Chapter 8 Monroe
I’ve been a teacher at Suyeong Academy for well over two years and not once have I ever felt unsafe.
So it’s a huge shock when I come face-to-face with some random guy clutching a knife, telling me not to scream or he’ll gut me. His bloodshot eyes and twitchy mannerisms seem to suggest he’s not in a mental state to be reasoned with.
But… what other option do I have except to try?
I squash down the instinctual fear churning inside me and force my voice to stay calm and even. The last thing I need to do right now is panic.
“You don’t have to hurt me,” I say, slowly raising my hands up. “You don’t have to do anything bad. You can walk away right now and I won’t tell anyone. We can pretend this never happened.”
The man grunts out a harsh laugh. “Take off your jewelry. Put it on the ground.”
“Please, if you just—”
“Do it!”
He’s not playing around. He’s obviously serious.
My hands tremble as I reach for my earrings—small diamond studs that were a gift from Mom a couple years back.
I unpin them one at a time and set them on the dirty pebbled floor at my feet.
Next comes the tennis bracelet. Jin gave it to me for my birthday, a delicate chain of diamonds that sparkle and shine in any light and that I’ve worn almost every day since.
I unclasp it and add it to the small pile, my heart aching as I watch it touch the grime.
“The ring too,” the man says, jerking his chin toward my left hand. “That big, fat rock.”
My engagement ring.
One of my most prized and sentimental possessions.
Jin had been so endearingly nervous (for once) when he’d asked me to marry him and slipped the ring onto my finger. We were seated on the hood of his car on Hwangnyeongsan Mountain, overlooking all of Busan.
It was beautiful and romantic, and a moment I’ll never forget.
“Please,” I plead. “Not this one. It’s my engagement ring. It means everything to me.”
“I don’t give a shit what it means. Take it off.”
I swallow hard, my mind racing. The ring is snug on my finger—my hands and feet have slightly been swelling, one of the many joys of pregnancy—so I decide to use that to my advantage.
“I’m trying,” I say, tugging at it with exaggerated effort. “My fingers are swollen. I’m pregnant. My fiancé and I are expecting.”
He gives no reaction either way, clearly not giving a damn. But I go on anyway, desperate to stall in any way I can.
“My fiancé is a very important man,” I continue. “A very dangerous man. If anything happens to me—”
“Five seconds,” the mugger cuts in, his patience spent. “Get the fucking ring off, or I run you through.”
My stomach drops. He seriously means it. I can see it in his bloodshot eyes.
I start working the ring off my finger, twisting and pulling, when a sharp cramp seizes my abdomen.
…or at least, that’s what I want him to think.
I cry out and double over, clutching my stomach.
“What the—” The mugger steps toward me, irritation flashing across his face. “Get up. Stop playing games.”
He reaches for my arm to wrench me toward him, but I’ve already decided on my counter move.
My teacher’s tote swings in a wide arc, catching him square in the jaw. The bag is heavier than it looks—stuffed with teacher’s manuals and my laptop—and the impact sends him stumbling off-kilter.
The knife slips from his grip and clatters to the pebbly ground. He curses me out in a flash of rage, but I’m already following up with another move.
I stomp down hard on his foot then thrust the base of my palm into his throat.
He chokes, his hands flying to his neck, his face turning an alarming shade of red. Two years of women’s self-defense classes in college, and I’ve never been more grateful for them.
The instructor always said the throat and the instep were the great equalizers; it didn’t matter how big your attacker was if he couldn’t breathe or stand.
Without waiting to see if he recovers, I bolt past him, my pulse pounding.
But I’m not fast enough.
His hand closes around my elbow, wrenching me backward. I hit the wall hard enough to make me a little dizzy, and suddenly he’s looming over me, his face twisted with rage.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” he snarls, spittle flying from his lips. “I was gonna let you live but now—”
A dull thwack cuts him off.
His eyes go wide then roll back in his head. He staggers to the side as if trying to remain on his feet, then he falls over, face-planting into a dirty puddle with a wet splash.
Behind him stands Mr. Noh, a chunk of splintered plywood clutched in his hands.
“Miss Ross,” he says, sounding startled yet steady all at once. “Are you alright? Do you need medical attention?”
I stare at him, my brain struggling to catch up with what just happened. The adrenaline is still surging through me, making it feel as if I’m in some weird dream.
“I—” I start, then interrupt myself for a shaky breath. Clearing my throat, I try again. “I’m okay… I… I think. He just... he came out of nowhere. I didn’t know there were muggers in Suyeong.”
“It’s usually a very safe neighborhood,” the vice-principal answers, setting down the plywood and stepping over the unconscious man to check me for injury. “But in recent times, there have been some troublemakers. Please, come inside. I’ll call the police and we can file a report.”
I nod numbly and let him guide me back toward the school, only sparing one last quick glance at the mugger lying unconscious in the puddle.
Mr. Noh’s office is small for a vice-principal, but it’s tidy and decorated with framed certificates and a few potted plants that are obviously well-tended.
I sit in one of the chairs across from his desk, my hands wrapped around a cup of tea he’s made me.
My gaze is set on the framed photograph on his desk, which seems to be of him and his wife from when they first married.
He had a thicker head of hair back then but the same calm, kind eyes.
His wife looks just as sweet, her belly round and pregnant.
Through the ajar door, I can hear him speaking with a police officer in the corridor. He’s calmly explaining that a member of his staff was attacked by the mugger.
I opt not to identify myself when he offered to let me speak with the officer directly. The less involved I am with the Busan police, the better.
Given my connection to Jin—one of the city’s biggest and most dangerous criminals—any interaction with law enforcement feels like a risk.
The last thing I need is some overeager detective digging into my life and stumbling onto who my fiancé is and what he does for a living.
So I’m grateful for Mr. Noh stepping up. More than happy to let him handle it, identifying himself to the police officer as a concerned administrator who witnessed the aftermath of an attempted mugging.
It’s not entirely a lie.
The officer eventually leaves, and only a moment later, Mr. Noh steps back into the office, closing the door behind him.
“Good news,” he says, settling into his chair. “Apparently, this man has been terrorizing several people in the area. The officer believes they’ll be able to put him away for at least a few months this time.”
“That’s a relief.” I let out breath, then swallow more tea, grateful for the way it warms up my insides. “Thank you for stepping in. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up.”
“You were holding your own quite admirably,” he says with a small smile. “That strike to his throat was impressive.”
“Self-defense classes in college.”
“Ah,” he says, nodding approvingly. “Time well spent, it seems.”
“Yeah, who would’ve thought it’d come in handy in a whole different country.”
A beat of silence passes. Then he gently broaches the obvious.
“May I ask why you didn’t want to identify yourself to the police? It’s your right, of course. I’m simply curious.”
I hesitate, carefully choosing my words. “I just... prefer to keep a low profile. The police tend to dig too much. Ask too many questions, and I like to keep my personal life private.”
Mr. Noh’s gaze is steady, his expression thoughtful. I can tell he’s still curious—maybe even suspicious—but he doesn’t press the matter any further. Instead he simply nods.
“I understand. Everyone has their reasons.”
The door bursts open and interrupts our chat.
Jin strides into the office, his composure cracked in a way I’ve rarely seen. His eyes find me immediately, scanning me from head to toe as if checking for injuries. Then he’s crossing the room in three long strides, pulling me up out of the chair and into his arms.
“What happened?” he demands, his voice tight. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I say, face pressed into his chest. “Jin, I’m okay. I promise I am.”
He pulls back enough for a closer look at my face, his hands cradling my jaw. “Tell me everything.”
“A man attempted to rob Miss Ross outside the school,” Mr. Noh explains for me. “But she was holding her own quite well. She even managed to cut off his air supply before I intervened.”
Jin’s gaze snaps to the vice-principal as if he’s an enemy. “Why are there criminals outside a school? There are women and children here. Why is it not safer for them?”
“I assure you, this area normally is very safe. This was an isolated incident—”
“An isolated incident that could have gotten her killed.”
“Jin,” I say gently, placing a hand on his arm, drawing his attention back to me. “Mr. Noh helped me. The mugger had me against the wall, and he showed up. If it wasn’t for him, I probably would’ve been seriously hurt.”
Jin pauses for a second processing this new piece of information. He’s still so tense his muscles feel rigid and harder than steel. His jaw remains clenched, more angular than usual as his body radiates pure hot ire.
But he recognizes what I’ve said and gives a stiff nod.
“Thank you,” he says to Mr. Noh. “For intervening and helping my fiancé.”
Mr. Noh nods back graciously. “It was no trouble at all. I take the safety of my students and my teachers—and their children—very seriously.”