"Whoa~
This saleswoman is way too open, isn't she?"
Gunnard felt a surge of excitement welling up inside him. He quickly averted his gaze from the swaying "headlights" and hastily stuffed the small note into his shopping bag. Without looking back, he left the store.
The moment he exited the store, Gunnard made a beeline for the nearest restroom.
He splashed cold water on his face, trying to calm himself down.
"Seventeen-year-old bodies really do get excited easily," he thought to himself.
It's not a flaw; it's just proof that I'm a perfectly normal young man—perhaps even a little exceptional.
While my body is young, my soul is mature, experienced.
This kind of minor temptation? It doesn't even register on my radar.
Even if it were the actress who plays Max herself...
No, that wouldn't work either!
Gunnard stared resolutely at his youthful, handsome reflection in the mirror and nodded to himself with determination.
After buying the shoes, Gunnard found a nearby restaurant and ordered some familiar, home-style dishes. He enjoyed a satisfying meal.
After lunch, he wandered through a nearby supermarket and picked up some easy-to-make foods.
After all, eating lamb kidney pie, fish head pie, English fried sausages, and haggis pudding every day was starting to wear him down.
It wasn't until after dinner that Gunnard finally got into a taxi with his bags and headed home.
By the time he arrived, night had already fallen.
When Gunnard entered the living room and turned on the light, he was startled to see Andrew sitting on the couch, his head buried in his arms, with what little hair he had left trembling.
Gunnard jumped in surprise, "Uncle Andrew, what's wrong with you...?"
Oh, right.
He must have lost a bet on a football match.
Andrew looked up at Gunnard, his eyes brimming with tears, "Gu, you're finally back... Manchester United crushed Liverpool 4-0, and Torres missed three golden opportunities... My £1,000! Boohoo! I didn't dare cry in the bedroom; I was afraid your Aunt Sally would find out, and she can scratch like a cat..."
Andrew was genuinely heartbroken.
But for some reason, watching Andrew's few strands of hair shake as he cried made Gunnard want to laugh.
Too bad today's picking progress is already maxed out, Gunnard thought to himself.
He put down his bags and patted Andrew on the shoulder in a comforting manner, "Uncle, see, I told you, the way I place bets on long shots, there's no way to win."
Andrew responded with a wounded tone, "But you won the first time you bet!"
Gunnard responded with a calm and straightforward expression, "That was just a fluke, the beginner's luck. See, I lost this time too, didn't I?"
Andrew asked, "Then why did you bet if you knew you were going to lose?"
Gunnard shrugged, "Just for fun. A bet here and there doesn't really matter to me."
Andrew sighed, "Seems like I should stick to my own betting strategy from now on. I had predicted that Manchester United would at least beat Liverpool by three goals at Old Trafford! I could have won! My £1,000..."
Andrew lamented, running his hand through the few strands of hair he had left.
Gunnard said, "Better luck next time... Wait a minute, Uncle, you still have some savings?"
"Ahem, ahem..." Andrew quickly changed the subject, "So, Gu, what did you buy?"
"Oh, nothing much, just things you probably wouldn't like," Gunnard expertly diverted the conversation as well. "It's getting late, Uncle. I should head to bed. You should get some rest too."
Andrew's eyes were glued to the shopping bags in Gunnard's hands, "Oh... actually, I'm not that picky... Well, goodnight then."
"Goodnight!"
Gunnard returned to his room and dumped the numerous bags onto the table. He had enough breakfast supplies to last him for at least a week. Lunch could be had at school, and as for dinner, he could always claim he needed to train and eat out instead. This way, he could finally avoid the bizarre British dishes like lamb kidney pie and lamb offal pudding.
Of course, all of this was contingent on actually making it onto the school team.
Today had been a productive day. Not only had he acquired two star-level skills, but he also gained five professional football training achievements. If he could get a talent point from Sophie tonight, his strength attribute would finally reach an acceptable level.
Although, even with his improved strength, he'd still be at a disadvantage compared to Rusty. But football isn't just about strength; mindset, technique, and experience all play crucial roles. Strength is just the foundation of physical confrontation, and the higher this base value, the better.
The key now was to ensure that Sophie's negative emotions reached 100 tonight.
Gunnard quickly devised a plan: he would call Sophie over, make her do push-ups, and then deliberately criticize her to make her angry. Sophie had been full of resentment lately, especially after this morning's argument. Her negative emotions must be running high. With a little provocation, her emotions would surely skyrocket.
Simple.
Everything was under control.
Gunnard's lips curled into a confident smile as he pulled out the newly bought Messi signature football boots from the shopping bag. He admired them, blowing on them, wiping them, putting them on and taking them off repeatedly.
...
At midnight.
Gunnard finally put down the football boots and picked up his phone to text Sophie.
[Sophie, you should come to my room now.]
He waited for quite a while, but there was no response.
Gunnard frowned slightly: Is this little girl already asleep?
If she had indeed fallen asleep, that would be a problem—he wouldn't be able to get the talent point bubble.
Should he call and wake her up?
Would that be too much? She'd probably be furious... haha...
As he was contemplating, he found Sophie's number in his contacts and was about to press the call button when the door creaked open.
Gunnard was slightly taken aback.
Bathed in the soft moonlight, Sophie stood in the doorway, her delicate face looking stern. She was wearing a SpongeBob tank top pajama, her exquisite collarbones and sculpted feet exposed. Her loose hair carried the faint scent of shampoo, and the silver moonlight reflected off her smooth skin, filling the room with a soft glow. Her light blue eyes, shimmering like water, rippled in the moonlight, while her fiery red lips added a touch of heart-pounding color to the scene.
Gunnard couldn't help but swallow, "Sophie, you're... here."
Sophie crossed her slender arms over her chest, her expression cold, "Gunnard, I was really angry with you earlier, but... after you left, I thought about it all day and realized I shouldn't have been mad at you in the first place. We're not really a couple, so it's only natural that you didn't take me along when you went out. Whether you like me or not doesn't really concern me. So, I'm not mad at you anymore."
Gunnard: ...
What the heck—what's going on?
Sophie, how can you not be angry?
You should be yelling at me!
You should hate me for disliking you!
If you're not mad, how am I supposed to get your negative emotions to 100?
And without that, how am I supposed to get a free talent point?
Little girl, you're supposed to play by the rules!
Gunnard spoke with a serious tone, "No, no, Sophie, you should be angry with me. Really, what I did was wrong."
Sophie, however, smiled, "So, does that mean you realize your mistake?"
Huh?
Wait, Sophie, that's not what I meant!
I wasn't apologizing! I was trying to make you mad!
Just as Gunnard was about to explain, Sophie continued with a smile, "But it doesn't matter whether you know your mistake or not. I'm really not mad anymore. Don't worry, if I get mad at you again, I'll take your last name."
...
end.