The Pursuit of Shin Ryujin || Ryeji ff

- 16

Cousin Changbin's gym hadn't changed. The musky smell of sweat and blood still hung in the air, assaulting Yeji's nose every time she breathed. Her eyes were still drawn the white and red color scheme. And the furnace-like temperature remained, if the sweat dripping down Yeji's back was any indication.

It wasn't Yeji's idea to rejoin the gym. She had been content to stay home, work on her music and tend to her night-job. Her management had other ideas, however.

Image was everything in the music industry. Truth was, the industry cared little for real talent. It needed a product, something they can market to an audience — they need results.

Yeji's image was simple: vixen, a sex symbol. And sex was something purely physical. The audience was attracted to their body — the voice was simply a bonus. Technically, everything that Yeji said under the public gaze had to be scrutinized under management's gaze prior.

Her confessing to having a special someone? Gives her audience something fantasize about. If they believe that sex-symbol Hwang Yeji can settle down with someone, the idea that they could be the one that she settles down with is inevitable.

So why was she at the gym? Because according to the management, and using their exact words, 'We can't sell a fat rockstar. Get your ass in the gym and burn off all that holiday fat you've put on.'

It's ruthless, but it's the world we live in. Our outward appearance is all we — as we've been conditioned to do so — care about.

That didn't mean Yeji liked the idea. In fact, the rage she felt for this concept was what kept her at the gym for almost four hours every day, for the last two weeks. From cardio to weight-lifting, nothing seemed to quell the fire in her belly.

She hated being sought out solely for her body. She hated being treated as a possession and not someone with their own values and capabilities. Above all, she hated that the ideas her management had planted in her mind was giving her body dysphoria.

She supposed it was just another way she could hate herself.

Presently, Yeji was pounding away at the sandbag swinging in front of her. She wasn't wearing gloves; she didn't get the same rush. The feeling of her bare knuckles colliding with a hard surface over and over again was euphoric.

Her knuckles were probably bruised but they were too numb for Yeji to care. The only thing she could concentrate on was trying to burn off the hate coursing through veins.

Still, she couldn't help but take a peak. She was right: her digits and knuckles were painted with shades of red, blue and purple. It reminded her of the men she housed from time to time. They were painted with bruises, too.

Uncle Junho was serious about using her home as a base of operations. While he handled the FBI and public image, Kai was meeting with associates and other members to control the Jeong situation.

Kai briefed her on his family's history: all the way from Sicily to settling in America to the Golden Age in New York. He explained the blood feuds and the rituals and all the other nonsense. He briefed her on their (technically former) alliance with the Jeong family.

Everyone was on edge, having to walk on eggshells. No one knew how to approach a situation like this: everyone from the last blood feud had died years ago. Even the proper etiquette behind a feud was muddled with age.

Yeji was a very observant person. She noticed that every man walked differently, depending on who they were. Associates walked like Intak did: tall, shoulders back and light on their feet. Always ready to scram at the first sign of trouble. Members, however, were very sluggish. They strolled when they walked, slurred when they spoke and slouched when they stood. They weren't planning on leaving any time soon.