Don't hate the player, hate the game.

Part 1

Your own mistrusting eyes flicked between his face and the contents of the case, seemingly assessing the situation and its probable outcome.

"Ddakji, really?" The urge to roll your eyes was strong, a children's game?

"Correct. I assume you know how to play, then. Every time you flip my tile, I give you 100,000₩. Would you like to try?"

There it was, the final pitch. What you had anticipated when he had chosen you to sit down next to. A game of Ddakji to try and curb your debt.

It should really have been a sign ringing alarm bells in the Salesman's head - you did not ask what would happen if you lost. He clearly marked it as overconfidence on your part. But he sensed the willingness to partake before you signalled with a small nod and kindly held up the two tiles to let you choose your demise. It would not matter what colour you chose, he would win every time only to let you win a round on purpose after you had gotten so fed up with losing and being slapped. It worked every time, without a shadow of doubt clouding his mind.

You plucked the red tile from his waiting hand with a fake smile and unfurled your body to stand up from the bench. To stretch your legs after how long you had been waiting was a glorious feeling but you masked it with a slight grimace as if in pain from your implied earlier fall. A slight look of compassion flickered across his sharp features but it did not reach his eyes. He was good, if you didn't know, you would maybe have fallen for his sympathetic look.

Instead, you straightened with a bashful smile and weighed the paper tile in your hand as if deep in thought. It was your chance to muster him closely, concealed within another action.

"Can you go first?" you asked and put on your best pleading look, just for him. "I haven't played in so long..."

Another red flag that could have alerted him, usually the players never asked him to go first, the game chosen carefully for its widespread and easy nature. Everyone knows how to play Ddakji. For him, it did not matter if he played first, the same outcome was inevitable, he would flip yours, but you would fail to flip his. That's just how it went and judging by your drastic height difference, it wouldn't even take him that much effort. It was always easier to win against women, though he had no qualms about punishing them the same as he did men - every debtor was equal and he had no shame about using his height and strength as an advantage. It was his job after all, and he was chosen and trained carefully.

You had noticed his superiority as well and only let the slightly unsure look cross over your features. What you held back was the internal eye roll - you had dealt with men way worse than him. As much as you hated to admit it though, the way the Salesman was towering over you after you had placed your card on the floor did bring out a stray inappropriate thought. There was no denial of his immense attractiveness and if you weren't slightly annoyed by his cockiness, other thoughts may have chased the first one.

Yet, you focussed on the situation at hand again when his arm gently nudged you backwards; what an asshole, as if he needed that much space to play.

The sharp crack of his tile hitting yours echoed slightly along the empty platform as your red square sprung up and flipped over. While you gauged that he probably hadn't used his whole strength, you were still impressed by the ease with which he flipped the paper and you let it slip onto your face. The smugness was concealed thinly under another sympathetic smile.

"Your turn." He even went as far as to hand you your tile in a gesture just oozing charisma. In turn, you shook your head slightly, pushing back the grin that wanted to take over your otherwise impassive features.

Finally, you could wipe that self satisfied smile off his face. It wasn't your prime goal but fit in nicely with what you had really been tasked to do.

"Thank you." you smiled sweetly as you copied him and ushered him back a bit which made a small laugh escape the handsome salesman. A single strand of his otherwise perfect hair had escaped and fell into his forehead slightly, breaking the illusion of his utmost composure and you briefly wondered if he planned it to be. An effective tactic, it even worked on you, you had to admit, as your smile turned bashful again.