At twenty-six, Lingling is a bodyguard.
Her life, if wrapped up nicely, would still not be described as beautiful; in fact, it was quite the opposite.
Her father was a drug addict, and her mother was a prostitute. She couldn’t tell you when it all started; it seemed like it was just the way things were since the day she was born.
The environment was far from conducive to a happy family. One of Lingling’s earliest memories of family involved her drugged-up father choking her mother.
It wasn’t all that shocking. There were no adults around to tell Lingling that such behavior was wrong.
In fact, because she grew up witnessing such scenes from a young age when the lines between right and wrong were blurry, Lingling matured quickly and became indifferent to it all.
Her mother getting beaten by her father, still selling smiles, while her little siblings, lacking proper education, went begging right after learning to walk.
But little Lingling soon realized that all of this was of little importance, merely trivial elements in the grand scheme of things.
What truly mattered, the only thing that counted, was survival; that is, the issue of eating and living.
In the slum where Lingling lived, there were dozens who collapsed and died from lack of food. Even her father, looking like skin and bones, seemed unlikely to escape the same fate.
Sure enough, the following year, her father died—whether from malnutrition or the daily beating he endured, he ended up shriveled like a mummy.
This was a disaster for Lingling’s family. Instead of crying over the loss, despair erupted as the uncertainty of the future loomed over her.
Personal safety was prioritized over family, and even though her father valued drugs more than food, he still contributed to the household.
One of the two pillars supporting the family had fallen. There were many mouths to feed but only one hole to earn money from. Left unchecked, little Lingling would starve to death.
Fortunately, from a young age, Lingling had figured out how to survive.
When local delinquents tried to steal the food she begged for, the punches she threw to protect her food and family helped keep her fed.
While swinging her fists in the alley, she caught the eye of a high-ranking official passing by. The rest was predictable.
It led to severe and professional training targeted at orphans like Lingling who came from unfortunate backgrounds or had no family at all.
In that training, if trainees died, no one took responsibility; the sole task was to follow orders from above to cultivate a machine of murder.
Lingling completed that training with flying colors and became a true operative—
“So, this is how you ended up with me, huh? Hehehe…”
“That’s right, young master.”
The man arrogantly seated before Lingling interrupted her lengthy tale.
The man sitting arrogantly in front of her cut her off.
A corpulent figure with a huge face, he adorned his fingers with a staggering eight rings, perhaps to flaunt his wealth.
Yungfenjai. Currently Lingling’s security target and her employer.
Lingling wasn’t entirely sure of his exact identity, but she knew he was the son of someone connected to core power in China.
“I just picked a pretty woman, you know.”
“…”
As Yungfenjai licked his lips while eyeing her, Lingling felt a disgust akin to bugs crawling over her skin.
Indeed, this man was the worst. Among all the people Lingling had encountered in her work, he ranked among the most detestable.
He was fundamentally a lecher, lacking any desire to understand others’ feelings. It’s more accurate to say he didn’t feel the need to understand at all.
It must be because he had gotten everything he wanted since childhood. In stark contrast to Lingling, who focused solely on survival while sacrificing many things. That was why she felt an especially strong aversion toward Yungfenjai.
“Hehe, see you at the hotel later.”
“…Yes.”
Lingling answered, squeezing her eyes shut.
Though she had received specialized training capable of easily dunking a person, fundamentally she was no different from her mother. If told to undress, she would, and if told to dress, she would.
Ah, what a tragic life it was. She couldn’t just leave Yungfenjai and quit her job recklessly. The money she earned supported her mother and family.
Lingling desperately wished for this job to end quickly, so she could be free from Yungfenjai.
“Hey.”
At that moment, Yungfenjai moved and spoke to someone.
“Nice pair of breasts you’ve got there. Want to be my woman?”
“…?”
It was a crass comment, but the other person seemed not to understand his words.
And why would they? This was America, not China, and Yungfenjai was speaking in Chinese.
Lingling actually felt relieved that the woman didn’t understand. No woman would remain unashamed upon hearing such comments about their chest.
Sighing, Lingling followed Yungfenjai and took a proper look at the woman standing in front of him with a puzzled expression.
‘Indeed…’
The lecherous Yungfenjai was approaching a woman attractive enough to catch his attention.
With silver hair and blue eyes, she wore thin clothing suitable for a hot beach, stunning enough to draw a gasp from Lingling. In her judgment, this woman was even prettier than the top Chinese beauty she had seen years ago.
Lingling had no choice but to do something drastic regarding such a woman.
I had to.
“Lingling? Translate for this woman.”
There was no way Lingling could refuse. As a professional agent capable of speaking ten languages, including English, she promptly conveyed what Yungfenjai had said to the woman through English.
“….”
The woman in front of me frowned, looking displeased.
*
I visited Santa Monica Beach, famously known in California. While I was contemplating whether to try surfing while gazing at the vast blue sea, I was unexpectedly approached.
With the absurd line of wanting me to be his woman.
‘Did something mess with my brain in America?’
I really couldn’t help but think that.
First, I encountered an armed robbery at a restaurant right after arriving, and then got blindsided by Brutal at the arena. Now that everything was over, I just wanted to enjoy some sightseeing, but here I was, being unpleasantly hit on.
The reality is, being hit on is something that could happen anytime. It’s pretty much the same frequency in both Korea and America.
Maybe because American culture is a bit more open, there’s no hesitation when it comes to making a move. Just yesterday, I was stopped and approached five times on the way to a live event.
So, if it were just ordinary flirting, I wouldn’t have been this annoyed. Getting hit on has become an everyday occurrence by now.
The problem was with the man’s attitude. He had been trying to get touchy-feely for a while now. Blocking my way, and despite me giving hints that I wasn’t interested, he just kept getting more intrusive, which was quite uncomfortable.
‘Is the person next to him a translator? Or a bodyguard?’
Next to the chubby man stood a woman in a suit wearing sunglasses. Given that she was dressed in a suit under the scorching sun, she looked more like a bodyguard than a translator.
He must be some rich kid or something. From what I saw earlier, the bodyguard appeared to be speaking Chinese. So, is he Chinese?
Ignoring his greedy looks, his behavior was already a big no. It’s not easy to make such a bad first impression, but he had firmly engraved himself in my mind already.
“No.”
Shaking my head, the man’s expression stiffened a bit. Guess he could understand me without a translator at this level?
“@$#%@%!!”
The man began loudly complaining to the bodyguard. His voice was so loud that it drew the attention of people around us.
The woman responsible for both bodyguard duties and translation started relaying his words to me.
“No, no. No English. I’m Korean. Can you speak Korean?”
“Korean?”
The bodyguard, previously conveying messages in English, widened her eyes and spoke again. It seemed she knew Korean too, because this time, Korean flowed out instead of English.
The Korean language flowed instead of English.
“…They said they would pay if you went on a date with them.”
Right off the bat, we were talking about money. How could they stick to such a predictable script?
I had no intention of accepting, but I was curious how much the tycoon would offer, so I asked.
“So, a date means just having a meal together? How much would that be?”
“Just a moment.”
The bodyguard relayed my words. After hearing the answer from the man, she replied with a stoic expression.
“He says about $10,000.”
How much is that—ten million won? Thirteen million won?
That was definitely a hefty sum. It felt too wasteful for just a meal.
But then again, considering the meal dates hosted by famous female streamers, it didn’t seem too large. They probably weren’t an international conglomerate or anything, right?
“What a shame, that’s too little money. You must be a bit short on funds—please tell him that, no filtering.”
“…I’ll relay the message.”
Soon enough, the man’s demeanor flipped right away upon hearing the words.
“#%@$^!@!$!”
His already massive face turned beet red as he mumbled angrily about something. He was even pointing at me, so it seemed like he was cursing. I didn’t know what it meant, but he was probably saying something like “Kimchi woman.”
“Yes, yes. Anyway, I’m leaving. Good luck.”
Whether he was angry or not, I was already annoyed, being interrupted during my sightseeing. I turned my body and resumed my walk forward.
“#%@@!!”
The man tried to grab my wrist.
“Ha.”
This guy really had a bad habit of touching—like the time he put a hand on my shoulder earlier.
Maybe it was the heat that raised my irritation levels. I grabbed the man’s wrist that was reaching for me and twisted it around.
-Crack.
A scream echoed across the midday beach.
The man, whose arm was twisted, yelled, and his bodyguard rushed to block my way, while passersby started to gather, wondering what was happening.
Beep beep-!
Then came the sound of a whistle.
As I turned my head, I saw a man in a police vest rushing toward me, blowing the whistle with all his might.
Seeing that, I muttered.
“…This is bad.”
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