Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg-Chapter 235: Not Settling for Just One

Joon-ho sat tucked away in the far corner of the café, a dim pocket of privacy behind a battered faux-wood table. It was late afternoon, and sunlight streamed through the tall windows, slicing up the room with long golden bars. The whole place smelled like roasted beans and caramel syrup, clinking cups and espresso hiss underscoring the quiet. A football game played on mute above the baristas, but it was the other screen—mounted high in the corner, flickering in high definition—that held Joon-ho’s attention.

Women’s volleyball. The crowd on TV roared in silence as the camera panned in on Ji-hye. She was mid-serve: ponytail snapping, eyes sharp, the lines of her body tense and perfectly controlled. The scoreboard in the corner flashed 22-19—Ji-hye’s club was leading, closing in on the end of the fourth set, one more point needed to force a tie. Joon-ho watched her movements, his own body tense, mouth dry. She tossed the ball up, jumped, smashed it—an ace, clean and brutal, the other team’s libero scrambling uselessly.

He let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, lips curving upward. Even now, after everything, watching her play still made something in his chest tighten. He wondered if she could feel him thinking of her across the city.

A bell chimed. He looked up. The front door swung open and a woman entered—mid-thirties, maybe, with sharp cheekbones, hair twisted in a dark knot, suit crisp and perfectly fitted. She scanned the café, spotted him, and walked over without hesitation. Joon-ho pushed himself up, forced a polite smile.

She stopped beside his table and extended her hand. "Kim Joon-ho?"

He nodded, standing to greet her. "That’s me."

"I’m Detective Kang Min-seo," she said, her handshake firm, her voice measured but warm enough to take the edge off the formality. "Seoul District Investigations. Thank you for meeting on short notice."

"Of course. Please—sit." He gestured at the seat across from him. She slid into it smoothly, unclipping a slim leather notebook and a ballpoint pen. She didn’t even glance at the menu; the staff, seeing the badge clipped to her lapel, discreetly set a black coffee on the table for her and moved away.

"Sorry about the odd venue," Kang said, smoothing her jacket. "I prefer field meetings—less intimidating for everyone. And it seems you’re a regular here."

Joon-ho smiled, nervousness bleeding into the gesture. "It’s close to the clinic. And home."

Kang’s eyes flicked up to the TV. Ji-hye was on the screen again, her team huddling between points, sweat running down her temples. Kang’s lips twitched in a faint smile. "You’re watching her match?"

Joon-ho nodded. "Fourth set. If they win this, it’s a tie. She’s—" He hesitated, searching for the right word. "Focused."

"She’s impressive," Kang agreed. "I caught last week’s highlights. She doesn’t let anything rattle her. Must run in the company she keeps."

Joon-ho let the compliment hang, not quite sure what to say.

Kang flipped open her notebook. Her tone shifted, businesslike. "I want to confirm a few things for the record. You’re currently in a relationship with Park Ji-hye, yes?"

"Yes." He answered without hesitation.

"And you’re aware she’s one of several public figures recently targeted in an ongoing blackmail and harassment case?"

"Yes. I know about the blackmail attempts. She’s—" He hesitated, then found resolve. "She’s been through a lot. She’s not the only one, I know, but it’s hit her hard."

Kang nodded, jotting notes. "You were the first point of contact when she received the initial threats. The texts, the emails—can you recall if there were any messages that stood out? Any specific threats, demands, or unusual details?"

Joon-ho sifted through memories: Ji-hye showing him her phone with shaking hands, the first time. "They always mentioned ’exposing the truth’—but there was never anything concrete. Just threats and deadlines. One message referenced an old photo of her with her ex-boyfriend. That seemed like bait. She never responded."

"Did she say anything about her ex-boyfriend’s possible involvement at the time?"

"She... She was angry. Embarrassed, maybe. But mostly angry. She said he’d been pestering her on social media, but she blocked him." Joon-ho frowned, recalling Ji-hye’s sharp tone, the way her jaw had set. "She never believed he’d go this far."

Kang nodded. "His involvement is what we’re trying to clarify now. He’s in custody, as you may know. We have evidence linking him to an overseas group specializing in digital blackmail—targeting public figures, celebrities, influencers, that sort. They use proxies, encrypted apps, and most of the time, the victims never see the real faces behind the threats."

Joon-ho swallowed. "Is he cooperating?"

Kang gave a humorless smile. "He’s talking. His lawyer’s pushing for bail, which we expect will be approved—on the condition of house arrest and electronic monitoring." She tapped her pen on the notebook, considering. "I want to ask—has anyone approached you, or Ji-hye, in person? Any strangers hanging around the building, or the clinic?"

Joon-ho shook his head. "No. She’s had people from her agency around. Security’s been tighter, especially after Mirae’s scandal last year. But nothing suspicious. The only weird stuff has been online—DMs, new accounts popping up to troll her, that sort of thing."

Kang wrote quickly. "Have you seen any uptick in this since the ex-boyfriend was arrested?"

"Not really. It’s quieter, actually. Like they’re regrouping, or waiting for something."

"Sometimes," Kang said, "that’s the most dangerous lull. The networks overseas—they don’t let go easily. They’re in it for the money, not the headlines." She closed her notebook for a moment, meeting his eyes. "If Ji-hye gets any more threats, or if anyone approaches her, you call me directly." She handed him a business card, her name and a mobile number embossed in blue.

He took it, fingertips brushing hers. "I will. Thank you."

Kang glanced at the TV again. Ji-hye’s team had just scored another point—a furious rally, Ji-hye flying across the court to dig, the ball coming up an impossible angle, the crowd roaring. Kang’s gaze lingered. "She’s got guts. Not everyone does, when the mob comes knocking. Some people fold."

"She’s stronger than she thinks," Joon-ho said quietly. "She hates showing it, but it’s always there. She’s the reason the others stay together, honestly. Even when she’s breaking down, she holds everyone else up."

Kang nodded, eyes thoughtful. "That’s exactly why they target her. High-profile, visible, lots to lose. It’s not just about money—it’s about humiliation. Making someone feel powerless, cornered."

Joon-ho’s jaw tensed. "If it happens again, I’ll make sure she’s safe. I promise."

Kang gave a half-smile, something softer in her eyes. "You care about her. That’s obvious. Just remember—these people are experts at isolating victims. Don’t let her push you away. Even if she acts like she doesn’t need anyone."

He nodded, pocketing the card.

She opened her notebook again, checked her notes. "We’ve gathered statements from several other victims. Ji-hye’s ex-boyfriend has admitted contact with the group, but claims he was blackmailed too—caught in a scam, pressured to forward their messages and collect data. We don’t know how much of that is true, but the forensic evidence lines up. There’s always a risk he could try to contact her again. Even under house arrest, it’s not impossible."

"He’ll try," Joon-ho said flatly, surprising even himself with the anger in his voice. "He’s the type who thinks he can talk his way out of anything."

Kang gave him a sharp look, then nodded, writing that down.

He watched her—steady, efficient, but there was something tired in her eyes, like she’d had to do this dance a hundred times before. He wondered how many other Ji-hyes there were, how many other partners sitting across from her, wringing their hands.

She finished her notes and sat back. "Last question, then I’ll let you go. Are you aware of any information, rumors, or photographs in the public sphere that could be used against Ji-hye? Anything not yet surfaced?"

Joon-ho shook his head. "Nothing that isn’t already known. She’s been careful. Even in college—she wasn’t wild. The worst you’ll find is a few drunk selfies with Mirae."

Kang actually laughed. "Those are the best kind. Harmless, human. Not the kind anyone gets canceled for."

Her coffee had gone cold. She took a sip anyway, then set the cup down and gathered her things. The air in the café relaxed, just a little, as she clicked her pen closed.

"I appreciate your cooperation, Dr. Kim. If anything changes, you have my number. And I hope, for both your sakes, that this is the end of it. But..." She paused, considering him with a mixture of respect and a little sly curiosity.

She jerked her chin at the TV. Ji-hye was in the middle of a rally, spiking the ball, the crowd going wild. "You know, there’s a lot of talk about you and your—ah—complicated personal life. The Coffee Prince fans, especially. They argue about whether you belong to Mirae or Ji-hye, or whether you’re the real hero, or just lucky."

Joon-ho felt himself flush, half-embarrassed, half-amused. "I try to keep my head down. Not much use—it’s all over the net anyway."

Kang grinned, finally letting the professional mask slip. "I think they’ll be disappointed to know you’re not settling for just one. Or maybe excited. Depends on the fan. It’s a drama, honestly."

He laughed, the tension in his chest finally breaking. "It’s a mess, that’s for sure. I never planned any of it."

"Life never goes to plan." She tucked her notebook into her bag. "Just try to stay out of the tabloids, Doctor. For all our sakes."

"I’ll do my best."

She rose, smoothing her suit, and offered her hand again. He shook it, a little less formally this time. "Thank you, Detective Kang."

"Anytime. And good luck—with all of it." She paused, as if considering one last thing, then nodded and turned, heels tapping quietly as she left the café.

Joon-ho sat back, exhaling deeply. The place felt emptier without her, the conversation replaying in his head, equal parts reassurance and warning. He stared down at the business card in his hand, thumb tracing the embossed lettering.

On the TV, Ji-hye’s team won the set—her arms flung up, teammates mobbing her, confetti falling. Joon-ho let himself smile, small and tired but real. He raised his coffee in a silent toast to the screen.

His phone buzzed. A text from Ji-hye: "Did you see that serve? We’re going to game 5!!" He grinned, fingers flying. "Saw everything. You were perfect. Dinner tonight?"

She replied instantly. "You better bring flowers. I want all the attention."

He laughed, tension draining from his body, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. Maybe the worst was over. Maybe not. Either way, he was here—watching her, protecting her, in the middle of the storm, and wouldn’t change a thing.

The café’s door banged open again; the evening crowd was trickling in, voices rising, the city settling into its restless, electric rhythm. Joon-ho finished his coffee, gathered his bag, and stepped out into the dusk—business card in his pocket, Ji-hye’s smile vivid in his mind, the future uncertain but suddenly, for this moment, bright.