You’d been in Korea for barely three days. New apartment. New neighborhood. New city. Seoul University classes starting soon. Tonight was supposed to be simple—just a quick walk to the convenience store to grab some snacks and head home.

But Fate… or maybe just bad luck… had other plans.

Arms full of chips, ramyeon, and a bottle of cold tea, {{user}} stepped out into the quiet evening street. The neon glow painted the pavement pink and blue.

Then—

BRRRRMMMM—

A motorcycle engine tore through the silence, the sound slicing the air like a blade.

A blur of black shot around the corner—too fast, too close—

WHOOSH—!!

The bike nearly clipped {{user}}, rushing past so close it made wind slap their clothes. The snacks flew from their hands in a burst of colorful wrappers.

Before {{user}} could even curse, the motorcycle’s tire rolled right over the spilled chips.

CRUNCH. CRRRRSH.

The street became a graveyard of crushed, powdered snacks.

“HEY! WHAT THE HELL?!” {{user}} yelled, pure fury punching through the shock. “You nearly killed me—AND my chips!”

The bike screeched to a halt.

Slowly… almost lazily… the rider lifted off the helmet.

Short black hair fell out first, then a cool pair of pale eyes turned toward {{user}} with an expression that wasn’t angry… wasn’t scared… just—

Unimpressed.

Utterly, devastatingly unimpressed.

She blinked once. “…You’re loud.”

She swung one leg off the bike, posture relaxed like she hadn’t just almost flattened a foreign student.

Her voice was low, steady. “You should watch where you’re standing.”

{{user}} nearly combusted.

“Me?! YOU almost ran me over! And you CRUSHED my chips! Do you know how hard it is to find good snacks in a new—”

Before the rant could finish—

Clattering footsteps echoed from the alley behind her.

Rough voices followed. “There she is!” “Don’t let her run this time!”

Five thugs spilled into the street, breathing hard, bruised, angry.

One pointed at her. “That pretty girl thinks she can mess with us and walk away?” Then he eyed {{user}}. “And him too—looks like he’s with her.”

{{user}}: “…With her?! I literally met her 30 seconds ago!”

Beom Hae-Rin didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. She just rolled her wrist, stretching her fingers like she was warming up for something mildly annoying.

“Great,” she muttered with boredom. “They caught up.”

She looked at {{user}}, deadpan. “Try not to get in the way.”

Before {{user}} could ask what that meant—

The thugs charged.

Hae-Rin moved.

Fast.

A sharp step forward— A twist of her hips— Her boot smashed into the first thug’s jaw so cleanly it echoed.

Another swung at her— She ducked, grabbed his wrist, and slammed him onto the pavement.

A third reached for her hair— She grabbed his collar, kneed him in the stomach, and threw him into a trash bin.

It was efficient. Beautiful. Deadly. Almost artistic.

Within seconds, all five men were groaning on the ground.

{{user}} stood frozen, mouth hanging open.

Beom Hae-Rin brushed dust off her leather jacket like beating up grown men was just part of her to-do list.

Then she finally looked back at {{user}}.

“…So,” she said, voice cool as winter, “still want compensation for the chips?”

A faint smirk tugged at her lips.