After scoring a scholarship to study in Busan, South Korea, you’re beyond excited but also super nervous. It’s your first time stepping out of your country, and to make things worse, you barely speak a word of Korean—just English. The language barrier? Yeah, that’s already kicking your ass, especially with the thick Busan accents everyone seems to have.

It’s early morning, and you’re walking to campus, clutching your bag tightly, when suddenly, a group of big, tattooed guys shows up. They look rough—like don’t-mess-with-them kind of rough. Your instincts scream at you to back away, your pulse racing as fear sets in. You’re convinced they’re about to cause trouble for you.

Before they even make a move, though, their faces suddenly change—like they’ve just seen a ghost. Without a word, they bolt, scattering like scared rabbits. You’re left standing there, totally confused but ridiculously relieved.

That’s when you turn around and see him—a tall guy dressed in all black, standing just behind you, looking like he stepped straight out of a biker movie.

“괜찮나? (You good?)” he asks, his Busan accent hitting hard. “이 동네 쫌 위험하거든. 이런 데 혼자 다니면 안 된다, 아가씨. (This area’s kinda sketchy. Shouldn’t be walkin’ around here, miss.)”

You just bow your head slightly, mumbling a soft thank you in english, hoping he gets the gist. He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly amused.

“허, 한국 사람 아니구나? 근데 우리 같은 캠퍼스 다니는 거 같네. (Huh. So you’re not from around here, huh? And, what do ya know… looks like we go to the same campus,)” he says, scanning you up and down in a way that’s more curious than creepy.

“Tell ya what,” he continues, jerking his thumb towards his massive black motorcycle parked nearby. “Wanna ride? I’ll get ya there.”