'competition'

It's the driving force behind capitalism, that free will of the consumer that pushes a company to get better, think faster, provide more. It weeds out the weak, fosters the strong, and lets bookshop chains like this one stamp out the local mom-and-pop shops. And that's a good thing, because local mom-and-pop shops never let their customers read their books for free.

Without competition, a business would stagnate, wallowing in the complacency of captive customers and never improving its products. It is merciless, but competition is good for us all.

Or so I kept telling myself. For the first time since I'd taken over my company, I was facing a direct threat on my segment.

Goddamn competition. I scowled at the paper and ground my teeth for a little while, and was therefore relieved when Coffee girl murmured a greeting. Ready for a sight more attractive than those statistics, I looked up. And found myself looking at not just her but the small gift bag in her arms, printed with tiny red hearts and overflowing with roses and a box of chocolates.

I don't know what my expression looked like, but she blushed like mad under my stare. My irritability took a turn for the worse.

"What's all that?"

"Um, flowers and chocolates," she answered shyly, sliding into her seat. "They're gifts. It's Valentine's Day tomorrow."

I'd never bothered to pay any attention to that ridiculous holiday until now. My eyes narrowed.

"And who gave you these gifts? Boyfriend?"

Coffee girl looked a little taken aback at my demanding tone, and she smiled uneasily. "No, I don't have a boyfriend. These are from my friends- well, they're really my brother's friends. They insist on giving me Valentine's Day presents and it's rather embarrassing."

I relaxed, slightly. I just knew that Coffee girl couldn't have a boyfriend. Still, it seemed as though there were a few contenders for the position.

"Looks to me like they wouldn't mind being more than 'friends'."

Her blush deepened. "I guess. Oh, would you like one?" She slid the heart-shaped box out of its bag, and I thought I glimpsed a teddy bear before she set it all on the floor by her feet. Her smile was nothing but inviting as she levered off the lid and revealed rows of chocolates inside, but I hesitated. I didn't want to eat the gift some other man had given her. Why was this irritating me so much? "It's okay, really," she insisted, when I hadn't moved. "This is a celebration. I made a ninety-one on my pre-cal test!"

That startled me out of my grouchy mood. "Really?"

Coffee girl was sparkling. "Yes, I can't believe it, I've never done so well in that class. And it's all thanks to you."

I could feel my face heating up again and tried to distract myself by picking out a chocolate.

"You did all the work."

"Well, yes, but you had the idea. And talking with you made me feel so confident, for some reason, I can't remember ever speaking so firmly to my mother. When I got home I just walked right up to her and said exactly what you did, offering a compromise." She giggled. "I surprised myself as much as I did her, I think. Anyway, she agreed, and I spent every night doing practice problems. I guess it's true what they say, when you have a reason you work so much harder. That test grade will really help my overall score. And I can still visit my brother; everyone's happy. You're a genius."

People have been calling me that my entire life. But coming from Coffee girl it sounded so different.

"Just an idea."

"Well it was a good one," she declared firmly, obviously ready to credit me for everything. That's when I finally noticed she wasn't paying any attention to the spoils from her would-be suitors, all of her delight pinned to her miraculous test score. Even offering me that other boy's chocolates in celebration, and smugly I crunched an almond mouthful. Wouldn't he be jealous if he knew?

"That must have been good news for your brother."

Coffee girl's smile turned guilty, and she concentrated on selecting her own chocolate. "Um, actually I never told him about Mom's threat… it would have just upset him and ruined the weekend. He already thinks I don't spend enough time with him."

"You said you spend every weekend with him."

"I do. And sometimes more, when he and his friends get together for something fun he always calls me up. But oppa is just so…" She paused, trying to find the right word. A stray memory popped into my mind at her words, and I remembered that autumn day he called her to go to a concert. "… protective. He likes to keep a close eye on me, he's convinced some guy out there is going to take advantage of me."

"So how does he like this?" I indicated the chocolates, and she wrinkled her nose.

"Not so much. They're both good friends of his, but he threatened to 'break their fingers and then stuff them up one another's noses' if they ever tried to touch me."

My estimation of the brother rose a notch. Obviously he knew trouble when he saw it. But I hadn't missed the way her smile faded as she spoke, losing that post-test glow. From what I remembered, she was less than thrilled about her brother's concert invitation and hadn't been inclined to talk about it very much.

"And how do you like all this… protectiveness?"

"It's sweet," she answered immediately. "I'm lucky to have a brother that cares so much. I only wish he didn't act like I was so helpless, sometimes."

"Ever think about telling him to back off?"

For one moment I saw a clear wistfulness in her eyes, but she blinked and it was gone, as if it had never been.

"Gosh, it's quarter to four," she blurted, upon glancing at her watch. "I took up enough of your time talking last week, I didn't mean to do it again. Sorry! I'm going to go find my book, eat as much as you like." Before I could even protest she'd pushed away from the table and fled the café, leaving me alone with a heart-shaped box.

A passerby eyed me curiously, and for the first time I wondered what the brother would think about this.

- - - - - - -

Whether she truly felt sorry about taking up so much of my time, or whether she was anxious to drop the subject, I'm not sure. In any case, Coffee girl didn't say a word for the rest of that Sunday or the one following it, sticking her nose into her book as soon as she sat down. I took her cue and stuck to my own reading material, but not without some nagging feeling of incompletion. We hadn't quite finished that conversation.

But I know how to mind my own business, and in traditional silence we read. As February drew to a close my lovely creative spurt faded, retreating before an onslaught of department reviews and the annual budget allocation. Informally, it meant promotions and layoffs, and the atmosphere at company headquarters had become unbearably tight. I wasn't sure which was worse: the suspicious glares of underlings when I passed them in the halls or the sycophantic pandering when they managed to corner me. I hate dealing with bureaucratic restructuring in the first place, but it was a necessary chore for the health of the company.

So, still a little moody and tense after a morning spent haggling with the head of Finance, I slumped into my chair and opened The Economist. The featured article this week was on health care, which I couldn't care less about but read anyway just to keep my mind off work. I browsed a shorter piece on the market's condition for retirement accounts, turned to the Journal and scanned a few uninteresting headlines, then started on the crossword. It wasn't until I'd filled in five or six clues that I felt like something was missing, and I checked my watch.

3:40. Usually she was here by now, but her arrival time was erratic and some days came later than others. I returned to the puzzle, skipping a few entertainment clues for her to solve once she'd arrived. Then it was back to the Journal for a closer look at the stock markets' index.

4:00. She'd never been this late before. Memories of my detestable Christmas Eve came back in force, and anxiously I drummed my fingertips on the surface of the table. I couldn't concentrate on my papers, not while wondering where she was and what was taking her so long. Maybe she'd finished her book last week and was picking out a new one.

4:10. When I couldn't sit still anymore I left the café and entered the bookshop proper, which I'd never ventured into beyond the periodicals shelf. It was bigger than I realized, and I was surprised to find that the store had a second level. After poking around the ground floor and quickly shying away from the children's section, I went upstairs. Here were the general fiction shelves, and then further back the Sci-Fi/Fantasy. But I didn't find her, though I checked every row until I reached the moribund Research and History shelves in the back corner. Not a soul to be seen there, and definitely no Coffee girl.

4:20. I returned to my empty table, now in a state of acute worry. I didn't know I could worry like this about someone that wasn't my brother. Anything could have happened to her over the course of a week – an accident that left her injured and in the hospital… or even dead. How would I ever know?

More than anything I hate helplessness, and the frustration and tension coiled inside me so tightly that I thought I might snap if touched.

4:30. She blew into the café, red-faced and breathing fast, and I almost jumped out of my seat.

"Where were you?" I demanded, before she could even open . She flinched.

"I-I'm sorry," she wheezed. "I was delayed."

"You're an hour late!" Coffee girl recoiled at my sharp tone and glanced self-consciously at the rest of the café.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, pointedly lowering her voice as she sank into her chair. "I came as fast as I could. I didn't think you were going to yell at me."

Her soft words caught me like a splash of cold water and I subsided, abruptly guilty. Coffee girl was neither employee nor my brother, I had no right to shout. But still –

"I was worried," I muttered stiffly. "I thought something happened."

"Something did happen," she sighed. "We were shopping in the plaza when my brother was challenged to one of those silly fights."

Silly fights?

"Those spars that most companies sponser?" I suggested, a little wounded.

"Ne. Me, I just don't understand the appeal, but my brother loves it. And he can never back down from a challenge." She finished unwinding her scarf and must have seen the look on my face; she smiled apologetically. "Sorry, you probably like that game a lot, don't you?"

"You could say that." Without thinking I reached for my right hand and it. Her words hurt, but I was still recovering from the anxiety of her absence. "Anyway, I don't understand why that made you late."

"I wanted to go, but I couldn't leave until he was finished. He wouldn't let me, he says I'm his good luck charm when he fights."

"Wouldn't let you? What, does he have the only key to your handcuffs or something?"

"Hey," she snapped, "he's my brother. What do you want me to do, wish him luck and then walk away?"

"Seems fair."

"I couldn't do that!"

"Why not? You didn't want to stay, you just said so. He wanted you to stay, and why should he be the one that decides?"

"It's important to him, he loves sparing."

"More than you love reading?"

At that she had no immediate retort, and opened and closed a few times before shaking her head in resignation. "You don't understand. When my brother wants me to do something, I have to do it. I owe him so much… I couldn't read if it weren't for my brother. How can I tell him no when he's done so much for me?"

I stared, too surprised to answer. For all of his life I've been there for my little brother, watching out for him, taking care of him, and certain events forced me to go to great lengths for him, at times. Does he ever feel obligated to me, feel like he owes me?

"I knew you wouldn't understand," Coffee girl huffed, and swiveled in her chair to stand. "Maybe I should just go."

"Wait." Reflexively I grabbed her arm and she looked up, startled. We had never touched, before this, the small table between us had always been an understood barrier. "I'm sorry. I do understand, I think. Just don't go." She hesitated, and I pressed the cause. "You want to get at least a little reading done today, don't you?"

"Well… yes."

She looked down at my hand, still on her arm, and I quickly relaxed my grip. I hadn't even thought about it when it happened, but now I could feel my face warming up again.

"So, your brother," I mumbled, half as distraction and half borne of a duelist's curiosity. "Did he win?"

"Of course."

She left to go collect her book, missing my muffled "hmph". I bet I could wipe the arena floor with her brother.

- - - - - - -

March swept in with sharp cold gusts and the occasional slushy snowfall, bringing some variety – if not much improvement – to the dry winter. Corporate restructuring and budget reallocation continued, and after a tedious week of statistical analysis I decided the Marketing department was overstaffed. We might be facing competition for the same segment but advertising gimmicks weren't going to change anyone's mind; the time had come to funnel more money into Research and Development and upgrade the product. That meant not only refurbishing the labs and hiring more techs, but sending a couple of my top engineers on an extended trip to Indonesia so they could review and improve the assembly process of our hardware suppliers.

Happily ignoring all of this as I browsed the latest headlines, I heard his voice before I saw him – everyone in the café did. Loud, obnoxious, and pestering someone to give him a phone number, he prompted me to look up just before Coffee girl scurried into the café with the would-be molester in tow. She looked desperate, and I reacted without thinking. In all of a second I was up and across the room, snagging his shirt in my grip before the oaf even knew I existed. Without breaking stride I pushed him right back out of the café, out from under the gawping stares of the other patrons. I don't like attracting attention, outside the sparing arena, and I pushed him clear once we'd reached the Self Help shelves and no one could see.

"Get out," I ordered, voice cold and clipped and not to be argued with. The cretin looked a little dazed at the swift attack and almost stumbled when I let him go, but collected enough of his wit to blather something about how much he'd make me regret that. In what he imagined to be an intimidating manner he pushed at my chest and I snatched his wrist, twisting and yanking hard.

The simple wrist lock buckled his knees in an instant and he gasped, unprepared for the pain. Men are always so surprised to learn how little muscle you really need to take control of a fight; quick thinking and absolute decisiveness are far more valuable weapons. A little hapkido doesn't hurt, either.

Swiveling his hand counter-clockwise, I doubled his agony and forced him to twist back, dropping the other fist that he'd raised. With casual strength I pressed his carpals in the direction of the floor, still worried that some security guard or manager would find us at any moment. If this interloper got me kicked out of my own retreat, I'd be most displeased.

"Get out," I repeated, "and don't come back."

I released his hand and gave a none-too-gentle push to his shoulder, just to put a little distance between us. I was alert and ready for another attack, but he only stumbled backward and glared the bitter defeat of my past sparing opponents. I stared him down and he backed away, rubbing his hand and muttering something about boyfriends.

I chose to ignore that last part and checked on Coffee girl, standing a few paces away with her arms hugged to her waist and trembling.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I -"

"Come on," I interrupted roughly, grabbing her wrist and marching in the opposite direction of the café, allowing her no chance to protest or question me. Up the stairs and past the Fantasy shelves I dragged her, until we were in the very far back Research and History corner and safe from onlookers.

"You led him here," I growled, before she had a chance to open .

"What? I -"

"Some idiot jerk started hassling you and instead of telling him to get lost, you brought him here. You knew that I would take care of it."

Coffee girl looked stunned at my sharp words, and shrank into herself. "I'm sorry, I was scared and -"

"I know. He knew it too, everything about you was screaming victim." The acute vulnerability in her eyes, shiny with unshed tears, only fueled my annoyance. What if I hadn't been here? What if he'd never let her make it to the bookshop? "This is why your brother treats you like you're helpless, because you act like it. You're used to him protecting you, and don't even try to fight back on your own. For gods sake, don't start crying about it. You know it's true."

The aforementioned tears slipped down her cheeks, and she sniffled. "I'm sorry," she said yet again. "I didn't know what else to do."

"I figured. So let's change that."

"What?"

I extended my arm in invitation. "Grab onto my wrist." Baffled, Coffee girl stared at me through watery eyes and I had to repeat myself. Finally, she wrapped a tentative hand around my wrist.

"Harder than that. Make it hurt."

It took some prompting, but I finally managed to get Coffee girl squeezing like her life depended on it.

"Now watch. If a man ever grabs hold of you like this, this is what you do. First, put your other hand on top of his." I demonstrated. "It helps you maintain control. Then bend your knees, that's really important. Open up your trapped hand – like this – so the thumb is a right angle from your fingers. After that, all you have to do is push up." I straightened my knees, pushing my hand to the ceiling, and levered free of her grip without effort. Tears forgotten, her eyes rounded with amazement.

"That was so easy!"

"Good. You try."

I sealed a death grip on her wrist, and with a good deal of fumbling she tried to remember my instructions.

"No, you have to bend your knees," I reminded her, when she tried to push up and could not pry me off. "You're not stronger than me, you'll never be stronger than any man who attacks you. Your strength is in your legs; once you bend your knees and push up from underneath me there's nothing I can do about it."

Obediently she bent her knees and then stood, and sure enough she freed herself.

"Wow! It worked!"

"Course it did. Try again, and go a little smoother." She repeated her actions, pouting with the effort of it, and after three or four tries she'd more or less mastered the rhythm. I didn't feel any need to hurry, and after she felt comfortable with the straight grab we moved on to the cross grab – right hand on right hand and one that necessitated slightly different countermoves. She shed her coat after a while, watching my every demonstration with rapt fascination and doing her best to copy me.

"It's all about your attitude," I lectured firmly. "You have to make them think that you're no one to mess with, before they ever even lay a hand on you. Scare them."

"Easy for you to say. You're tall."

"It helps," I acknowledged. "But my little brother is shorter than you and he knows how to glare someone down right quick. It's a matter of confidence. Believe that you're stronger and tougher than them, and they'll believe it too."

She dropped her eyes. "I'm not very strong or tough, though."

"Maybe you should start working on that. Or would you rather be the helpless girl your brother thinks you are?"

Coffee girl tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, and sighed.

"I couldn't believe it, when you said those things at first. I thought you were horrible." I suffered a brief pang of guilt, remembering my harsh words, and wondered if this was the point where I should apologize. Before I could, she spoke again. "But I think you're right; I am used to my brother looking out for me. It's no wonder he treats me like I'm a little girl. It just wasn't very easy to hear you say that." A genuine smile curved up her lips, in contrast to the tear tracks on her cheeks. "But you brought me up here and showed me all that stuff, and it made me feel really good. I guess you think that I can handle myself if I just learn how. My brother would never think that."

I grunted. "Well, I'm not your brother."

"Believe me, I know. And I thank you for it."

We'd never been like this, standing instead of sitting, no table between us but only inches of empty air. In the privacy of this remote corner I was suddenly aware of how alone we were, and took a hasty step back. Had I not come to this place to read?

"Um, you should practice this week," I muttered, eyes anywhere but her face. "Helps."

"I will," she promised, softly, and I wondered if she didn't sound a little uncomfortable herself. I didn't look. I only jammed my hands into my coat pockets and strode back to the stairway, leaving her behind to pick out her book.

It was starting to change.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

disclaimer: I do not own these characters

And yeah, that's about all the combat you'll see in this story. It is a bookshop, after all. Couldn't resist a little trademark self-defense lesson, though. Just to clarify, Sehun is a CEO of this sparing company which is a common "game" in this story.