Against Every Odd

Part 2

He froze slightly as he saw her, eyes widening at the sight of the cashier—a pale-skinned woman with long black hair cascading down to her waist. Relief washed over him subtly as he realized she was human.

"Cash or E-wallet?" Rosie asked softly, her voice quiet and measured, betraying none of the tension she felt.

"Cash..." he replied, his voice rough and husky, as if he hadn't spoken clearly in a long time.

Rosie took the can of beer and scanned it slowly, her movements deliberate. She kept her eyes on the man but didn't make any sudden gestures. There was something about him—his presence, the way he carried himself—that felt heavy, almost unsettling, yet at the same time oddly familiar, though she couldn't place why.

The man placed cash on the counter, his hands slightly trembling. Rosie picked it up, counting carefully before handing him the change. Their fingers brushed for a brief moment, and a strange shiver ran down her spine.

"Long day?" she asked softly, almost automatically, her voice betraying a faint curiosity she hadn't expected.

He paused, looking at her, and for a moment the harshness in his features softened. "You could say that," he muttered, then cleared his throat and glanced away, as if speaking more than a few words required effort.

Rosie nodded silently, sliding the beer toward him. There was an unspoken tension between them, a subtle exchange of caution and curiosity, each sizing up the other without fully revealing themselves.

As he left the store, she watched him go, the faint echo of his footsteps lingering. Something about the encounter left her unsettled, and for the first time that evening, her thoughts strayed from routine, from exhaustion, and toward a question she didn't yet have the answer to: who was he, and why did his presence feel so... deliberate?

Rosie returned to her corner, finishing the last bites of her gimbap, but she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching. The store was quiet, the hum of the refrigerators filling the silence, yet her instincts prickled with unease.

A few minutes later, the bell above the door jingled again. She looked up, and there he was—the same man in black, standing hesitantly near the entrance. His hands were in his pockets, posture tense, and his gaze flicked toward her before darting away.

"Back again?" Rosie asked softly, her voice steady, though her heart skipped a beat.

He took a cautious step forward, then another. "I... forgot something," he said, his voice rough and low, barely above a whisper. "Thought I'd come back and..." He trailed off, unsure, his eyes locking with hers for a fleeting moment.

Rosie didn't move immediately, simply watching him, sensing the weight behind his presence. There was something deliberate in his actions, something calculated yet restrained. She swallowed and finally said, "Then go ahead. But don't cause trouble."

He nodded slightly, a flicker of relief passing over his features. Slowly, he moved toward the refrigerated section again, picking up another item, and this time, Rosie couldn't help but notice how carefully he observed her as if measuring her reactions.

The air between them was thick with unspoken questions. Rosie's curiosity mingled with wariness—this was no ordinary stranger, and something about him made her feel both vulnerable and strangely alert.

Rosie finished tidying up the small corner where she ate, trying to ignore the persistent feeling of being watched. But the man in black moved deliberately closer to the counter, his eyes locking on hers with an intensity that made her pause.

"You... can hear me, right?" he asked quietly, his voice rough yet low, carrying an unusual weight.

Rosie tilted her head slightly, wary. "Hear you?" she replied, her voice soft but steady, trying not to show her unease.