126: Chapter 126 It hurts too much, I really can't take it anymore...

The lights in the rehabilitation room were a cold white, shining on the chilly equipment and reflecting a metallic, emotionless sheen.

Jessica Jung wore a blue-and-white striped hospital gown, sitting on a specially designed training chair. The gown was somewhat loose, making her look even thinner. Her face was pale, and the stray hairs on her forehead, soaked in sweat, clung to her skin.

Her right foot was bare, and her ankle was still wrapped in thick bandages, but her toes could already move in small increments.

The rehabilitation therapist was a stern-looking woman in her forties, surnamed Kim.

She stood in front of Jessica Jung, instructing her in a flat voice, "Alright, now, slowly, try to flex your toes upward. Yes, use the strength in the front of your ankle to drive your toes. Don't rush to lift it too high; the key is control. Feel the muscle exerting force."

Jessica Jung pursed her lips, fine beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead. Her right hand gripped the edge of the training chair tightly, her knuckles trembling slightly from the exertion.

Her left foot supported part of her body weight, and her right leg was extended. Her right foot, which had finally been freed from the plaster cast, was very slowly and with great difficulty trying to complete the movement of flexing the toes upward—an action that is effortless for a healthy person.

Her toes lifted only to an almost negligible angle before immediately trembling uncontrollably due to pain and weakness, then dropping back down limply.

"Hiss—!" Jessica Jung gasped, her entire body convulsing from the sudden wave of sharp pain. Her body leaned back uncontrollably, and she only managed to steady herself by gripping the edge of the chair.

"Jessica!" Tiffany Hwang, who had been guarding her side, immediately took a step forward to support her shoulders, while her other hand held a towel, gently wiping away the sweat rolling down her forehead.

Her movements were very light, and her voice was extremely soft. "It's okay, it's okay. Take it slow, we're in no rush."

Jessica Jung closed her eyes, breathing rapidly, her chest heaving violently.

Only after several seconds did she manage to calm down. Opening her eyes, she squeezed out a faint, barely visible smile for Tiffany Hwang, her voice raspy: "I'm fine."

"Rest for one minute," Rehabilitation Therapist Jin said, looking at the timer, her voice flat. "Hydrate a bit."

Tiffany Hwang quickly unscrewed the prepared sports water bottle and held it to Jessica Jung's lips. Jessica Jung took small sips of the warm water from her hand. The water was warm, but her lips remained pale, and her face was filled with exhaustion.

This was the fifth day since she had started systematic rehabilitation.

From initially only being able to try and move her toes, to today trying to use her ankle to drive her foot in tiny flexing motions, each day's progress was minuscule, and the pain brought by every attempt was clear and sharp.

It was a complex sensation—a mixture of nerve pain, muscle tearing pain, and dull joint pain. Every time she exerted force, it felt like a dull knife slicing through a freshly healed wound.

"Continue," Rehabilitation Therapist Jin's voice interrupted the brief rest.

Jessica Jung took a deep breath, sat up straight again, and fixed her gaze on her right foot. Due to the injury and being immobilized for so long, that foot looked somewhat pale and thin, and the swelling around the ankle had not yet fully subsided. She gritted her teeth, concentrated all her willpower, and tried again.

Her toes wiggled, and then, her ankle began to exert force.

Very, very slowly, her toes tried to leave the ground once more.

This time, it lifted slightly higher than before, by about five degrees. But just those five degrees were enough to make Jessica Jung's breathing turn rapid again, with sweat rolling down her forehead even faster.

She could clearly feel a splitting pain coming from her ankle, as well as an uncontrollable, electric-shock-like trembling in the muscles at the back of her calf.

She persisted, silently counting in her mind: One, two, three...

By the time she reached five seconds, the strength in her ankle was finally exhausted. Her toes drooped limply once more, falling heavily back to the ground.

"Ah..." An irrepressible cry of pain escaped her throat. Although she immediately bit her lip to swallow it back down, it was still clearly audible in the quiet rehabilitation room.

"Very good, you held on for two seconds longer than last time." Rehabilitation Therapist Jin made a few notes in her logbook, her tone still calm, or even somewhat cold. "Your control is recovering, but your pain threshold is still very low, and your muscle strength is severely lacking. Rest for thirty seconds, then do another set."

"Another set?" Tiffany Hwang couldn't help but speak up. Looking at Jessica Jung's pale face and her trembling right hand, she said with heartache, "Rehabilitation Therapist Jin, Jessica is already very tired. Look at how much she's sweating. How about we call it a day? We can continue tomorrow."

"Fatigue is normal, and pain is normal. There are no shortcuts in rehabilitation; it's about repeating it over and over, rebuilding muscle memory and strength through the pain."

Rehabilitation Therapist Jin looked up at Tiffany Hwang, her tone unchanged. "Stopping now means all your previous efforts will go to waste. Jessica Jung-xi, you tell me, do you want to continue?"

Jessica Jung's chest was still heaving. Panting, she looked at her disappointing foot. For a split second, there was a flash of confusion and vulnerability in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by stubbornness. She nodded, her voice soft but firm: "Continue."

Tiffany Hwang opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but looking at Jessica Jung's expression, she ultimately swallowed her words. She only gripped her hand tighter, offering silent support.

The thirty-second rest passed in the blink of an eye.

"Get ready, third set," Rehabilitation Therapist Jin's voice sounded like a cold command.

Jessica Jung concentrated once more. Sweat dripped into her eyes, bringing a stinging sensation. She blinked, shaking off the sweat, and stared fixedly at her toes.

Lift it up!

Lift it up!

She roared at herself in her mind.

Jessica Jung's toes wiggled, and then, once again, extremely slowly, they began to move upward.

This time, it seemed even harder than the previous two. Instead of diminishing as she adapted, the pain became even sharper due to muscle fatigue and nerve sensitivity.

Lifting it less than three degrees, Jessica Jung felt a tearing, sharp pain from her ankle that made her vision go black, almost causing her to slide off the chair.

"Jessica!" Tiffany Hwang cried out in alarm.

Jessica Jung supported herself desperately with her left hand, while her right hand instinctively flailed, trying to grab onto something to steady herself. Her hand struck the water cup sitting on the small table beside her.

*Smash!*

The glass water cup was swept to the floor, shattering into pieces. Warm water spilled everywhere, and the glass shards glinted harshly under the cold white light.

The rehabilitation room fell instantly silent.

Only Jessica Jung's heavy panting could be heard, each breath heavier than the last.

She lowered her head, looking at the shattered glass cup and the puddle of water on the floor, looking at her foot that still couldn't lift much, and looking at her hand that was trembling uncontrollably from overexertion.

All the pain, fatigue, frustration, fear, and uncertainty about the future that had built up over the past five days suddenly exploded at this moment like a popped balloon.

"I can't do this..." She heard her own voice, tearful and trembling uncontrollably. "It hurts too much. I really can't do this... I can't do it..."

Jessica Jung's tears welled up without warning, falling in large drops. She no longer tried to wipe them away or suppress them; she simply covered her face, her shoulders shaking violently as she sobbed like a lost child.

"I can't dance anymore, I can't stand back up there, I'm finished..." she sobbed intermittently, her voice broken and filled with utter despair.

Tiffany Hwang panicked completely. She knelt down, hugging Jessica Jung's trembling shoulders, and comforted her incoherently, "Don't say that, Jessica. It's okay, it'll get better. We'll take it slow, there's no rush, really no rush..."

Rehabilitation Therapist Jin watched this scene, her brow furrowing slightly, but her expression didn't change much. She had seen too many patients break down during rehabilitation, especially athletes and dancers. They had higher demands and expectations for their bodies, which made their sense of frustration even stronger.

She looked at the timer, then at the weeping Jessica Jung, and spoke, "Jessica Jung-xi, losing control of your emotions will affect the results of your rehabilitation. Today's progress has already covered the basic portion, so we can stop here for now. Calm yourself down, and tomorrow we..."

"Wait."

A calm male voice sounded from the doorway of the rehabilitation room.

Rehabilitation Therapist Jin and Tiffany Hwang turned their heads at the same time.

Song Tianhao stood at the doorway, though no one knew when he had arrived, holding a silver-gray tablet. He wore a dark casual suit without a tie, looking as though he had just come from a formal event.

His gaze swept over the shattered cup on the floor, past the helpless Tiffany Hwang, and finally landed on Jessica Jung, who was crying with her face covered.

He didn't walk in immediately, nor did he offer any words of comfort. He simply nodded to Rehabilitation Therapist Jin, "Rehabilitation Therapist Jin, please take a ten-minute break. I'd like to speak with her for a moment."

His tone was polite, but carried an unquestionable authority.

Rehabilitation Therapist Jin was stunned for a moment. She looked at him, then at Jessica Jung, and finally nodded. "Alright, President Song. I'll be in the lounge next door. Call me if you need anything." She packed up her logbook, turned, and left the rehabilitation room, closing the door behind her.

The door clicked shut, leaving only three people in the rehabilitation room.

Tiffany Hwang was still kneeling by Jessica Jung's side, holding her. She looked up at Song Tianhao, her eyes filled with a mix of helplessness and worry.

Only then did Song Tianhao walk in. He didn't look at the mess on the floor, nor was he in a hurry to speak. He simply walked over to Jessica Jung, and then made a move that surprised Tiffany Hwang slightly.

He squatted down.

Dropping to one knee, he knelt in front of Jessica Jung's wheelchair, bringing his gaze level with hers.

This action lowered his tall frame, removing any overbearing sense of condescension. He knelt there, watching Jessica Jung, whose shoulders were still trembling as she covered her face, and remained silent for a few seconds.

Jessica Jung felt someone approaching, and she also sensed the unusual silence. Slowly, bit by bit, she raised her head, looking through the gaps between her fingers.

Through her tear-blurred vision, she saw Song Tianhao kneeling before her. His face was very close, his expression calm—free of blame, sympathy, or the disappointment she had anticipated.

Those eyes simply watched her quietly, like a deep pool. No emotion could be read from them, yet they strangely calmed her racing heart just a little.

Song Tianhao didn't speak. He simply reached out and turned on the tablet he had been holding.

The tablet had a custom case printed with a photo of the nine members of Girls Generation. It was taken backstage last year after they won the Grand Prize. The nine of them were squeezed together, smiling radiantly at the camera. Jessica Jung remembered that day; she had stood on the very edge, surrounded by her members, holding the trophy, her face stiff from smiling so much.

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

The screen lit up, and Song Tianhao's fingers swiped across it a few times, opening a video file.

Then, he turned the tablet around, facing the screen toward Jessica Jung.

The video began to play.

There was no music, only the noisy ambient sound of the venue.

The footage was a bit shaky; the camera swept across the audience area, where sporadic glow sticks flickered in the dark, but most of the area was cold, dead silence and darkness.

Then, the camera lifted, aiming at the stage.

On stage, nine girls dressed in performance outfits were performing.

The music was deliberately turned down low, almost drowned out by the tidal wave of uniform booing and silence from the audience.

There was no cheering or support from the audience, only a suffocating silence filled with clear malice, punctuated by the occasional sharp, shrill whistle and jeer.

That was the "Black Ocean."

It was one of the darkest, most difficult, and most memorable moments since Girls Generation debuted.

In the footage, the nine girls' faces held no expression—no, if you looked closely, their eyes were cold, hard, like blades tempered in fire.

Their movements were not distorted in the slightest; their positioning was precise, their dance steps on point, and every lift of a hand, every turn, every formation change was as standard as if measured with a ruler.

Even though below the stage was a cold sea of darkness filled with hostility.

Even though the booing ringing in their ears was like a mountain-toppling, sea-crushing force capable of destroying the will of any rookie.

They danced, they sang, and they completed their stage.

Their expression management was so perfect it was almost cold, and their movements were so standard they were almost mechanical, as if the malice below the stage, the suppression by the industry, and the bleakness of their future had nothing to do with them standing on that stage at that moment.

The camera swept over Jessica Jung.

Back then, she was thinner than she was now, her cheeks still holding the youthful innocence of baby fat, but her eyes already carried that cold, stubborn gleam belonging to Jessica.

Her hair was tied in a high ponytail, whipping through the air with the intense dance movements.

During a high-kick move, her leg kicked straight up to almost shoulder level, stable, powerful, and full of control.

Landing, turning, and completing a cross-position change with the Taeyeon beside her, her eyes swept across the lens—cold, sharp, and without a trace of wavering.

The video wasn't long, about a minute; it was a fancam edit of that famous stage.

When the last note fell, the nine girls froze on stage, posing for the ending, and the audience remained in dead silence, the video ended.

The rehabilitation room was silent.

There was only the sound of Jessica Jung's suppressed, slight sobbing.

She stared fixedly at the now-dark screen, tears still streaming down, but her eyes had changed.

It was no longer the broken, bewildered despair from a moment ago, but something more complex, surging with intense emotion.

Song Tianhao turned off the video and set the tablet aside.

He remained crouched in front of Jessica Jung, looking into her eyes. His voice wasn't loud, one could even say it was very gentle, but every word hit Jessica Jung's heart like a hammer.

"Look," he said, raising a finger to point at the frozen group photo of the nine of them on the screen. "This girl."

His finger tapped on the screen, on the face of Jessica, who was standing at the edge with a cold expression and stubborn eyes.

"She stood on that stage, and below her were tens of thousands of people weaving a Black Ocean with silence and boos.

She danced and sang, every movement as textbook-standard as could be, her expression as calm as a robot.

Back then, she had an injured knee, her waist ached, her high fever had just broken, and her voice was hoarse, but she didn't stop, didn't cry, and didn't say a single word of 'I can't.'"

Song Tianhao's gaze fell back onto Jessica Jung's face, watching her tear-streaked, pale, and fragile appearance.

"Jessica Jung," he called her name, his voice very clear. "At that time, were you in pain?"

Jessica Jung's lips trembled, unable to speak, she just nodded forcefully.

How could it not hurt? Physical, psychological—that pain of being isolated, hated, and rejected by the entire world was ten thousand times sharper than the pain in her ankle now.

"Are you tired?"

She nodded again, her tears falling even harder.

"Are you scared?"

This time, she didn't just nod; she let out a suppressed whimper.

"But," Song Tianhao's voice remained steady, yet it held a power, a power that could pierce through all fragility and fear. "You stood up there, and you finished. You did it."

He paused, reached out, and took the towel from Tiffany Hwang nearby.

Tiffany Hwang had been stunned, only reacting when he took the towel.

He used the towel to very lightly and carefully wipe away the tear stains on Jessica Jung's face.

His movements weren't particularly gentle, even a bit clumsy, but they were very earnest.

"If it hurts, you can cry. If you're tired, you can shout. If you're scared, you can say it." He said while wiping, his voice right by her ear. "No one dictates that someone who is injured must be as strong as a stone. You have the right to be fragile, the right to cry out in pain, the right to break down."

He finished wiping her face, set the towel aside, and then looked at her, his gaze calm and firm.

"But after you've cried, after you've shouted, after you've broken down, then what?"

Jessica Jung stared at him blankly, tears still swirling in her eyes.

"Then, you continue," Song Tianhao said, his tone unquestionable. "I am here watching, Tiffany Hwang is here with you, Kim Taeyeon, Im Yoona, Kwon Yuri... all of them are waiting outside.

Your fans are waiting too. Waiting for a girl named Jessica to stand back on stage, to tell them, and to tell yourself..."

He leaned forward slightly, getting closer to her, and said, word by word, with absolute clarity:

"You, Jessica Jung, can."

The rehabilitation room fell silent again.

There was only the sound of Jessica Jung's breathing, which slowly changed from rapid to calm.

She looked at Song Tianhao, looking at his eyes that were calm yet seemed to see through everything, watching him crouched before her, without a shred of impatience, without a shred of disdain, just calmly, firmly telling her "You can."

Then, he reached out.

His palm was open, facing upward, resting right in front of her.

His fingers were slender and well-defined, very steady, without the slightest tremor.

Jessica Jung's gaze moved from his hand to his face, and then back to his hand.

She remembered herself in the video just now—the one with the cold gaze who still completed the stage amidst the overwhelming hostility.

She remembered the countless days in the practice room sweating buckets, falling down and getting back up.

Jessica Jung remembered the first time she stood on stage, the sea of pink belonging to Girls Generation below.

She remembered the smiling faces of the members squeezed into the cramped waiting room, cheering each other on.

She remembered her parents' disapproving looks, remembered Krystal with red eyes saying "I support you."

She also remembered just now, that foot that couldn't be lifted more than a few centimeters, and that heart-wrenching pain that made her wish she could just chop it off.

After a long while.

She took a deep breath, a very deep breath, as if to inhale all the grievances, fear, and frustration in her chest, and then forcefully exhaled.

She raised her own hand, still trembling slightly and full of tear stains, and then, slowly, slowly, placed it into Song Tianhao's open palm.

His hand was warm, carrying a steady strength, firmly grasping her cold, trembling fingers.

That warmth spread from her fingertips all the way to her heart.

Jessica Jung raised her other hand, forcefully wiping away the remaining tear stains on her face, looked up at Tiffany Hwang, who had been standing nearby with red eyes, and then turned toward the door.

Although the door was closed, she knew her teammates were definitely somewhere, supporting and waiting for her in their own way.

Finally, her gaze returned to Song Tianhao's face.

"Teacher," she began, her voice still thick with nasal congestion but no longer trembling. She raised her voice toward the direction of the door, "Let's continue."

The door was pushed open, and the rehabilitation therapist entered. Her face still held no expression, but a faint, almost imperceptible trace of approval seemed to flash in her eyes.

She nodded and walked to the record book: "Break time is over. Get ready, fourth set."

Tiffany Hwang hurriedly cleaned up the shards of the broken water cup from earlier, took a new paper cup, poured warm water, and placed it within Jessica Jung's reach.

Jessica Jung sat back down on the training chair, her gaze falling back onto her right foot.

Her right hand still retained the warm, firm touch of having been held by Song Tianhao.

"Begin," the rehabilitation therapist's voice rang out.

Jessica Jung closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them.

She concentrated, feeling the muscles in her ankle, ignoring the sharp pain, and mobilizing every ounce of strength.

Jessica Jung's toes moved.

Then, her ankle began to slowly exert force.

This time, the angle at which her toes left the ground was higher than any time before.

Sweat seeped from her forehead again, her lips were bitten white, and the knuckles of the hand gripping the edge of the chair trembled again from the effort.

But she didn't stop, didn't break down; in her eyes, that flame belonging to Jessica—cold and stubborn—reignited.

Song Tianhao had already stood up and retreated to the side. He didn't leave, just leaned against the wall quietly, watching.

His gaze landed on Jessica Jung's side profile, which was trembling slightly from the effort, then slowly moved away to look out the window.

Outside the window, the sunlight was just right, shining through the clear glass onto the clean floor of the rehabilitation room, casting large patches of warm light spots.

Tiffany Hwang stood beside Jessica Jung, gripping the towel tightly, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on every minute movement of Jessica Jung, silently mouthing "fighting."

Her gaze would occasionally sweep quickly over Song Tianhao, who stood by the wall, her eyes filled with gratitude, admiration, and a trace of something extremely subtle and complex that even she herself hadn't noticed.

The rehabilitation therapist looked at the timer, then at Jessica Jung's movements, and wrote in the record book: "Fourth set, duration 8 seconds, angle approximately 8 degrees. Control significantly improved, pain tolerance increased. Emotionally stable, cooperation level extremely high."

She finished writing, looked up at the girl who had started to fight against her own body and pain again, and then glanced at the man silently watching nearby, sighing softly in her heart.

Perhaps, this time it really was different.