Chapter 75: The Withering Flower

Ye-rin’s entire body jolted against the treatment bed as Joon-ho’s thumbs dug mercilessly into her thigh again, driving into the line of tension he had mapped earlier. The pressure wasn’t fleeting—it was sustained, grinding down into the knot until her muscles had nowhere to run. Her back arched, hands fisting tight in the sheets. "Ahhh—stop, stop, it hurts!" Her voice cracked, raw with desperation. Joon-ho didn’t so much as glance at her face. His gaze stayed fixed on the fibers beneath his hands, his expression calm, detached. "If you’ve still got the energy to shout at me," he said evenly, "then you’ve got the energy to endure it." "B-but—ahhh!" Her answer was another yelp, half a cry, half a protest. The sound filled the room, bouncing off the sterile white walls. Sweat beaded at her temples, sliding down to dampen her hairline. His knuckles rolled across the hardened knot, unrelenting. Every pass felt like a blunt blade carving fire into her thigh. Ye-rin’s breath came ragged, chest heaving against the mattress as though she’d just sprinted the length of the court. The captain winced from her spot near the wall, muttering under her breath, "God, that sounds brutal..." But Joon-ho continued without pause, his rhythm precise, his palms guiding lower, tracing along the outer line of her thigh until he reached the edge of her pelvis. His tone shifted, softer, but still steady. "This part will feel different." Ye-rin barely had time to brace before his fingers spread over the strained muscles at her hip, thumbs pressing in and rotating with slow, deliberate force. Her reaction was instant. She stiffened, her whole body seizing for a beat, then a sharp gasp ripped free. The pain wasn’t sharp like before—it pulsed, deep and radiating, dull waves that seemed to sink into her bones. "Hhh—ahhh—" Her breath hitched, trembling. "It’s... it’s hot. Warm...!" The warmth spread like liquid fire, radiating outward from where his hands worked. Her face flushed crimson, her jaw clenching as she moaned through grit teeth. Each pulse of pressure dragged another ragged sound from her throat, halfway between pain and reluctant release. Her thighs quivered against the bed, her nails digging crescent marks into the sheets. From the side, Ji-hye’s lips pressed into a thin line. She clenched her hands into her jacket pockets, torn between sympathy for Ye-rin and the sharp sting of seeing her boyfriend’s hands kneading someone else’s body with such relentless focus. "Breathe," Joon-ho instructed, voice low but commanding. "If you fight it, the muscle will resist. Let it go." Ye-rin’s eyes squeezed shut. A broken whimper left her lips as she forced herself to exhale, the sound shuddering out of her chest. The heat only deepened, spreading into her lower back and down the length of her leg like molten waves. "Th-that’s... ahhh—" Another moan escaped her, helpless and strained. "It’s—different. It hurts, but—" She bit down on the rest of her words, teeth sinking into her lip. Joon-ho pressed again, thumbs circling with relentless precision. "Good. That’s the release starting. Endure it." Ye-rin’s body trembled beneath his hands, each new wave of pressure wringing another sound from her throat, until sweat streaked down her neck and soaked into the sheets. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to stop—or never stop at all. From the side, the captain arched a brow, arms folding over her chest as her eyes flicked between Ye-rin writhing on the bed and Ji-hye watching tensely. She leaned closer to Ji-hye, her voice pitched just enough to carry. "When he treated you," the captain asked, sly curiosity dripping from every syllable, "was it really this bad?" Ji-hye shook her head almost instantly, cheeks coloring at the memory. "No. With me, it wasn’t painful. It was... comfortable, actually. So relaxing I almost fell asleep. Like... floating in a cloud." The words slipped out soft, vulnerable, but laced with pride too—like she was staking her claim without even meaning to. Hearing that, Ye-rin twisted her head toward Joon-ho, her voice cutting sharp despite the tremor that accompanied another ragged groan. "Then why the hell can’t you be gentle with me too?!" Her protest cracked into a raw scream as Joon-ho’s thumbs shifted, driving straight into a deep pressure point near her pelvis. Her back bowed violently off the mattress, fingers clawing into the sheets until the fabric bunched beneath her nails. "Because Ji-hye is my woman," Joon-ho said simply, not breaking rhythm, his voice steady, matter-of-fact, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I treat her with care. You, I’m here to fix. Efficiency comes first." The words landed like another spike slamming into the court. The room stilled around them for a beat. Ji-hye’s face went crimson, her heartbeat stuttering into a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She ducked her head, strands of hair falling to hide her expression, but nothing could stop the flush burning her skin or the flutter threatening to spill from her chest. Pride. Embarrassment. Possession. All tangled into one. The captain, naturally, pounced on the moment. A smirk tugged at her lips as she leaned back against the wall, deliberately loud. "Then maybe I should become your woman too, hm? Get the gentle treatment for once." Ji-hye’s head snapped up at that, eyes narrowing into a glare sharp enough to slice. The air between them sparked like a net cord rattling after a hard serve. The captain only laughed, utterly unbothered. "I’m not interested," Joon-ho cut in flatly, still not looking up, his hands pressing firmly into Ye-rin’s pelvis, each motion precise and unrelenting. "I pick my own woman." The blunt certainty in his tone made Ji-hye’s flush deepen until it spread all the way to her ears. Her chest tightened with a rush of heat, equal parts shy and fiercely proud. The captain’s grin faltered for a heartbeat, then curved again—amused, but conceding. Ye-rin, caught in the middle, let out another guttural moan as Joon-ho’s fingers worked deeper. Her face twisted, caught somewhere between agony and reluctant relief. "Hhh—damn it—ahhh—!" And through it all, Ji-hye stood stiff by the wall, heart racing, unable to stop the swell inside her: the sting of jealousy, the warmth of being claimed so openly, the unshakable realization that he hadn’t just said it for her—he meant it. On the bed, Ye-rin let out one last ragged moan as his thumb dug into the final knot. Her whole body trembled, then collapsed back against the mattress, drained. She lay limp, her chest rising and falling as if she’d just come off an exhausting match. Her expression was dazed, weak—like a flower beaten by the rain, petals drooping. The room fell quiet. Coach Min finally stepped closer, her heels clicking softly on the linoleum floor as the low hum of the fluorescent lights filled the silence. Her gaze lingered on Ye-rin, still sprawled on the bed, hair damp with sweat and chest rising unsteadily. Then her eyes moved to Joon-ho, sharp but not hostile. "How is she?" Min asked, her voice even, though the faint crease at her brow betrayed her worry. Joon-ho finished smoothing the cream over his hands, then wiped them clean with a towel. He straightened, his shoulders loose, confidence woven into the calm in his tone. "Her old injuries weren’t treated properly. I’ve realigned the muscle and released the pelvic strain. Right now, her body’s adjusting to the shift. She’ll feel weak today, like her energy’s been drained. By tomorrow she should move without pain, but—" he glanced at Ye-rin, who still groaned faintly—"no aggressive drills for at least three days. If she rests properly, she’ll come back stronger than before." Relief flickered across Min’s face, softening the steel in her expression. She let out a slow exhale through her nose, then gave a curt nod. "Good. If she recovers fully, I’ll make it clear to the federation—you’ll be our medical lead for the Olympics." The weight of her words landed heavy in the small room. Han’s head turned toward him, the captain straightened where she leaned on the wall, and even Ye-rin blinked in dazed surprise. But Joon-ho only shook his head lightly, as if the offer meant little. "Only because Ji-hye is on the team," he said, calm and matter-of-fact. "If she wasn’t, I wouldn’t be interested in going." That simple answer cut through the room like a clean blade. Ji-hye froze. Her throat tightened, a storm swelling in her chest—embarrassment blooming hot on her cheeks, pride burning deep in her belly, and something else, fiercer, private and warm. She didn’t dare meet anyone’s eyes. Her fingers fidgeted against the hem of her jacket, twisting the fabric until it wrinkled. Min’s gaze lingered on her daughter for a fraction of a second—she saw the flush, the stiffness, the way Ji-hye fought not to smile. But the coach said nothing. Instead, she gave a single, measured nod to Joon-ho. "Fair enough." She pivoted sharply, tone brisk. "Captain, Ji-hye—back to training. Han, you stay with Ye-rin. Monitor her until she sleeps." "Yes, Coach," the captain answered, but her smirk betrayed her restraint. She glanced sidelong at Ji-hye, eyes glinting with mischief, like she wanted to say he’s all yours but settled for letting the look do the work. Ji-hye bit the inside of her cheek, then bent toward Ye-rin, squeezing her damp hand briefly. "Rest. Don’t push it, okay?" Ye-rin gave the faintest nod, her face still slack with exhaustion, before letting her eyes fall shut. Ji-hye straightened and turned, following her mother toward the door. Joon-ho fell into step beside her, his stride calm, measured, unbothered—like he hadn’t just upended the entire medical hierarchy, or claimed her openly in front of the room. Her chest was still in turmoil. Pride warred with embarrassment, jealousy tangled with relief. But beneath it all, one thing pulsed steady, undeniable: he hadn’t just said it to make a point. He meant it. And that knowledge alone left her walking taller, even as her face burned.