Chapter 112: Jun’s Mother

The morning sunlight filtered through the expansive windows of the penthouse, casting long, golden streaks across the polished marble floors. It was the weekend, and for the first time in days, the oppressive tension of the livestream and the subsequent global firestorm had settled into a comfortable, domestic hum. The air in the dorm was thick with the mouth-watering aroma of toasted sesame, simmering dashi, and the savory scent of perfectly seared fish—a smell that could only belong to one person.

In the expansive, state-of-the-art kitchen, Eunha moved with a precision that was almost frightening. Even in a casual home setting, she operated like a general in her own culinary army. She was a woman of effortless grace and imposing presence, her movements fluid and practiced. To the world, she was the titan of a Korean restaurant empire, a woman whose palate was legendary and whose business acumen was feared. To Jun, she was simply Mom—the only person in the world who could make him feel like a disciplined schoolboy with a single, arched eyebrow.

Standing beside her, looking profoundly out of her element, was Akane.

The Hanzo ninja, usually a shadow of efficiency and stoicism, was currently gripped by a state of high-alert nervousness. She was wearing a simple apron over her casual clothes, her small hands gripping a kitchen knife with a tension that suggested she expected the vegetables to fight back. She was meticulously dicing carrots, her movements precise but stiff, her eyes darting toward Eunha every few seconds as if waiting for a critique.

“Your dice is too uniform, Akane,” Eunha remarked, her voice a calm, melodic chime that nonetheless carried the weight of an absolute command. “You are treating the carrots like an enemy to be dismantled. Cooking is about harmony, not execution. Relax your shoulder. Let the knife glide, not chop.”

“Y-yes, ma’am! My apologies, ma’am!” Akane squeaked, her back straightening into a rigid line. She immediately adjusted her grip, her face flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and intense focus.

Eunha paused, turning to look at the girl. A soft, knowing smile touched her lips. She reached out, her fingers gently brushing Akane’s wrist to guide the angle of the knife. “How many times must I tell you? Stop calling me ‘ma’am.’ You aren’t a soldier in my company, and you aren’t a servant in a manor. You are Jun’s woman.”

Akane blinked, her heart hammering against her ribs. The idea of addressing the matriarch of the family so familiarly felt like a breach of protocol, almost a daring act of rebellion.

“Call me ‘Mom’ or ‘Mother,’” Eunha continued, her tone warming. “If you have chosen to stand by Jun’s side, then you are part of this circle. There is no room for formal distances in this kitchen. Now, try again. Feel the texture of the vegetable. Don’t fight it; invite it to be part of the dish.”

Akane swallowed hard, her throat tight. “I… I will try, Mother,” she whispered, the word feeling strange yet strangely intimate on her tongue.

Eunha chuckled, a rich, maternal sound. “Better. Much better.”

The sound of the front door opening and the distant murmur of conversation echoed through the hallway. A moment later, Jun and Mei entered the suite. They were both dressed in athletic gear, their skin glowing with a light sheen of perspiration from their morning jog. Jun looked relaxed, his stride confident and easy, while Mei walked beside him, her expression neutral but her eyes softened, her breathing still slightly heavy from the exercise.

“We’re back,” Jun announced, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room.

Eunha turned, her expression brightening instantly. “About time. I was starting to think you’d decided to run all the way back to Seoul.” She gestured toward the sink with a playful flick of her wrist. “Wash your hands, both of you. Breakfast is almost ready, and I won’t have you contaminating my kitchen with ‘outdoor’ germs.”

Mei gave a small, respectful nod, her voice soft. “Good morning, Mrs. Park.”

“And I told you, Mei, just ‘Mom’ will do,” Eunha replied, though she didn’t push as hard as she did with Akane, sensing Mei’s innate reserve. She looked at Jun, her eyes softening with a genuine affection. “It’s nice to have some help in the kitchen for once. Since you left for the Academy, I’ve spent more time eating alone in my office than I have at my own dining table. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a house that actually smells like a home.”

Jun smiled, walking over to wrap an arm around his mother’s shoulders, a rare moment of overt affection. “That’s why you need to come here more often, Mom. Stop living at the office. Throw the paperwork on your secretary and come enjoy the island. The air is better here, and the company is… well, certainly more interesting.”

Eunha let out a theatrical sigh, leaning into her son’s touch. “You say that now, but if my secretary heard you suggesting I ‘throw’ work at her, she would give me a sermon that would last until the next lunar eclipse. She thinks she’s the only thing keeping the company from collapsing into chaos.”

“She probably is,” Jun joked, pulling away to head toward the bathroom. “But that’s why she gets the big paycheck.”

Eunha laughed, then remembered something, her eyes shifting toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Oh, by the way, Jun. Your little bird is still asleep. Go wake up Hana. If the food gets cold, I’m not reheating it—that’s a sin in my house.”

Jun’s lips curled into a mischievous smirk. The thought of a sleeping, oblivious Hana was far too tempting to pass up. “Consider it done,” he murmured, turning on his heel and heading toward the bedroom with a predatory glint in his eyes.

Jun stepped into the bedroom, the heavy silence of the room broken only by the soft, rhythmic puffing of Hana’s breath. The curtains were drawn, leaving the room in a hazy, dim twilight that smelled of vanilla and the lingering musk of their last encounter.

Hana was sprawled across the center of the bed, a chaotic tangle of silk sheets and oversized pillows. She was lying on her stomach, her face pressed half-deep into a pillow, her auburn hair fanned out in a messy, beautiful cloud. She was completely absorbed in her phone, her thumbs dancing across the screen with a frantic energy. Her legs were kicked up in the air, twitching occasionally as she scrolled, her eyes wide and focused, a small, unconscious smile playing on her lips.

She was so deep in the digital world that she didn’t hear the door click shut, nor did she notice the predatory shadow looming over her.

Jun didn’t say a word. He didn’t announce his presence. He simply reached down and, with a sudden, sharp movement, delivered a stinging slap to her right buttock.

SMACK!

“Haa…!” Hana let out a sharp, strangled moan, her body jolting violently.

The shock sent her phone flying from her hand, clattering onto the mattress. She scrambled to sit up, her face instantly flushing a vivid, burning crimson. She turned back to look at him, her hand instinctively flying to her rear, rubbing the spot where he had struck her. Her eyes were wide, blinking in a mixture of surprise and lingering arousal.

“Oppa! What was that?!” she complained, her voice a mix of a pout and a whimper. “You can’t just… attack me like that! I was in the middle of something!”

Jun didn’t look apologetic. He stood over her, his arms crossed, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You’ve been in the ‘middle of something’ for the last twenty minutes. I can see the glow of the screen from the hallway. Wake up, Hana. Breakfast is ready.”

Hana huffed, pouting as she reached for her phone. “I was just checking the forums! Do you have any idea what people are saying?”

She held the screen up toward him, her expression shifting from indignation to a triumphant, glowing pride. “Look! The views on the livestream are still climbing, and the comments… oh my god, Jun, they’re losing their minds! They’re calling you the ‘God of Stamina’ and saying I’m the luckiest woman in the world. Even the critics are shutting up because the footage is so… visceral.”

She beamed, her eyes shimmering. “And Angela and NetFuk are already talking about future programs. They want to build a whole ‘series’ around us. They say the chemistry is unlike anything they’ve ever seen in a sync. We’re becoming a brand, Oppa! A real, global brand!”

Jun looked at the screen, then back at Hana. He could see the excitement radiating off her, the way her chest heaved with a mixture of pride and adrenaline. He liked her ambition, but he liked her reactions even more.

Without warning, he shifted his weight and delivered another sharp, crisp slap to her other cheek.

SMACK!

“Ah…!” Hana let out a loud, unrestrained moan, her back arching instinctively. This time, she didn’t complain. Her eyes glazed over for a second, her breath hitching in her throat. The sudden impact sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her toes curl against the silk sheets.

“You’re too… rough…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Rough? I think you’re starting to enjoy it,” Jun teased, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating rumble. “First the wake-up call this morning, and now this. I’m starting to think you’re a glutton for it. Maybe we should make ‘rough’ the new standard for our sessions.”

Hana’s face exploded in a blush that reached the tips of her ears. She looked away, her lower lip trembling as she tried to maintain her indignant facade, but her breathing had become heavy, and her pupils were dilated.

“I… I just… I’m not used to it!” she stammered, though she didn’t move away from him. “You can’t just… decide that for me!”

“I can,” Jun replied, a small, possessive smile playing on his lips. “Now, get down. Mom is waiting, and she doesn’t like it when the food gets cold. If you’re not at the table in two minutes, I might have to ‘wake you up’ for a third time.”

Hana shivered, a thrill of anticipation running through her. She glared at him, but there was no real heat in it. She scrambled off the bed, her movements slightly clumsy as she tried to regain her composure.

“Fine! But don’t think this means you’re off the hook for being a brute!” she declared, though she was already following him toward the door, her hips swaying with a subtle, rhythmic motion.

As they walked toward the dining room, Hana leaned into him, her shoulder brushing against his arm. She was still thinking about the comments on the forum, the global attention, and the way Jun’s touch made her feel—not just as a “Nation’s Sweetheart,” but as a woman who was completely and utterly claimed.

The atmosphere at the breakfast table had shifted from the initial tension of Hana’s arrival to a warm, albeit high-voltage, familial intimacy. The plates were nearly empty, and the conversation had flowed into a comfortable rhythm. Jun sat at the center, the anchor for the women surrounding him, while Eunha presided over the meal with the quiet satisfaction of a matriarch who had successfully brought her brood together.

Jun leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting toward Akane, who was eating her breakfast in silence, her posture still instinctively straight.

“Akane,” Jun began, his voice low and steady. “Is Sora still tied up with work?”

Akane paused, her chopsticks hovering mid-air. She looked at Jun, then glanced briefly at the other women before nodding. “Yes, Jun-sama. She has been occupied for the last few days. She’s had a series of back-to-back meetings with the group representatives here at the hotel. She’s actually booked a room in the resort to make the logistics easier, as the meetings have run late into the night.”

Jun’s expression didn’t change, but a small, possessive glint appeared in his eyes. He knew exactly what “making things easier” meant in Sora’s corporate vocabulary—it meant she was working herself to the bone to ensure her position and her people were secure.

“I see,” Jun replied. He looked at Akane, his voice taking on a commanding edge. “We’ll go and meet her after this. Let her know we’re coming.”

Akane nodded immediately, her expression one of quiet obedience. “I will inform her, Jun-sama.”

Eunha let out a soft, amused hum, watching the interaction. She looked at her son, then at the group of women—Sora’s absence was the only gap in the circle. She reached out and patted Jun’s hand, her smile warm and knowing.

“Go on then, go see your First Wife,” Eunha said, her voice filled with a maternal playfulness. “And don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly content here. Besides,” she added, casting a pointed look at Mei and Hana, “I have these two lovely girls to keep me company. I suspect we’ll be doing some shopping later. I haven’t seen the boutiques on this island yet, and I have a feeling the shopping here is far more interesting than the boardrooms in Seoul.”

Hana beamed, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, I’d love to go shopping with you, Aunty! I know some of the best spots—even if I’m not allowed to go alone anymore!”

Eunha laughed, a rich, melodic sound. “I can imagine. I’ve heard all about your ‘adventures,’ Hana.”

The conversation drifted for a moment, the atmosphere light and airy, until Eunha’s gaze sharpened, her expression shifting into something more intimate and probing. She looked at Hana, a mischievous glint appearing in her eyes.

“Speaking of adventures,” Eunha began, her voice dropping an octave, “I wanted to thank you, Hana. For the… souvenirs you sent along with Jun before he left for the Academy.”

Hana froze. Her fork clattered against her plate with a sharp ping. A vivid, burning crimson flooded her cheeks, spreading rapidly down her neck and across her chest. She looked as if she wanted to vanish into the upholstery of her chair.

The “souvenirs” had been a secret—or so she had hoped. Before Jun had departed for the island, Hana had sent a carefully curated package for him. It hadn’t been jewelry or gadgets. It had been a collection of high-resolution, private photographs of herself. Some were in lacy, provocative dresses that left little to the imagination; others were completely nude, capturing her extreme hourglass curves in raw, visceral detail. She had even included a few shots of her favorite underwear, presented as a “preview” of what he would get once they were reunited.

“A-Aunty!” Hana stammered, her voice jumping an octave. “You… you saw those?”

“Oh, I did,” Eunha replied, her smile widening. “I may be a mother, but I’m a woman first. I appreciate a woman who knows how to present herself. Your taste in lace is exquisite, Hana. And your proportions… well, it’s no wonder Jun is so fond of you. You’re a masterpiece of a woman.”

Hana looked like she was about to combust. She stole a glance at Jun, who was watching her with a smirk, clearly enjoying her embarrassment. He didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at her—with a mixture of pride and hunger—made her heart race.

“I just… I wanted him to remember me,” Hana whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Believe me, dear, I don’t think he ever forgot,” Eunha teased, her voice full of warmth. “It’s a rare thing for a young man to be so… stimulated… before he even arrives. You did a wonderful job of preparing him.”

The other women at the table reacted in their own ways. Sora let out a soft, amused chuckle, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of rivalry and affection. Mei remained stoic, but a small, knowing smile played on her lips. Angela and Valentina exchanged a glance, their expressions one of shared understanding.

As the breakfast finally came to a close, the group stood up. The air in the room felt charged, the domestic peace of the morning now layered with the visceral memory of Hana’s “souvenirs” and the anticipation of seeing Sora.

Jun stood, his presence once again dominating the space. He looked at his mother, a nod of gratitude passing between them. He had come to the table as a son, but he was leaving it as a Prime, surrounded by the women who were becoming the center of his world.

As they walked out of the dining hall and toward the elevators, Hana clung to Jun’s arm, her face still flushed but her spirit lifted. She felt a new sense of belonging, a feeling that she wasn’t just a “Nation’s Sweetheart” or a student, but a vital part of a legacy.

Jun led the way, his stride confident and purposeful. He didn’t know exactly what he would find in Sora’s hotel room, but he knew one thing for certain: the morning’s peace was over, and the real action was about to begin.