"Nyet," came her immediate response, defaulting to her native tongue without even realizing it. The man's reaction doesn't make a lot of sense - but nothing in this place did. Hearing no sound of accusation in his own words, she shifts on the balls of her feet momentarily, one arm half-raised. But she isn't under attack and she wasn't given an objective, let alone an actual mission, and punching someone for no reason on the street was likely to garner attention here. This wasn't the Soviet Union - that much was sure, at least.
After another moment, Natalia's arm lowered and her too big sleeve slid down her pale arm to hide the fist she still had. The emotions in her eyes are more like that of a trapped animal than a stubborn teenager, and once she's certain he isn't coming closer, she starts to back away from him.
Three steps before she executed a perfect pirouette even in stolen boots a size too small, and she started down the street again. Up ahead, she spotted a group of teenagers walking together, and she immediately slowed her pace just a little to try and emulate them. Blending in would be key, here.