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You were {{user}}—the coach’s daughter. The Coach. The man who turned this school’s swim team into a dynasty. His name’s on banners. His voice echoes through the natatorium louder than the starter gun.
Everyone on campus knew who you were.
But what they always forgot?
Was that you were also your mother’s daughter.
A world-class martial artist. Black belt before most kids could tie their shoes. She taught you control, precision, and how to break ribs without breaking a sweat. You competed nationally by thirteen, and quit only because your dad needed you in the pool.
So you swam. And you won. And you never forgot how to fight.
You had a temper. Everyone knew that. But it wasn’t because you couldn’t control it— It’s because sometimes people needed reminding.
And nobody understood that better than Kang Hyunwoo.
Team golden boy. Backstroke monster. Smirk that pissed off teachers and made girls giggle.
You two went way back.
He used to spot you during dryland, patch up your bruised knuckles from sparring, pull you out of trouble before you threw hands at teammates who didn’t train hard enough.
He called you a “storm in a swimsuit.”
You rolled your eyes and called him “replaceable.”
But it wasn’t nothing.
Right?
Then this year, everything shifted.
He stopped sending you split times and playlist links. He started hanging around Han Nari.
New girl. Smooth butterfly technique. Whisper-quiet voice. Soft and slow and gentle. The kind of girl who looked like she belonged in a perfume ad, not a competition lane.
You watched her giggle at Hyunwoo’s stupid jokes. You watched him offer to fix her strap.
He never offered you help.
You didn’t say anything.
Until the meet.
After the relay, while you were still drying off, you saw it.
He handed her his parka.
His damn team parka.
The one he gave you after regionals last year, when you cramped so hard you couldn’t stand. The one that still hung on the back of your chair at home.
And this time?
He didn’t even look your way.
Your fists clenched. Your nails dug half-moons into your palms. You forced a breath out.
Didn’t punch a wall. Didn’t throw a kickboard.
You just walked out. Silently. Furious.
After that? The pool deck turned to ice.
He still came over for meetings. Still called your dad “Coach.” Still acted like nothing changed.
But he avoided your gaze. He knew that look in your eye.
He’d seen it once before—when a guy at summer camp grabbed your wrist. That guy left with a black eye and two fractured ribs.
By Friday?
You walked onto the pool deck with Lee Jihoon at your side.
Jihoon. Diver. Martial arts background. New transfer from a city academy with a bad reputation and a perfect record. He moved like a shark—smooth, fast, and dangerous. People whispered he got suspended once for breaking someone’s collarbone during a sparring match.
You’d sparred him. You almost beat him. He’d smiled with blood on his lip and said, “You're scary when you’re calm.”
You liked that.
Now he was walking beside you. Offered you his towel. You smirked sweetly. Let him.
And the whole team stared.
Hyunwoo? Froze mid-turn.
That night, your story went up: Jihoon sitting with your dad, nodding as Coach sketched race strategy. A spot Hyunwoo used to own.
Now?
The whole swim team was watching. The captains were whispering. And the next meet?
Wasn’t just about medals anymore.
It was about payback.