Min Yoongi is one of the best physiotherapists in Seoul.
Park Jimin is a young Football star with a groin injury.
They despise each other from the moment they meet. As far as Yoongi is concerned, Jimin is a rich, spoiled brat who is too used to ge...
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Park Jimin wasn't in a good mood. "I still don't understand why I can't get a physiotherapist I know. I don't know that guy."
The look his personal assistant shot him was long-suffering at best. "Because the club's physiotherapists are overworked already," she said. "And Dr. Choi wants you to work with a therapist he trusts."
Jimin checked the time on his phone. "The guy is late. I don't have all day."
He turned his face away to hide his smile when Arin gritted her teeth. However, her voice was remarkably calm as she said, "He's only seven minutes late, Jimin. And it's the third time you've said that in the last five minutes."
Jimin gave her an innocent look. "But he's late!"
"You're late all the time, princess," Arin muttered under her breath, which was clearly not meant for his ears. Despite being his personal assistant for over a year, Arin still had no idea how sharp his hearing was and had the habit of saying nasty things about him when she thought he couldn't hear. It was pretty amusing.
Jimin suppressed a smile. He knew he should probably stop deliberately exasperating her, but he was so bored. Now that he was injured and pretty much confined to the house, winding up his personal assistant was the only remotely interesting thing to do. It was almost fun to watch Arin try to hold back smartass comments she wanted to make. Almost.
"Min Yoongi comes highly recommended," Arin said louder.
"I'm sure there's a good reason for his lateness. He's an outrageously expensive physiotherapist and personal trainer. He must be good." Jimin shrugged. His team doctor promised to find him the best physiotherapist to help him recover from his groin injury, but Jimin hadn't asked for any details; that was Arin's job.
"What good does it do for me if he isn't here? My injury isn't going to heal itself. I'm tired of waiting."
"Then let's go back inside," Arin said, a note of exasperation creeping into her voice again. "I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to be walking anyway."
Leaning back against the tree, Jimin looked at the house and scowled. "I'm sick of being stuck inside all day. I'm not paralyzed." This time he wasn't complaining just to annoy Arin. The lack of activity really had been driving him crazy. He missed football. Missed the feeling of being healthy and fit, the wind in his face as he sprinted toward the goal, the elation he felt when he scored, the roar of the crowd singing and chanting his name. Football was his life. The only thing that mattered.
Jimin looked at the gray sky. It was March already. The World Cup was just three months away. Time was running out. He needed to return to the pitch as soon as possible and regain his form if he wanted to impress the National Team's coach. Jimin might be the most talented Korean player in generations (in his humble opinion), but he had relatively little experience on an international level, and he knew that hindered his chances of being chosen.
