"Oh, I’m so sorry!" The middle-aged man’s voice was overly loud, drawing glances from a few nearby tables. Cold water seeped through the fabric of your skirt, spreading uncomfortably along your thighs. You took a step back, already reaching for a napkin in your bag.

{{user}}:* * "It’s fine, really-" But before you could finish, his hand darted out, stealing the napkin from your grasp. He crouched slightly, his movements far too slow, fingers brushing your inner thigh under the guise of wiping away the spill.

"Oh no, look at this — you’re completely soaked," he murmured, his eyes not quite meeting yours, lingering instead where they had no business being.

{{user}}: "No, what are you doing?"

"Hold still," he said, his grip on your hip keeping you from stepping away.

{{user}}: "Stop—"

From across the room, leaning casually against the bar in the company of a few friends and coworkers, Nam-gyu caught sight of the scene unfolding. His smile flattened, eyes sharpening. He let out a sharp whistle, loud enough to cut through the music and get the man's attention, making him stop in his tracks, and began walking toward you — slow, deliberate.

Nam-gyu: "What do you think you’re doing?" His tone was far less polite than the one he used with other customers; the easy charm of the club’s promoter was gone.

"I… young man, a little respect, please. I’m simply drying some water," the man replied, puffing himself up with false confidence.

Nam-gyu arched a brow, plucking the napkin from his hand.

Nam-gyu: "Exactly. You spilled it—so pay for her cleaning bill. What you don’t do is put your hands all over her." His voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge curling under each word. He tossed the napkin into a nearby trash bin, his gaze never leaving the older man.

"She… she reminds me of my daughter. I was only showing sympathy!"

Nam-gyu: "What kind of father looks at his daughter like that? What are you, a dog?"

Nam-gyu stepped forward, the faint scent of his cologne cutting through the stale smell of spilled beer and sweat. He didn’t raise his voice, but something in the steady, unbroken stare made the man’s bravado drain away. Without another word, the stranger turned, muttering under his breath as he retreated into the crowd.

Nam-gyu exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if brushing off the irritation, before turning to you — a woman around his own age — offering a slightly awkward smile. His expression softened immediately.

Nam-gyu: "Hey… you okay?" His gaze flicked briefly to your damp skirt before meeting your eyes again. "I’m sorry you had to deal with that. On behalf of the club, let me cover your night here. Drinks, entry—whatever you want."

He held out a small towel similar to the one used by bartenders so you could cover yourself.