Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg-Chapter 255 - 256: Under the Floodlights

The mood in the athlete’s village was sharper than ever. The day before the final, Joon-ho sat stiffly in a small, windowless office deep in the basement of the Olympic facility. The air was stale with the scent of old coffee, paper, and resignation. Two Spanish police detectives sat across from him, their uniforms crisp, faces unreadable behind practiced smiles. A Korean translator hovered between them, polite but already worn down.

"We just have some questions, Mr. Kim," the older detective began, switching between English and Spanish as he looked through a thin folder. "For the record, the Korean Olympic Committee has filed a formal complaint regarding the attack."

Joon-ho nodded, hands folded in his lap. His arm still ached from the bruises, but he kept his face composed.

"Describe what happened," the younger detective prompted, voice neutral.

He told the story again—ambush, three or four men, the alley behind the facility, blows raining down, quick, ugly violence. He left out the details about Min-kyung’s ex and the Madrid crew. He’d learned by now that too much honesty got lost in translation.

The detective scribbled notes, then asked, "Did you recognize any of your attackers?"

"No. I’d never seen them before the attack," Joon-ho lied.

The older detective pressed on. "They spoke Spanish? Any particular accent?"

"Fluent. Sounded local." He shrugged. "Maybe Madrid. I’m not sure."

A look passed between the two detectives—quick, meaningful, almost bored. The older man closed the folder with a sigh. "Barcelona is a big city, Mr. Kim. Sometimes things happen during events like this. Too many people, too many distractions. We’ll continue the investigation, of course."

The Korean translator looked away, jaw tense.

Joon-ho swallowed his frustration. He could see the outcome already: the report filed, the inquiry dragged out, then buried. Maybe someone would get a slap on the wrist. More likely, nothing would come of it at all.

"Thank you, Mr. Kim. If you remember anything, please contact us," the younger detective said, standing. They shook hands—a little too quickly. The detectives left, muttering about paperwork.

Outside, the Korean staff met him with tight smiles and nervous glances.

"Is it true? They’re not really doing anything, are they?" the assistant coach asked quietly.

Joon-ho shook his head. "They’re pretending to investigate. That’s all."

The coach’s mouth tightened. "We’ll keep pushing the IOC. But for now, just... stay visible. Don’t go anywhere alone."

"I won’t," Joon-ho promised, though the words felt hollow.

The morning rolled on, the air charged with anticipation. The final was tonight: Korea versus Spain. The whole athlete’s village buzzed with gossip, nerves, hope. Security doubled, cameras everywhere, and yet Joon-ho still felt the threat like a splinter under the skin.

In the warm-up room, Ji-hye stretched, eyes bright with excitement and nerves. She glanced over as Valeria, all muscle and swagger, strutted in wearing Spain’s red warmup jacket and a wolfish grin. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

"Well, well. The Koreans look tense today," Valeria called out in accented English, tossing her bag aside. "Should I be scared, Ji-hye?"

Ji-hye shot her a smirk. "Scared? Of you? Never. We’re just waiting for you to trip over your ego."

Valeria laughed, flicking sweat from her brow. "If I fall, I’ll drag you down with me."

Ji-hye rolled her eyes, but there was affection in her voice. "Yeah, and you’d probably enjoy it."

Valeria plopped down next to her, sprawling carelessly, legs open, exuding confidence. She eyed Joon-ho as he started prepping Ji-hye’s shoulder with a massage.

"So that’s the miracle physio, huh?" she said, switching to rapid-fire Spanish, then English. "Tell me, is he as good in bed as he is with his hands?"

Ji-hye flushed, almost dropping her towel. "Valeria!"

"What? You’re always moaning when he touches your back." Valeria grinned, licking her lips. "Maybe I should try it before the game. Give me a preview, Joon-ho. Show me why the Korean girls look so relaxed."

Joon-ho didn’t even blink, used to the banter. "I can do a quick shoulder and neck," he said, moving behind her.

Valeria grinned, winking at Ji-hye. "See? Professional. He’s not scared."

Ji-hye rolled her eyes but watched as Joon-ho worked Valeria’s trapezius, his thumbs pressing deep into the muscle. Valeria’s bravado faltered almost instantly; her eyelids fluttered, breath hitching.

"Shit," she muttered, voice lower. "That’s—damn, no wonder you all whine so much. He’s magic."

Joon-ho finished with a firm glide down her spine, then patted her on the back. "Just don’t fall asleep on the court."

Valeria stretched, shaking her head, looking both impressed and slightly jealous. "If we lose, you’re coming to Madrid with me. I need you for next season. Or next party."

Ji-hye laughed, nerves loosening, a smile blooming on her lips. "He’s ours. Hands off, Valeria."

Valeria winked. "Winner gets him for a night, then. Or both of you, if you’re brave."

Ji-hye shot her a glare, cheeks burning, but Joon-ho only shook his head, hiding a smile. The tension between the teams was real, but so was the friendship—born from long weeks of practice, shared exhaustion, and the knowledge that, for most of them, this was the biggest stage they’d ever see.

Ji-hye stretched out, letting Joon-ho knead her shoulder, the pressure soothing her nerves. "Don’t worry, oppa. You’ll get the best seat in the house. And maybe a medal if you’re lucky."

"Just do your best," Joon-ho said softly. "You’re ready."

Valeria stood, rolling her neck. "I feel ten years younger. Maybe I’ll play dirty just to see you sweat."

Ji-hye snorted. "You’re always dirty."

Valeria grinned. "I know."

A few Spanish and Korean teammates drifted in, the energy in the room shifting from nerves to electric focus. They chattered in a mix of languages—teasing, comparing pregame rituals, trying to shake out the tension.

Elsewhere in the city, the mood was far darker. Min-kyung’s ex paced a cramped, smoky apartment overlooking the Sants train station. Two of his men stood near the window, watching the street. They looked nervous, shoulders hunched, eyes darting.

He slapped a table, voice rising. "They should be scared! After what happened to me, after what I lost—how are they walking around like nothing happened?"

One of the thugs shifted uneasily. "Boss, this isn’t Madrid. People here talk. Valeria’s crew, they don’t like us causing trouble. And the cops—"

"Fuck Valeria’s crew! Fuck Barcelona!" The ex’s eyes were wild, hands trembling with rage. "I want action. I want them scared. Do something. I want Kim Joon-ho ruined before that game even ends."

The second thug shook his head. "We’ve already tried, boss. Too many cameras now. Too many eyes. You saw how tight security was after last time. We make a move, we all go down."

The ex glared, lips curling in a sneer. "Then you’re useless. All of you. I should have done this myself." He reached for his phone, thumbing through contacts, muttering in Spanish and Korean, his mind already running ahead to the next plan—darker, more desperate.

The thugs traded looks, fear rising. "We need to lay low. We’re not in charge here. You piss off Valeria, we’ll end up in the sea."

"Cowards," the ex spat. "Get out of my sight. I’ll handle this myself if I have to."

He stalked to the window, eyes fixed on the Olympic village, the stadium’s floodlights blazing into the dusk. He pressed his fists to the glass, face twisted with humiliation and hate.

Back in the locker room, final preparations were underway. The girls laced their shoes, slapped chalk on their hands, tied hair back tighter than ever. The coaches moved among them, murmuring last-minute advice.

Ji-hye bounced on her toes, shaking out her arms, stealing glances at the stands beyond the tunnel. She could hear the chants—half Spain, half Korea—rising into a cacophony that rattled the walls.

Valeria sauntered over, a cocky grin on her face. "Don’t freeze, Ji-hye. We’ll go easy on you."

Ji-hye grinned, hiding her nerves. "Don’t trip over your own feet. That would be embarrassing."

They bumped fists, eyes glinting with challenge and respect.

Joon-ho approached, moving stiffly but hiding the pain. He rested a hand on Ji-hye’s shoulder, meeting her gaze.

"Last chance for a pep talk, oppa?" she asked, voice teasing but soft.

He nodded, squeezing gently. "Trust yourself. Trust your team. Play your game."

She smiled, nerves melting away under his touch. "You’ll be watching, right?"

"Always," he said. "No matter what."

Valeria leaned in, voice low. "Winner gets the loser’s first round of drinks tonight. Deal?"

Ji-hye grinned. "Deal. And if I win, you stop flirting with my physio."

Valeria only laughed, swaggering off toward her team. "No promises, cariño."

The buzzer sounded. The teams lined up, bouncing on their toes, energy crackling in the tunnel. Coaches gave last instructions. The lights dimmed, the announcer’s voice boomed, and the crowd roared as the finalists strode onto the court.

Ji-hye squeezed Joon-ho’s hand one last time before letting go, nerves replaced by focus, by the sureness that she and her team were ready. The air was thick with sweat, hope, and the promise of glory or heartbreak.

Far above, Min-kyung’s ex watched from the shadows, plotting his revenge, jaw clenched as the anthem began.

But on the court, under the floodlights, all that mattered was the game—the pounding of the ball, the roar of the crowd, and the fierce, unbreakable hope that tonight, nothing could stop them.