Manipulating A Old Man

After getting dressed and ready to head out, Eren stepped outside and carefully locked his door. He jiggled the handle a bit, just to make sure it was secure. Once satisfied, he headed down the path toward the road, standing at the curb, waiting for a taxi to show up.

Living close to a busy road had its perks—like finding a cab easily. But, honestly, the constant noise from traffic made enjoying his home a challenge. He'd often think about moving somewhere quieter, but convenience always won.

It wasn't long before a yellow taxi came into view. Eren raised his hand, giving it a quick wave to signal the driver. The car slowed down and pulled over to the curb.

The driver, with an unremarkable face and a body that screamed "average Joe," rolled down the window and locked eyes with Eren.

"Where you headed?" he asked, his voice a bit monotone, like he wasn't used to engaging much with passengers.

"Times Square," Eren replied, not wasting any time. He swung open the back door and slid into the seat, getting comfortable.

The driver gave a small nod, clearly uninterested in conversation, and pulled away from the curb, heading towards Times Square without further comment.

The ride was dead quiet. The driver didn't say a word, and Eren wasn't exactly in the mood for small talk.

The driver seemed shy, avoiding eye contact through the rearview mirror, and Eren wasn't the type to start chatting unless he found something worth discussing or there was something to gain.

Silence suited them both just fine.

Fifteen minutes later, they neared Times Square. The driver was ready to drop Eren off in the thick of the action, but Eren casually insisted, "Here's fine." He preferred walking the last few blocks—less crowded, more time to think.

After paying the fare, he stepped out of the taxi, the door clicking shut behind him. Standing there, Eren took a quick glance around, his eyes scanning the area like he was searching for something—or someone—though he didn't seem in any rush to find it.

"Was it here or there?" Eren thought to himself, wandering around while glancing at each street corner. He was looking for the convenience store where the eldest son of Aegis Industries had that infamous fight.

He could clearly recall the scene from the news report—an absolute mess. The store was practically destroyed, shelves knocked over, and products scattered everywhere. The reporter even showed a glimpse of the damage, emphasizing how bad the losses were.

But, of course, they didn't bother to give the exact location—just "near Times Square." So, finding the place was a bit of a guessing game for him.

...

"Found it," Eren muttered after roughly four minutes of searching. His eyes locked onto the convenience store. It wasn't particularly huge, but it wasn't tiny either—your standard city corner store, just a bit beat up from the fight.

As he reached for the door, a soft "ding" rang out as soon as he opened it. Eren glanced up and noticed two small bells tied to the top of the doorframe, clinking together every time the door moved.

A simple touch, but it made the place feel a little old-fashioned.

"We're closed for today," an older man called out in a firm voice from behind the counter. He wasn't yelling, but his voice had enough volume to make it clear he didn't want any customers right now.

The man looked to be in his late 50s or maybe early 60s, with a head full of grey hair and piercing blue eyes. His face was lined with wrinkles, probably from years of stress or just life in general.

He wore a simple T-shirt and track pants, clearly not bothering with formality.

Eren wasn't surprised. After seeing the news, he had already guessed the store might be closed. But that didn't stop him from playing dumb. He figured a little act might help stir the old man up.

"Oh my! Why's that, old man?" Eren asked, pretending to be shocked as he casually walked toward the counter, meeting the old man's eyes with a curious expression.

He knew full well why the store was shut down today. After that massive brawl, the place was practically wiped out.

The shelves were nearly bare, save for a few stray newspapers, some snacks, and a random ice cream freezer humming in the corner.

The old man huffed, clearly irritated. "Don't get me started! It's all because of that damn bastard!" he spat, his face twisting in frustration as he slammed his hand down on the counter.

"What do you mean by 'bastard,' old man?" Eren asked, his tone full of fake surprise, as he wandered toward the ice cream freezer.

His face showed exaggerated confusion, playing up the act. He wasn't interested in the old man's story—he just wanted to see how far he could push him.

From behind, the old man's voice rose with irritation. "Are you deaf or something? I said we're closed today!" he practically yelled, his patience clearly wearing thin.

Eren, still with his back turned, shrugged casually. "Oh, come on. I just want a chocolate ice cream. Is that really too much to ask?"

He didn't even bother looking at the old man as he popped open the freezer and grabbed two chocolate ice creams, nonchalantly tossing one toward the counter.

The old man, surprisingly, caught it with ease.

For a guy in his late 50s, he still had some decent reflexes. Turns out, back in the day, he used to play basketball, so catching things came naturally. In fact, the guy probably spent a lot of time playing with balls—literal ones, at least.

"What are you doing, you damn brat!" the old man hollered, clearly annoyed. He gripped the ice cream tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"Just eat it. I'll pay for both," Eren replied without missing a beat, casually unwrapping his own ice cream as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He took a bite, not even looking back, as if this little outburst from the old man was just background noise.

...

....

Bite.

"So, those bastards practically wrecked your entire shop in that fight, huh? Damn demons," Eren said between bites, casually licking the melting ice cream.

About seven minutes had passed, and now both Eren and the old man sat there like old pals, each working on their fourth ice cream. It was almost like they'd known each other for years, comfortably chatting while polishing off the frozen treats.

"Yeah... fucking bastards," the old man muttered, taking another big bite of his ice cream, clearly still fuming.

In just those seven minutes, the old man had completely opened up to Eren, spilling everything about the fight and the destruction of his shop—without Eren even needing to ask.

But that wasn't by accident. Eren had pulled a subtle mind trick on him.

From the moment he stepped into the store, Eren had sensed something about the old guy.

He'd figured out, just by the way the man was acting, that he had no close family left—no one to go home to, no one to lean on.

The shop was trashed in the fight, the losses were huge, but here the old man was, sitting alone in his store the very next day.

A normal person with a family? They'd be spending time with their loved ones, or at least taking a break from the scene of the disaster for a day or two. Yet, this guy chose to sit in his empty, quiet store.

He wasn't even trying to make money; he had no interest in serving customers today. That said it all.

Eren figured, if the man didn't want to be here for work, and had no one to be with, the shop was just a place to kill time.

And people like that? They tend to spill their guts to anyone who shows them even a little bit of kindness or attention. It was almost predictable, By someone like eren of course.

So Eren had simply taken advantage of it, playing the role of a kind stranger and letting the old man talk himself into comfort.

Simple.

This whole situation revealed just how terrifying Eren's mind really was.

He could literally read your entire personality just from how you acted or spoke for a second, like peeling back layers of a person's soul with nothing more than a glance or a casual conversation.

In his past life, Eren had been so frighteningly sharp that even something as simple as the rhythm of someone's breathing could tip him off to their plot or plan.

It was like he could hear the lies forming in their lungs before they ever reached their lips.

Ding.

The soft chime from the door broke the silence, causing both Eren and the old man to glance toward the entrance.

A guy, probably in his mid-twenties, strolled in with a swagger that made it clear he thought highly of himself. His light blonde hair was perfectly styled, and his blue eyes had this sharp, cocky gleam to them.

The dude was dressed head-to-toe in expensive clothes, like he'd just walked out of some high-end boutique. Everything about him screamed rich and spoiled.

"Yo, old man! Get me an ice cream, will ya?" he called out like it was the most normal thing in the world. His voice had that casual, entitled tone, like he expected to be served without question.

The old man's reaction was immediate. His face went from mildly annoyed to full-on rage mode in seconds. His ice cream, which he'd been enjoying a moment ago, was now forgotten as he slammed his hand on the counter.

The veins on his forehead looked like they were about to pop, and his blue eyes were practically burning with fury.

"You bastard!" the old man shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the guy. "You still dare to show your face here after trashing my store like that?!"

The blonde guy didn't even flinch, just stood there like nothing was wrong, that same cocky smirk on his face.