I Really Didn’t Mean To Be The Saviour Of The World

12 Chapter 11: Sourness and Firecrackers_1
Translator: 549690339
Time always slips away unnoticed, and before Harrison Clark realized it, he had wasted another week.

Compared to his clear goals in the dream world, after waking up, there were many more trivial matters weighing him down.

He still had to go to work, handle frequent apartment matters, and from time to time attend meaningless meetings in the company headquarters that he couldn’t afford to miss.

This was the daily life of the vast majority of urban white-collar workers.

They kept themselves busy with mundane tasks, always talking about making good use of their spare time but in the blink of an eye, their precious time vanished mysteriously.action

Harrison originally planned to gather more music-related company information in these days, regardless of the city, then request a vacation to visit them all at once.

Alternatively, he wanted to follow entertainment news, see if any famous personalities from the music world were coming to Oxfordshire for events, and then, like those star-chasers, rush to see if he could bump into a potential patron along the way.

Unfortunately, he was not part of the fandom, so he couldn’t access first-hand information.

By the time he saw it in the entertainment news, the person had already come and gone.

In the past half month, the only thing Harrison had done well was maintaining his daily exercise, running ten kilometers punctually every night.

He didn’t run fast, focusing more on recovery, and the results were mostly achieved.

In just two weeks, his physical fitness improved a lot.

When he first started running, he ran for a full two hours, from nine to eleven, to finish ten kilometers, which meant a pace of 12, showing his weak physical condition.

Two weeks later, using the fartlek running method, he could finish ten kilometers in about seventy minutes, with a pace of 7, showing great progress.

Being young was great, as the recovery was fast.

That night at nine, he put on his sportswear, cheap running shoes, went downstairs, and left the residential area.

Winter was approaching quickly and the night air in Oxfordshire was chilly. Harrison tightened his collar, looked left and right to choose a direction, and began jogging forward.

For the first two weeks, he only ran circles around his residential area, with five loops totaling ten kilometers.

But running the same route was getting dull, and this time he decided to run further where his planned route had four traffic lights.

But it didn’t matter, waiting for the traffic lights would be his chance to rest.

About four to five hundred meters later, he reached the first intersection with traffic lights.

By now, fine beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, he was warm, and his feet were hurting slightly due to the poor shoes.

Harrison stopped, pressed his tongue against his palate, and carefully controlled his breathing rhythm.

As the temperature dropped, he had to avoid breathing too hard to prevent side stitches.

About twenty or thirty people were waiting for the traffic light together, most of them young men and women dressed in fashionable outfits.

Despite the chilly night, the girls were not wearing heavy clothing – short skirts, shorts, and black or white stockings of unknown thickness.

Their conversations were loud and lively.

Mostly referring to each other with odd online names like “Wolf Man,” “Witch Horse,” “Red Sleeve,” “Treasure,” and “Dream Hunter.”

Their conversations ranged from various topics, as if describing their lives to promote themselves while carefully probing and gauging the authenticity of each other’s identities, perhaps even making different strategic plans in their minds.

Harrison glanced at the neon lights in the street ahead, realizing where he was.

This street was called Margaret Road, a well-known bar district in Oxfordshire, and many famous brands like Super Club and Section 8 had sizable flagship stores here.

These young men and women were probably going to party in the nightclubs.

Carrie Thomas lived in Weston Apartments, mainly because it was close to Margaret Road, with most of the nightclubs she frequented being concentrated here.

Harrison felt like turning around and leaving.

Given his current age and his single status, going to bars and nightclubs should be part of his entertainment life.

But he couldn’t bear to part with the hard-earned money he had saved.

Unlike his peers, Harrison had to rely solely on himself to settle down in the city.

Even if he scrimped and saved every month, he could only save two to three thousand. Six months of savings would only be enough to buy one square meter of a house in Oxfordshire, but at least it was a goal.

So although Margaret Road was close, Harrison didn’t like going there.He was afraid of his own jealousy.

Today, he also wanted to turn back and not go to Margaret Road to avoid embarrassment.

Just as he thought about this, the red light turned green, and he could cross the street.

As the men and women in front of Harrison Clark were about to step forward, a bright red Ferrari roared past them like a muffled bull, brushing past everyone, thrilling and exciting. It startled everyone, causing a flurry of curses, turning the scene into a chaotic mess.

The fiery taillights cast four twisted rays of light as they streaked away on the dim street.

Young men and women who were chatting passionately just a moment ago fell silent after swearing, engulfed in an awkward atmosphere.

Harrison Clark had sharp eyes and managed to catch a glimpse of the scene inside the car as it sped by.

A young man at the wheel held it with his left hand, while his right hand held up a woman’s head.

Harrison Clark couldn’t see the woman’s face clearly, but he figured she must be attractive.

It wasn’t difficult for him to guess what she was doing.

Damn these rich second-generation kids.

Well, the jealousy came out anyway.

Some people are born at the finish line of happiness, unbeatable.

His shoulder was bumped, causing him to lose balance slightly and take a step forward.

Harrison Clark went with the flow of the crowd, whatever. He had already been jealous once today; he wouldn’t easily be so again.

He crossed the road and continued running.

After crossing one street, the residential area by Weston was just a few hundred meters away, but they were already worlds apart.

On one side, it was quiet and cold; on the other, it was bustling with lights and sounds.

Harrison Clark kept his head down, not paying attention to the people coming and going around him, just running on his own.

While running, his mind was busy thinking about what to do next.

He had already copied two songs and was supposed to make a move, but two weeks had passed, and he still couldn’t break through.

He didn’t understand.

In all the novels he’d read, once the protagonist got their Golden Finger, they took off in minutes. Why was it so difficult for him?

Was it because he used the Golden Finger the wrong way?

Should he not have copied songs?

Should he have copied something else?

Next time, he should try another approach; perhaps read more biographies and try to discover some emerging entertainment figures who would rise in the next few years?

If he couldn’t latch onto Carrie Thomas’s leg, a superstar from a thousand years ago, he could at least try to develop relationships with a few less powerful figures?

“What are you doing?! Let go! I’m going to call the police!”

A scream came from nearby.

Harrison Clark stopped in his tracks reflexively.

The sudden halt almost made him stumble to the ground.

Harrison Clark held onto a lamppost and looked to the side.

A woman with a guitar on her back was struggling to break free from a young man’s grip.

This man seemed to want to pull her into the red Ferrari parked by the side of the road. It was unclear if it was the same one that had passed by earlier.

The woman broke free, and the man tried to grab her again, but she slapped him across the face.

The crisp sound of the slap was like a firecracker.

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