"Oh... yobana."
The curse hung in the air, mingling with the scent of expensive leather and impending doom.
Han Min-gyu stood in the doorway, his eyes darting from Chae-rin's furious, red face to my own terrified expression, and finally to the tangled mess of our limbs on the sofa.
"Min-gyu, wait, it's not—" Chae-rin started, trying to shove me off.
My fight-or-flight response kicked in. Unfortunately, my brain chose "flight," but my mouth chose "idiocy."
I scrambled off the sofa, grabbing my jacket from the floor in a blur of motion. I looked at Min-gyu, then at Chae-rin, who looked ready to murder me with her bare hands.
"I... I can't explain right now!" I yelled, backing toward the door, clutching my jacket to my chest like a shield. "I'll give you my answer at school!"
It was meant to mean, "I will answer your conditions about the band project at school when I am not currently dying of embarrassment."
But judging by the look of absolute horror on Min-gyu's face, it sounded a lot more like, "I will give you the answer to your secret love confession at school, my darling."
"Answer?" Min-gyu choked out. "What answer?"
"Bye!"
I turned and bolted.
I sprinted out of the karaoke club, past a confused receptionist, and burst out into the cool night air. I didn't stop running until I was three blocks away, my lungs burning and my face feeling hotter than the surface of the sun.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I muttered, slowing to a walk. I kicked a pebble, sending it skittering into the darkness. "Great job, Ambassador."
I couldn't go back to the house yet. My adrenaline was too high, and frankly, I needed to put as much distance between myself and the "Golden Triangle" as possible.
The neighborhood was too quiet. Too perfect. It felt suffocating. I checked my internal compass—I was pretty good at orientation—and started walking away from the rich district, towards the lights I'd seen from the bus earlier that morning.
Twenty minutes later, the scenery changed. The high walls and security cameras gave way to normal streets, neon signs, and the familiar, chaotic buzz of Seoul.
I wandered aimlessly, dodging late-night commuters, until a warm, yellow light caught my eye. It was a small, cozy-looking shop with books piled high in the window.
Yeonnam-dong Book & Comics.
It looked safe. It looked quiet.
I pushed the door open. The smell of old paper and coffee washed over me. It was a narrow maze of bookshelves, crammed floor-to-ceiling with manhwa, novels, and magazines.
I squeezed down an aisle labeled "Action/Fantasy."
There, in the middle of the aisle, a girl was standing on a precarious little wooden stool. She was stretching her arm up, trying desperately to reach a volume on the very top shelf.
She was short. Like, really short. And she was wobbling.
"A little... more..." she grunted, standing on her tiptoes. The stool wobbled dangerously.
"Careful," I said, stepping forward.
I reached up effortlessly over her head—the perks of being a tall Ukrainian—and grabbed the book she was aiming for.
"Oh!" She spun around, startled by my voice.
Physics, as it turned out, was my greatest enemy in Korea.
She lost her balance. Her foot slipped off the stool. She fell backward.
I dropped the book and caught her.
It was a reflex. I caught her by the waist, but the momentum was too much in the narrow aisle. I stumbled back, tripping over my own feet (again), and we went down.
Thud.
I landed on my back. She landed on top of me, her face inches from mine.
Déjà vu, my brain whispered. Is this my superpower now? Being a human mattress?
She froze, her eyes wide, staring at me. She didn't move. Five seconds passed. Then ten. She was just... laying there, blinking.
"Uh," I said, staring up at the ceiling. "Are you... comfortable?"
She yelped, scrambling off me and scuttling backward like a crab until she hit the bookshelf.
"I... I'm sorry!" she squeaked. Then she looked at me properly. Her eyes widened even more.
"Wait," she said in halting, heavily accented English. "Where... are... you... from?"
I sat up, dusting off my jeans. "I speak Korean," I said.
She blinked. "Oh. That's..."
I looked at her. She was wearing a school uniform I didn't recognize—a grey blazer with red trim. On her chest was a plastic name tag.
"You're welcome, Kim Yu-jin," I said, reading it.
She gasped, covering her nametag with her hands. "How do you know my name?! Are you a stalker?"
I chuckled, standing up. "It's written on your chest. Unless you stole that jacket."
"Oh." She looked down, her face turning pink. "Right."
She stood up, brushing herself off. She was tiny, with a bob cut and big, inquisitive eyes. She squinted at me.
"Which school do you go to?" she asked. "You look... old. Are you a university student? Or an ahjussi?"
"Ahjussi?" I choked. "I'm seventeen!"
"Liar," she scoffed. "Seventeen? With that hair? And those bags under your eyes? No way. I'm underage, ahjussi, so don't get any weird ideas."
"I'm seventeen too!" I insisted. "I'm just... tired. It's been a long week."
"Sure, sure," she said dismissively. Then her eyes darted to the floor. "Hey! My book!"
I followed her gaze. The manga I'd grabbed—Volume 42 of Naruto—was lying on the floor.
I snatched it up before she could move.
"Hey! Give it!" she yelled, jumping for it. "I saw it first!"
I held it high above my head. She jumped twice, looking like a furious Mario, but couldn't even reach my elbow.
"So what?" I said, walking over to a small reading table and sitting down. I opened the book. "I'm holding it. In Ukraine, we have a saying: 'Khto pershyy, toho i tapky.'"
She stared at me, baffled. "What? Tap... what?"
"Who is first, his are the slippers," I translated, turning the page. "Finders keepers."
"That's a stupid saying!" She huffed, stomping over and plopping down in the chair next to me. She crossed her arms, glaring at the side of my face. "You're mean for a foreigner. Foreigners are supposed to be gentlemanly."
"And Koreans are supposed to be polite to their elders," I retorted, not looking up. "Didn't you just call me ahjussi?"
She puffed out her cheeks. "So, what school?"
"Why do you care?"
"Curiosity. You don't look like you go to a normal school." She eyed my long hair, which had come loose from its bun during the fall. "Do you play in a rock band or something?"
"If I have long hair, does that automatically mean I'm in a band?" I asked, annoyed, touching my hair tied up in a bun. I thought i looked brutal with it.
"Well, no," she admitted, tilting her head and studying my face with ruthless, objective scrutiny. "Usually, the band guys are... you know. Handsome."
I slammed the book shut. "Yah!"
I glared at her. "Is it a national hobby? Pointing out the flaws in my face? I've been here two days and everyone keeps telling me I'm ugly!"
She burst out laughing. It was a bright, bubbly sound.
"Aww, you're cute when you're mad, ahjussi," she giggled. "I didn't say you were ugly. You just look... messy. Like a stray dog."
She leaned in, her expression turning conspiratorial. "If you worked on your style... like, cut the hair, maybe dressed less like a homeless person... you might actually be okay. I could give you some advice."
"I don't need advice from a kid who can't reach a bookshelf," I muttered.
"Tell me your school," she bargained, grinning. "And I'll tell you what haircut fits your face shape."
I looked at the manga in my hand. I looked at her. She was annoying, blunt, and weirdly charming.
I closed the book and slid it across the table to her.
"Here," I said.
Her eyes lit up. "Really?"
"My school is a secret," I said, standing up. I gave her a small, mysterious smile. "We should become... gakkapda ... before I share such personal details."
Her face went beet red. "M-mwo? What kind of—"
Hm, why does she have that look on her face? I meant that we should become friends at least...
"Enjoy the book, Yu-jin-ssi."
I turned and walked out of the shop, leaving her sputtering behind me.
The cool air felt good. I checked my bearings. I recognized this street. The 143 bus route went right down that main avenue. I wasn't lost. I was actually getting the hang of this city.
I started walking, the rhythm of my steps matching the hum of the city. Maybe I could survive this. I just needed to stay away from the Lees, the Yoos, and the drama for a few hours.
I wondered how's Ha-neul and reached for my phone to text to her.
I turned onto a darker, quieter street that served as a shortcut back toward the rich district.
"Well, well," a voice rang out from the shadows behind me. "Look who it is."
I stopped. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. It wasn't Min-gyu. It wasn't Myung-Dae.
It was a voice I didn't recognize, but it dripped with a kind of oily amusement that made me instantly reach for my imaginary rasengan.