Thoughts Beyond Taekwondo (Please like and review)

As Jihoon and Jessica walked toward her father's Taekwondo studio, their conversation naturally drifted to her upbringing.

Through their talk, Jihoon learned that Jessica's father, Jung Yongmin, was a highly respected Taekwondo master who had dedicated his life to the martial art since he was young.

With years of experience, he instilled his discipline and expertise in both Jessica and her younger sister, Krystal, training them in Taekwondo from childhood.

The rigorous training and structured lifestyle had been a defining part of their upbringing, shaping their resilience and determination—qualities that later became crucial in their K-pop careers.

Jihoon glanced at Jessica, his expression softening with sympathy.

"Must've been tough, huh? Being trained and disciplined like that from such a young age," he said, his voice laced with quiet understanding.

Jessica hesitated, caught off guard by his words.

She hadn't thought about it that way in a long time.

As a child, she had resented the rigid structure, the feeling of being controlled like a soldier under her father's command. But as she grew older, she gradually adapted—perhaps even came to appreciate it.

She let out a small breath and shrugged. "Um... I guess I'm used to it now."

Jihoon studied her for a moment before the pity in his gaze faded. He gave a slight nod and chose not to push the conversation further.

A comfortable silence fell between them as they walked, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air.

Before long, they arrived at the studio.

The building was a two-story shop house, its exterior showing clear signs of age.

The paint on the walls was faded, and the wooden signage above the entrance bore the marks of time.

Yet, through the glass panels, the interior painted a different picture—meticulously maintained training mats, neatly organized equipment, and an overall sense of order and discipline.

The air carried the faint scent of polished wood and lingering sweat, a testament to the years of dedication poured into this place.

Jihoon took a step closer, observing the studio with quiet admiration. "It may look old, but it's clearly well taken care of," he remarked.

Jessica nodded, a small, nostalgic smile forming on her lips. "Yeah... my dad might be strict, but this place means everything to him. We live upstairs on the second floor, and the first floor is used for training."

She reached for the door handle, pausing for just a second before pushing it open.

The familiar sounds of training immediately filled the air—grunts of effort, rhythmic footwork, and the sharp thud of fists meeting pads.

"Welcome to my childhood," Jessica murmured as they stepped inside.

As they stepped into the studio, the sharp crack of kicks striking pads filled the air—controlled, precise, relentless.

Yet, as if sensing an intrusion, the movements within the space faltered. The room fell into an uneasy stillness.

A man stood before them, tall and unmoving, his presence looming like an immovable force. He appeared to be in his late forties, his rigid posture akin to a steel pillar deeply rooted into the ground.

There was no warmth in his gaze—only scrutiny, sharp as a blade, as his eyes locked onto Jihoon. It wasn't a mere glance. It was an evaluation, an unspoken challenge, as if stripping Jihoon down to his very core to see what lay beneath.

Jihoon's breath hitched for a fraction of a second before instinct took over. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and quickly dipped into a deep bow. "Hello, Mr. Jung, Sorry to interrupt your day. I'm Lee Jihoon, a friend of Jessica."

Silence stretched between them, thick with an unspoken tension. Jung Yongmin didn't respond immediately.

Instead, he stared—long and hard.

His eyes traced every inch of Jihoon, reading his stance, his frame, the way he held himself. Years of experience as a martial artist had honed his ability to assess a fighter in mere seconds.

Jihoon's legs were firmly grounded. His posture steady. Not bad. The boy had potential.

A subtle nod—barely noticeable—before Jung Yongmin finally spoke.

His voice was deep, measured, unwavering. "Nice to meet you, Jihoon." A pause. Then, with an edge of quiet authority, he asked, "What brings you here today?"

The weight of the moment pressed down on Jihoon's shoulders like an invisible force, thickening the air around him.

His throat felt dry, and he swallowed hard, attempting to steady himself under the suffocating presence of Jung Yongmin.

The intensity in the old man's gaze was almost overwhelming, like a predator sizing up its prey. Jihoon could feel the unspoken expectations in the silence, the way every second stretched longer, amplifying the pressure that settled deep in his chest.

For a brief moment, he hesitated. The thought of turning back, of walking away, flickered through his mind—but he quickly crushed it. With that he had made his decision. 

Drawing in a deep breath, he straightened from the bow he had just given, standing as tall as he could despite the pressure pressing down on him. 

"I heard from Jessica that you are a Taekwondo master," Jihoon finally said, his voice steady despite the tension gripping his body. "I came here hoping that you would train me."

His words hung in the air, met with an almost deafening silence.

Jessica, watching from the side, found herself biting back a giggle.

Jihoon—the guy who always carried himself with unshakable confidence, now standing stiff, barely holding his ground against her father's imposing aura.

It was such a rare sight that she couldn't help but find it amusing. She had always known her father had an intimidating presence, but seeing Jihoon, of all people, struggling under it was almost surreal.

Jung Yongmin didn't respond immediately.

Instead, he merely observed Jihoon with sharp, assessing eyes, scanning him from head to toe as if reading every detail about him without a single word.

His gaze was heavy, almost tangible, like an iron grip tightening around the air itself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the older man exhaled through his nose—a slow, deliberate sound.

His sharp gaze didn't soften, but there was a shift in his posture, a subtle acknowledgment that hadn't been there before.

"You want me to train you?" he repeated, his voice deep and unwavering.

Jihoon nodded firmly. "Yes, sir."

Another silence. Another stretch of tension.

Then, unexpectedly, Jung Yongmin began circling him. His movements were slow and deliberate, each step measured as if he were dissecting every inch of Jihoon's stance.

"You've had some training before," the master finally said, his tone neutral but laced with certainty. "Not Taekwondo… but something else."

Jihoon didn't hesitate. "Boxing," he replied, his tone steady. "My friend taught me whenever we trained together at the gym."

The name Kim Joongkoo briefly surfaced in his mind—a friend, a trainer in his own right. But with Joongkoo now enlisted in the military, Jihoon had no one left to train him. 

Jung Yongmin nodded slightly, as though confirming something he had already deduced. "Boxing relies heavily on upper-body strength, quick reflexes, and footwork," he stated.

"But Taekwondo is different. It is an art of discipline, of balance, of complete control over both mind and body."

"Strength alone will not be enough."

Jihoon didn't waver. "I understand."

Jung Yongmin narrowed his eyes slightly, as if testing him. "Do you?"

Jihoon inhaled deeply, his resolve hardening. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

Another silence stretched between them—one filled with unspoken challenges, unyielding stares, and the weight of expectation.

Then, to Jihoon's surprise, a barely perceptible nod came from Jung Yongmin. Not approval, not acceptance—just acknowledgment.

"Very well," Jung Yongmin finally said. "If you truly wish to be trained, I will train you." His voice was firm, brokering no room for doubt.

Then, without pause, he continued, "It's your first day here. You can borrow the gear from the other members."

"Go get changed into proper attire—I need to assess your basics before deciding which class you'll join."

Jihoon bowed again, this time with renewed determination. "Thank you, Mr. Jung. I'll change now."

He made his way to the changing room, where spare training clothes were stored for students. The only singlet available was tight—far too tight for comfort—but it would have to do.

As he pulled it over his head, the fabric stretched taut across his torso, outlining every contour of muscle he had built over months of work-out. However, there were no spare pants. He sighed, resigning himself to training in his jeans.

When he stepped back into the training hall, Jung Yongmin wasted no time.

"Warm-up," the master ordered.

Jihoon fell into line, following the warm-up routine.

Push-ups, jump squats, stretching—each movement executed with precision.

Next came the skipping rope drills. The rhythmic sound of rope slapping against the wooden floor echoed through the humid, dimly lit studio.

The old building had no air conditioning, only a ceiling fan that lazily spun overhead, barely circulating the heavy, stifling air.

Within minutes, sweat began to bead along Jihoon's brow, rolling down his temples and onto his back.

The singlet he wore clung to his skin, soaked with sweat, outlining every defined muscle on his torso.

His six-pack abs were now faintly visible beneath the damp fabric, and every flex of his arms and shoulders showcased the strength he had honed over time.

From the waiting area, Jessica watched, her breath catching slightly.

She had never truly seen Jihoon like this before.

The oversized hoodies and casual shirts he usually wore had always masked his frame, making him seem easygoing, almost effortless in his presence.

But now—now he was entirely different.

His muscles tensed and flexed with every movement, the snug training singlet clinging to his damp skin, outlining the defined lines of his shoulders and arms.

Beads of sweat trickled down his sculpted forearms, glistening under the dim studio lights.

His damp hair clung to his forehead, a few strands falling over his intense, focused eyes. Every breath he took was deep, controlled, his chest rising and falling steadily as he pushed through the relentless warm-ups.

Jessica found herself staring, unable to look away.

Masculine. Powerful.

The realization sent an unfamiliar flutter through her chest.

Her cheeks grew warm, a soft pink hue dusting across them as she quickly turned her gaze elsewhere, silently scolding herself.

But she couldn't help it.

She was nineteen. This was the age of fleeting crushes, of quiet admiration, of emotions stirring before she could fully understand them. And yet, this—this was different.

She bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself to focus on something—anything—other than the way Jihoon's drenched singlet clung to his toned torso, or how his defined muscles flexed with each rep, or how his jaw tightened with determination.

Unaware of the turmoil within her, Jihoon remained entirely focused on his training, his body pushing past exhaustion, sweat dripping onto the floor as he moved with unwavering resolve.

Across the room, Jung Yongmin observed in silence, his sharp, unreadable eyes studying Jihoon's form. There was no hint of praise, nor disapproval—only quiet evaluation, as if he was weighing something unspoken.

And yet, Jessica barely noticed.

Because for the first time, she was seeing Jihoon in a way she never had before.

[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, LucidMemories and Daoist098135 for bestowing the power stone!]