For six months his life had been hell. He thought that gaining fame and a fat
checkbook would relieve his problems. The man was wrong. Nowadays, the only
thing he enjoyed was riding his motorcycle, the wind blowing his hair as the
surge of adrenaline freed his mind. He needed to feel a sense of danger. He
hadn’t felt that since the Iron Fist Tournament six months ago. Since then,
Hwoarang was hailed as the best Tae Kwon Do artist. His name blazed in lights,
especially now since he just finished making his second movie.
It was by chance really how he was discovered. The tournament trophy
didn’t mean anything to him, yet it won him a reputation as the next target
of moviestar-seeking agents. He only wanted to avenge his late master, Baek
Soo Dan, and defeat Jin in a real fight. But in the end it was Jin who needed
his help and Hwoarang could not do much for him. He still did not like him, no
matter how mentally disturbed Jin was. The only person who could save him was
himself, but since his mother was deceased who could rescue him now?
Hwoarang shook the matter aside. He did not want to think about his
rival or any other of his pressures. He never thought that becoming an Asian
celebrity would cost him his personal life. He had always liked girls, but now
they bombarded him with attention and he nearly grew sick of it. If only he
could find someone who would treat him for him…better yet, if she had never
even heard of him at all. If only I could just have five minutes alone…
Even now, as he drove through the streets, some people recognized him
by the color of his auburn hair. Some women whistled for his attention while
they called out his name, as others practically chased him down the street. To
relieve himself of the crowd, Hwoarang turned into another road. He decided to
take the long way home, but this was only an excuse to prolong his bike
riding. Anything to get away!
He was just beginning to relax when a
shadowy figure ran in the middle of the street. Hwoarang pressed his brake,
but he did not react in time. The person ran past, hitting the left handle of
his bike. The girl flipped sideways and landed on the ground,
motionless. Hwoarang had a difficult time gaining control of his motorcycle. He skid
ten feet away, his bike landing on its side. Hwoarang cursed. Instantly, his
mind thought of the girl he knocked over.
He ran to her. She had landed on her back, her black hair spilled
over her face. He slowly brushed it aside and instantly recognized the blood
coming out her nose and lip. He inspected the rest of her body to check
if any bones were broken. The only injuries she suffered were a bleeding nose
and mouth, along with a bruise on her left check. He was sure that he did not
cause that since it appeared that she had gotten it before the accident. He
checked the rest of her and noticed that she had no shoes on. Apparently, the woman must
have ripped them off while running. He could tell that she was trying to
escape from someone, but he saw no one chasing her.
Hwoarang lightly slapped her cheeks, trying to gain her attention. The
girl was knocked out cold and relied on him to care for her. Great, now
look what you’ve gotten yourself into! He cursed for having two drinks
before he left. He wasn’t a man for alcohol, but his status required him to
be a social drinker.
Carefully, he picked up the girl’s lifeless body. Amazingly, she was
pretty light. However, he could tell she was athletic by the shape of her
legs. Her short jacket made him wonder if she had any garments underneath. It’s
too cold for her to be running out here.
He picked up his bike by the handle and set the girl in front of him.
He didn’t want wrestle with her leg by getting it on the other side, but instead
allowed her sit to side-saddled. Once he settled on the seat he restarted his bike
and rode off into the night.
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Two hours later, Hwoarang’s personal nurse examined the young girl.
He had brought her to his penthouse and laid her on his bed. He figured that
she would sleep until morning, which left him no choice but to sleep on the
floor.
After checking her and bandaging her wounds, the nurse told him to let
her stay there and rest. “She will be well enough to leave in the morning.
Just allow her to sleep here for the night and tomorrow you can take her
home.”
Hwoarang nodded, offered the nurse a drink, but she refused. So, he
walked her out the door and gave his word to care for the stranger until
morning. When he closed the door, he went back to his room to check on
her. The nurse had removed the girl's jacket and and put on one of his shirts.
The only thing the stranger had on under the jacket was a bikini, which horrified the nurse.
She was a woman of tradition which explains why she desperately tried not to look at the girl as she
dressed her. Hwoarang found her distress amusing, but not as distracting as
the girl’s figure. The first thing he noticed were her legs and soon enough
his eyes traveled from head to toe. He was startled when he felt the
slight curve on his lips.
“This is going to be interesting.”
When Hwoarang said this he frowned. Don’t be a pervert, his
inner conscience scolded. From then on he avoided looking at her. The only
part of her he allowed to stare at was her face, and that too pleased him. She
was lovely, innocent, and nearly too beautiful for words. He thought that a
person would have to possess a personality that matched with their appearance
in order for them to look beautiful, but that assumption was often false.
Sure, he liked pretty girls, yet he tried to avoid them as much as possible.
Their disgusting attitudes usually drove him away. Yet the last person he had
to credit was his ex-girlfriend. The two of them had secretly dated during the
Iron Fist Tournament and he had not seen her since.
“Anna,”
he whispered.
He reflected the times they shared and the memories they made. On the
last day he thought of telling her he loved her, but she left, no longer able
to cope with her defeat. She hated him from that moment because he had
defeated her. She thought he would back down and let her win; yet she did not
understand the purpose of his involvement in tournament. Unlike him, her
intentions were fruitless. Still he missed her and sometimes even wished to
relive the physical heights of their relationship. Now, he wondered if he
would even set eyes upon her again. No doubt she was involved with someone
else and after all, she had been his first…Forget her…she’s not worth
it.
At least for that night he did. As Hwoarang prepared for bed, he
frequently stole glances the girl’s way. Sometimes he convinced himself that
is was only to check if she fared well, other times he just wanted to steal a
glance of her face. Who is she? Judging by her costume she was a
nightclub dancer, yet he did not want to guess which type of dancer she
classified as. The girl looked too innocent and too young to be an employed
stripper. Just how old is she? He thought. Judging by her looks
she appeared to be seventeen, only two years younger than him. He wondered if
she was even in school. Girls like her had no place in nightclubs. They
belonged in school, receiving an education that would promise them a
comfortable future.
Before going to bed he looked at her one last time, wondering how she
would be like when awake. Truly, she intrigued him. She must be hiding many
secrets.
And with his last thought, he slept.
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She woke up before he did the next morning. She allowed herself to
forget where she was, wherever that may be, and pretend she was nowhere at
all. The dancer was a dreamer and liked to imagine that she was some place
other than reality. If only I could live like this forever.
She opened her eyes, having to accept
that she existed in the real world. At once she frowned. This is not my
home! Where am I? Instantly, memories of the previous night flashed
across her mind. The dancer winced.
Her eyes traveled around the large bedroom. The furnishings were made
to accommodate a man, a very rich man in fact, noticing the theater system
opposite the bed with a surround sound. She also saw a new computer to one
side of the bedroom. The hangings on the walls were priceless, probably stolen
from a museum. Yet in fact, she slept in the bed of a man who earned his
living. She wondered who lived here and admired the way the person kept after
himself. She did see a pile of clothes draped over a chair, but it was
customary for someone to just toss their clothes aside when they came home.
At that moment she grew frightened. Did I? Did we…sleep together? She
gazed down at her own clothing. Her palms began to sweat and she felt the back
of her neck burn when she saw a man’s shirt draped on her. I’ve never even
been close to a man before!
Quickly, she sat up and kicked the sheets entangled in her legs. She
could not think. Her body had a mind of its own as it tried to make its way
out of the bed. When she swung her feet over the side she froze. A
long form rested beneath her. She leaned over to get a good look at him. She
had never seen him in her life.
The man had auburn hair and a well-built body. He wore long pajama
pants, but no shirt. He slept on his back with one arm draped over his eyes
and the other resting on his chest. The girl stared at him for a moment. He
startled her when he removed his arm from over his eyes, yet he did not
awaken. This time he had unmasked his face and she now looked into the face of
a very attractive man. To her, admiring a person’s looks was innocent, but
she never allowed herself to do more than just look. She had lived an isolated
life, merely trying to get by and finish her education at the same time. Every
year, all year she went to school and soon enough she would obtain her
bachelor’s degree. She was the youngest student in her class, and the most
anti-social. Many times she assured herself that she would cease her job at
the dance club once she received her degree, and that was only three months
away.
While she let her mind drift, the girl did not notice him open his
eyes. He now saw her gazing down at him. He saw past his open shirt and at her
bold costume. The girl at once realized his prying eyes and covered herself. She
frowned at him.
He smiled shyly.
Hwoarang made an abrupt move of getting up, alarming the stranger. She
lay back in the bed, grabbing the sheets. Hwoarang looked the other way,
avoiding a smile to her face. When he stood up, he stretched and then faced
her.
“Good sleep?”
She studied him then shyly nodded.
“Good,” he replied. “Then I can take you home.”
The girl frowned. “Why am I here,” she suddenly asked.
Hwoarang paused to look at her since he was folding the blankets from
the floor. “Last night you had a little accident. You came running in the
middle of the street and I didn’t see you coming.”
Familiarization struck her. “You were driving the motorcycle,” she
confirmed.
Hwoarang nodded then stood up. The girl watched him put away the
blankets in his closet. When he came out he asked, “Do you want something to
eat?”
“Uh…no, thanks. I’d better be going, I have class today.”
“Well, then I’ll drop you off.”
“No, that’s okay, really.”
“Seriously, it’s the least I can do after last night.”
“Well, you can tell me where my coat is and we’ll call it even.”
He pointed to a chair and she thanked him. Hwoarang left the room,
leaving her the privacy of getting ready. When the girl finally put on her
coat, she neatly made his bed and walked out of the bedroom. She entered a
small, carpeted foyer furnished like a living room. The foyer was fashioned
like an indoor balcony, which had an outlook to the downstairs. She slowly
made her way down the curving staircase to the lower level. The lower level
had a ceiling that reached above the second floor and on one whole side of the
room was a window, which reached from the floor to a high, vaulted ceiling. The girl
became immediately amazed with the ocean view. The sun was already poking through the
horizon, which was a relief to her, knowing that she would not be late to
class.
The girl looked to her left and saw the man preparing a meal. She
slowly walked to the kitchen and took a seat on a stool.
“I have some bagels and rice cakes, if you want some.”
She nodded and he handed her a small plate. “Thank you,” she
replied kindly.
“Your welcome.”
Both ate in silence a few moments and then he finally asked, “Why
were you running last night? It looked as if someone was chasing you.”
The girl paused. She tore her eyes from the plate and gazed at him.
Hwoarang felt his heart slam in his chest by the impact of her features. She
did not answer him. Obviously, he had no business to know.
Hwoarang became annoyed. He waited a while longer, yet she did not say a
word.
“You ran into my bike, you know. I could have killed you.”
She glared at him, which made him go still. Again she averted her eyes.
Hwoarang rolled his eyes. Impossible.
“You know, for a stripper, you’re really stuck up.”
She gave him a look. “I was running because someone was trying to
kill me,” she exasperatedly countered. “And if I go back there tonight,
I’ll be dead by morning.”
Her bluntness made him freeze. “I’m sorry,” he quietly replied.
He was ashamed for his abruptness.
“It’s all right. I’m sorry for running into you.”
He nodded and then held out his hand for her bowl to take since she had
finished long before he did.
“Do you want more? I have plenty,” he offered.
The girl waved her hand. He nodded in return.
“So…? Uh…what’s your name?”
“Naya.”
He stared at her. “Nice.”
She raised a brow wondering why he said that.
He waited, expecting her to recognize him. Naya realized his intent and
went right out asking him, “I’m sorry, I know I should, but I don’t even
recognize you.”
Hwoarang smirked. “It’s cool. I shouldn’t have expected
anything. I thought everyone knew me. I’m Howarang.”
She shook her head up and down. “Well Hwoarang, it’s a little vain
of you to think I would know who you are.”
He looked confused. She continued, “I don’t go out much, only to
work. I pretty much go to school, then work, and vice versa.”
“I see,” he said, inspecting her jacket.
“I’m not a stripper, if that’s what’s bothering you. I only
dance.”
“I see.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “You’re not used to talking with
‘performers’ are you?”
She said the word ‘performer’ lightly so that he would know that
she preferred him to call her that. Hwoarang got the message.
“To be honest, no,” he replied. “But don’t you have anything
better to do?”
“It’s not my choice to dance. I only do it for the money.”
He frowned, “And why is that?”
She looked at him as if he were stupid. “I don’t lack morals, so
stop looking at me as if I were a prostitute.”
He averted his eyes. He did not want to argue with her, the woman
wasn’t worth his time. Anna had never acted coldly toward him. Then again he
was passing judgment, which he rarely did.
He changed the topic. “Anyway, I noticed that bruise on your cheek. I
know I didn’t do that to you.”
A look of remembrance crossed her face. “I kicked someone on the face
and she thought of returning the favor.”
“She’s the one who’s trying to kill you?”
“Likely, but the man she was with was supposed to do that.”
Hwoarang nodded. He did not feel like he could trust her. Is she trying to
gain my sympathy?
He could not believe what he was about to ask her.
“Well…do you…need a place to stay?”
He was relieved to see her shake her head from side to side. “No,
they don’t know where I live. I can take care of myself.”
“Okay. Well, you wanna go now?”
“Yes.”
“Fine then. We’ll take the car. I’m sure the last thing you want
to see is a motorcycle.”
She smiled, taking his remark as a joke. Hwoarang felt himself grow
more accustomed to her. They had just met and even though they had an uneasy
start, they were obviously getting somewhere.
He walked her out and both got into his silver Benz. Hwoarang backed
out of the driveway and shifted into first gear.
It took about twenty minutes to get from his place to Naya’s Tokyo
flat. Unlike other people, her directions were not jumbled or confusing. She
knew how it was to be driven into frustration when it came to following
someone’s directions. Soon Hwoarang pulled up to a parking lot. The
apartment building Naya lived in resembled an office building with a
four-story parking garage next to it. Just his luck, there was a press crowd
waiting for him at the curb. They had followed him from his home to Naya’s
apartment building and now were assailing her with numerous questions.
“Did you spend the night in Hwoarang’s home?”
“Are you two involved?”
“Excuse me, ma’am, but are you naked under that coat? And where are
your shoes? Did Hwoarang pay you to sleep with him?”
She glared at the reporter, offended by his questions. She punched the
man in the face and immediately the crowd started chasing after her. However,
half of the group managed to break free from the rest and started surrounding
Hwoarang’s car. He sailed passed the reporters before losing himself in a
sea of reporters. Naya, on the
other hand, ran into the building. The reporters did not leave her alone
until she would answer their questions. But she had worries of her own, other then dodging
the press. She had class to go to. She prayed that no one she knew would learn of the incident and
if they did, they would rapidly let it go. Yet, when she saw her face
in the midday news while in school, she had a feeling that this was only the
beginning. And not only that, but someone had finally discovered where she
lived.