Love Without Measure

27. Ice & Fire

The ice rink in Seoul glimmered under harsh fluorescent lights, the scent of fresh ice mingling with the faint tang of sweat and leather. The crowd had gone hours ago, leaving the arena almost eerily quiet, except for the soft echo of skates slicing across ice.

Min-jun Park, 30, hockey team manager and former player, leaned against the railing, arms crossed. His dark hair was slightly damp from the indoor heat, and his sharp brown eyes scanned the rink with the practiced focus of someone who had built a career out of discipline and strategy.

Across the rink, Seo-yeon Kim, 27, the team's star forward, glided effortlessly, her movements fluid and precise. Her energy was magnetic—every stride commanding attention, her amber hair tied back in a sleek ponytail that bounced with her every turn. She was fierce, talented, and utterly unafraid to challenge anyone—even Min-jun.

He watched her pause near the boards, wiping the sweat from her brow. A faint pang of... something stirred in his chest. Admiration, yes—but also something more complicated. Something he had tried to ignore for months. She's twenty-seven... and I'm thirty. That shouldn't matter. But it does.

"Park," a voice called from behind him. "Stop staring and go talk to her before someone else does."

He turned to see Hyun-woo, his best friend and assistant coach, smirking. "Do I detect a bit of a crush?" Hyun-woo teased.

Min-jun scowled, though a small smile betrayed him. "She's my player, not some... distraction."

"Sure," Hyun-woo said, rolling his eyes. "Except you've been watching her for the last five minutes like she's going to jump off the ice and kiss you."

Min-jun gritted his teeth. Maybe she could. Maybe I wouldn't stop her.

Later that evening, Seo-yeon walked off the ice, towel draped over her shoulders. Min-jun caught up to her near the locker room, clearing his throat. "Seo-yeon, about the training schedule..."

She glanced at him, those amber eyes softening for a split second before returning to her usual playful defiance. "Yes, manager Park?"

He tried to keep his voice professional, though the tension in the air made it impossible. "Tomorrow's scrimmage... I want you focusing on power plays, not rushing through drills."

She smirked. "Is that an order or a suggestion?"

"Both," he said firmly, but his gaze lingered longer than necessary. He wanted to reach out, tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, but he restrained himself. She's a professional. Keep it that way.

Seo-yeon noticed his lingering look, raising an eyebrow. "Something wrong, manager?" she asked teasingly, but there was a flicker of curiosity in her tone.

Min-jun shook his head, finally tearing his eyes away. "Nothing. Focus on the scrimmage."

But in the quiet of the empty arena later, when Seo-yeon practiced alone, Min-jun stayed near the railing, watching her glide across the ice. Every spin, every shot, every controlled stop—it was hypnotic. I shouldn't feel this way. She's a player, I'm her manager. And yet... I can't look away.

The tension between them built over the next few weeks. Small touches in the locker room, lingering glances during drills, even the way she laughed at his rare attempts at humor—all sent Min-jun's disciplined world into chaos.

Then, one evening, after a particularly grueling practice, Seo-yeon approached him, cheeks flushed. "Park, can you... help me with my stick grip?" she asked, her voice almost shy, the professional mask slipping.

He stepped closer, hands hovering near hers. This is wrong, he thought, every rational part of him screaming to pull back. But I can't. I don't want to.