Chapter 63: Whispers in the Locker Room

The next few days blurred into one relentless rhythm of drills, sprints, and strategy sessions. The qualifying match was coming—the match that would determine whether they would go to the Olympics or watch it from home. The weight of that reality pressed on every player, sharpening their movements, hardening their focus. The court was alive with energy that morning. Sneakers squeaked across polished wood, the slap of the ball echoing off the high ceiling. Ji-hye stood at the backline, eyes locked on the opposing side as she served—sharp, low, and fast. The ball curved just over the net, catching their libero off guard. Point. Her teammates cheered, but there was no time to relax. The next rally began, and Ji-hye dropped into a perfect receive, setting up a blistering spike from the middle. Sweat ran down her temple as she reset for the next play. Coach Min kept rotating lineups, forcing them to adapt to different combinations. The pace was punishing—serve, receive, spike, block, repeat—until their muscles screamed. On the sideline, Joon-ho and Harin sat together, watching closely. Harin leaned in now and then, making quiet remarks that earned the smallest of smirks from him. He never took his eyes off Ji-hye, tracking every jump, every landing. By the time the whistle blew for the afternoon break, Ji-hye’s legs were burning. She barely had time to grab water before she was being waved over by Joon-ho. "Physio," he said simply, already moving toward the treatment room. His tone was calm and professional, but the faint curve at the corner of his mouth made her stomach dip. Ji-hye followed, the faint echo of their footsteps muffled by the padded hallway floor. Inside, the treatment room smelled faintly of eucalyptus and clean linen. She climbed onto the table, lying face down, the paper sheet crinkling under her as she exhaled slowly. His hands were warm the moment they touched her calves—broad, steady, and unhurried. He started low, kneading slow circles into the muscle, pushing away the dull ache from hours of play. Every movement was purposeful—more therapy than temptation—but she could feel the heat building under her skin all the same. When his thumbs pressed up along her hamstrings, her breath caught in her throat. She focused on the faint hum of the air conditioner, on the muted voices of other players passing outside, on anything that wasn’t the way his fingers seemed to know exactly where to apply pressure. Her shoulders loosened under his palms, the tension melting away as if he were unwinding her piece by piece. She bit her lip, trying not to think about the other times he’d touched her like this—when there was no one else in the building, no practice schedule, no rules. Then his hands slid higher, tracing the line of her lower back before stopping at the base of her spine. He lingered there—just long enough for her pulse to quicken—before moving on, working up to her neck. Ji-hye’s breathing was steady on the outside, but inside she was fighting the pull of memory, of wanting. This wasn’t the villa. This was the training camp. She needed to keep her mind on the qualifiers, on her team, not on the man whose touch could unravel her in minutes. When he finally stepped back, she pushed herself upright slowly, rolling her shoulders. "Thanks," she murmured, her voice even, though her eyes betrayed a faint glimmer of something unspoken—an echo of everything they weren’t saying. He met her gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly. "Go shower," he said, almost as if reading her mind. "You’ll need to rest for tomorrow." She headed for the locker room, the post-practice fatigue making her limbs heavy but satisfied. Her skin still glistened with sweat, the faint ache in her muscles a pleasant reminder of the intense scrimmage. The moment she stepped inside, the humid air hit her—thick with the mingled scent of sweat, shampoo, and damp towels. The hum of hairdryers and chatter from teammates filled the space. Ji-hye moved toward her locker, peeling off her damp jersey, the cool air brushing over her flushed skin. She tugged her shorts down, standing in just her sports bra and compression shorts, the snug fabric clinging to her toned frame. That was when she noticed it—the way the noise in the room shifted. Conversations dropped in volume. Heads turned. Three seniors and two juniors had paused mid-change, their eyes tracking her every move. The air felt different now—charged. "So..." one senior drawled, leaning lazily against a locker, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. "You and that guy. The one from those mall pictures. Care to explain?" Ji-hye froze, one hand still on the locker door. "What?" "You know exactly what," another senior chimed in, voice laced with amusement. "SNS is flooded with your smiling face. He’s feeding you grilled meat, and you’re looking at him like you’re in the final episode of a romance drama." "I—It’s nothing—" She didn’t get to finish. Her oldest senior moved in without a sound, the way a cat stalks a cornered bird. Warm arms slid around Ji-hye’s torso from behind, pulling her tight against a firm, taller frame. At first, it could almost be mistaken for a protective embrace—until her hands began to move. Starting low, the senior’s palms rose beneath Ji-hye’s breasts, lifting them gently as if weighing them in her hands. She gave a slow, deliberate squeeze, fingers flexing into the soft give of her chest. "Hmmm..." the senior hummed against her ear, her voice dripping with mischief. "Feels like you’ve gotten bigger..." "Unnie—!" Ji-hye gasped, stiffening. Heat surged up her neck, her heartbeat thudding in her ears. The senior chuckled, unfazed by her protest. Her thumbs swept upward in lazy arcs, dragging across the curve of Ji-hye’s breasts until they reached the tips. There, she paused—then began to rub slow circles over the fabric, coaxing the tight peaks into harder, more obvious points. Ji-hye bit her lip, her breathing starting to falter. The thin Lycra of her sports bra did nothing to hide the way her nipples were straining now, every faint brush sending a jolt down her spine. "And look at this..." the senior murmured with mock surprise, her thumbs flicking lightly over the swollen tips. She teased them in alternating strokes, then began rolling one gently between thumb and forefinger, testing its firmness. A ripple of laughter spread through the locker room, low and knowing. "Oh? Sensitive today?" another senior chimed in, stepping forward. Without asking, she reached in and caught the other nipple between her fingers, giving it a deliberate twist before pinching lightly. Ji-hye’s breath hitched audibly. A soft, involuntary sound slipped from her throat before she could choke it back. Her knees bent instinctively, and she pressed her hands over her chest at last, ducking her head to hide the burning flush spreading across her cheeks. "Stop," she muttered, but even to her own ears, it sounded weak—more like a plea than a command. For a heartbeat, the room went still after that sound. Then the grins widened. "Ooooh..." one junior sing-songed, leaning forward on her bench. "That didn’t sound like ’stop’ to me." "Definitely not," another senior smirked. "That was a yes please if I ever heard one." The girl pinching her gave an extra slow twist, just to prove the point. "See? She’s leaning into it now." Ji-hye jerked back with a startled gasp, her cheeks so hot she could feel the heat in her ears. "I’m not—!" "You so are," the oldest senior purred, sliding one hand up to cup her chin while the other stayed possessively curved over her breast. "You’re making noises like a girl who’s been properly fucked lately." That sent a ripple of snickers through the group. "Joon-ho’s got her glowing and moaning in the locker room now," one of the juniors laughed. "What else is he teaching you?" Ji-hye ducked lower, trying to shield herself with her arms, but the circle around her only closed tighter. It wasn’t until the captain finally stepped forward—arms crossed, smirk sharp—that the hands withdrew, leaving Ji-hye breathless and flustered. "Confess," the captain said smoothly, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Or we keep going and see how many more noises you can make." Ji-hye’s stomach tightened. She knew the captain’s tastes well enough—if she didn’t give in, this could escalate. "Yes," she admitted at last, voice so soft it was almost lost to the hum of the dryers. "We’re... together." The reaction was immediate—cheers, teasing shouts, a couple of mock wolf-whistles. "So?" one junior asked eagerly, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "Is he as good as he looks? You know... in bed?" Ji-hye’s face went crimson. "I’m not talking about that." "That’s a yes," a senior sing-songed, her grin wicked. "Her face says everything." Then her youngest teammate—barely hiding her grin—spoke with exaggerated seriousness. "You better make the most of it before the international matches. You’ll have way less time with him than his other women." Ji-hye blinked. "Other... women?" The junior shrugged. "Of course. A guy like that? You think Harin’s the only one? Please. If you want to be number one, you’d better put in the work." The jab landed harder than the rest. Ji-hye’s ears rang with the mix of laughter and whispers. Overwhelmed, she mumbled something under her breath, turned on her heel, and slipped into the showers. Hot water pounded against her skin, steam curling around her. She let it run over her face, drowning out the teasing voices outside. But even with her eyes closed, her thoughts wouldn’t quiet—especially about that last comment.