"Shit!" I growl, landing yet another punch on the heavy bag in front of me. My muscular arm tenses as my knuckles, wrapped in thick gloves, deliver a brutal force.

Adrenaline floods my veins, rushes to my head. I immediately throw another punch, this time with my left arm. Sweat beads on my skin, but I keep hitting the bag, never slowing down, until my breath comes in ragged gasps. Only then do I allow myself a break.

My assistant, Song Minho, rushes over right away.

He's a spineless weakling, and I have no clue whose dick he had to suck to land a job at the Special Operations Command Center. Thick glasses sit on his face like the bottom of soda bottles, and his big, buck teeth stick out—but, all in all, he’s not a complete disaster.I snarl in frustration, landing another brutal punch against the heavy bag in front of me. My muscles tense, my knuckles—protected by the gloves—delivering relentless force.

He hands me a towel and an energy drink. “Hyung, drink this! It’s packed with electrolytes!”

I wipe the towel across my face, then down my neck, before draping it over my shoulders. Twisting open the bottle, I bring it to my lips and down the entire thing in a few gulps. When I’m done, I crush the plastic and toss it onto the floor as I stride across the gym.

Minho scrambles to pick up the bottle and trails after me like a damn puppy. “Hyung! Should I carry your bag? Or maybe I could—”

“Get lost,” I cut him off, pushing open the locker room door.

The moment it shuts behind me, I relish the silence. I walk past the mirrors, deliberately avoiding my reflection. I already know what I look like—toned, built for combat, my body hardened by years of training and field missions. My skin is inked with tattoos and littered with scars. A few bruises on my back still remind me of the injuries I sustained on my last job.

Seoul is getting more dangerous by the day, and I can’t focus if I don’t relieve stress properly at least once a week. I hate how difficult it’s become to find a decent escort ever since the government cracked down on prostitution. I have no interest in dating, and I sure as hell won’t waste time stringing some woman along.

I step into the shower and start lathering my body. The hot water kisses my tanned skin, while my jet-black hair, cut into a mullet, falls back. I let myself enjoy the water for about half an hour before stepping out.  

In two days, I’ll be leaving for a high-risk special operation near the North Korean border. If I don’t have sex before then, staying focused could become a serious issue. Jerking off won’t cut it—I know that all too well. After all, I’m a man in his prime, and some biological needs have to be satisfied the way nature intended.  

I place my hands on the sink, slowly lift my head, and look at my reflection in the mirror. Women go crazy for me—it’s obvious. There’s not a single one at headquarters who wouldn’t spread her legs for me in a heartbeat… And yet, screwing someone from work would be way too much of a hassle, even in a dry spell like this. No, it’s an idea I have to discard. I could only consider it if I were actually willing to date one of them, but I can’t expect to use a colleague as a sex toy and toss her aside without consequences for my career.

I wrap a towel around my waist and walk over to the hairdryers. Grabbing one, I bring it close to the nape of my neck, but just as I’m about to turn it on, the door swings open.  

That idiot Minho again!  

“How many times have I told you not to come into the locker room while I’m showering?!” I bark.  

Minho stammers something that sounds like an apology as he steps closer, holding my phone in his hands. The screen keeps lighting up and going dark.  

“S-sorry, hyung, but… your bag wouldn’t stop vibrating, and I—”  

“You went through my stuff?!” I snarl.  

“Hyung! They keep calling! I thought it might be urgent!”  

I don’t even know why I haven’t crushed this useless bastard under my foot yet. I snatch the phone from his hands, and without bothering to check the number, I press the green button.  

“Who is this?” I ask, trying not to throw in a curse or two. I hate being interrupted when I’m getting ready.

"Mr. Jeon Jungkook?" a female voice asks.

Something shifts under the towel, and I curse myself for being so irreparably aroused that I go hard just from hearing a woman's voice.

"Yes," I say. I don’t add anything else. I wait to hear what she wants.

"I... I heard you're looking for... an assistant."

I give Minho a once-over, head to toe. I already have an assistant. "I’ve already found someone," I say, ready to hang up. But the voice pleads with me to wait.

"P-please! Please, wait. I really need this job. I don’t have... any limits. I’d be willing to do anything you want. I mean it."

What the hell is this woman talking about?

Suddenly, I remember that some time ago, I tried to get help from an undercover escort agency. Those idiots messed everything up, posting a fake ad looking for assistants and sending people to my house who genuinely thought they were there to work, instead of just being used.

Is this woman actually an escort?

"Get out of here," I growl quietly at Minho, who disappears with his tail between his legs. Then I clear my throat and look at my reflection in the mirror.

"Anything, huh? But I already said I have someone. Do you really want this job?"

I can hear the girl holding her breath on the other end of the line.

"Please. I really need this job."

Holy shit... I’ve gotten hard in an instant.

"Alright then. I’m willing to give you a chance. I’ll send you my home address. I expect you to show up on time. I don’t like women with body hair, so get everything out of the way. Got it?"

I hear her hesitate, but it’s only for a second.

"Yes," she says.

"Yes, sir," I correct her. I try to sound threatening, but I’m absolutely intrigued and amused.

"Yes, sir," she repeats obediently.

"I’ll see you tonight, then," I say before hanging up. 

Maybe, for once, I’ve really gotten lucky.

Now, this is where the fun begins.