Chapter 5 A Different Feeling

Sherman stood at the entrance of the shop, met with an angry tirade from a middle-aged woman. She pointed at him and shouted, "Get lost! Don't come here and ruin my business!" To her, Sherman—dressed in tattered clothes and carrying a patched-up backpack—was no different from a beggar. "I'm not a beggar. I'm here to buy clothes. I have money," Sherman said calmly. The woman crossed her arms and sneered. "How much money could someone like you have? Ten or twenty dollars? You can't afford anything here. You're not coming in and dirtying my store." Sherman held back his frustration. "I told you, I have money. You're running a business. Why won't you let me in?" The woman's anger flared. "Don't push your luck! If you don't leave right now, I'll make you leave." She grabbed a broom by the door and glared at him menacingly. "Hello, are you looking to buy clothes? You can come to my store," a soft voice interrupted from nearby. Sherman turned to see a young woman, likely around eighteen or nineteen, hesitantly speaking to him. She had a pure, innocent look, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. Her hair was tied into two braids, and her youthful energy was evident. The middle-aged woman scoffed with disdain. "You're even trying to sell to beggars now? Your father's still in the hospital. Imagine how furious he'd be if he knew!" The two stores were side by side, but their business couldn't have been more different. The girl's store was bustling after school or work hours, while the middle-aged woman's shop saw little to no traffic. Over time, jealousy had festered in the older woman. The girl's face turned bright red. "Aunty, please ... Could you not say such mean things?" The woman raised her voice, practically screeching, "Are you blind? I'm not your aunty! I'm only 30!" Sherman snorted. "More like 50. And you could lose a few pounds, lady." The middle-aged woman's face turned beet red with fury. "You shameless idiots!" she spat, stomping her foot. She then hawked loudly and spat on the ground before storming back into her store. Sherman's eyes flickered with a cold gleam. Subtly, he flicked a finger. A barely visible force shot forward and struck a pressure point on the woman. She didn't even notice. Sherman then followed the girl into her shop. The store was small, but its clothing selection was surprisingly varied. "What kind of clothes are you looking for?" the girl asked warmly. Her gaze was clear, showing no hint of judgment or disdain toward Sherman's worn-out appearance. Sherman glanced around. He wasn't picky about clothes—comfort and fit were all that mattered to him. Pointing to a rack, he said, "That white tracksuit and the black one next to it." The girl nodded. "You're about six feet tall, right? XXL should fit. Just a moment." The clothes Sherman wanted were hung on the highest rack. The girl grabbed a hook to reach them, but she was still a bit too short. Undeterred, she brought over a chair to stand on. However, as she reached for the clothes, she lost her balance and fell backward. "Ah!" she screamed, panic overwhelming her as the floor rushed up to meet her. But instead of hitting the ground, she landed in a firm, warm embrace. Sherman had caught her. "Are you okay?" he asked, his tone steady. The girl blinked in surprise. She had braced herself for a painful fall, but Sherman had saved her. His scent—clean and warm—mixed with an aura of strength and reassurance. Her cheeks flushed a deep red. Flustered, she stammered, "Thank you ... Can you, um, put me down now?" Sherman gently set her on her feet. "Be more careful next time," he said softly. "Um ... " The girl lowered her head, her face turning an even deeper shade of red. It was the first time she had been in such close contact with a man. "Let me handle it." Sherman took the hook from her hands and retrieved the two outfits. "The fitting room is over there," she said, pointing to the left. Sherman grabbed the clothes and walked into the fitting room to try them on. His figure was lean and tall, appearing slightly slender at first glance. Yet beneath his modest appearance, his body was all muscle, with no excess fat. Every inch of him exuded explosive strength—a truly flawless physique. If certain women saw him, they might not be able to hold back a scream of admiration on the spot. After changing into the white tracksuit, Sherman stuffed his old clothes into his patched-up cloth bag. He moved around casually, testing the fit—it was perfect. Although it was just an ordinary tracksuit, on Sherman, it carried a distinctive, refined aura. His face was clean and fair, his buzzcut lending him a fresh and energetic look. With the change of clothes, his entire demeanor shifted. Satisfied, Sherman stepped out of the fitting room. The girl's eyes lit up instantly. "You look so handsome!" Years of rigorous training had shaped Sherman into a man with a nearly perfect physique, and his sharp, handsome features made it hard not to feel drawn to him. The girl seemed to think of something, and the blush that had just faded returned to her cheeks. "Do you sell shoes? I'd like a pair of white sneakers," Sherman asked. "Oh, yes! We do." The girl snapped back to reality and quickly fetched a pair of white sneakers for him. Sherman tried them on, finding them a perfect fit and much more comfortable than his worn-out cloth shoes. "How much is it all?" he asked. The girl quickly calculated. "Each outfit is 200 dollars, and the shoes are 150 dollars ... I'll just charge you 500 dollars in total." "That won't do. I can't let you take a loss," Sherman said, shaking his head. From the moment he entered the shop, Sherman had noticed the girl's worn clothes, which seemed like they'd been through many seasons. Her hands, too, were rough and marked, unlike the smooth, delicate hands typical of young women. Life hadn't been easy for her. At the door earlier, Sherman had overheard something about her father being in the hospital. Given all this, he certainly couldn't take advantage of her kindness. But the girl was insistent. "You saved me just now. Giving you a discount is the least I can do." She was a principled young woman, unwilling to take more money from Sherman no matter what. "How about this," Sherman suggested, coming up with a compromise. "I haven't eaten yet. I'll pay you $550, and you can treat me to a meal. How does that sound?" The girl thought for a moment and then nodded. "Alright, but it'll just be a simple meal, okay?" After speaking, she glanced nervously at Sherman, afraid he might refuse. Over the years, several wealthy young men had tried to woo her, some of them genuinely affluent, but she had never felt even a hint of attraction. For some reason, though, Sherman gave her a very different feeling. Sherman smiled. "I'm from the mountains. I can eat just about anything." "That's perfect," the girl replied, her smile bright enough to make her eyes squint with joy. Ring! Ring! An old-fashioned phone of her buzzed. The girl answered it, but after only a few seconds, her face turned ghostly pale. The phone slipped from her hand and fell to the floor as her body went limp. Sherman reacted quickly, catching her before she could hit the ground. "What happened?"