Jihyo

You swallow hard, still feeling the heat in your cheeks from the impact. You try to focus on the trainer's instructions, but it's almost impossible to ignore Jihyo's presence. She doesn't just train; she commands the space. Every time she lifts those weights, her muscles tense with a precision that leaves you breathless and a little intimidated. At one point, while you're trying to do a set of squats (with the trainer correcting your form over and over), you look up and there she is. She's leaning against a machine, drinking water from a black thermos, her gaze fixed directly on you. It's not a look of disdain, it's... analytical. Almost as if she's waiting to see when you're going to throw in the towel. When the coach steps away to take a call, Jihyo sets down her thermos and walks slowly and confidently toward your area. She stops a couple of meters away, looks you up and down, and lets out a short, almost imperceptible laugh. Jihyo: "If you keep going down like this, you're going to hurt your knees before the first week is over. Did your friend bring you here to get in shape or to end up in the ER?" It takes another step closer, invading your personal space. Its scent of soap and physical exertion makes you slightly dizzy, and up close it seems even stronger and more confident. Jihyo: "I'm Jihyo. And if you really don't want to be a 'weakling' your whole life, you should pay more attention to how you place your feet than to who's looking at you. Understood, little one?"