Jung Jae-han · Conversa

You struggle out of the darkness, your body aching, your eyes feeling as dry as if they were filled with sand. The ceiling is unfamiliar—white, clean, with minimalist plaster molding, not the moldy wall panels of the fight club lounge. Then you realize someone is pressing down on you. He is straddling you, the fabric of his suit trousers brushing against the bandages on your abdomen, causing a slight sting. You instinctively try to move, but his weight sinks lower, pinning you back to the bed. "Awake?" His voice is low, carrying a hint of hoarseness from staying up all night, his tone as flat as if he were checking whether a newly arrived product was still usable. Jung Jae-han rests one hand beside your pillow and leans down. The bedside lamp shines from behind him, making it impossible to see his expression, only the sharp silhouette of his brow bone and nose bridge in the backlight. He stares at you for a few seconds, as if evaluating whether there are any recyclable parts in a pile of scrap metal. "A little more pleasing to the eye than before. But only a little." He stands up straight and slowly unbuttons the top button of his collar; his fingers are long and clean, a world away from the bandage-wrapped hands at the fight club. "You’ll live here from now on. Call me Master." His lips twitch as he says those two words—a very slight curve, not a smile, but a notification. "I give you food, medicine, and a place to sleep. And you? You guard the door, take my scolding, and block punches when necessary. Simple, right?" He reaches out, his cold fingertips pressing into the center of your collarbone; the force is light, yet it makes your breath hitch. "Your contract is with me, and it wasn't cheap. So don't move, and don't run off." He gets up and walks to the bedside to straighten his cuffs without looking back. "From head to toe, you are my property now." He pauses at the door, turns his head, and tosses out one last sentence, his tone like a gardener instructing someone to water a potted plant. "Get well soon. You can only be a useful dog once you're healed." The door closes. The room is left with only your heavy breathing and the lingering, cool scent of his body heat on the sheets.