"That fucker's gonna pay." One of the guys muttered, sitting near the ambulance where Cha was being treated.
"You saw it, right? He actually fucking hit her." Another hissed, his hands clenched into fists. "Daniel was right about him all along. Hiding his shit until now."
"Shit... He's a weak bastard. Only got me because he caught me off guard. And to think I was actually—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Fucking WORRIED for that prick."
A paramedic kneeled beside Cha, checking her bleeding nose as the others kept talking.
"He's too strong now. That's not normal. I bet he's a zombie—pretending to be human." One of them leaned in, his voice lowering. "Look at his before form and now. That has to be it."
"Motherfucker's trying to pose as a human..." Another one muttered darkly. "We need to report that."
Their hushed voices halted as the paramedic suddenly spoke.
"Hm..." His calm tone cut through their murmuring, drawing their attention.
He turned to Cha, his gaze steady. "Ms. Cha, right?" He asked, prepping a clean cloth for her nose.
She nodded, meeting his eyes.
"It's just a flesh wound," he said smoothly, his voice composed. "You burst a vein, that's all."
Cha exhaled, her shoulders relaxing as she kept staring at him.
'Woah... he's a hottie.'
"Here," he continued, gently pressing the cloth into her hands. "Hold this against your nose, alright? And don't lean back—lean forward. You want the blood out, not going back inside."
'Well, that blood is definitely going elsewhere right now...' she thought, her face warming with a blush as he turned away.
Then, without missing a beat, he addressed the group.
"As for what you were saying, fellas," he glanced at them, his tone unreadable, "why exactly would the guy who attacked her be a zombie?"
"Uhm... Because—! Look at that fucker before!" One of the guys blurted out, quickly pulling up Jiho's Fabbook profile on his phone.
"That's his old picture. Look at him! Total twink." He scoffed, swiping to another photo. "Now... look at his recent one. The one that blew up on Inftabram."
The paramedic leaned in slightly, rubbing his chin.
"Ooh... Striking change. But..." His eyes flicked between the images. "This was after the outbreak, right?" His voice carried a note of curiosity.
"Yes..." One of the girls nodded hesitantly. "He... uh... got bitten and ran straight toward the quarantine zone."
"Oh?" The paramedic's brows lifted slightly. "You know that for sure?"
"YEAH!" One of the guys cut in. "I mean, he had to have been! We saw it happen! Even though it was from afar, there was so much blood!"
The paramedic exhaled through his nose, tilting his head.
"Hmm... Couldn't it have just been a nasty bruise? Or, since he was running away from zombies, maybe it was their blood?"
A brief silence.
"I mean..." The guy hesitated. "It could be... But why the hell are you protecting him!? Look at what he did!"
"I agree," another added. "Even if it was an accident, this was uncalled for—and unforgivable."
The paramedic shrugged, crossing his arms.
"Unfortunate, yes," he admitted, "but I wouldn't say I'm protecting him. I'm protecting you from making a claim that could ruin his life—which would, in turn, make you fine young fellows look like a laughingstock." His voice remained smooth, but his gaze sharpened. "And believe me, I've experienced that firsthand. I'd rather not see anyone else go through it."
The group exchanged glances.
"Besides," the paramedic continued, "you said he was in the quarantine zone, no?"
Everyone leaned in slightly, their attention fully on him now.
"In extreme situations," the paramedic explained, "the body adapts. Quickly. Raging hormones, constant survival stress... That kind of pressure can trigger a rapid transformation, even without a nasty bite-wound. All that adrenaline, all those life-or-death moments—they change a person."
A brief pause.
"...R... Really?" One of the guys muttered, his voice noticeably less certain.
"Indeed. It's quite common, actually!" The paramedic said with a relaxed smile.
"Huh... I... Thanks for letting us know... But..." One of the guys hesitated, his brows furrowed. "He's really different now. Is that really possible?"
The paramedic tilted his head slightly. "I'm a paramedic. Why would I make this up?"
A pause.
"...You have a good point," the guy muttered. His jaw tensed. "But I still won't forgive that fucker. He deserves payback."
The paramedic exhaled, his tone remaining effortlessly calm.
"Well... That just means more work for me," he said, shrugging. "But I suppose I can't stop you. Just—"don't go too far, alright?"*
Something about the way he said it made Cha's stomach twist.
'That's... weird.' Her eyes narrowed slightly. 'I've never seen a paramedic encourage violence like that... He didn't even try to lecture us.'
"As for you, Missy," he suddenly turned to her, tilting her chin up gently with his fingers.
"Ah—" Cha gasped, her face flushing at the unexpected touch.
"Try to keep that chin down for me, alright?" His voice softened, his thumb barely grazing her skin. "I wouldn't want to see that pretty face bruised again."
"Oh... S-sure... O-oppa..." she stammered, heat rushing to her cheeks.
The paramedic gave a small smirk before stepping back and pulling off his latex gloves in one smooth motion.
"Do you all need a lift?" He asked, his gaze sweeping across the group.
"No... Thank you, oppa." They bowed slightly.
With a small nod, he turned and strode toward the ambulance.
As soon as he was inside, he let out a deep sigh.
"Haah... What a bother." He muttered in French, shaking his head slightly. His tone was almost amused.
"Our young lady sure is overprotective of this Jiho fella. I wonder..." His gaze flickered as he leaned back, resting an elbow against the seat. "What exactly did he do to win her over like that?"
Then, his expression shifted—his eyes gleaming with quiet curiosity.
"Either way," he turned to the driver, his voice smooth, calculated. "You can tell Monsieur Marcel that he's in the clear. No need to do anything... extreme to keep them quiet." His lips curled slightly.
"And," he added, "if possible—I'd like to meet this Jiho myself. See what kind of person he really is."
The driver nodded once and dialed Marcel's number as the ambulance pulled away from the scene.
Meanwhile—
Marcel leaned against his desk, phone pressed to his ear.
"I see... Thank you." He murmured before hanging up and then immediately, he dialed another number.
"Yes, My Lady. Have no fear. We took care of it." Marcel's voice was steady, assured.
"Please—do as you see fit."
A faint smile touched Amélie's lips as she stood at a distance, watching Jiho carefully.
The way he nervously checked his phone before calling someone.
She couldn't hear what he said, but she recognized one word as he spoke.
Mom.
Her lips parted slightly, something warm curling in her chest.
'So... he's talking to his mother. Quite a mommy's boy, aren't you?'
She watched as he hung up.
And then how the phone rang again.
How his fingers hesitated. Then - a slow, knowing smile curved on her lips as she stepped forward.
Well... I don't hate it. She thought before calling out.
"Tu devrais lui répondre."
Jiho stiffened at the sudden voice.
By the time he turned, she was already walking toward him, closing the distance with an easy, confident stride.
His eyes widened as he took in her presence—a neat yet casual dress, the scent of chamomile drifting through the air. Before he could react, she abruptly sat beside him, barely an inch separating them.
"Ah... Amélie, right? I'm... uh..."
She simply smiled and lifted her phone, speaking into it.
A second later, her phone repeated her words in Korean.
"You should answer her."
Jiho looked down, startled, his eyes landing on his mother's contact on the screen.
"Uh... Ah... I don't think that's a good ide—"
Before he could finish, Amélie swiftly pressed the phone next to his mouth, cutting him off. His heartbeat spiked at the sudden proximity, his gaze flickering to her slender, smooth fingers holding the device in place. The scent of chamomile grew stronger, surrounding him.
Glancing down, he noticed what appeared to be a speech recognition app running on her phone.
He hesitated, uncertain of how to react. Amélie, however, simply nodded at him—almost too eagerly, urging him to speak.
Still caught off guard, Jiho reluctantly complied, his voice coming out slow, exaggerated, and awkwardly loud.
"Uh... AYYE doooon't theeenk it's a goooood eye-dee-ahh."
The moment the words left his mouth, Jiho felt ridiculous.
Amélie giggled, clearly amused, before pressing her phone to her ear, still smiling as she listened to the translated response in French.
Then, she spoke again, and the phone relayed in Korean:
"Why not?"
Before he could react, she pinned the phone to his mouth again, prompting him to answer.
Jiho glanced at the voice recognition software, then frowned.
"It's personal."
Amélie pouted at his response, but her eyes remained sharp, studying him.
"Would you like me to leave, then?"
He tensed.
"What? I—" His voice hardened, instinctively defensive. "Who even SAID ANYTHING ABOUT—"
But then, he met her gaze—calm, expectant, unwavering.
His shoulders dropped slightly.
"That's not fair, asking that... Are you trying to make me feel even worse?" His words came slower this time, more measured.
She listened, tilting her head slightly before letting out a small, amused growl.
Then, she spoke again, and the phone's monotone voice played out the words:
"Why didn't you call me?"
Jiho blinked and his pulse skipped.
'She… was looking forward to it?' He thought.
He hesitated before exhaling slowly, watching as she once again pinned the phone near his mouth, waiting.
A long pause.
"I'm... I'm sorry." His voice was quieter this time. "You deserved at least a thank you."
She listened, pressing the phone to her ear.
Then, she let out an almost disappointed sigh.
Jiho stiffened, fists clenching.
And then—she pinned the phone near his mouth again.
She didn't even respond.
She looked tired. Bored. As if she had expected more.
Something sharp twisted inside Jiho.
His irritation surged as he abruptly but gently snatched the phone from her hand.
Amélie's eyes widened slightly at the sudden action.
He didn't care.
He stared down at the phone, his jaw tight. Then, with a heated glare, he spoke into it, his voice laced with frustration.
"I didn't call you; because I wanted to hit on you." His fingers curled slightly around the device.
"And I don't even know why I wanted to. Since I don't even LIKE you." His heartbeat was loud in his ears.
"And you… for what you and Marcel did for me after me and Jang left, I figured..." He exhaled sharply.
"You deserved more than that. Especially considering I barely know you. So I didn't call. Y-You got a problem with that?"
The moment the words left his mouth, he felt bare.
Jiho looked away as he returned the phone, his hands colder than before.
She listened, silent.
When she finally looked at him, her gaze had softened.
Jiho, still avoiding her eyes, fidgeted slightly. The tension in his shoulders lingered, but a new kind of heat crept onto his face.
Then—she sighed.
Smug.
She raised an eyebrow as she spoke into the phone again.
A moment later, the voice translation played:
"You think someone like YOU has any chance with me? Wake up."
Jiho froze, and for a moment, the words didn't process.
Then, he glanced up at her. Something about the flat, robotic voice repeating her insult, perfectly matching her mocking expression... Caused his face to twitch.
Then, his shoulders loosened. A laugh bubbled up in his throat before he could stop it.
He turned away, trying—failing—to hold it in.
Amélie watched him struggle, a quiet chuckle escaping as she placed a gentle hand over her lips.
Jiho leaned back against the bench, casually taking the phone from her as she handed it over.
"You underestimate my power," he said, smirking.
Amélie chuckled again, shaking her head. "Oh no, the puppy learned to bark. I'm almost drooling."
Jiho laughed, tilting his head back to look at the sky, her presence still beside him.
His gaze drifted downward, catching sight of her hand resting freely on the bench.
For a fleeting moment, he considered holding it.
'No... That'd be weird now. I've already blown any minuscule chance I had with her anyway.'
He pulled his hand back, even taking care to avoid brushing against hers.
Unbeknownst to him, Amélie noticed the hesitation—and, ever so slightly, pouted.
Jiho shifted, pulling out his phone and typing something into Boogdle-Translate.
Amélie hummed in curiosity, her gaze flickering toward the screen as the soft glow illuminated his face.
He hesitated before turning to her—then awkwardly looked away, clearing his throat.
"Merci pour voter ai... deh. Transmeh...sttez mes salutations à Marcel." His attempt at French was clumsy, each syllable spoken with hesitation, as he struggled to properly express his thanks to her and Marcel for their help.
A brief silence followed. Then, from her phone, the speech software responded in monotone:
"Never try to speak French ever again, please; that would be the best way to thank me. That was horrible."
Jiho flinched slightly.
If you want to make it a little cleaner without changing the meaning, you could tweak it slightly:
"Yeah... maybe that's a good idea," he muttered, pressing his lips together awkwardly.
Amélie glanced at him before speaking into her phone again. A moment later, the translated voice echoed from her side:
"I'm gonna leave now. Call your mother, okay? And... don't worry too much. If anyone has a problem with you, we'll take care of you. Our family's really powerful, after all. Consider it thanks for saving me and Marcel. Anyway, just hurry up and return to her."
Jiho sighed, leaning back against the bench.
'Huh. What an odd thing to say, considering what happened with Cha and her friends... But I guess I shouldn't overthink it...? Well, anyway, that's that for my relationship with her.'
"OK," he said, closing his eyes for a moment. Then, with a smirk, he added in exaggerated Engrish, "I WILL DO IT."
Stretching, he let out a quiet breath. 'Well, I'm not gonna see Amelie again soon, that's for sure…'
Amélie's footsteps grew quieter as she walked away.
Before he even looked at his phone, it rang.
He already knew.
"Yes, Mom... I'm fine." He answered as he pinned the phone to his ear, "I'm coming back soon—"
His breath caught as another voice, soft and measured, cut through the line.
"Tomorrow, at 6 p.m."
His eyes widened.
"H-huh...?"
The whisper was in Korean—clumsy, yet carrying an unfamiliar elegance.
"I'll pick you up..."
Jiho stared at his phone.
The caller ID showed Amélie.
She was still walking away, smiling—her cheeks dusted pink as she spoke; while she watched his flustered reaction.
'Haah... W... What...' His cheeks flushed as his face then felt warm, his breath hitching as he processed her words.
'She... Asked me out, just now..!?'