15. Taking Responsibility for the Lonely Yoga Instructor Who Tasted Dick♥

Staring blankly at the camera in her underwear, Ha Yeon-su snaps back to reality like she's just woken up. She'd completely forgotten she was even dancing.

"Ah, sorry about that..."

She apologizes to the phone camera and tries to pick up her dance where she left off, but the mood just won't come. It's like she's come down with a sudden case of existential dread—everything feels pointless. What started as fun exhibitionism has devolved into just killing time.

That's it, I'm done.

It's obvious she's forcing it anyway, so she decides to cut it short. Sure, there's money and her image on the line, but this is just pocket change and side hustle. Besides, she's lost any real attachment to these streams.

"Sorry, everyone. I'm not feeling great today. That's all for the broadcast."

"Sorry... If you come back, I'll make it up to you next time with extra effort."

The chat in her 200-viewer channel scrolls furiously, but she ignores it all and hits end recording.

She sets her mask down on the nearby table and rubs her dry face.

"Hoo..."

Her sighs have been piling up lately. She brushes her teeth to keep her routine intact and lies in bed, but sleep won't come. She tosses and turns on the king-sized bed that's all hers.

She rolls side to side, practically X-raying the sheets, then props herself up and scans the room.

We did it right here...

To be blunt, nothing but Chae Seon-woo comes to mind. Ever since that blackmail forced her into ecstasy, his smug face haunts her thoughts. Yearning for her blackmailer's bed? What a perverted slut she must be. But her body doesn't lie.

It's been over a month, yet the memories are as fresh as ever. Every time they surface, her fingers slip between her wet thighs without thinking.

It wasn't just his huge cock. Chae Seon-woo gave her more. He sucked and bit her, firing her up with filthy talk. Hell, he even let her pounce like a bitch in heat and suck him off—and she loved it.

They were a perfect sexual match. Like the final puzzle piece she'd lost and desperately found, he satisfied every sense with his sticky, sweaty maleness—just what she'd craved.

Back then, he seemed satisfied too, and she was beyond thrilled. She almost suggested being sex friends at the end, but held back—it was too slutty. She's a famous instructor and rising celeb; clinging to the guy who blackmailed her into sex would tank her dignity.

"Mm... Ah...! Hoo..."

She even tries recreating it with her middle finger, masturbating like never before. She squirms on the bed, working hard, but the heat fades fast. She stops. It's just not the same. These lame orgasms will never cut it.

Other guys were no better. Clumsy lovers who talked a big game but left her hanging—making her miss him even more.

Her longing stretched the nights endlessly after that day. Part of her hoped those blackmail photos would leak, forcing a meetup. She even fantasized about that destructive extreme.

But rationally, there was a less insane chance: one last shot without the apocalypse.

I might quit the gym, but he'll have to come back once anyway.

She sighs into the pillow.

Can't even sleep right... time to settle this.

She clutches the blanket with resolve. Her thighs fidget, but it's nowhere near enough. Lonely nights drag on forever.

A new mission?! Her heart races—then deflates at the automated text. Right, she never returned the key. It's been over a month since she quit; time's up.

"..."

Her name in the message hooks him. That insane lower body line pops up every time he thinks of it. Especially in those violent yoga outfits that hug every curve.

Wonder if I'll see her mask again... He mutters, then shakes his head. The gym means that den of demons. Plus, it breaks his rule of avoiding her.

...Though I've been breaking rules left and right lately.

The text came in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the morning, but to dodge peak hours, he heads out around lunch. He rides the quiet subway and arrives at the academy.

"What brings you here?"

"Dropping off my key."

"Yes... Ah, Mr. Chae Seon-woo. Wasn't the workout effective? No interest in extending another month?"

"Nope."

"Understood. Key received—thank you for using our studio."

She bows politely with hands at her navel. Even his firm refusal gets a smile from the legging-clad receptionist.

Time to bounce? Nothing left here, so he turns to leave.

"S-Seon-woo-ssi!"

Someone calls from behind. He stops and turns—Ha Yeon-su stands there.

High-waisted black leggings that scream sex appeal, tank top plunging into her cleavage. The ultimate guy-trap yoga gear. Her protruding hips make the receptionist's look tame. And after covering the morning class solo, her ponytail's damp with sweat.

Fuck, she's killing me.

That perfect sweat scent on her glistening white skin. Same smell, but a woman's sweat? Pure aphrodisiac sexiness. It makes her skin look even more dewy and fuckable.

Dodged mornings for nothing... what's her deal?

"Hey, hi...?"

She greeted first, so he scratches his neck awkwardly and returns it. Their eyes meet; she glances away with a cute, nasal whine.

"Quitting already? You were doing so well..."

"Yeah, just... not my vibe."

"Still, it's a shame. Why not give it more time?"

"I usually hit the gym. Tried this on a whim, but weights are my thing."

"Even so... um... okay, one month! I'll extend it free as a special. How about sticking it out?"

"An extension?"

...Sales pitch? But why would a star instructor hustle a random dude like him?

"If you do, I could even give you personal one-on-one lessons..."

Private sessions? From her blackmailer? Why? Why? WHY? He racks his brain for her motive, hitting on a wild guess—

"Personal lessons, you say?"

Some guy butts in. He glances over—black skin-tight yoga wear, startlingly chic. Y-back style for men: trunk shorts over leggings. Taller than him, sleek lines even another guy would envy. Like a pro athlete—tall, handsome, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠built clean.

Afternoon guy's instructor?

Ha Yeon-su greets awkwardly. "Ah... Instructor Kang Woo-seok, you're early."

"Haha~ Bursting with energy today. Heard about the one-on-one... mind if I join?"

"Pardon? Oh... this is a special for this student."

"Still wanna squeeze in somehow... pretty please?"

"A top instructor like you, already sweeping awards—need coaching?"

"But your classes? I'd pay top dollar."

"Hahaha..."

She laughs stiffly, stepping back.

"It's not real coaching—just sales."

"Haha, someone like you doesn't need to sell."

"Male clients are rare. Good for expanding the base..."

"Expand by raising my pay—I'd shill harder."

He leans in, whispering: "Or other bonuses. Heh heh."

"Ahaha..."

Ha Yeon-su's frozen laugh vs. his smug grin. Watching briefly, it's clear: Kang Woo-seok's into her. Flirting obvious. She seems annoyed, dodging. Wary of guys in general—but then why the sweet deal for him?

Feels like wishful thinking, but maybe... it's real? Right on cue, his phone buzzes.

Notification confirmed, a grin spreads. Suspicion solidifies.

"Free tonight? Hot new restaurant opened."

"Sorry, meals are routine."

"Ah, right. How about I whip up protein? Low-salt, delicious."

"I buy supplements—no need."

"Excuse me, Instructor Ha Yeon-su."

"Yes?"

"You said private lessons if I stick around?"

"Pardon? Ah... y-yes, yes!"

"Group classes are embarrassing, but one-on-one? Sold. Wanna grab lunch and chat after you're done?"

He jumps in, rescuing her from the pushy flirt.

"S-sure? Now that you mention it, I'm kinda hungry..."

She grabs his lifeline like a drowning woman.

"Great, let's go."

"Sweaty clothes... lemme grab a jacket from the office."

"I'll ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wait. Don't know fancy spots, but somewhere casual works? Haha."

"Yes."

"..."

She returns from the office in just a padding jacket over her damp yoga gear, scurrying after him. Zero fucks about her outfit.

Escorting her down the stairs, he catches a glare. Jeju stone grandpa statue Kang Woo-seok, lasering death rays from his spot.

But he can't stop them. Leaving the studio, Seon-woo drapes an arm around her shoulders. No resistance—in fact, she nestles right in.