A "Common" Cleaning Service (5)

Warning! This chapter has adult-restricted contents such as the use of vulgar languages, violence, intercourse, and might even show the portrayal of harmful activities. Continue at your own risk.

...

Per the blink of her eyes, her senses called for the sea of sentiments lurking above the surface. It did not take long when it played with her oldest memories.

The rhythmic sounds of the gloves colliding with the punching pads circled through the warehouse. Along with those pulsating beats were the rag noises of frustration coming from the girl, gasping for breath.

There were no other people except the two of them.

Hit after hit. She sensed her sweat forming a puddle on the back of her grey shirt.

Step, hit, step after another hit. A line stretched from her neck and between her chest.

"You're too delicate! Your blows are too soft! Punch harder, girl!" directed Bo Kyung, his loud call echoed within the void.

He charged the punching pad and head for a hook which Young Mirae perceived and readily avoided. She stepped back and leaned a bit when she saw the attack coming before her eyes.

'I am trying!'

Ho, she released a sharp exhale.

Young Mirae pushed forward before releasing a jab. Not wanting to miss the rhythm, she followed it with a cross and a blow off a hook. But of course, his pad took her clear punches.

"Too soft! Try again!"

As she attempted to fix her stance, she noticed she lost a beat. Wanting to cover the mistake, she hastened to let go of a straight. Urgh, but that came out obvious. It would be impossible for him to not see that visible leap.

'Shit, shit.'

Young Mirae didn't care any longer about it, hence she did not hesitate to follow it with a hook.

"You missed it! Do it again, little girl! Jab, cross, hook, cross!"

With every yell, she went for the strikes and pushed her capacity over its limit. After a moment of three repetitions, she missed her footing and slipped on the ground. She trampled on the falling pellets of sweat.

"Urk!" Steaming and gasping for breath, she let out a burst, "Why are you so extreme! I thought we would do a simple warm-up today."

"It's your punishment for being late."

"But it's just a light training today—"

"That is not a good excuse, little girl." Bo Kyung held the punching pads, which were in his hand, close. He gestured to her and roughly commanded, "Now, raise your ass and work it again!"

Young Mirae did what he commanded; she stood from her position and lifted her ass. She could feel her mouth was sizzling from thirst while her face appeared rushing in heat.

As she gulped the blazing spit, as it descended into her throat, she threw a heavy cross after the clear straight. Successively, when the fire settled inside her stomach, it exploded and released a smoky exhalation. In the coordinated moment, her mind instructed her body to free a kick delivered to his head.

But even though she launched into a dirty surprise, Bo Kyung blocked it effortlessly with the pad. The loud collision produced a low-pitched wham that reverberated through the warehouse.

"...Young Miss, this is not taekwondo," growled the trainer.

"I'm sorry. I just couldn't control myself," was her muffled apology after lowering her fists.

"You do not sound sorry at all. I believe this is a great opportunity to increase the time and difficulty of training tomorrow."

"Oh, come on!" Young Mirae whimpered from his verdict. How could he decide on his own? He was not the one to choose what she had to do! "I'll report this to my grand-gran, Kyung. You're too much!"

"And you're behaving like a spoiled brat you are," he snapped. "Young Miss, there is no such thing as too much or too easy in a fight. It's a matter of who's strong and who's weak!"

The rumbling voice was enough to hush her yelps; his harsh words pierced her like sharp knives. As the boss' sole granddaughter, he practically gave everything to her, from anything she needed to what she wished.

"Right now, you are the weak one. Your strokes are still frail, and you could barely follow the beat. Go ahead. Run to your grandfather that you cannot handle the training and whine like a little girl."

"I am not a little girl."

"Oh, are you?" Bo Kyung echoed, mockery filled his words. He fixed his stance and so was Young Mirae "Show me what you got, rascal."

Thousands of images played in the back of her head like a movie. She recollected the moments she kept whining about how hard her training was, persisting to report how difficult it was to her grandfather.

'How funny.' A sad smile crept on her lips while remembering each second.

"...Sunhi. Baek Sunhi." The calls of her name repeated behind her ears. It woke her from the brief minute her attention left reality. "Why are you daydreaming? Lay the bags on the floor"

"Oh, okay."

In an instant, she dropped the body bags which she was carrying in her arms. Continuing, she followed what Nam Hiah was doing: laying the bags and extending them one by one on the floor.

"Aren't these too many?" Young Mirae commented as she pondered the number of the placed bags.

"Not really. These are enough," Nam Hana answered.

Enough?

Young Mirae had no idea what was the exact number of bodies that they would dispose of. The two did not tell her about the night's client either.

But even so, she sensed familiarity from the men wearing black suits. Perhaps it was because they reminded her of her family. Although they were not as perfect, they had a 'good' demeanor than the ones she met a while ago.

As Young Mirae drove deeper in her thoughts again, Nam Hiah spotted this and scolded, "What are you idling? Stop with the daydreams. Did you hear me, Sunhi?"

Shaking her head, she pulled herself together. "Yeah, I heard you crystal clear."