You're Fired
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: You're Fired
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-Splurt! Splurt! Squelch! Splurt!
"Haaang...♥ Ahn...♥ Hng...♥ Aaang♥"
I gripped her pale, soft thighs firmly with both hands.
I'd plunged the cock she'd been craving for so long deep into Na-young Han's pussy.
Her pussy sucked me in greedily, clenching tight like it didn't want me to pull out.
The muscles inside were exquisite—enough to make me cum right then and there.
"Na-young, does Coach's cock feel good after so long?"
"Ahk♥ Y-Yes...♥ All through the tournament... I missed it so much... Ungh! Unghaa!"
The moment my cock slid inside, Na-young Han stopped being a genius athlete.
She was just a bitch in heat, moaning and writhing in pleasure every time I thrust.
And she knew it well, savoring every bit of ecstasy.
Her massive tits bounced wildly, topped with perky pink nipples.
The way her pussy clenched told me just how much she was loving it.
"Aaang♥ Coach's cock... so deep inside...♥ Ungh♥ This is insane...♥ Ahhng♥"
"Must be all that training—your pussy's nice and tight, chewy as hell."
"Y-Yes...♥ Coach, I trained hard... to squeeze your cock better... Haaang♥"
"Pfft! Not to win gold?"
"N-Nooo...♥ Making Coach happy is... ungh...♥ way more important... Aaaang♥"
Na-young arched her back and came lightly.
In the arena, her eyes were ice-cold, devouring her opponents.
On the bed, a few thrusts turned her pussy to mush with pleasure.
"Whew. Watching those tits shake while I pound you is killer. Turn around. Let's do it while I admire that sexy ass of yours."
"Y-Yes...♥ Coach♥"
Na-young dropped to all fours at my command.
She planted her tits on the bed and raised her ass perfectly for pounding.
It was the ideal doggy position.
The flexible lines from her Taekwondo training were a work of art.
"Haa... haa...♥ Coach♥ Ass up...♥ Give it to me quick...♥"
The Na-young who thrilled millions on TV broadcasts.
The one some guys probably jerked off to in fancams online.
Into that perfect doggy pussy—
-Spluuuurt!
"Haaaaang♥"
I slammed my cock in and shook her senseless.
Her plump, jiggly ass rippled like waves on pudding.
"Heuk...♥ Coach's cock...♥ I love it so much♥"
"Your fans would cry if they knew you were getting fucked like this."
"Hng♥ Aaang...♥ Don't care...♥ As long as I have Coach...♥ My pussy's yours alone...♥ Aang!"
"Hey, watch it. Fans like them are why sports exist."
"Ang♥ Hk! Ah...♥ J-Jae...♥ Hngt...!"
I shook my hips even faster as I talked.
The wet clap clap of flesh echoed through the room.
Her lewdly shaking ass and slutty face.
I filmed it all on my phone camera.
"Come on, apologize to your loving fans."
"Eut♥ Haaang♥ To all my cheering fans...♥ I'm always grateful♥ Sorry...♥ You can only watch...♥ My pussy and tits are Coach's to touch... Haaang♥"
"Good girl. You don't even need lessons anymore."
-Smack! Thwack! Thwack! Smack! Thwack!
"Ohk♥ Haaang♥ Haaaang...♥"
"Your pussy's clinging to my cock like it never wants to let go. That good?"
"Haaang♥ Y-Yes♥ So goo... I love Coach's cock...♥ Being pounded makes me so happy.♥ Happier than winning gold...♥"
Her pink pussy quivered, juices dripping down her trembling ass.
Those slutty moans made it even hotter.
"Think I can go a few more rounds today. What's next on the schedule?"
"Yeah...! Hng♥ C-Coach So-hee Yoo... is waiting... Hngt♥"
"Right. Can't keep our married Coach Yoo waiting—she takes such good care of the girls."
-Slap! Slap!
I smacked Na-young's firm ass to make a cheap, echoing sound.
"Squeeze nice and tight, and I might give you two loads. Gotta work hard—you're winning the next tournament too."
"Y-Yes...♥ I'll train hard for you, Coach... Haaaaang♥"
Her improved pussy grip made me chuckle.
Not just bias as her coach—her body, face, and that squeeze were top-tier.
'Do people even imagine her like this?'
Korea's pride, Taekwondo genius Na-young Han.
A bitch who'd spread her pussy or anything else for her coach.
I'd wanted to be an athlete since I was a kid.
A star soccer player shattering EPL records.
A baseball hero clinching victory with a walk-off homer.
Winning through skill, becoming everyone's idol—their shine dazzled my young eyes.
Sure, the massive salaries were part of it... but who doesn't dream of that?
"Sigh! I was so obsessed back then."
I shed the 120kg of fat I'd carried.
Dieted strictly, sculpted my body through hellish effort.
Rose at dawn for training, year after year.
Hard work.
I prided myself—no one outworked me.
But talent? I realized quick I had none.
Even local meets had kids better than me—not to mention nationals.
No matter how much blood and sweat, innate athleticism couldn't be forced.
And with dirt-poor parents, I couldn't lean on connections like others.
The sports world chews up even 1% geniuses.
'Harsh, but that's reality.'
So I shelved the dream fast, pivoted to coaching.
Guiding stars to glory sounded cool too.
Hiddink in 2002—decades later, still Korea's legend.
"...Fat lot of good that did. Reality's a shithole."
Coaching taught me one thing.
Connections—school ties, regional cliques, ass-kissing.
I scraped into Korean Sports Academy as a coach, but it was rough.
Seniority abuse, old farts, favoritism everywhere.
"Hey, rookie! Sort this report and send it my way in two days. Weekend tomorrow? Tough shit."
"Hey, Han Coach, got nothing better? We're training, but packages came—move 'em to the lockers. You expect us girls to do it?"
"Junior. Tumbler's empty—fetch water. You know I only drink lukewarm."
'...I could kill them.'
Sports world's always had brutal senior-junior hazing.
Players at least earn a voice with skill.
For a no-name coach like me? Nothing.
'Ugh, being born poor hurts like hell.'
I scraped by, but treatment never improved.
Unestablished, I was just the perfect gofer.
Then the nightmare hits.
"Regrettably, Coach Dae-wi Han, I'd like you to step down cleanly."
"Pardon?"
The Dean called me in out of nowhere and dropped the firing bomb.
The Dean's name: Yoo-jin Lee.
Olympic gold medalist herself.
Veteran coach right after retiring.
Post-retirement fame and results got her Dean fast.
Age concerns? Brushed off.
Now she leads Korean Sports Academy with charisma and competence.
'Popularity with players and coaches seals it, beyond results.'
Steady upkeep kept her body toned.
Her voluptuous tits and ass fueled locker-room dirty talk.
Anyway, this Dean was telling me to pack up.
"Just like this, out of the blue?"
"Precisely, we're disbanding the Mental Care Team you were on entirely."
Deflated, I clenched my fist.
I'd half-sensed it—teammates vanishing one by one.
'Figured I'd get shuffled as grunt elsewhere...'
Reality was worse than the worst-case scenario.
Straight-up firing notice.
No wonder transfers felt off—they'd bailed via connections.
I'd hung on clueless.
Wouldn't have mattered; no one to beg.
'No connections means this is my ceiling.'
Endless days of abuse and grit.
All meaningless—stung deepest.
"Personally regretful, but no reason to keep a team with no results—or you. Please understand."
Unfair as hell.
Grunt like me got no chances, crushed by hazing.
Even teammates treated me like dirt, make me do slave labor.
'They switch posts and stay; I get booted?'
I couldn't go quietly.
Didn't want my youth's work ending like this.
"...So results would fix it?"
"Pardon?"
Not my place to talk back normally.
Even summoning for firing was courtesy.
Staring the Dean down, I mustered courage.
"If I deliver results, would you hold off on disbanding?"
"...Indeed."
Dean glanced, then replied.
"Coach Han, I value results above all. Method doesn't matter... Results mean no firing."
"Then I'll make results! Please, just give me time!"
"Sigh."
"I won't disappoint! The school loses too if the project flops with nothing."
I begged desperately.
All that built-up effort, passion, time.
Didn't want being 'fired' erasing it.
"...Fine. A one month grace period."
"One month..."
"No results? Leave without making a fuss."
Athletes aren't made overnight.
Grunt coach boosting a player in a month? Impossible.
'If it were, others'd mass-produce nationals.'
The dean knew that.
It was code for 'clean out in a month.'
"What? You can't?"
"No! I'll do it!"
I couldn't back down.
Coaching wasn't playtime.
Weak words now? Instant excuse to fire.
"Impressive guts. Give it your all."
"Thank you for the chance!"
Bowed out of the Dean's office.
The door handle felt heavier than dumbbells—the first time I'd grabbed it.
'Haa! Now what?'
Big talk, but...
Results in a month? Unrealistic.
'Not even a lead coach. Grunt like me making results? How?'
Player growth? Credited to the lead watching idly.
That's the industry.
"...No choice. Gotta try something."
Had to thrash somehow.
From choosing this dream, I'd always told players: don't quit.
"Ugh~ Done! Finally! How many hours of sleep tonight?"
I hustled faster than usual.
One month grace.
I intended to try something in it.
So I head back early, to brainstorm.
"Oh, there you are. Perfect timing."
An unwelcome voice was heard as I hurried.
I turned to the coach with a box.
Usual asshole dumping chores on me.
He dropped it at my feet like it was nothing.
"Whew~ Heavy! Hey, drinks I ordered—take 'em to my room. More outside, quick."
"...Not my team. Why me?"
"Hey, fuck. You gonna make me carry...? Wait. Informal speech?"
He started informal first, now he's' bitching.
Normally I'd swallow it...
'Why care now?'
Used to think chores built goodwill.
Not anymore.
Hard work? Still the convenient fool.
'Fired anyway—no biggie ignoring them.'
Being a fired man—makes me feel invincible.
No more sucking up.
"Yeah, informal."
"Hey! You nuts? Who talks back?!"
"You skipped the army, younger, same hire year as me. Why's only you informal? Fair's fair."
"Ha! Acting cocky now?"
He bulged eyes, approached.
Shorter than me—he's no threat.
Or cliff-edge numbness.
Bullies look pathetic.
"Same year? You and me equal? I'm a real coach managing players; you're our slave. Different leagues, bitch."
"Bullshit. You're specs worse than mine and you're in via daddy's buddy."
"Wha— you psycho! I'll report, get you fully canned!"
"Already canned. Just came from the notice."
"Wha?"
He blinked dumbly.
Then smirked sleazy.
"Pfft! Knew it, moron. Should've played nice."
"Yeah, gone in a month. Why fear you clowns?"
"Eek!"
I lifted foot; he flinched hard.
Thought I'd kick, probably.
"……."
"……."
Smooth.
I just toed the box.
"Got it? No more personal crap. Do it yourself. I might snap otherwise."
"F-Fine. Think I want your mess?"
He grumbled, heaving the box.
Not even heavy—did he skip workouts?
'Someone like him coaching? Why not me...'
The pitiful sight drew my sigh.
Me: month-to-fired grunt.
Him: connected, thriving formal coach.
"...Haa!"
Home at last, I caught my breath.
No rest though.
Wracked my brain all day...
No way to get results in a month.
'What to do in one month?'
One month: eternity for gods (four creations).
For man: too short to cut ties.
"Ha! Duh. Not a lead coach. I'm a Grunt—what can I do?"
Lying down while staring at the ceiling, I give myself a self-mocking laugh.
Always was.
With no backers, me coaching? Sounds absurd.
Everyone knew but me.
Hence the fool treatment, to boot.
"...Quit now, then job hunt? Got certs—maybe it will work?"
So many 'layoffs' lately.
Does that mean the job market's friendly?
Grabbed my phone for looking up job sites—then.
[Installing Player Coaching System.]
[Open the app and coach exceptional athletes.]
"...What the hell?"
An uninstalled app auto-launched.
A weird one: 'Player Coaching System.'