Chapter 19: My Fault, Man

The town centre had grown louder.

Crowds surged like waves, full of tourists, merchants, and the usual scatter of lost kids with sugar highs. The festival banners hung above the market stalls, and the air was thick with spice, chatter, and a faint hint of roasted peanuts.

Roy was navigating through it all like a practiced ghost, weaving between people with his shopping bags tucked under both arms—vegetables in one, spices and sauces in the other. The ice cream cone was long gone, the sticky residue still faint on his fingers.

He was halfway to the station when it happened.

A shoulder.

A crash.

The world tilted.

Thud.

A bag burst open on the cobbled path, and the sound of bouncing carrots and tumbling onions echoed louder than it should have.

Roy stood still, blinking at the ground.

Half his groceries were now rolling across the stone, bumped and bruised, gathering dust like fallen soldiers.

The person who'd collided with him turned sharply.

"Oh—! I'm so sorry," he said, a deep voice ringing with clarity. It wasn't panicked. Just genuinely apologetic.

Roy didn't answer.

He just stood there, staring at the mess like someone who'd just been handed a personal tragedy in vegetable form.

"…Of course," he mumbled, dragging a hand down his face. "Of course this would happen."

He knelt down slowly, shoulders sagging.

"I don't even like shopping," he added under his breath, tone dry.

The other man dropped down beside him, already helping gather the loose goods.

"I didn't see you," the stranger said, brushing some dirt off a half-cracked tomato. "That's my fault. Let me help—"

Roy waved him off.

"It's fine. Most of these… you peel the outer layer anyway." He picked up a slightly squashed onion and held it like a wilted trophy. "Still edible."

"You sure?" the man asked. "Some of these are barely intact."

"I'm not exactly planning to make gourmet stew."

A pause.

Then the man stood, brushing dust from his cloak.

"I insist. I'll pay for the replacements. You can't eat half-pulped vegetables and pretend it's a salad."

Roy raised an eyebrow but didn't argue.

If someone wanted to spend their own money to fix his problem, he wasn't going to develop a moral backbone at the last second.

"…Fine."

They started walking together back toward the marketplace, the stranger casually carrying half the torn bag like it weighed nothing.

Now that Roy got a better look at him, he noticed something.

The guy looked like a protagonist.

Tall. Chiselled face. A glint of idealism in his eyes that felt almost too sincere. His dress sense was immaculate — white accents with golden trim. His voice had that noble tilt, like someone raised to speak with purpose.

After a few minutes, the man spoke up again.

"I'm Liam, by the way. Liam Price."

Roy glanced sideways. "Roy."

"Roy…?"

He didn't elaborate.

Liam didn't press. Just smiled.

"I was actually on my way to meet a friend here," Liam said casually. "Old training partner. We were supposed to grab lunch, maybe catch the tournament opening, but he just messaged saying he couldn't make it."

He pulled something from his pocket and held it up.

A sleek black smartphone. Clean. Bright screen. Probably waterproof and filled with all sorts of bells and whistles.

Roy stared at it like it was a foreign artifact.

"…You've got one of those."

Liam tilted his head. "You don't?"

Roy reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a battered brick of a phone—ancient, grey, buttons slightly faded, a screen that could survive the apocalypse.

"I've got a classic," he said proudly, flipping it open with a satisfying clack. "If it survives being thrown at someone's head, it's good enough for me."

Liam laughed. "Wow. I haven't seen one of those in years."

"They're making a comeback. Like vinyl. But for grumpy old men."

"I can respect that."

Roy tucked the Nokia back into his pocket.

"I'm thinking of getting a new one," he admitted reluctantly. "Mostly because people won't stop sending me weirdly compressed emails I can't open."

"They've got budget models now. Not everything's some overpriced slab of glass."

"…Yeah. Maybe."

They reached the produce stall again, and Liam didn't hesitate—he handed over a few bills and spoke briefly with the vendor, replacing every item that had been damaged without hesitation. The vendor bagged them neatly, even throwing in a few extras.

Roy took the bag and gave a small nod.

"…Thanks."

"No problem", Liam said. "I was in the wrong."

"Still. You didn't have to."

"Maybe not. But I like to fix things when I break them."

Roy studied him for a moment.

People like this… were rare. Not just polite, but earnest. Sincere to a fault. The kind of person who apologised not to feel better but because it was the right thing to do.

And somehow, that sincerity didn't annoy Roy the way it usually did.

"Do you live around here?" Roy asked, more out of curiosity than conversation.

"No, not really," Liam said. "I only came here because I am also participating in the tournament."

Roy blinked.

"Oh, really?"

Liam chuckled. "I am, actually; I've been living in a place near Borne."

"Ooo, someone has a background of money." with a slightly dead face.

Since Borne is in the north of the town, where most of the wealthy live, and since most of the terrain is flat.

Liam grinned. "Well, no, but yes as well."

They stood for a moment at the edge of the square.

Roy didn't know what else to say.

This was supposed to be a routine supply run. Ice cream. Groceries. Go home. Be alone.

But life, as always, had other plans.

"Well", Liam said, checking his phone again. "Looks like my afternoon just opened up."

"Lucky you," Roy replied.

Liam looked at him. "If you're not busy either… Want to grab a drink or something? There's a good juice stall down that street. No obligations—just a way to not waste the day."

Roy hesitated.

He could say no.

He should say no.

But…

"…Fine," he said with a sigh. "But only if they have that mango flavour."

Liam smirked. "You've got taste."

They walked side by side through the crowd, the weight of the grocery bags somehow lighter than before.

And for once, Roy didn't mind the company.