Breaking Point ➨ Sim Jaeyun

𝟗.

He raised an eyebrow. "Feisty."

"Annoying dick," I shot back.

That smirk faltered just a little. "You got some anger issues, Kim."

"You've got ego issues the size of your damn fucking basketball court, Sim. And trust me, they're not cute."

The way I said that exact sentence—sharp, deliberate—caught him off guard.

Good.

He stepped closer, tone shifting. "You always this pleasant, or just when people don't bow down to you?"

"Maybe only when people like you can't mind their fucking business."

"Maybe people like you need to calm the fuck down."

That was it.

I stepped forward again, heart pounding, fist tightening at my side. "Say that again."

He didn't back off. "I said calm the fuck—"

Before he could finish, my first instinct, pure frustration—but before my hand could land anywhere, the ball he was holding dropped to the floor with a thud.

And suddenly—his hand caught my wrist mid-air.

The other gripped my waist, pulling me just close enough that I could feel his breath on my skin.

The world just froze for that moment.

His eyes weren't cocky anymore. They were dark. Intense. Close.

Way too close.

"Careful," he muttered, voice low. "You don't wanna start something you can't finish."

My chest heaved. Every nerve in me screamed to move—but I didn't.

Not until Hanni's startled voice broke the tension. "Stel?"

Jake immediately stepped back, releasing me like nothing happened. I stumbled slightly, catching my balance.

"Practice's over," I said quickly, grabbing my bag, refusing to look at him.

As I walked past, he said under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear,

"Guess I hit a nerve, huh?"

I didn't respond. 

I couldn't.

Because that wasn't just a nerve—

It was the whole damn wall I'd been trying to keep up.

I swung the gym door open and just left, leaving everyone stunned.

 Cause I don't even know if I'm pissed or flustered.

I never had a problem with boys.

Why was he so special then.

Jaeyun's pov:

She's gone.

Just like that. Storming out, slamming the door behind her like the whole gym didn't exist.

And somehow... I can't stop thinking about it.

The way she spat that line at me. "You've got ego issues the size of your damn fucking basketball court, Sim. And trust me, they're not cute."

God, it wasn't just words. It was a punch straight to my pride — and somehow, I liked it.

I dropped to pick up the ball she'd tossed at me earlier, but I wasn't really looking at it. My mind kept replaying the tension, the heat in her eyes, the way she'd stepped forward, fist tightening, daring me to react.

And when I did...

My own hand had shot out. Gripped her wrist. My other hand landed on her waist.

What the fuck was that?

My dumbass shouldn't have fucking done that.

I always knew how to handle girls. Always. I could read them, play them, walk away whenever I wanted. 

But Stella...

Stella wasn't anyone I'd ever met. 

She didn't flinch. She didn't beg. Didn't play dumb. Didn't care about the usual bullshit that usually broke girls down.

And for some reason, that made my chest tighten.

Her storming out didn't help.

I'm supposed to be in control here. Supposed to be the one who calls the shots. But I can't stop replaying the way she looked at me—full of fire, full of defiance.

And now I realize... maybe I didn't just want to win her over as a game.

Maybe... I don't want to let go of that fire.

Her eyes, that voice, that sharp tongue — it's all stuck in my head.

And I hate that it's fucking stuck.

I ball the volleyball in my hands, knuckles whitening. I glance at the door she disappeared through, and I know one thing:

This isn't over.

Not by a long shot.