Chapter 19: My Fault, Man

He finished the ice cream cone. It was nice.

The town centre had grown louder.

Crowds surged like waves, full of tourists, merchants, and the usual scatter of kids playing together. The festival banners hung for the tournament. People really do take this seriously, huh? 

The air was thick with spice, chatter and a faint hint of roasted peanuts.

Roy got up from the bench and navigated through the crowd of people like a ghost, weaving between people with his shopping bags tucked under both arms, vegetable bags in one and spices, snacks and sauces in the other.

He was halfway to the station when it happened.

Even though the ice cream was long gone, the sticky residue was still faintly on his fingers.

He was halfway to the station when it happened.

A shoulder. A crash. The world was tilting; actually, it was Roy tilting.

THUD.

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

People stared as it happened but just went on with their day, not thinking of actually helping Roy.

Roy stood still, blinking at the ground.

Half of 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 straight away.

“Oh, sure…”

He stood there, staring at the mess.

“... Of course,” he mumbles, 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. “Look, it’s still edible.”

You sure?” the man asked with a confused face. “Some of these are barely intact.”

“I’m not exactly planning to make gourmet stew.” Roy replied, without a thought.

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 artefact.

“... 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. An ancient, grey, slightly faded button and 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. It’s considered cool nowadays, actually.”

Actually, Roy didn’t know at all; he didn’t want this man Liam, too, looking down on his phone.

Liam replied. “I can respect that.”

Roy tucked the brick phone 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 of this archetype, like this… were rare. Not just polite, but earnest and sincere to a fault, they are the scariest of them all. Liam had the kindness of a person who apologises not to feel better but because it is the right thing to do.

“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 continent, 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 while he eats.

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, since he didn’t want to pay.

But… why not since he has got nothing better to do?

“…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.

Once in a while, even Roy doesn’t mind a bit of company.