Chapter 3: The Mysterious man II
The bell above the grocery store door jingled softly, announcing the entrance of the man. The cool air from outside trailed in behind him, stirring the faint scent of detergent and produce. David Jones, standing behind the counter, barely spared the man a glance. His mind was elsewhere, lingering on the game from the previous day. The lingering frustration of what had happened—or hadn't happened—on the pitch sat heavy on his chest.
The man walked with deliberate steps, his boots echoing faintly on the tiled floor. David noticed the figure approaching the counter but kept stacking cans, pretending not to care. When the man stopped in front of him, David finally looked up. His eyes locked with a face mostly obscured by a cap and scarf.
"Are you David Jones?" the man asked, his voice even, but with a faint trace of something unplaceable—curiosity, perhaps.
David straightened. "Yeah. Do you need something?"
The man's lips quirked upward slightly beneath his scarf, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "No," he said, his tone light yet oddly piercing. "I wanted to ask you something."
David's brows furrowed, his posture stiffening slightly. He wasn't sure what this stranger wanted, but he wasn't about to let his guard down. "What is it?"
The man shifted, leaning slightly against the counter. "I saw you playing yesterday," he said, his voice casual, though his words felt heavy. "You're talented. Clearly so. Why did the team kick you out?"
David blinked, startled by the directness of the question. For a moment, he considered brushing it off, but his pride reared its head. His lips curled into a smirk, though his tone was sharp when he answered.
"They were shit," he said, without hesitation. "Couldn't handle the fact that I'm clearly better than them."