Taesung
After an hour of intense training with a worn-out punching bag — during which I was the only one attacking — we move on to one-on-one combat. Hyunjin put on black boxing gloves and challenged me to attack him. Overwhelmed by the desire to hit him, I attack first, which he expects and takes advantage of. He dodges my punch with irritatingly graceful ease, wraps his arms around my body and throws me over his shoulder and onto the ground. I land hard on the mat. I grimace in pain and gasp for breath. I should have expected it. The classic approach. First the provocation, then the fall. I feel a strange mixture of excitement and humiliation, as if each fall were a small lesson that I had to accept.
He offers me a helping hand, and I grab him, and in one motion he pulls me to my feet. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and assume a fighting stance. As we reposition ourselves, I hear my own heart beating—fast and furious—and I realize it's not just physical fatigue, but something constricting my throat.
He's beating me up pretty badly. He lands precise, hard blows, most of which I manage to dodge or withstand. However, a few of them hurt so much that I'll have dark, throbbing bruises all over my body by evening.
I take a deep breath and fill my chest with fresh air. With a long exhale, I try to clear my mind of all intrusive thoughts. I clear my head and focus only on the rhythm of my breath and training. On his steps and movements.
He tries to punch me in the face, but I dodge his attack at the last moment. I grab him tightly to steady myself. I can feel the tension in his back muscles under my fingers and swing my body higher. I wrap my legs around his neck, pull him down and knock him to the ground. I press my knee against his neck to cut off his air supply. He gasps briefly and taps my thigh to indicate that he wants me to let him go. I climb off him, feeling a sense of satisfaction and victory. As I stand up, I see a kind of quiet recognition in his eyes — a small sparkle that catches me by surprise.
„Excellent," he says hoarsely, rubbing his neck. I'm proud of myself, too. Clearly, I didn't earn my black belt in taekwondo for nothing.
„Okay, I praise you. Let's go for another round." He takes off his T-shirt and uses it to wipe his sweaty face. My eyes immediately start dancing over his moist muscles, which shimmer softly in the dim light and slide to his side tattoo. Dark birds, stretched in flight.
I shake my head. Pull yourself together, I tell myself. He did it on purpose, to distract me. He knows what he's doing. He's trying to distract me. I ignore his tattoo, which completely mesmerised me on the first night I was here. It's hard. Really hard.
It's not just the tattoo. Every gesture he makes seems to be testing me to see if I can resist. If I'm easily distracted. I don't want to feel weak. I don't want him to think I am.
„You're standing wrong," he remarks calmly and gently yet reproachfully, relaxing his stance.
„No, I don't." I protest, because I know how to get into a fighting stance.
„You're. Your feet are too close together." I look down at my feet, but I can't see anything wrong with my stance.
„No, I don't." I try to convince him again that I'm right. He exhales deeply and I can almost hear a faint growl coming from his lungs as he heads towards me. I straighten up.
Hyunjin walks around me and stands behind me. He grabs my hands and puts them where they should be — in front of my face so that I can cover it — while leaning dangerously close to my head. I can feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. My muscles tense and I jerk my head back. He looks at me with a frown. He seems to take this as resistance, which I prefer, than him to knowing that his closeness affects me, especially when he's shirtless. I lower my chin as I should. For a brief moment, I see an image from the first night in my mind's eye—the same pensive expression on his face. I hear the same quiet laughter and feel that strange pull that attracts and repels me at the same time.
„You need to spread your legs more." He kicks me lightly but firmly between the legs, prompting me to widen my stance. I almost lose my balance, but he holds me firmly and doesn't let me fall. His grip is uncomfortably intimate yet confident.
He leaves me standing there in the stance he has forced upon me. Without his warm body behind me, I suddenly feel unnaturally cold, as if all the air has been sucked out of the room.
In the end, he beat me again, winning two out of three matches. But I swear, if he hadn't taken off his shirt, I would have won!
„Take a shower first, then go and see Hanil." Hanil has already taught me how to assemble and disassemble a weapon. Ironically, I'm pretty good at that, but completely useless at shooting.
„After my shower, I'm going to eat, and then I'll go and see Hanil." He glared at me, probably thinking I was contradicting him. Maybe I am, but Hanil himself said we would eat before training.
Today, Taeju is cooking his speciality - rabboki. It's basically spicy tteokbokki with noodles, egg, vegetables and gochujang sauce. The smell wafts over here, tickling my nose and awakening my appetite.
I've really fallen in love with Korean cuisine. In fact, I don't even mind eating kimchi and rice for breakfast anymore, even though that was a real problem for me at the beginning of my stay here. I'm from the US and I'm not used to eating things like that for breakfast. Toast with jam and milk was always enough for me.
Sometimes it seems to me that food here has a different meaning — connection, routine, something like a small anchor in the midst of chaos. The smell of rabboki feels like home to me, like a small bowl of safety.
„You're getting on my nerves," he growls, pointing towards the shower, which is on every floor of his house. „Go wash up." I obey his command as if I were one of his dogs. On the way, I take off my shirt and wipe the sweat from my forehead. Before stepping inside, I look back at him. He is facing the mirror, but his eyes are fixed on me, on me standing in the shower doorway. His gaze is reflected in the glass, silent, piercing and unreadable. I feel the heat shift from my body to my cheeks.
For a moment, there is a silence between us that is louder than words. This brief, intense gaze tells me more than all his words during training ever did.
... ༺༻ ...
BLOOD DEBT (피의 빚)