Not to Be Trifled With
1335 Words
The following morning, James decided to head out on his own to a high-end boutique downtown.
He stepped into a shop called L’Elite. His appearance was a stark contrast to the marble pillars and the heavy scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air. He was wearing a thin, plain t-shirt and a pair of trousers that had long since started to fade.
A sales associate named Miranda, who was busy arranging a row of silk ties, looked up. She scanned James from head to toe with a look usually reserved for a stain on a clean floor.
"Excuse me, sir, you can't loiter here," Miranda snapped. She moved to block his path before he could take another step. "This area is for registered clients only. If you're looking for a thrift store, there’s one three blocks down."
James didn't take the bait. Instead, he offered a thin smile—the calm typical of a God in disguise. "I’m just here to look at the shirts. Is there a rule against browsing?"
Miranda scoffed, crossing her arms arrogantly. "Please. But fine—rather than have you wandering around aimlessly, let me show you the clearance rack in the corner. It’s last season’s collection, heavily discounted. The prices might actually match your budget."
Miranda led James to the very back of the store, where leftover winter clothes were crammed together. James didn't even glance at the discount rack. He walked straight toward the center of the boutique, where the latest high-end collections were displayed under spotlight.
James began to browse. He picked out a pearl-gray silk shirt, then moved to a premium ivory linen piece. Miranda, trailing behind him, began to get agitated.
"Sir! Please do not touch those. That fabric is extremely delicate. If your hands are dirty, you won't be able to afford the replacement cost," she protested. She went dead silent, however, when she saw James pull five shirts at once—all from the full-price section.
James's eyes then settled on a mannequin in the center of the room. It wore a shirt made of Egyptian cotton with genuine mother-of-pearl buttons. The texture was exquisite, radiating a sense of understated luxury.
"I’m interested in this one," James said, checking the tag. Three thousand dollars.
Miranda nearly choked on her own spit. "Three thousand dollars? Sir, that’s a year's wages for a laborer! You must be joking."
Just as James was about to take the shirts to the register, the boutique doors swung open. An elderly man in a perfectly tailored suit, carrying a silver-headed cane, stepped inside. It was Adam Spencer, a legendary real estate tycoon and a mainstay at the shop.
"Ah, that shirt!" Adam Spencer exclaimed, his eyes locking onto the one James was holding. He hurried over. "What a shame. I was looking for that exact shirt for my grandson's birthday. Is there any more stock?"
Miranda instantly plastered on her most sycophantic smile, bowing respectfully to Adam. "Good morning, Mr. Spencer! It is an honor. Unfortunately, for this size, that is the very last one in the store."
Adam Spencer looked disappointed. "Is that so? My grandson is obsessed with this specific model."
Seizing the chance to suck up to her biggest client, Miranda shot James a look of pure contempt. She turned back to Adam and said loudly, "Mr. Spencer, this shirt hasn't been paid for yet, so technically, it doesn't belong to anyone. You are a VIP client; you have a much greater right to purchase it than... someone who is just playing around with the merchandise."
James narrowed his eyes, his temper beginning to flare. "Hold on. I took this off the rack first. I intend to buy it. Isn't the rule of the shop first come, first served?"
Miranda let out a mocking laugh. "That rule applies to actual customers, not people who just want to play dress-up and leave once they realize they have no money at the register. Mr. Spencer is a guarantee. You? I doubt your ATM card would even clear our machine."
James stared at Miranda, then turned to Adam Spencer. "Sir, you seem like an educated man. Do you think it’s fair to snatch something someone else already claimed just because of social status?"
Adam Spencer looked conflicted. He was a polite man by nature, but his desire to give his grandson the best gift made him a bit selfish. "Young man, I truly need it. If you’re willing to let it go, I’d be happy to compensate you for the trouble."
"This isn't about compensation," James said coldly. "It’s about ethics."
The argument dragged on for a few minutes. Miranda continued to corner James with insults while Adam remained politely stubborn. James finally took a long breath. He reminded himself that he hadn't come here to start a petty fight. As a God, he felt there was no need to scrap over a piece of cloth with an old man who had no idea who he was.
"Fine," James said, dropping the shirts onto the counter with a heavy thud. "Take them. I don’t need clothes from a shop that employs people without a brain."
James turned to leave. Miranda jeered at his back, laughing triumphantly. "See? I told you! He was just trying to mess with me the whole time! Look at him go, too embarrassed to pay. What a high-and-mighty hobo!"
James kept walking toward the glass doors. But just as his hand touched the handle, a heavy thud echoed from behind him.
THUMP!
"Mr. Spencer! Mr. Spencer!" Miranda shrieked hysterically.
James turned around. Adam Spencer was sprawled on the marble floor. The old man's face was turning blue, his hands clutching his chest in a death grip as his breath came in short, desperate gasps. He was having a massive heart attack—Acute Myocardial Infarction.
Miranda was in a total panic, running in circles with no idea what to do. "Help! Someone! Call an ambulance! Mr. Spencer, don't die here! This shop will go under if this happens!"
James stopped in his tracks. His eyes, cold just a moment ago, became razor-focused. As a doctor and the wielder of divine healing, he couldn't let a life slip away in front of him, no matter how annoying the situation had been.
James sprinted back toward Adam, who was already losing consciousness.
"Move!" James barked at Miranda, who was blocking the way.
"What are you doing?! Don't touch him! Are you trying to steal his wallet?!" Miranda screamed, still blinded by her prejudice.
James ignored her. He knelt beside Adam Spencer. The system in his head immediately pinged with an emergency notification.
[Divine System: Acute Heart Failure Detected...]
[Status: Critical. Cardiac muscle cells beginning to die in 30 seconds.]
[Command: Initiate energy stabilization immediately!]
James placed his palm over Adam Spencer’s heart. To Miranda, it looked like James was just pressing on the old man’s chest, but in reality, a flow of pure, golden energy was surging into Adam’s bloodstream, shattering the plaque blockages that were cutting off oxygen to his heart.
Miranda kept screaming, trying to pull at James’s shirt. "Get off him! You’re going to kill him! Security! Call security!"
But right then, Adam Spencer’s eyes, which had been rolling back into his head, began to focus. The blue tint in his face vanished, replaced by a healthy, red glow. His ragged gasps suddenly became deep and steady.
James pulled his hand back just as Adam Spencer took a massive breath and began to cough lightly. The old man opened his eyes, looking at James with a dazed but profoundly grateful expression. Death, which had been seconds away, had miraculously retreated.
James stood up, brushed the dust off his pants, and looked at Miranda, who was still gawking in disbelief, her mouth hanging wide open.
"Sometimes," James said, "the person you treat like trash is the only thing that can save your 'valuable' customer’s life."
Miranda could only stutter, unable to find her voice.
- Writer
