"Wait... where did your dad go?" Sarah asked, her voice filled with sudden realization. She looked around the quiet street outside Nathan's apartment building, her eyes scanning the dimly lit surroundings.
Nathan froze. He had been so caught up in their conversation that he hadn't noticed his father had wandered off. He turned quickly, searching the street, the nearby alleyways, but Bernard was nowhere in sight. "Oh no… not again," Nathan muttered under his breath, a familiar dread washing over him.
Without another word, he pulled out his phone and started dialing, hoping Bernard had taken it with him this time. As the line rang, he glanced at Sarah, who was anxiously biting her lip. She didn't say anything, but the worry in her eyes spoke volumes. The phone kept ringing, unanswered, until it finally went to voicemail. Nathan let out a frustrated sigh. "He's not picking up," he said, pocketing his phone. "I need to find him."
Meanwhile, Bernard was blissfully unaware of the panic he was causing. He had wandered a few blocks from Nathan's apartment and was now walking through the bright, neon-lit streets of Singapore, drawn by the warm glow of a nearby fast food restaurant. The smell of fried food wafted through the air, and Bernard's stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten since lunch, and the aroma was too tempting to resist.
The restaurant was a local favorite: Arnold's Fried Chicken, a chain known for its crispy fried chicken and casual atmosphere. It was still bustling with customers, even though it was late in the evening. Bernard walked inside, his eyes drawn to the brightly lit menu above the counter. He hadn't been to a fast food place in a while, but tonight seemed like the perfect night for it.
As Bernard waited in line, he couldn't help but overhear the conversation at the counter. A young woman with bright pink hair was working behind the register, wearing the standard uniform of the restaurant. Her hair was a striking contrast to the plain, corporate blue-and-yellow polo shirt she was required to wear. She was speaking animatedly to a customer, her voice carrying over the soft hum of the restaurant.
"You know, I used to be famous," she was saying, a hint of bitterness in her tone. "People used to line up just to see me, take pictures with me, scream my name at concerts. But then… some old guy ruined it all. And now I'm here."
The man she was serving didn't seem particularly interested in her story. He just glanced at his watch and muttered, "Just put my order in the bag."
The pink-haired woman sighed dramatically, as she handed him his food. She barely noticed Bernard as he approached the counter, too caught up in her own frustration.
Bernard's mind lingered on her words. Some old guy ruined her career? he thought to himself. She seems so kind… what kind of person would do something like that? I sure hope I don't run into that old guy… he might ruin my career too.
He shook his head, genuinely concerned for the poor girl. When it was finally his turn, he stepped up to the counter with a friendly smile. "Good evening! Could I get a—"
The woman looked up, ready to take his order, but the moment her eyes landed on him, her expression changed from disinterested to shocked. Her jaw dropped, and her eyes widened in disbelief. "You!" she blurted out, pointing an accusing finger at Bernard. "You're the Durian Man!"
Bernard blinked in confusion. "The what now?"
"You!" she repeated, her voice rising with frustration. "You're the one who crashed our concert! You ruined everything!"
Bernard frowned, trying to make sense of her words. He didn't remember crashing any concert. He didn't even remember meeting this young woman before. "I think you've got the wrong person," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know anything about a concert."
But the pink-haired woman wasn't convinced. She crossed her arms, glaring at him. "Oh, I know it's you," she said, her voice dripping with bitterness. "You're the guy who pranced around on stage and stole our spotlight. You ruined my career!"
Bernard looked genuinely bewildered. "I'm sorry… I really don't remember that. I don't even know who you are."
"Oh, come on!" she snapped, throwing her hands up in frustration. "You're the 'Flying Durian Man!' Everyone knows who you are!"
At this point, the other customers in the restaurant began to take notice. They turned their heads, curious about the commotion at the counter. A few people even pulled out their phones, ready to record whatever was happening. One of them, a teenage boy with headphones around his neck, whispered to his friend, "Is that really the Flying Durian guy?"
The friend squinted at Bernard, then nodded. "Yeah, I think it is! Hey, man, do the thing!"
Bernard glanced around, even more confused than before. "Do the thing?" he repeated, unsure what they were talking about. The only thing that came to mind was his latest obsession with parkour. Maybe that was what they wanted. "You mean… like this?" he asked, and before anyone could stop him, Bernard did a backflip right there in the middle of the fast food restaurant.
He landed surprisingly well for a man of his age, but the customers just stared at him in silence, clearly baffled. They had expected something else—some funny line, a catchphrase, something viral. Instead, they got… a backflip.
The silence was broken by the sound of a door swinging open behind the counter. The manager of the restaurant, a tall man with a neatly trimmed mustache, stepped out, drawn by the commotion. He glanced at Bernard, his eyes widening in recognition. A wide grin spread across his face as he hurried over.
"Oh my goodness!" the manager exclaimed. "It's you! The Flying Durian Man! I've seen your video all over the internet!"
Bernard raised an eyebrow, still unsure what this was all about. "Flying Durian Man?" he repeated. "People keep calling me that, but I don't know what it means…"
The manager laughed, clearly amused. "Ah, don't worry about it. You're famous! You made quite an impression at that concert!" He pulled out his phone and eagerly handed it to a nearby employee. "Here, take a picture of me with him!" The manager turned to Bernard with a hopeful look. "Would you mind? Just one picture?"
Bernard, ever polite, nodded with a shrug. "Sure, why not?"
As the manager posed beside Bernard, the pink-haired woman—whose nametag read Yumi—watched in disbelief. She had been hoping that calling him out as the "Durian Man" would get him kicked out of the restaurant. But instead, the manager was treating him like some kind of celebrity. Her frustration boiled over as more customers pulled out their phones, asking Bernard for selfies and autographs.
Even the same man who had been dismissive of her story earlier now approached Bernard with a grin. "Hey, can I get your autograph too?"
Yumi couldn't take it anymore. She threw her hands up in exasperation and shouted, "Seriously what the hell!?"
The other employees behind the counter looked at her in surprise, but Yumi didn't care. She ripped off her nametag and tossed it onto the counter. "That's it. I'm done. I quit!" she announced loudly, her voice trembling with anger and bitterness.
Without waiting for a response, Yumi stormed out of the restaurant, leaving her shocked coworkers behind. The door swung shut behind her with a loud clang, and the restaurant fell into an awkward silence.
Bernard, oblivious to the drama he had just caused, glanced around at the remaining customers and shrugged. "Well, I guess that's that," he said with a small smile. "Now, about that order…"