Chapter 38.1

Chapter 38.1

As they exited the karaoke bar, Miran kept glancing over her shoulder like a guilty fugitive, hurrying her steps in case someone followed.

“Oh, right!”

Just before reaching the stairs to the exit, Miran spun around and, without giving anyone a chance to stop her, threw open a nearby door. The junior of the costume team, who had been ironing clothes with a steam press, looked up in surprise.

“Oh, Miran! Is the shoot over already?”

Miran grabbed the large bag on the table, slinging it over her shoulder as she dashed out and called back urgently.

“I’ll return the dress through Hyuna!”

“Huh? What do you—”

“I’m really sorry!”

Just as the door was about to close, she offered a quick apology and pulled Andre by the hand.

“That’s it. Let’s get out of here!”

Seeing the near-panic in her eyes, Andre followed her silently up the stairs. Even after they left the karaoke bar, Miran anxiously glanced around until they were far enough from the entrance, only then slowing her pace.

When she finally stopped, she sank down, leaving Andre watching her in confusion. Surprised, he reached out to help her up as she nearly collapsed, trembling uncontrollably, as if her legs had given way.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Does something hurt?”

Andre’s usually gentle voice was now tinged with genuine concern. At that, Miran, who had been holding in fear and frustration all day, broke down. She buried her face in his broad chest, and he held her close, his large hand resting on the back of her head as she sobbed quietly.

“…Did that guy… hit you?”

The chill in his voice sent a shiver down her spine, and she shook her head. She had almost been hit, but thankfully Andre had stepped in.

“N-no. I… I’m just… relieved…”

Her voice wavered with sobs, quivering as if chilled to the bone. Her legs felt weak, as if she were some spineless creature, and without Andre’s arm around her waist, supporting her, she might not have been able to stand at all.

Andre surveyed her closely with sharp eyes, then suddenly raised a hand to hail a taxi. Before long, a black taxi pulled up in front of them. It didn’t look like a typical taxi, though; even the white taxi sign on top seemed unfamiliar, and a series of numbers on the window, along with a phone number and an English logo on the door, hinted at something different.

“Uh, where are we going?”

Andre guided the still-shaky Miran into the taxi, closed the door, and got in beside her. As Miran, left alone inside, looked around in confusion, Andre entered through the other door and sat next to her. The driver turned around, greeting them in English.

“Hello! How are you, sir? Where are you going?”

His accent leaned closer to Korean than English, but he seemed comfortable with the language.

“Dragon Valley Hotel.”

“Yes, sir!”

Hotel? Miran’s eyes widened in surprise, her tears momentarily forgotten. She sniffled, glancing between Andre and the driver, noticing an English sign on the seat back that looked like some sort of notice.

“Is this… a tourist taxi?”

The driver, overhearing her murmur, glanced at her in the rearview mirror and asked, “First time in an Arirang taxi, miss?”

“Uh… yes, it is…”

“You must be pretty new at this job. This is a taxi specifically for people going to the U.S. military base. I was on my way back to the base when this guy flagged me down, so I stopped. Usually, I don’t pick up Korean passengers.”

“……”

Miran silently mulled over the driver’s words.

‘You must be pretty new at this job.’

As she blinked, lost in thought, her eyes fell on her own bare thighs, startlingly visible. That’s when her attire finally registered.

It was still broad daylight outside, and here she was dressed in a flashy outfit, clinging to a foreign man—a look suited for someone with a “hostess” job. She could imagine the assumptions the driver must have made.

‘He probably thinks I’m some kind of Yankee princess*.’

*양공주(yanggongju) – usually refers to pros-titu-tes in US military camp towns in South Korea.

Miran’s face, already pale, twisted in humiliation. Normally, she would have immediately defended herself, insisting she wasn’t that kind of woman.

But she was too afraid that arguing with the driver in front of Andre would make him aware of how she might appear in others’ eyes. That thought was even more shameful.