CHAPTER 3: BLOOD AND DESIRE
The words hung in the air between them like a physical force. Jiho's mind reeled, trying to process what Jiha had just said. Step-brother? It couldn't be. His mother had never mentioned—
"My mother married your father when I was twelve," Jiha continued, her grip on his collar loosening but not releasing. "Yoon Tae-sung. He died five years ago in a car accident. After that, your mother and I... we drifted apart. She moved away, and I stayed with my biological father. I haven't seen her since I was seventeen."
Jiho's throat went dry. It was true. His father had been married before, had a daughter from that marriage. He'd been so young when his parents divorced that he barely remembered Jiha, and his mother had rarely spoken about that part of her life.
"I didn't recognize you at first," Jiha said, finally releasing him. She stepped back, running a hand through her dark hair in frustration. "You were just a kid when I last saw you. But your face... it's so similar to your father's. And when you said your mother's name..." She trailed off, her expression conflicted.
"Why didn't you say anything before?" Jiho asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Because I wasn't sure," Jiha replied. "And because..." She looked away, her jaw clenching. "Because this is complicated. You're here. You're the only man in an academy full of women who are already obsessed with you. And now I find out you're my step-brother, which means I should feel protective of you, not..." She stopped abruptly, her cheeks flushing.
"Not what?" Jiho pressed.
Jiha's eyes snapped back to his, and there was a raw vulnerability in them that took his breath away. "Not the way I'm starting to feel about you," she admitted quietly. "God, this is so messed up."
Before Jiho could respond, footsteps approached. Both of them tensed, and Jiha quickly stepped away from him, creating distance. Mikooma, the police commissioner, emerged from the shadows. She was dressed in her formal uniform, her expression stern and unreadable.
"Recruit Jiho," she said coldly. "You're needed in the medical wing for your mandatory physical examination. Now."
Jiho glanced at Jiha, but she had already turned away, her body language closed off and defensive. He followed Mikooma without protest, his mind still spinning with the revelation.
The medical wing was sterile and clinical, all white walls and the sharp smell of antiseptic. A nurse—a woman in her fifties with kind eyes—instructed him to remove his shirt and lie on the examination table. As she performed the routine checks, Jiho couldn't help but notice how her hands lingered slightly longer than necessary on his chest, how her breathing became slightly heavier.
"You're in excellent physical condition," she murmured, her voice taking on a softer quality. "Very... fit."
When she finished, she handed him a hospital gown. "The commissioner wants a full evaluation. You'll need to change into this."
Alone in the examination room, Jiho stripped down to his underwear and put on the gown. It was thin, barely concealing anything. He was sitting on the edge of the table when Mikooma returned, and he caught the way her eyes lingered on his exposed legs and chest before she composed herself.
"The physical examination is standard for all recruits," she said, her voice clipped and professional. But there was a slight tremor beneath the coldness. "We need to ensure you're capable of meeting academy standards."
She performed the examination herself, her touch clinical but occasionally hesitating. When she checked his reflexes, her fingers brushed against his inner thigh, and she quickly pulled away, her face flushing slightly.
"Everything appears to be in order," she said stiffly, turning away. "You're dismissed."
That evening, in the barracks, Jiho found a note slipped under his bunk. It was written in elegant handwriting: Meet me in the training room at midnight. Come alone. —K
Kali. It had to be.
At midnight, Jiho made his way through the darkened academy to the training room. The space was dimly lit by moonlight streaming through the high windows. Kali was waiting for him, dressed in a black tank top and shorts that left her long, muscular legs exposed. Her dark skin seemed to glow in the pale light.
"I wanted to apologize for earlier," she said, moving closer to him. "And to explain myself."
"Explain what?" Jiho asked, his pulse quickening as she circled him slowly.
"Why I'm so drawn to you," Kali said, her accent making the words sound almost hypnotic. "In my country, I was raised to be strong, independent, to never need a man. But you..." She reached out and traced a finger down his arm. "You make me question everything I've been taught. You make me want things I shouldn't want."
She pushed him gently against the wall, and before he could process what was happening, she kissed him. It was aggressive and demanding, her lips claiming his with a confidence that left him breathless. Her hands roamed across his chest, pulling his shirt up slightly.
"Kali, I—" Jiho started, but she silenced him with another kiss.
"Don't talk," she whispered against his lips. "Just feel."
She dropped to her knees, her hands moving to his belt, but the sound of footsteps in the hallway made her freeze. She quickly stood, smoothing down her clothes.
"Go," she hissed. "Before someone sees us."
Jiho stumbled out of the training room, his heart pounding and his body aching with unfulfilled desire. As he made his way back to the barracks, he nearly collided with Amai, who was returning from a late-night study session.
"Jiho!" she exclaimed, steadying herself. Her eyes widened as she took in his disheveled appearance—his wrinkled shirt, his flushed face. "What were you doing?"
"I... couldn't sleep," he lied. "I was just taking a walk."
Amai's expression shifted, and he saw a flash of hurt cross her features before she masked it. "I see," she said quietly. "Well, you should get some rest. Training starts early tomorrow."
She brushed past him, and Jiho felt a pang of guilt. He was beginning to understand the complexity of his situation. Every woman in this academy was starting to want him, and he was caught in the middle of their conflicting desires and emotions.
As he lay in his bunk that night, unable to sleep, Jiho realized that the revelation about Jiha was only the beginning of his problems. The step-sibling connection added a layer of complication that he didn't know how to navigate. And with Kali's boldness, Mikooma's hidden attraction, Amai's gentle affection, Jenny's aggressive flirtation, Mira's jealous possessiveness, and Errai's conflicted authority, he was caught in a web of desire that was rapidly spiraling out of control.
The question was no longer whether these women would fall for him. The question was what would happen when they all did.
"I'm... I'm a new recruit," he managed, his voice cracking embarrassingly.
"I can see that," Errai said coldly, circling him like a predator assessing prey. "What I don't understand is why. This is an all-female academy. We don't need men here. We've proven we don't need men anywhere." She stopped directly in front of him, her face inches from his. He could smell her perfume—something floral and intoxicating. "You're going to be a problem, aren't you?"
Before he could respond, another woman pushed forward—petite, with blonde hair and delicate features that seemed almost doll-like. She was beautiful in a way that made Jiho's breath catch, but her expression was pure venom.
"My name is Mira," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "And I speak for most of us when I say you're not welcome here. This is our space. Our academy. Our future. You don't belong."
"She's right," came another voice—this one deeper, with an accent Jiho couldn't immediately place. A tall woman with dark skin and striking features stepped forward. She was regal, commanding, with the bearing of someone accustomed to being admired. This was Kali, the former Miss Universe turned police officer. Even her hostility carried an air of elegance. "We've worked too hard to build something for ourselves. We don't need a man undermining that."
Jiho felt his chest tighten. He'd known this wouldn't be easy, but the sheer weight of their collective disdain was suffocating. He opened his mouth to speak, to defend himself, but before he could, a softer voice interrupted.
"Maybe we should give him a chance?"
The woman who spoke had vibrant red hair and kind eyes that seemed genuinely sympathetic. Her name was Amai, and she was smiling at him—the first genuine smile he'd received since arriving. She was cute in an approachable way, with curves that filled out her training uniform in a way that made Jiho quickly look away.
"Don't be naive, Amai," Jenny said, stepping into view. She was tall—taller than most of the other women—with short dark hair and a powerful build that suggested she could snap him in half without breaking a sweat. Despite her intimidating appearance, there was something almost playful in her eyes as she looked at him. "The boy's here now. Might as well make his life interesting."
There was something in the way she said it—something that made Jiho's pulse quicken despite his fear.
The days that followed were brutal.
Errai seemed to take particular pleasure in pushing him to his absolute limits during training. She'd bark orders at him with a harshness she didn't direct at the other recruits, her voice cutting through the morning air like a whip. Yet sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking, he'd catch her watching him with an expression that didn't quite match her harsh words. There was something in her gaze—a flicker of something that might have been concern, or perhaps something far more complicated.
Mira made a point of excluding him from group activities, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she deliberately turned her back to him. But he noticed how she'd position herself where he could see her, how she'd stretch during breaks in a way that seemed almost deliberate, her petite frame moving with practiced grace.
Kali maintained her regal distance, but there were moments—brief, fleeting moments—when their eyes would meet across the training grounds, and he'd see something in her expression that contradicted her earlier words of rejection. It was as if two versions of her existed: the one who despised his presence, and another who was curious about him in ways she couldn't quite suppress.
Jenny's bullying took on a different character. She'd "accidentally" bump into him during drills, her strong body pressing against his in ways that seemed far too deliberate to be accidental. She'd challenge him to sparring matches and pin him to the ground, her weight on top of him, her breathing heavy and close to his ear. There was something almost flirtatious in her aggression.
And Amai... Amai was different. She'd leave extra portions of food for him in the mess hall. She'd offer to help him with training techniques, her hands guiding his movements, lingering just a moment too long. Her kindness was genuine, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something that made her blush whenever their hands touched.
On the seventh night, as Jiho lay in his bunk unable to sleep, he heard footsteps approaching. A figure emerged from the darkness—it was Errai, still in her training clothes, her dark hair slightly disheveled. She stood over his bunk, silhouetted against the moonlight streaming through the window.
"You're not as weak as I thought," she said quietly, her voice stripped of its usual harshness. "That doesn't mean you belong here. But..." she paused, and in that pause, something shifted between them. "Maybe you're not a complete waste of space."
Before he could respond, she reached down and touched his face, her fingers tracing his jawline with surprising gentleness. For a moment, the air between them crackled with tension—raw, undeniable, and terrifying in its intensity.
Then she was gone, disappearing back into the darkness, leaving Jiho alone with his racing heart and the growing realization that his time at this academy was going to be far more complicated than he'd ever imagined.