Chapter 8: Scam

"Look, the oranges are poisonous!" The old man selling apples shouted excitedly, pointing at the disgusting greenish mass Dustin had spat out. He was extremely jealous of Francis for selling such excellent oranges, and now that he had found an opportunity to smear him, he wouldn't let it go. "I knew it! These early-ripening oranges, with their huge size, must have something wrong with them," the old man continued enthusiastically. "These oranges really are poisonous." "Good thing I didn't impulsively buy some. They could have been deadly!" "Call the police and get this guy selling poisonous oranges arrested. This is outrageous!" The crowd around Francis began pointing fingers and condemning him, full of righteous indignation. "You scumbag! How dare you sell poisonous oranges?" Dustin's eyes flashed as he stepped forward, grabbed Francis by the collar, and shouted, "I ate your poisonous orange. Who knows what the side effects might be? You owe me compensation. If you don't cough up two thousand dollars, you aren't leaving here today." Watching Dustin's performance, many onlookers exchanged knowing glances. They knew Dustin well enough from their frequent visits to the market. He was clearly fine, but demanding two thousand dollars from Francis was blatant extortion. However, seeing Francis sell poisonous oranges, they felt he deserved it, believing this was a case of one bad person dealing with another. Francis coldly observed Dustin's act. He had seen clearly that what Dustin spat out was just phlegm. Oranges, like pears, have properties that soothe the lungs, stop coughing, and dissolve phlegm. The orange had simply helped Dustin expel the phlegm clogging his throat. Instead of being grateful, Dustin turned around to extort him. "Are you sure my oranges are poisonous?" Francis asked coldly. Dustin, feeling a bit guilty under Francis's steady gaze, avoided eye contact. "Of course, they are. Are you blind? Didn't you see me spit out that disgusting stuff after eating your orange? Stop talking and pay up, or I'll call the police!" "Call the police?" Francis chuckled, folding his arms. "Go ahead, I'll wait right here." "You..." Dustin's face twisted in anger and embarrassment. "Don't regret this," he snarled, trying to sound tough. "Enough with the act," Francis said, his patience wearing thin. "What you spat out was phlegm, probably stuck in your throat for days and starting to rot. Now that you've expelled it, isn't your voice clearer? Don't you have less bad breath? Oranges have cough-suppressing and phlegm-dissolving properties, and mine are specially grown to enhance these effects. Instead of thanking me, you're trying to extort me. Doesn't your conscience hurt?" Hearing Francis's explanation, the crowd realized that Dustin's voice had indeed been raspy earlier and his breath foul. Now, his voice was clear, and the stench was gone. They looked again at the greenish mass on the ground, which was indeed a large, thick wad of phlegm. "Wow, this guy is shameless!" "Right? He ate the orange, got better, and now wants to extort the seller. That's despicable." "Shameless people are getting more audacious, it seems." The crowd turned on Dustin, who was now the target of their disdain. While the other fruit sellers feared him, the market customers had no such reservations. "Everyone shut up!" Dustin roared, his face dark with anger. He shot a hateful glance at Francis, then suddenly grabbed a crate of oranges and kicked it over, stomping on the fruit. "Screw you! How dare you sell oranges without my permission? I'll smash your damn oranges!" Watching his precious oranges being trampled, Francis' anger flared. This was his livelihood being destroyed. "Get lost!" Francis jumped down from the truck and shoved Dustin hard, sending him stumbling back and falling to the ground. Dustin landed on a rock, letting out a scream of pain as he sprang up, clutching his backside. "You brat, you're dead meat," Dustin snarled, pulling out his phone with one hand while holding his injured rear with the other. "Hey, guys, come to the road across the market and bring the gear." Francis didn't flinch. "I'm not going anywhere. Let's see what you can do." "Kid, you should leave. Dustin's not a good guy. He's got cronies at the market management. When they get here, you won't be able to escape," a middle-aged woman selling watermelons warned kindly. "Francis, we should go," Madison said timidly, tugging at his arm. "Don't worry," Francis reassured her, patting her hand. "I'll handle this." Since the two fights yesterday, Francis had felt a significant increase in his strength and speed. He felt like a martial arts master now, and he wasn't afraid. Soon, three men in market uniforms ran over from across the street, each carrying a club. One of them handed a club to Dustin. Holding the club, Dustin pointed at Francis and said coldly, "Get him. I'll take full responsibility."