Han Seoryeong climbed the stairs on all fours alongside the recruits and pushed open the rooftop door. They collapsed under the sunlight, drying both their wounds and their tears with the red medicine. It became a cycle of falling asleep on the beds, their entire bodies covered in blotches.

Even those who once bragged about being former national athletes, and the ex-pros, had long since dropped out. They clicked their tongues, saying where in the world do they make you do PT for five hours straight, and rang the bell early to quit.

One day, they were made to stack sacks of rice and bricks all day long, only to tear them down and stack them again. And once they finished stacking them to the end, they were ordered to tear them down again, and again.

It was around then that Seoryeong realized: The instructors’ true goal wasn’t training — it was breaking their spirits and driving them to give up.

After just a week of living like that, even the ones who used to mouth off about women this, women that had gone pale and shut their mouths.

They no longer had the strength to hate each other, only a humble submission left behind. After training drained everything from them, even the meaningless battles of pride and tension seemed like a waste of energy.

Instead, there were more and more of them who would shuffle up to Seoryeong — the one who meticulously wrapped bandages and applied ointment — and quietly ask for help.

"Shit, why don’t you just open a damn hospital?"

Of course, there were still some brats who kept acting prickly.

***

"Huff... Huff..."

The morning of the third week was no different. They were out running their morning jog again, without fail.

Once again, breath clawed at her throat, and a stabbing pain flared between her ribs like skewers. Whenever the moment came when she wanted to give up, Seoryeong began negotiating little by little with herself.

Just until the 1km mark. Just get there. And when she barely made it, Okay, now just until the 2km mark. No, just until that turnaround point up ahead. Just a little further. She kept setting small goals like that, extending them over and over again.

But no matter how much she compromised with herself, her throat felt like it was being ripped apart, and even the act of breathing in and out was like swallowing needles.

Her body temperature had already soared sky-high. Maybe the accumulated fatigue had caught up to her — today, it felt even harder to move. Maybe... this is my real limit. Her vision started to waver.

"――!"

Suddenly, a gust of wind brushed past her. Her eyes widened instinctively, and she darted glances all around. The faintest, fleeting trace of a scent had brushed against her flushed cheek.

What... was that? Where did that come from? It was undeniable. Clear and distinct.

From somewhere — there was the scent of Kim Hyeon’s body.

This time, it wasn’t some perfume, or fabric softener. It was the raw smell that only came out when sweat soaked through the skin — The same primitive, hormonal scent that used to waft off him when they had sex.

Anxious now, Seoryeong kept turning her head around. But no matter how wide she opened her eyes, all she could see were the panting, sweaty recruits around her.

And then — her gaze fell on an instructor running ahead of them. Maybe it was because she was exhausted, but the thought that she might be hallucinating flitted through her mind. Still, the scent had been so sharp, so vivid — it couldn’t just be dismissed.

Even if it was an illusion, it felt good. Her blood surged through her veins with such force that she couldn’t ignore it even if she wanted to. Grinding her teeth together, Seoryeong sprinted forward and grabbed the man’s uniform.

"Ugh...!"

Startled, the instructor came to a halt and met her gaze.

"What’s wrong?"

The man, tall and broad-shouldered with a cheerful impression, looked at her curiously. His bronze-toned skin... he looked vaguely familiar — a member of the Special Security Team, surely.

If I asked him if I could shove my nose into his sweaty body right now, he'd think I was fucking insane.

Seoryeong parted her lips slightly — then shut them again and simply shook her head. Instead, she stared fixedly at his face — eyes, nose, lips — solidly built, and trustworthy-looking.

And then, like someone slipping back into sickness, she started mentally comparing him to Kim Hyeon.

What did Kim Hyeon look like again?

Right... He had monolid eyes like that. A sharply raised nose like that. A strong, masculine jawline like that. And yet, there had been something bright and clean-cut about him, an innocent, earnest kind of image.

Adults had liked him. Kids had adored him. Women probably liked the fact he was an athlete.

The instructor in front of her started overlapping more and more with her memories of Kim Hyeon. Seoryeong opened her parched lips like a traveler who had stumbled across an oasis in the desert.

But—

There was no way an NIS agent like Kim Hyeon would be here. Still, at least... at least check the voice. What was his voice like again? It was a little husky, wasn’t it? Kim Hyeon had blinded her eyes, yes — but he hadn’t deafened her ears.

Am I even thinking straight? Is my body moving properly? Has my brain run out of oxygen?

Her thoughts started scattering without direction. Multiple voices overlapped chaotically in her head — But Seoryeong, parched with thirst, stared half-mad at the man.

Just... naturally. Start a conversation naturally.

"Instructor, um... instead of just doing regular laundry—"

"Yes?"

"For that uniform, when it gets all stained with sweat, if you mix baking soda with water and apply it before washing, it’ll help."

"Ah..."

"And make sure to check the label’s care instructions before—"

"How many fingers do you see?"

Abruptly, the man waggled two fingers at her.

What the hell... even his peace sign looks cute...

Come to think of it, wasn’t his height kind of similar too? The stiffness, the way he carried himself — it all overlapped. No, but still — there’s no way Kim Hyeon would be here...

And yet, just looking at a body that resembled him made the thirst inside her ease up a little. Even though she knew exactly how pathetic she looked, she couldn’t help it.

Just being able to look at him seemed to loosen the knot in her chest. She stared hungrily at the man — and then, it happened.

"――!"

A large hand suddenly covered Seoryeong’s eyes.

A strong pressure pressed against her temple, knocking her backward — until she slammed into something hard behind her.

The hand blocking her sight smelled oddly sweet, like candy.

"Eyes front. Run properly."

A cold voice, like a gust of wind, cooled her overheated skin. When she turned around, indifferent eyes were looking down at her. In that time, the instructor she had been staring at had simply bowed politely and jogged off.

Seoryeong found herself unconsciously smacking her lips as she watched his retreating back. Then a long finger snapped sharply in front of her.

"Get your damn head screwed on straight."

"......!"

He struck her sagging back with the palm of his hand, forcing her into a trot. Seoryeong had no choice but to grit her teeth and run again.

The pain she had briefly forgotten — like an anesthesia wearing off — returned the moment she faced Lee Wooshin.

No matter how much she wrapped her feet in bandages, it was useless. She ran with a limp, while Lee Wooshin casually backpedaled in long, easy strides. The look he gave her was frigid.

"I've already caught Han Seoryeong twice now — drooling over men."

He tensed his jaw.

"Try getting caught a third time."

"......."

"I can turn a blind eye to my recruits swinging knives around — but not to them screwing around."

After delivering that clear warning, Lee Wooshin strode past her without looking back. Seoryeong, panting heavily, glared at his retreating long legs.

Saying anything here would only invite more trouble, and she didn’t have the strength to argue back anyway.

And then — he suddenly stopped walking. Hands on his hips, he stared at the ground.

Now what?

Seoryeong pouted slightly — and then he started marching back toward her. His twisted expression got closer, closer — and then without warning, he flicked his knuckle squarely against her forehead.

"Ah...!"

His middle finger bounced off her forehead, and then his thumb brushed carelessly over the sore spot. Seoryeong gaped at him in disbelief. Lee Wooshin frowned and let out a hollow laugh.

"The more I think about it, the more pissed off I get. Drooling over some passing instructor — seriously? What are you, a goddamn mutt?"

"If I ever drooled—!"

"If you’ve still got energy to argue, maybe we should bump it up to 7 kilometers?"

"......."

Seoryeong immediately clamped her mouth shut, her spine freezing over.

Even now, faintly, she could still smell Kim Hyeon’s scent lingering /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ at the tip of her nose.

"Don’t try to find a substitute husband here."

"......!"

"There’s no such thing here."

Lee Wooshin clicked his tongue, disgusted, and left the training yard entirely. Seoryeong winced, as if stabbed deep in the gut.

Of course my husband wouldn’t be here. Who wouldn’t know that?

She wasn’t trying to find her husband — she was just drawn to anything that resembled him.

Like mistaking a pot lid for a drum — she wasn’t catching feelings for strange men, just confirming over and over that everything about her preferences had been molded by Kim Hyeon.

If she could never find him again — maybe she’d just spend her life chasing after hollow shells that resembled him, savoring tiny, fleeting moments of joy.

Even the thought of it made her heart crumble.

That day, Han Seoryeong once again ate her meal dead last.