[Sim Daejung]

My visit time is over, so Della and I have to separate. It's sad we can't finish our conversation, but I hope we'll be able to catch up in a few days and then finish what we've started. As I wave her goodbye, she smiles at me.

I seethe inside. When I'm gone, I'm sure those bad thoughts will make their way again in my mind. No. They can't and won't. I'll find a fun activity to distract myself and unwind after these past few hours of turmoil.

I leave the hospital, turning back only once. By the next two days, Della will be out, I'm sure. Until then, all I can do is wait, and continue with my life as expected. After all, it's not a life or death matter, right?

***

My name might be Sim Daejung, but, if I could have another name, it would be Trouble. Yes. Wherever I go, I attract it, like bees are to honey, or flies to shit. More like the latter, to be honest.

Of course, tonight can't be a peaceful, quiet night. There must be something, or someone, wreaking havoc, and I have to be involved, or I wouldn't be myself. When will I learn to stay out of sticky situation? Well, at this point, I guess never.

No, in this case "trouble" doesn't come in the form of a frustrated, unwelcoming waitress, but in three dudes and a woman hanging around and throwing blazing glares at whoever passes by.

The four of them see me as a major threat. They study every single move of mine, whisper under their breath and never keep their menacious gazes off of me. The girl grits her teeth, which I also do in turn. It looks like she and those three bozos want a fight.

I don't want to give in. I don't want any issues with the law. I just want to drink something in peace and then leave to some safer place. Maybe I should just return to my hotel, though. It might be boring, but not as dangerous as staying here.

I raise my hand to call for the bartender, when one of the three dudes approaches me. He clenches his fists and clasps them against one another. His glare is more intense than before, and his face is crimson.

He's now only inches close to me. I try to move back, but he steps forward until our faces literally touch. He hisses. "Stay away from Alyson, or you'll regret being born, yellow face." Not only he's a total jerk, he's also racist.

I clap back at him. "Don't worry, I don't even care about your girl or your friends, dickface. Get off of me or I'll call the cops." My threat leaves him completely unfazed. He seems used to getting what he wants the way he wants, even through violence, and never facing consequences.

He laughs, then sneers. "Huh! The cops! Do you really think you can snitch on me or the rest of the gang? If anything, you will end up behind bars. After I've beaten the shit up of you, idiot."

I smirk. "You can't really keep up a conversation without insulting, huh?" I point my finger at him, making it clear I don't fear him. "I hate people like you, acting all high and mighty while you actually do the worst shit and get away with it."

One of his goons approaches us, followed by the girl named Alyson. She waves her yellow (no, not a nice blond, but an unpleasant, straw like, shade of yellow) hair and lets out a burp. She's the last kind of woman I'd ever date. Not only she seems to lack finesse, but also standards, just for hanging out with these thugs.

She chuckles. "Dean, stop it, please. That dude is such a loser. He wouldn't try to hit on me even if I paid him a billion bucks." Fine. Case closed. They can leave me in peace and I can go away. I can have a drink somewhere else.

Wrong. The Dean guy believes pestering me is amusing, so he sticks to me like glue. He waves Alyson off, telling her to go back to her seat in a demeaning manner. Now, I'm against him and his friends. They sound stupid enough for me to shut them up, but Dean is anything but. I must find my way out of here in a creative way.

He turns to the two goons. "Mark, Bill, I think it's time to teach this have not a lesson, do you agree?" The idiots groan. I recognize "Bill" between the two of them because he wears a necklace with a plaque with his name as pendant. The other guy, the one with long, ruffled red hair must be Mark.

They don't look intimidating in the slightest. They are puppets perfectly driven by their master, Dean, an unbearable piece of shit whose ego matches his big size. He flaunts his physical strength, but I bet he uses it for the wrong reasons.

He challenges me at an arm wrestling battle. I accept, believing he'll play fair and square and won't try any nasty tricks. Too bad I choose to trust him, because, not long after, he points out, "It will be three versus one. Or one versus three, you choose how to put it, baby."

I mutter. "You don't get to call me 'baby,' okay?" He ignores me and immediately tells Bill to be ready to "crush me." His words, not mine. Bill is the leanest of the trio, so he seems disadvantaged. However, I've learnt that I should never underestimate my opponents, so I prepare myself for the worst outcome.

After five minutes of intense battle, I defeat Bill. The challenge isn't over, though. I have to face Mark next. He seems to have practised over the last few minutes at least, which worries me. I'm not that great at arm wrestling, to be fair. But I can't pass off as a fraud either. I must win.

Mark growls. "Are you ready to lose? I'll win, be sure of that, and you'll face such humiliation that you won't leave your goddamn house for months." I ignore his pathetic ramble. His cockiness will be his downfall, so I play on that to earn my second win.

Now, only Dean is left. He rubs his hands against each other and gives me a creepy smile. "You're not bad, dude. But it's time to raise the bar. And I'll crush you, not like those two idiots." Mark and Bill quietly leave the counter as their leader berates them, and rejoin Alyson.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath and collect myself for thirty seconds. When they're over, Dean has already grabbed my hand. "No distractions, loser. Unless you're so sure to win." He shakes his head. "Not on my watch. I'll win, and you'll go back to where you come from with a broken wrist. That's a promise."

What a hell of a promise. If anything, it'll land him deep in hot water with the other customers and the owner of this slum, as well as the authorities. What matters now is that I defeat him. No nasty tricks, no cheating, no low blows.

Within the next minute, the match is already over. That brute twists my right wrist with just his pure force. He then lets go of it, only to mock me. "Poor thing. He thought he could defeat me. Get out of my sight, Butter Wrist."

That's the least demeaning insult I've heard from him tonight. The worst part isn't that I have to admit defeat, but that this grown up bully will get away with fracturing my wrist, in front of the bartender.

The latter, as a true asshole, instead of offering me aid, leaves me on my own to suck up to Dean. Fuck him. I can go to the hospital on my own. I guess it's time to rejoin Della.