George Miller also saw the young man. He recognized him—it was his uncle’s son, his cousin Samuel Harris. Someone with a bad temper, impulsive and arrogant; the former George Miller never liked interacting with this guy.

　　Frowning, he walked over and stopped when he was still two meters away from Samuel Harris.

　　“What did my dad say to you?” Samuel Harris turned his face and asked in a low voice.

　　“Nothing much, just casually asked about how I’ve been. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.” George Miller replied indifferently.

　　Samuel Harris raised an eyebrow, glanced at the girl beside him, and seemed to feel his image was being challenged: “What’s the rush? I’m your brother. You get this impatient just talking to me?”

　　George Miller was speechless. “If there’s really nothing else, I’ll be leaving. I’m in a hurry to get home and have lunch with Grace Carter.” He couldn’t be bothered to waste words with this guy and turned to leave directly.

　　“Hey! I’m your brother! Stop right there!” Samuel Harris’s eyes flashed with anger as he raised his voice.

　　“Samuel Harris, you’re really getting into it, huh!? Don’t go looking for trouble for no reason!” George Miller turned around, brows tightly knit, and raised his voice as well. The old George Miller might have been timid, but he was no longer that loser.

　　“Heh… is that so? You actually dare yell at me now? I’ll show you yelling!!” Samuel Harris suddenly reached out to slap George Miller’s face, putting real force into it, even using a bit of combat technique. His strength increased by half in an instant.

　　The slap whistled through the air, aiming hard for George Miller’s left cheek.

　　Pa!!

　　A crisp, clear sound.

　　George Miller and Samuel Harris’s palms collided fiercely.

　　Their strength was actually about equal, neither gaining the upper hand.

　　George Miller was a little surprised; he hadn’t expected this playful, lecherous cousin to actually know a bit of fighting technique. But his own basic combat skills had genuinely reached the beginner level. He added a bit more force and gave a sharp twist.

　　With a whoosh, Samuel Harris staggered several steps to the side from the force, nearly bumping into a middle-aged man on the other side. Samuel Harris’s face instantly turned beet red, and his hand stung with a burning pain. Looking closely, his right hand was already swollen: “Fine… George Miller… you’re good!!” He shot a final glance at the girl nearby. “Just you wait!”

　　George Miller couldn’t be bothered to look at him again. This cousin had only dabbled in martial arts as a hobby and could never match his own dedicated training. If he tried to start trouble again, he’d just get beaten. And if he tried to bring others, with their uncle backing him, Samuel Harris wouldn’t dare.

　　“Stop looking for trouble. If your uncle saw how useless you are, who knows how disappointed he’d be.” With that, he turned and left the hall, exiting through the small wooden door. Behind him, he could faintly hear Samuel Harris’s furious shouting.

　　Retracing his steps, it took George Miller over half an hour to get back to Blue Tree Street where his home was, as the crowd had grown.

　　Entering the neighborhood, the fourth red-roofed building on the right was where he lived.

　　At the stairwell, a trembling white-haired old gentleman was slowly making his way down the stairs with a cane.

　　George Miller stood aside and waited patiently until the old gentleman had completely exited the stairwell before heading up.

　　The old gentleman smiled at him kindly, said nothing, and walked straight toward the parking lot on the right. Though his steps didn’t look steady, he walked with great care and seriousness. Dressed in a neat, clean black suit, he gave off a faint sense of solemnity.

　　George Miller looked away and entered the somewhat dim stairwell, climbing two flights. Just then, he heard footsteps above. He glanced up through the stairwell gap and saw Grace Carter slowly moving upward, apparently carrying something heavy.

　　“Grace Carter!” he called out.

　　“George Miller?” Grace Carter was still wearing a black, fitted dress, the short skirt just covering her thighs. Hearing his voice, she bent down to set her things down and came over to look down through the stairwell gap. “You’re back? Come help me, I bought some white pears to stock up on.”

　　George Miller was about to reply when his cheeks suddenly flushed. From his angle, he could see under Grace Carter’s skirt—her long legs wrapped in black cotton tights, and a faint hint of white between them. “Got it, I’m coming.”

　　Grace Carter seemed to sense something too and instinctively pressed her legs together, her face turning red as she stepped back. “You! Don’t act like Samuel Harris!”

　　“You’re the one not being careful!” George Miller quickly clarified. He dashed up the stairs in a few quick steps, bent down, and picked up the yellow wooden crate. Sure enough, it was filled with a dozen or so fist-sized white pears.

　　“What do you mean I’m not being careful?” Grace Carter put her hands on her hips and raised her voice, but quickly glanced around, realizing she was being too loud. “Let’s talk inside!”

　　George Miller shrugged and followed her up, carrying the crate.

　　The two of them hurried up to their door. Grace Carter took out the key and unlocked it. As soon as they entered and changed shoes, George Miller set down the pears and ran off.

　　Bang!

　　The door was slammed shut by Grace Carter, her face flushed as she flexed her hands.