The Cutting Edge

008

Immediately after that cracking slap, no one quite knew how to react. Silence filled the room, and a couple of jaws hung open in shock. Even Hyejin herself was slightly taken aback by what she had done, her hand still stinging slightly from the impact. Within seconds a huge, angry red patch had begun spreading across Hyunwon's cheek.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Hyejin beat him to it.

"We are human beings, not cockroaches that you can step all over! So what if you're the best stylist in the whole country? So what if all those celebrities are queuing round the block just to get an appointment with you? Does that give you a right to treat others as if they are the dirt beneath your shoe, calling us deadweights just because you don't like the looks of our faces? If you want to scold me for not knowing what a C-curl or a D-curl or a whatever-curl is then fine, but Yeseul did nothing wrong! Who wouldn't be intimidated by you when you're there shouting and giving death stares all the time? And for the record, I didn't ask to come to this goddamn salon, you assholes were the ones who tricked me into coming here, so if you've changed your mind then I'm happy to leave anytime but don't expect me to pay you a single cent for that slave contract."

With the sudden verbal diarrhoea, everyone who was stunned before was even more shell-shocked now. As if slapping Hyunwon weren't enough, she had just gone and added insult to the injury. The best part of the matter was, even Hyunwon himself didn't know how to react. He just stood there gaping in shock as she turned on her heels and dragged Yeseul out of the room.

"Hyejin, what are you doing? You need to go back in and apologise," Yeseul said, her face ashen with fear.

"Why should I apologise when he's the one in the wrong? He should be the one apologising," Hyejin insisted. Flopping down onto the sofa in the staff lounge, she could still feel the anger bubbling up inside her as she recalled Hyunwon's harsh words. "What does he take me for? A pushover?"

"He's the creative director of the salon! Even though my uncle owns this place, he still needs to give in to Hyunwon from time to time because without him, this place would never be what it is today."

"That still doesn't give him the right to behave the way he did." Hyejin folded her arms and pulled a face. Now she was feeling a tinge of regret for having slapped the fellow, but her pride wasn't about to let her admit she was in the wrong.

The door to the staff lounge swung open and Ryu walked in, letting out a deep sigh as he looked at the two girls.

"Well that was quite the display over in the training room," he said. "But I must say, that was the best thing anyone has ever done in this place. I can't tell you just how much I've wanted to do that myself." He gave Hyejin a wink that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand. "Even so, Hyunwon is still the creative director of this salon and he has the full control over how he trains the stylists over here. That is part of the reason why the quality of our services are top notch. Even if you may not agree with his ways, you still need to respect his position in this salon. I want you to apologise to Hyunwon for what you did over there, is that clear?"

"I'll only apologise to him if he apologises to me first," Hyejin said. "All those rude things that he said back there were uncalled for. If he doesn't say sorry for that then I'm not saying sorry for what I did either."

Ryu frowned, sitting down beside her (a little too close for her liking). Slinging one chubby arm across her shoulders, he said, "Don't be stubborn. We all know that I'm not going to fire you over a thing like this and your contract is still sitting safe in my drawer, so you're not going anywhere in the near future. Why make life so difficult for yourself?"

Hyejin shuffled her bum towards the left, shrugging Ryu's arm off her shoulders. He was far too close for comfort—she could smell the scent of Cuban cigars on his silk shirt and she didn't quite fancy seeing the few pathetic strands of hair peeking out from his beneath the collar.