus. With every inhale, her lungs filled with the clean morning chill; with every exhale, tension melted from her shoulders. Her ponytail bounced behind her in rhythm with her strides, the floral dress replaced now by a fitted sports bra and shorts that allowed full freedom of movement. Her legs pumped steadily, her breath even, and for the first time in a long while, her muscles didn’t scream with resistance. They flowed. Worked. Responded. It feels good again, she thought. She rounded a bend and turned into the small park at the back of the complex—a secluded spot ringed by trees and benches, with a few basic workout stations sprinkled around. It was the same place she always used to stop, back when the weight of her injury made her pause more often than she liked. She slowed to a walk, then stopped by a tree and raised her arms toward the sky in a long, languid stretch. Her ribs expanded with the deep inhale. She twisted at the waist, felt the gentle pull in her side, then dipped into lunges, alternating legs with precise control. Her thoughts drifted as her body moved through familiar stretches. Everything had changed. In just a few days, her entire world had shifted. She’d slept with Joon-ho. Not in some reckless, drunken slip—but with intention. With want. She’d surrendered herself to him in a way that both scared and grounded her. She’d admitted she was his. One of his women. That thought should’ve left her confused, uncertain, defensive. But instead, it felt... natural. What surprised her most wasn’t the intimacy. It was the acceptance. Her mother—Coach Min, the iron wall of her life—had not only found out but had approved. She still couldn’t believe it. It played over in her head like a surreal dream. That hug, her mother calling Joon-ho "a good man" even while scolding her. A laugh slipped out of her mouth, breathless and genuine. She did a few short jumps, testing her vertical. Her knees absorbed the impact cleanly. No pain. No twinge. No hesitation. Her body had returned. But it wasn’t just that. The fracture inside her—emotional, mental—had mended too. The fear, the doubt, the shame... they no longer sat so heavily on her spine. She’d carried the weight of expectation, national pride, and her mother’s ambitions on her shoulders for years. But now, something had shifted. She wasn’t alone. She had Harin’s blunt encouragement. Her mother’s reluctant approval. And Joon-ho’s presence—firm, steady, unyielding when she faltered. That mattered. More than she’d ever admitted. Another stretch. Another breath. She rolled her shoulders, looked up at the brightening sky, and smiled. The world hadn’t changed, but she had. With new strength in her limbs and a lighter spirit, Ji-hye turned on her heel and began the jog back toward the villa. Each step kicked up droplets from the dew-laced path. Her pace was a little faster now, her strides longer, her heart a little fuller. Let today come, she thought. She was ready. Inside, Joon-ho stirred a bubbling pot while slicing fruit on a wooden board. The smell of doenjang hung in the air again, warm and grounding. He set out three plates and brewed a pot of tea. From behind, slow, dragging footsteps echoed. Coach Min appeared, wrapped in a loose sweater, hair still dishevelled from sleep. She slumped into the dining chair with a groan. "Morning," she muttered. "Hangover?" Joon-ho asked with a half-smile. "I’m too old for that much soju." He poured her a steaming cup of tea and handed it over without a word. She sipped gratefully. The front door creaked open. Ji-hye walked in, face flushed from the run, skin glistening with sweat. "Morning, Mom," she said cheerfully, sitting beside her. "You look too alive for this hour." "I ran. It helped." Joon-ho served breakfast—rice, banchan, scrambled eggs, and mild broth. Coach Min perked up the moment the food hit the table. Ji-hye glanced at the empty seat. "Where’s Harin?" "Still asleep," Joon-ho said. "I’ll get her." Upstairs, he knocked lightly before entering. Harin was sprawled sideways on the bed, blanket tossed off, her long legs tangled, and wearing only her panties. One arm dangled off the edge like a defeated soldier. He moved to the side and gently shook her shoulder. "Harin. Time to wake up." She groaned dramatically, pulling a pillow over her head. "I’m dead. Come back later." "Harin." "...If you carry me, I’ll go." He rolled his eyes. "Fine." She peeked out, eyes puffy, smile lazy. "Wait. First hug." He bent down, and she curled her arms around his neck. "Mmm. Okay. I forgive you for the hangover." He helped her into one of his oversized shirts and guided her slowly downstairs. The breakfast table was a comforting mess of half-finished dishes, clinking utensils, and sleepy faces. The comforting aroma of doenjang soup lingered in the warm morning air, mixing with the faint citrus tang of freshly sliced oranges. Harin sat hunched over her plate like a zombie in pajamas, toast half-chewed, hair still tousled from sleep. She sipped slowly on her hangover tea, eyes half-lidded as if her soul hadn’t fully caught up with her body. Ji-hye moved with a quiet attentiveness, gently refilling her mother’s teacup with the calm grace of someone both guilty and grateful. There was something unusually serene about her this morning—her steps light, her face flushed just enough from her run, her entire presence quietly radiant. Joon-ho emerged from the kitchen once more with a small tray of snacks—sliced oranges fanned neatly, a bowl of warm seaweed soup, and soft rice cakes in case anyone still had room to eat. Coach Min sat upright at the head of the table, her eyes sharper now, the sleep and soju haze from the night before fully gone. She pushed her empty bowl forward and cleared her throat slightly. "You’ve got a practice match today," she said, tone slipping back into coach mode. "Internal scrimmage. Don’t half-ass the warm-up. You’ve been getting complacent when it comes to stretching." Ji-hye wiped her lips with a napkin and nodded quickly. "Got it. I’ll go hard." "You better," her mother replied, reaching for a slice of orange but glancing at her daughter mid-reach. "And don’t think that just because I said yes to this whole... boyfriend situation, you get to slack off now." Ji-hye hesitated—just for a second—before her eyes flicked toward Joon-ho. He was buttering a piece of toast for Harin, casual as ever, but when he felt Ji-hye’s gaze, he met her eyes with a soft, knowing look. Coach Min didn’t miss the exchange. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, though there was no real venom behind it. "You better play well today. If you screw up your timing or forget your positioning because your head’s stuck in a romance drama, I swear I’ll revoke your dating privileges." Ji-hye grinned, cheeks flushed. "Yes, Coach." That got a laugh out of Harin, a dry chuckle from Joon-ho, and even a reluctant smirk from Coach Min. For a few moments, the kitchen filled with quiet joy—nothing grand, nothing dramatic. Just low laughter, the scrape of chopsticks, the soft clinks of ceramic bowls, and the golden morning light pouring through the wide windows. It was peaceful. Comfortable. For once, it felt like the perfect start to a day.