The early morning light filtered through the cracks in the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor of Jaemin's study. The silence was almost suffocating as he sat hunched over his desk, eyes bloodshot, his face pale from the lack of sleep. The papers in front of him were a blur of numbers, figures, contracts—endless tasks he had buried himself in since their conversation the night before. He could still feel the weight of Sooah's words, the way they had clung to him even after she had left the room. But he wouldn't let it distract him. He couldn't.
I don't deserve to rest, he thought, his fingers trembling slightly as he picked up the pen to sign another document. I don't deserve to feel.
Jaemin's body ached from the punishing workout routine he had pushed himself through the previous night, his muscles sore, every movement sending sharp twinges of pain through his body. It was his own form of penance. A way to punish himself for allowing himself a moment of vulnerability, for letting himself feel anything at all. He had no right to weakness, no right to feel sorry for himself.
He glanced at the clock on the wall, noting that it was nearly 6 AM. It was time to get moving again. He couldn't let his mind wander, couldn't allow his thoughts to stray to the conversation with Sooah, or the look in her eyes when she had confronted him about his past. He couldn't afford to care about anything beyond the work before him. If he did, if he let his emotions get the best of him, he would fall apart. And he couldn't allow that. Not now. Not when everything he had worked so hard for was within his grasp.
Jaemin stood up from his desk, the movement slow and deliberate as he stretched his aching limbs. He had never been one to stop for anything—his body was his tool, his weapon. And if it couldn't keep up, if it started to give out, he would force it. He would make it work until it didn't have a choice.
He walked into the living room, his footsteps heavy on the cold marble floor. The light from the window illuminated his form, his broad shoulders, his sculpted torso—a body he had built through endless hours of grueling workouts, starvation, and punishment. There was no room for softness in Jaemin's world, no space for weakness. His reflection in the large mirror that covered one wall of the room was a constant reminder of the price he had paid.
He could hardly recognize the man who stared back at him now—the man who had spent years indulging in excess, whose life had been shaped by luxury and comfort. That man was gone. The man who stood before him now was a product of pain, discipline, and self-loathing. Every inch of him was a testament to his refusal to be the person he had once been. He had burned his old life to the ground and rebuilt himself from the ashes, piece by piece.
Jaemin's eyes flicked over to the framed picture on the side table—Sooah, smiling, her bright eyes looking at him with warmth. The picture was old, taken before everything had fallen apart. He didn't want to look at it, didn't want to remember who he had been when he had been with her. That man was weak. He had been weak, but no longer.
With a final, almost imperceptible sigh, Jaemin grabbed his gym bag and left the room, heading straight for the elevator. He was going to run his body into the ground today. He was going to work harder than he ever had before. Because if he didn't—if he allowed himself to stop, to breathe, to feel—he would shatter. And he couldn't afford to do that.
Hours passed, and Jaemin's body continued to move, to push, to fight. The gym was empty at this time of day, save for the solitary figure of the man who had become obsessed with perfection. The weights clanged with each lift, the sound reverberating through the cold, sterile air. Sweat poured from his brow as he focused on the next rep, the next set, the next movement. There was nothing but the sound of his breath and the harsh rhythm of his training.
He didn't need to think about anything else. His body was the only thing that mattered right now. His mind was focused on nothing but the pain, the sweat, the struggle. This was his only form of control. His only way to cope with everything that had happened, with everything he had lost.
But even as he pushed his body beyond its limits, even as he drove himself harder and harder, Jaemin could feel the sting of reality creeping in. He couldn't escape it. No matter how many hours he spent in the gym, no matter how many weights he lifted, there would always be that nagging voice in the back of his mind, reminding him of what he had lost.
Sooah.
Her words echoed in his mind again. The confrontation, the questioning. The way she had looked at him with such confusion and hurt, like she didn't understand why he was the way he was now. She hadn't been able to see it, to understand what he had gone through in those three years apart. She hadn't understood the depth of the pain he had endured, the transformation he had undergone.
But it didn't matter. None of it mattered.
Jaemin gritted his teeth, pushing harder, lifting more, refusing to stop. He couldn't let himself falter, couldn't let himself break. Not now, not after everything he had sacrificed.
He was doing this for himself.
The weights fell back into place with a loud clang, and Jaemin stood there, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over him, but only for a brief moment. Then, he opened them again, his gaze hardening.
There was no time for weakness. No time for regret. No time for anything that wasn't his mission. He had a goal, and he would reach it—no matter the cost.
Jaemin's transformation wasn't just physical. It was everything. And as long as he kept working, kept pushing forward, he could hold on to that control. Because in this world, that was all that mattered.