Disclaimer: Certain dialogue in this Chapter involves sensitive ethnic remarks used in a fictional context. These elements serve the narrative and should not be interpreted as the author’s opinions.
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Rohit hurried after the girl, hoping to catch a clue about her, but in his rush, he collided with a man coming from the opposite direction.
"Sorry—" Rohit began, but the man shoved him back roughly and spat in Korean, voice dripping with contempt: "Cheon-min Indo nom." (Low-class Indian.)
The unexpected insult made Rohit pause and shoot him a hard look.
The man stood tall in a black coat and pressed pants, his attire too professional for a casual passerby. A discreet earpiece glinted in his ear, indicating he was related to security—maybe a bodyguard. And most importantly, he seemed... Korean.
"Did you just abuse me?" Rohit said flatly.
The man brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder and smirked. Switching to English, he replied coldly, "And what if I did?"
Rohit’s eyes narrowed. The timing, the outfit—it had to be Seo-yeon’s bodyguard. No one else fit.
He spoke in crisp Korean, mockery curling through his words. "So you’re... that bodyguard. Fine. I’ll let it slide. You’re just the dog on my friend’s leash, after all. Consider it neighborly mercy."
The guard stiffened, his expression hardening.
There was a reason for his prejudice against Indians. In his country, Indians who arrived were often hired for third-rate jobs that no one else wanted. That shaped his impression of Indians as cheap laborers who knew nothing beyond English.
His experience in India hadn’t been any better. Overcrowded streets, chaos without order, and above all, the dark skin—it all had only reinforced his sense of superiority. Like Europeans once looking down on their colonies, he too had grown accustomed to disdain.
The funny thing was, wherever he went, people tried to take selfies with him as if he were a celebrity. And if he put on a stern face, they would cower and avoid him, as though he were a real menace. After all, who would want to pick a fight with a serious-looking strong man who didn’t even speak the native language? God only knew what connections he might have.
So far, everything had been smooth. However, this one, though... was in fluent Korean? No fear in his eyes? And he called the young miss his friend?
For a moment, surprise flickered across the guard’s face—how did an Indian know Korean so well? So far, the young miss didn’t have any school friend he knew of, and what gave him the nerve to act so high and mighty?
The shock soon melted into smug superiority. He concluded Rohit must be another idol-obsessed fan, desperate to mimic Korean culture to impress his boss’s daughter.
Maybe they were acquaintances—something superficial at best—but related? Fat chance. He had seen plenty of such cases before. There was no way his young miss had anything to do with this rascal.
With a self-satisfied smile, he sneered in English but with a thick Korean accent, "Oh. An Indian learning Korean... just because he binges dramas and follows our idols? And he dares think he’s our equal? How laughable. Listen, kid—in Korea, we despise such imitation."
He grabbed Rohit’s shoulder, squeezing with deliberate pressure. "Remember your place, third-worlder. You learn our language because you admire us—not because you belong anywhere near us. And don’t you dare lie to me."
He looked proud of his words, as if delivering a lecture. Hurting a civilian wouldn’t be good for his career, but humiliation? That was safe.
But Rohit didn’t flinch. He casually shrugged the guard’s hand off his shoulder and shot back, "Oh, it seems you slipped up there."
Tilting his head, he added, "I didn’t learn Korean out of fandom. I already know Chinese and Japanese well enough—Korean just came along."
Then he raised a finger, his tone calm but cutting. "It’s funny—that stupid smile on your face. You call me a third-worlder and dare talk about status, as if I belong beneath you."
He scoffed, holding his fingers two inches apart as if to show something trivial. "Have you even looked at your country’s landmass? Your population?"
His lips curved in mockery. "Ah, right. A nation built on pretending it’s ’pure,’ when it’s really generations of mixed blood from neighboring invasions. I wonder—which standard do you use to call that purity?"
His words were aimed at the ideology of ethnic homogeneity that took root in South Korea after colonial rule—a belief forged to rebuild pride and unity. Twisted as they were, his statements were ugly exaggerations, steeped in anger rather than truth—but they struck with surgical precision.
The smugness drained instantly from the guard’s face, replaced by fury. His pride had been struck where it hurt most. Job aside, he was a patriot through and through.
He jabbed a finger at Rohit and roared in Korean, "You lowly bastard! You dare mock me and belittle my country? I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget!"
Without hesitation, he lunged, throwing a flying punch aimed straight at Rohit’s jaw.
But Rohit was quicker. He pivoted sharply, letting the strike whistle past his ear, the gust of air brushing his cheek.
The guard was surprised, dismissing it as a fluke. He leaned forward with a series of punches and jabs, but Rohit’s movements were fluid—he retreated back, dodging each strike by a hair’s breadth, and escaped the final heavy blow with a quick duck and roll, gaining clear distance. Steadying himself, he set his stance, ready to fight.
This time, the guard froze before he turned around with raging anger.
It had been close range, too fast to miss. Even with such simple, straightforward moves, at least one should have landed. But the boy had slipped past them all.
For a professional, a clean miss was humiliating. And worse—this stranger had just insulted his nation, branding all Koreans as nothing more than a bastard mix of neighbors. Civilian or not, punishment was no longer optional.
Just as he steadied himself to strike again with his special combos, a sharp voice cut through the tension.
From the washroom doorway, Seo-yeon stepped out and shouted in Korean, "Uncle Lee! What are you doing?!"