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Summary
You turn back to the group, their expectant gazes locked on you. In clear Korean, you say, "She says that they don't accept international cards and asks that you pay with cash instead."
The effect is instant. Jaws drop. Eyes widen. A collective gasp ripples through the group.
"You... speak Korean?" one of them blurts out, voice cracking slightly. Another nudges him in the ribs.
You nod, suddenly self-conscious under their scrutiny. "A little," you lie, though you know your near flawless accent gives you away. You motion toward their armfuls of chips and bottled drinks. "Go ahead. She understands now."
For a moment, nobody moves. They just keep staring, as if you've pulled off a magic trick.
Then one of them (sharp eyes, catlike smile) steps forward, studying you with an intensity that makes your pulse stutter. He doesn't say anything, just tilts his head slightly, as if trying to figure out what you are.
Then he produces a few bills from his wallet to pay, placing them on the counter, maintaining eye contact with you.
You clear your throat again, heat rising in your cheeks. "Right. I'll just… go back to my fruit."