Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg-Chapter 258 - 259: Fight

The rooftop party had begun to fade, the beat of the music softening as the VIP crowd thinned. Girls in glittering dresses and boys with their medals dangling from their necks spilled into waiting cars or taxis, laughter trailing behind. The Korean team huddled together, faces flushed, shoes in hand, medals clinking. Captain So-young called for a headcount—one, two, three—all present except for Ji-hye, who lingered by the outdoor lounge’s edge, biting her lip, eyes fixed on Joon-ho across the terrace.

He caught her gaze, nodding with a gentle smile. "You should go back with them," he said, voice low and reassuring. "Get some rest. I’ll be fine here."

She hesitated. "Text me the second you’re on your way. And don’t do anything stupid, oppa."

He squeezed her hand, thumb brushing her knuckles. "Promise. I just need to finish something with Valeria and her family. You know how she is."

Valeria, lounging on a couch with her feet up, grinned and made a show of waving Ji-hye off. "Don’t worry, Ji-hye. We’ll bring him back in one piece. Or two, if he drinks too much."

Ji-hye snorted, rolling her eyes. She leaned in and hugged Joon-ho, whispering, "Don’t try to be a hero. Just come home."

He hugged her back, holding her a little longer than necessary. "I will."

She left with the other girls, tossing one last look over her shoulder. The captain pulled her into their group and the whole pack swept toward the elevators, high heels and laughter fading away, their gold medals catching every light.

The party was nearly over now. The rooftop bar was nearly empty except for a few Spanish athletes and Valeria’s inner circle. Mateo stood nearby, arms folded, massive in his tailored suit. Valeria slid into the seat beside Joon-ho, her bare knee brushing his.

Her uncle leaned forward, dark eyes amused, smoke curling from his cigar. "So," he said in his low, gravelly voice. "You had some trouble tonight, eh? Tell me, Joon-ho. Why are these Madrid rats so interested in you?"

Joon-ho straightened, feeling the weight of Mateo’s stare and Valeria’s curiosity. He took a breath and met the uncle’s eyes. "It’s because of Min-kyung. She’s one of my women. Her ex—he’s the one leading them. He can’t let go. He doesn’t care who gets hurt."

Valeria let out a sharp bark of laughter, nearly spitting out her wine. "One of your women? You mean you have more than one?" She elbowed him, eyes shining with mischief. "Is it a Korean thing, or just a Joon-ho thing?"

Joon-ho tried not to blush, but he saw the uncle’s lips twitch with amusement. "I’m responsible for them. That’s what matters."

The uncle nodded, approving. "A man protects what’s his, no matter how many. That is how it should be. Better to be a lion than a rat." He waved his cigar, dismissive. "This ex—does he want a war, or just to show you up?"

"He’s not thinking. He just wants me gone," Joon-ho said, voice steady. "But I’m tired of running. I want to end it tonight."

The uncle grinned, sharp as broken glass. "Good. Problems must be finished, not hidden. Mateo?"

Mateo stepped forward, eyes flat. "We’ve had eyes on them since they tried to cause trouble. They’re in the basement. We made sure they didn’t leave."

A man in black slipped up, murmuring in Spanish to the uncle. The older man smiled, clapping his hands together. "They’re ready. Come, Joon-ho. Tonight, you solve your own problem. Mateo, go with him. Make sure no one does anything foolish." He turned to Valeria. "Are you coming, querida?"

Valeria stretched, cracked her knuckles, and flashed a grin. "Wouldn’t miss it for the world."

They left the rooftop in a tight group—Joon-ho, Valeria, Mateo, and two of the uncle’s men. The elevator dropped deep beneath the building, into a world of concrete, pipes, and shadows. The hallway was silent except for their footsteps and the dull thump of bass echoing through the floor.

They stopped before a heavy, unmarked steel door. Mateo produced a key, turned it, and swung the door open.

The basement was surprisingly bright. In the center of the vast room sat a raised boxing ring, ropes red and gold. Bare bulbs hung overhead, swaying slightly in the breeze from the vents. Around the ring lounged several of Valeria’s crew—Inés with her arms crossed, a few tattooed men sharpening knives, and at the far end, the Madrid ex and his thugs, stripped of their arrogance, bound at the wrists but not otherwise harmed.

As the door slammed behind them, the Madrid ex lifted his head. His eyes locked on Joon-ho, then Valeria, then Mateo. He sneered, trying for bravado.

"So this is it? You hide behind this Barcelona chick now?" He spat the word, glaring at Valeria. "You can’t fight your own battles, Kim?"

Valeria took a step forward, her voice icy. "Watch your mouth, Madrid. You’re lucky you’re not in a dumpster."

The ex ignored her, eyes drilling into Joon-ho. "You’re just like her. You think you’re better than me because you have her, because you have all those girls. You’re nothing. You’re just a coward."

Mateo looked to Valeria, who shrugged. "Let him talk. He’s good at that."

Joon-ho climbed into the ring without a word, the ropes creaking under his weight as he stepped through and rolled his shoulders once, slow and deliberate. The canvas smelled faintly of sweat and disinfectant, old leather and metal. He planted his feet, testing the give beneath him, then lifted his head.

From the shadows beyond the ropes, the uncle’s voice carried—calm, heavy with authority."Let them settle it. Only rules—no knives, no killing." A pause, the ember of his cigar flaring. "But finish it."

A murmur rippled through the basement. Boots shifted. Someone laughed softly.

The Madrid ex tore himself free from the man holding him, yanking his wrists loose and shaking out his arms like a caged animal finally let go. He rolled his shoulders, neck cracking audibly, then spat on the canvas with open contempt.

"So this is it?" he sneered, eyes flicking to Valeria before locking back onto Joon-ho. "You want to fight now? Not stand behind this Barcelona bitch anymore?"

A couple of Valeria’s people bristled, but she only smirked, utterly unbothered. She leaned her forearms on the ring apron, chin resting on her knuckles, eyes bright with anticipation.

"He’s been fighting his whole life," she said lazily. "You, on the other hand, look like someone who only knows how to bark when his friends are nearby." Her smile sharpened. "Let’s see if you can handle someone who actually knows what he’s doing."

The ex snorted and started to circle, light on his feet, bouncing on the balls of his shoes, testing distance. His eyes were hard, feral—rage wrapped tight around insecurity. He feinted left, then right, trying to read Joon-ho.

Joon-ho didn’t move much. He walked to his corner, resting his forearms briefly on the top rope, flexing his hands one at a time. His knuckles ached; the bruises along his ribs pulled when he inhaled. His jaw throbbed faintly where the skin was still tender.

He drew in a slow breath through his nose and let it out just as steadily.

The noise faded.

The basement felt smaller now, tighter. Valeria’s crew leaned in, expressions ranging from eager to predatory. In the back, the uncle sat perfectly still, smoke curling around his face like a crown. Mateo stood behind him, arms crossed, eyes never leaving the ring—ready to move if anything crossed the line.

The ex laughed under his breath. "What’s wrong? You tired already? That beating I gave you the other night still hurting?"

Joon-ho lifted his gaze then, finally stepping away from the ropes. His posture shifted—subtle, economical, shoulders loose, weight balanced. Not flashy. Not rushed.

Valeria noticed. Her grin widened.

She climbed up onto the edge of the ring, boots thudding softly against the apron. "Hey," she called, and Joon-ho glanced her way.

She leaned in close, close enough that only he could hear her over the low murmur of the room. She caught him by the chin, fingers firm, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"Don’t hold back, cariño," she said, voice low and thrilled. "Pummel him until he forgets his own name. And if you win—" her lips curved, dangerous and playful "—maybe I’ll show you how a real Spanish girl celebrates."

She kissed his cheek—brief, warm, electric—then hopped down from the ring and shot Mateo a look over her shoulder.

"Don’t let anyone interfere."

Mateo gave a single nod.

The ex saw the exchange and exploded, slapping his fists together as he stalked forward. "You see this?" he barked, pointing at Valeria. "You think you can take me without your women watching your back? Without hiding behind skirts?"

Joon-ho didn’t flinch. He rolled his neck once, then lifted his hands, settling into stance. His pulse was loud in his ears now, adrenaline washing away the pain, sharpening everything.

"I don’t need anyone behind me," he said evenly, voice cutting through the space between them. His eyes never left the ex’s face. "Especially not to deal with trash."

The room went quiet.

The ex’s smile vanished.

Somewhere behind them, the uncle exhaled a thin stream of smoke.

And the distance between the two men closed, the air between their fists tight with the promise of violence.

The uncle’s voice rang out, deep and commanding: "Fight."

They circled, the world narrowing to fists, sweat, the roar of blood in his ears. Joon-ho’s senses sharpened. Every movement of the ex, every twitch, every breath—the ring was the world now.

Valeria’s laughter rang from the edge. "Come on, Joon-ho! Don’t just dance, make him regret it!"

The ex feinted, then lunged. Joon-ho sidestepped, remembering every spar in the gym, every fight in the alleys, every lesson from nights spent protecting those he loved.