"Hey, pretty. What's a college student doing here?"
Jae-min shoved his palm hard against the man's chest, putting as much distance between them as the bench allowed. "Back off."
The man's expression twisted, offense flashing fast across his face, and his hand shot out—too quick, too close, aimed somewhere Jae-min didn't have time to fully register before a second hand closed around the man's wrist from behind, stopping it dead in the air.
"Don't."
Jihan's voice cut through the lobby, low and absolutely cold.
The man spun, startled, and Jae-min barely had time to process the shift in Jihan's expression—controlled fury, sharper than anything he'd ever seen on him—before Jihan's fist connected with the man's jaw.
The crack of it echoed off the marble floor. The man staggered back, catching himself against the edge of the reception desk, one hand flying up to his face.
"What the hell—"
