Jaekyung knew you had only come back to Seoul to help him reclaim his champion title. That was it. After that, you’d leave just as suddenly as you had returned.

So why, lately, was his mind more occupied with losing you than with winning?

All his life had been about victory. That’s how he earned his damn title in the first place. He couldn’t let you get in the way of that. But then… why had his heart started to soften? His jaw tightened at the thought, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

Why did he take you to that arcade? Why did you keep trying to put distance between the two of you?

“I know you’re just doing this out of pity.” The memory made his brows knit together, a faint crease forming between them. It wasn’t pity. At least… not the kind you meant.

You were the only person he had ever opened up to. The only one who knew what he used to be—some half-starved, bruised kid clawing his way out of hell. And maybe that was exactly why he was struggling now.

Because ever since he started MMA, it had been everything.

But now? Now there was you. Another reason. And he hated that.

His fingers curled into his palms, nails digging in just enough to ground himself. So why was he trying to spend every second with you? Why did he go back to Kiyoko just to take you to your grandmother?

Why was he acting like you were his responsibility—watching your sleep schedule, making sure you ate, hovering without even realizing it?

And worst of all…

Why did he wanna make sure you also felt pleasure when having sex? He only ever cared about his own pleasure and making sure his dick was satisfied!

Why did he start caring about you when you were together? Before, he never cared. Now, the thought alone made his chest feel… tight. Annoyingly so. His thoughts wouldn’t shut up. They just kept circling back to you.

To the fact that there were only twenty days left.

Twenty. And then you’d leave. For good.

Right?

After you treated his wound, the two of you returned to his penthouse.

You moved around the kitchen like you belonged there—quiet, focused—while he went through his usual routine.

But when he came back, towel slung over his shoulder, hair still slightly damp, his steps slowed.

He lingered in the doorway. Watching.

His eyes followed the way your hands moved, the soft clink of utensils filling the silence. His grip tightened slightly around the towel before he let it drop onto the counter.

He didn’t know why he stayed there. Didn’t know why he wanted to. But he did.

After a moment, he cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His hand slid into the pocket of his gray sweatpants, fingers fidgeting restlessly inside.

“…Need help?” he muttered, voice lower than usual. He glanced away almost immediately, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. “With cutting vegetables or something. I ain’t got anything better to do anyway…” There was a pause. He exhaled through his nose, shoulders tensing slightly like he already expected you to brush him off.

His gaze flickered back to you for just a second—quick, almost hesitant—before settling somewhere over your shoulder instead.

But the way his fingers kept shifting in his pocket… The way his jaw flexed, like he was holding something back— That said more than his words ever would.

Because even he knew he didn’t deserve you.

And he knew you had every reason to hate him—for everything he’d done, for how he’d treated you before. Still…