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KAP 3
Tristan scanned the interior of the pub, his posture arrogant, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets.
The moment his indifferent gaze came to a halt on Kora's eyes, she caught her breath and flinched.
“.......”
‘Why is he staring like that? Could it be... racism?’
Feeling diminished, Kora quietly averted her eyes.
To some, jumping to such a conclusion based on a mere look might seem like an inferiority complex. But for Kora, who had grown up as one of the few Koreans in a remote rural town in Michigan's Upper Peninsula and had experienced racial discrimination, this was a ‘gut instinct’ for survival.
However, Kora was not the type to simply submit and wipe away tears.
Back in middle school, she had once kicked a boy in the groin and made him cry after he mocked her by calling her ‘Chinky.’
She had been ostracized for a while in high school as well, but she was closer to the ‘cool kids’ than the nerds. The sudden global explosion of K-Pop and K-Dramas had helped a bit, too.
But the nature of the discrimination she faced after entering Chessworth was quite different from before.
At Chessworth, there were students from ordinary backgrounds like Kora, but there were also many children of the upper class whom one would never encounter in a typical environment.
From those from Northeastern private high schools who naturally owned a yacht or two, to descendants of European noble families and heirs to conglomerates who had studied abroad.
Few of them were overtly discriminatory, but some were far more subtle.
Take, for example, a girl she had done a group project with recently, the heiress to some large law firm.
She always wore a kind smile and repeatedly called Kora ‘Oh, Sweetie,’ but whenever it came time to divide the work, she habitually ignored Kora's opinions.
Since she didn't openly say ‘ching chang chong’ or pull her eyes back, it was a lingering, unpleasant feeling that was hard to push back against.
So, Kora wondered if the young master of the Lockwood family would be any different. Since he reigned at the peak of the inner circle, he would likely be even worse, if not better.
Furthermore, hockey—a sport that cost a fortune to learn—had always been the exclusive domain of white men.
For instance, while Black and other non-white players could be found on an American football field, it was rare to see anyone other than white players in a hockey arena.
It was while Kora, lost in thought, was fiddling with a lemon slice with tongs.
“Hey, Marshmallow Girl.”
A clean scent of soap wafted toward her nose as a heavy bass voice vibrated against her eardrums.
When Kora looked up, her vision was filled with exceptionally blue, blue-gray eyes. It was Tristan.
‘When did he get here?’
He was sitting with both arms loosely draped over the bar table. For a man of his size, he seemed remarkably skilled at erasing his presence.
“Pardon?”
Anyway, did he ask for a marshmallow? Why on earth was he looking for marshmallows in a pub?
As Kora tilted her head in confusion, Tristan, who had been gazing at her, smiled as if it were fine that she didn't understand.
“One ginger ale, please.”
“.......”
For a moment, Kora found herself entranced, admiring his features under the bar lights.
His prominent brow bone cast a deep shadow. Beneath it, his long, narrow ‘hunter eyes’—reminiscent of a predator—were incredibly sexy.
Added to that, his gray eyes, mixed with a drop of steel blue, glowed mysteriously.
Kora's gaze traveled down his straight bridge of the nose and full lower lip, landing on his aristocratically chiseled jawline.
In the center of his firm chin, a vertical groove—commonly known as a cleft chin—added to his masculinity, and the thick neck characteristic of a hockey player seemed to testify to his high testosterone levels.
The simple silver chain necklace around that neck sparkled under the lights.
His features were the very embodiment of masculinity, yet they held a strange, boyish charm.
What caught her eye most of all, however, was Tristan's trademark black hair.
Rare for a white man, his hair—which seemed to have absorbed the darkness—contrasted with his cold eyes, creating a mysterious aura. What kind of perfect creation is this...
“Is ale not on the menu?”
Sensing Kora's gaze scanning him, Tristan chuckled softly. Only then did Kora snap back to her senses and hurriedly answer.
“The ginger ale is five dollars.”
“Just put everything the hockey team drinks on one tab and let me pay all at once.”
Pulling a wallet from his back pocket, he took out a black metal card and handed it over.
The entire sequence of movements was excessively relaxed and leisurely. So much so that it was hard to believe he played a sport where a tenth of a second mattered.
“Yes, I understand.”
The moment she took the card from him, the brief brush of their fingertips felt searingly hot.
‘What was that?’
Startled by the heat, Kora jerked her hand away and turned toward the counter, looking down at the card in her hand.
The moment she saw the engraved name on the American Express Black Card, a hollow laugh escaped her.
Tristan J. Lockwood III.
‘...The Third. What a grandiose name.’
Regardless, seeing as he intended to pay for everything with his own card, she could see why the older seniors groveled before a captain who was only a sophomore.
A man whose skill, wealth, and family influence were all ‘on another level’—it was better to stay on his good side, and he was certainly a dangerous opponent not to be made an enemy.
After sliding his card into the holder on the counter, Kora popped open a can of ginger ale and poured it into a plastic cup.
The moment she handed it to him with a fresh slice of lemon floating on top, their skin touched again, just as it had when he gave her the card.
‘...What. He's not doing this on purpose, is he?’
Looking at his indifferent eyes, he didn't seem to be thinking much of it. However, his unconscious attitude instead caused an unpleasant stir in Kora's gut.
“Yo, boys! Captain opened a tab! Drink up, drink up!”
Just then, at a player's shout, the teammates rushed to the counter all at once and began ordering drinks in droves.
“Yes, one moment!”
They began drinking as if today were the last day of their lives. It seemed they intended to enjoy themselves fully before the hockey season officially began in October.
Kora served the drinks frantically to keep up with the speed of their orders.
Seeing the tip jar filling up with bills, she figured today's pay would at least be decent.
‘Right, let's think positively. I need a lot of money.’
As she was moving with a tray full of empty glasses, she unfortunately stepped on a crushed french fry, causing her foot to slip and her body to sway.
‘Damn! If I fall, the glasses will shatter!’
Just as a panicked Kora was struggling to regain her balance, a firm arm suddenly appeared from behind and supported her waist.
Thanks to that, Kora barely managed to steady herself and turned her head to look at her savior. That savior happened to be Tristan.
“Ah...”
“You should be careful.”
“...Oh, thank you.”
Flustered, Kora twisted her body to escape his grip. But for some reason, the arm wrapped around her waist didn't budge, as if he had no intention of letting her go.
When Kora arched an eyebrow inquisitively, he twisted one corner of his mouth. Then, he gave her side a firm, lingering squeeze with his fingers before leisurely releasing her.
Kora's neck flushed hot at the blatant touch, as if he were leaving his mark.
‘What was that just now?’
While Kora was momentarily bewildered, he leaned his head deep toward her and whispered.
“You look young.”
“.......”
“Is it okay for you to work in a place like this?”
His gaze traveled slowly down Kora's neckline and stopped at the name tag pinned to her chest.
“Kora.”
“.......”
She had thought he was large when he was sitting on the bar stool.
But now that she was standing face-to-face with him, she had to look so far up that the back of her neck felt stiff.
‘I'm 5 feet 5 inches, so he looks to be at least 6 feet 5 inches.’
The thought that a man of this build could probably kill someone like her with his bare hands if he wanted to made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Shaking off the pressure, which felt like an invisible rope tightening around her entire body, she spoke.
“I am of legal age to work in a pub.”
A heavy silence followed.
He stared at her intently, as if he expected to hear more from her.
Under that intense gaze, she felt an anxiety that she absolutely had to add something more.
She couldn't tell if it was a deliberate act to make people nervous or simply an instinctive habit.
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