Willy watched with a faint smile as the new farmer effortlessly reeled in yet another sizable catch. Nigel's stoic expression remained unchanged as he inspected the fish.
"You catch them quite efficiently," Willy commented, impressed despite his usual laid-back demeanor.
"It's just a matter of technique," Nigel responded, his voice devoid of emotion.
Willy nodded, accepting Nigel's curt answer. The farmer quickly washed his hands without a hint of enthusiasm or enjoyment. Fishing had proven to be a simple task, and Nigel saw it merely as a means to an end—a way to generate income for his farming endeavors.
"Thank you for the fishing rod," Nigel acknowledged in a detached tone.
Willy shrugged, understanding that gratitude wasn't necessarily Nigel's strong suit. "No problem. It's good to have another fisherman in town."
Without any further exchange, Nigel turned away from Willy and exited the shop. His face remained impassive, revealing nothing of his inner thoughts or feelings. He focused on the practicality of the situation and calculated his next move, unfazed by the friendly chatter of the townspeople.
As Nigel made his way back to his farm, he paused to collect clams and cockles from the beach. It was a brief interruption in his routine, and he wasted no time in gathering what resources he could find. His efficiency was paramount, leaving little room for distractions or idle conversation.
As he continued on his way, a man with long hair approached him, a smile on his face. Nigel eyed him with a cold detachment, uninterested in engaging in yet another conversation.
"Hello there, my friend...May I ask, are you the new farmer in town?" the man asked eagerly.
"Yes, I am," Nigel responded curtly, not offering any additional information.
The man, who introduced himself as Elliot, continued to talk, but Nigel's attention waned. He grew increasingly impatient, his voice turning more serious and frosty.
"I don't have time for this. Excuse me," Nigel interjected, cutting off Elliot's rambling.
Elliot seemed taken aback by Nigel's bluntness, but he relented. "Well... alright then. Goodbye."
Nigel nodded curtly and swiftly resumed his path, leaving behind a disappointed Elliot.
Nigel's cold and detached demeanor remained unyielding as he approached Pierre's shop. The stress of settling his farm and the weight of his responsibilities weighed heavily on him. Conversations and interactions with others seemed like unnecessary distractions in his pursuit of success. He shook off any lingering guilt and focused on his objectives.
Before entering the shop, Nigel paused at the Saloon and glanced at the nearby garbage can. Memories from his childhood resurfaced—times when his family struggled financially. He knew scavenging for discarded items was seen as dirty and disgusting by some, but he couldn't afford to be concerned about appearances right now. Survival was his priority.
With calculated movements, Nigel opened the garbage can and found a piece of bread and a Catfish. They appeared to be in decent condition, sealed in separate plastic bags. Nigel stored them carefully in his pocket, grateful for the unexpected provisions.
Continuing on his way, Nigel arrived at Pierre's shop, which was bustling with more customers than usual. Lewis, the mayor, was engaged in a conversation with Pierre, their voices blending into the background noise. Unaffected by the commotion, Nigel made his way to the seed aisle, his gaze fixed on the potato seeds he intended to purchase.
In the midst of his silent deliberation, he sensed a piercing stare directed his way. Without a flicker of emotion, Nigel turned his head to pinpoint the source. Standing just a few meters away was the girl with purple hair, Abigail. Her eyes held a mix of annoyance and curiosity as they bore into him. Nigel vaguely remembered her mistaking him for her friend in a previous encounter, but her name still escaped his memory.
Maintaining his cold and expressionless demeanor, Nigel chose to disregard her presence and focused on proceeding to the counter. However, Abigail's persistence wouldn't allow him to evade her so easily.
"Hey! You knew that I was looking at you. What's with all the ignoring?" she called out, her voice laced with a touch of frustration.
Nigel spared her a brief glance, his voice devoid of warmth or interest as he replied, "Apologies, Abin Sur. What do you want?"
Abigail appeared taken aback by his curt response but refused to back down, hesitantly attempting to salvage some form of acknowledgment.
"My name is Abigail, not Abin! And... I mean, well... you could just say hello?" she responded, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
Internally sighing at the persistence, Nigel's impassive facade remained unbroken as he obliged with a monotone greeting, hoping it would satiate her need for interaction and hasten their exchange.
"Hello. Satisfied? I don't have time for any more chit-chat, so I recommend you leave me alone," Nigel stated, his tone dismissive.
Abigail huffed in frustration, realizing her efforts to engage him were in vain. "Fine. Why did I try to talk to you in the first place? Hmmph."
...Abigail had encountered many individuals with a "cold" demeanor in her life, including Sebastian and Shane, who initially displayed similar disinterest in social interactions. However, this encounter with Nigel left her with an odd sense of discomfort. She wanted to revisit their first meeting, perhaps to confirm or dispel her lingering unease, but...
"..."
Yes, it was evident that Nigel had no interest or willingness to remember her. And in a way, that should have been a relief. After all, she wasn't particularly close to him, and he had witnessed her embarrassing display during their initial encounter. But despite that, an unsettling feeling gnawed at her.
"...why..?"
After a few days of alternating between fishing and planting more potatoes, day 5 of spring had finally arrived. Nigel woke up to the rhythmic sound of raindrops falling outside, a soothing symphony that accompanied his thoughts. Today, he would finally be able to harvest the parsnips he had diligently nurtured.
Clad in his rain gown, Nigel stepped outside, only to find an unexpected visitor waiting for him in the early morning rain.
"Er... Hi," the visitor greeted tentatively.
Nigel's cold and expressionless gaze met the visitor's eyes as he posed a simple question, "Who are you?"
"I... I'm Clint. I'm the town blacksmith," the visitor, Clint, replied nervously.
An awkward silence ensued, Clint fidgeting and tapping his feet on the wet ground before finally continuing the conversation.
"Well... nothing much, just wanted to give you something. I heard people in town mentioning your ores, so here's a blueprint for a furnace. With it, you can smelt ores into metal bars," Clint explained, his voice betraying traces of unease.
Nigel's facial expression remained unchanged, his response delivered in his usual monotone manner, "Oh. Thanks."
"It's nothing, really. Just remember, when you have those bars, come to my shop and consider upgrading your tools. Okay?" Clint added, his words accompanied by an air of cautious hope.
After Clint quietly departed from the farm, Nigel retreated into the shelter of his dwelling, taking a moment to examine the blueprint Clint had given him. The instructions were straightforward, and Nigel quickly grasped the significance of the upgrade Clint had offered. Enhancing his tools was a logical step, one that he recognized as necessary.
As he perused the blueprint, Nigel's eyes caught sight of a letter addressed to him. The sender's name, Morris, caught his attention. Morris claimed to be the manager of the Joja Mart in the town and informed Nigel that the landslide caused by the company had been resolved. This meant that the mine on the mountain was now accessible—an essential source of ores that Nigel had lacked until now.
"...That's..not bad."
Nigel's expression remained unchanged, his face stoic as he absorbed the contents of the letter. The prospect of having a stable source of ores was indeed good news, although he maintained his guarded demeanor.
With the matter set aside for the moment, Nigel refocused his attention on the present task—harvesting his crops. Despite the rain continuing to fall outside, he felt a genuine smile tugging at his lips as he ventured into the wet ground, plucking each parsnip with care. However, his satisfaction was momentarily dampened as he realized that only 14 parsnips remained out of the 15 he had planted.
"14. 14 parsnips... And I planted 15... those crows," he muttered, his annoyance subtly seeping into his voice.
The memory of the crow that had stolen one of his parsnips on the third day of spring resurfaced in his mind. He vividly recalled the taunting gaze, the narrowly missed stone, and the mocking laughter as the crow made off with its ill-gotten prize. In that moment, Nigel's determination to protect his potatoes from further thievery solidified. He delved into research, learning about scarecrows and their effectiveness in warding off avian pests. And just the previous night, after meticulous crafting, he had completed his own scarecrow.
Nigel strode purposefully to a suitable spot in the field and dug a small hole, anchoring the scarecrow firmly in place. Though far from perfect, he embellished it with glimmering plastic shards, hoping the flashing lights would deter the birds from venturing near.
Satisfied with his efforts, Nigel turned his attention to the freshly harvested parsnips. While most of them bore no stars, signifying their ordinary quality, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride as he noticed a gold-star parsnip and another with a silver star. Setting aside one unremarkable parsnip in a storage box, he gathered the rest and made his way toward Pierre's shop.
Despite the rain, the shop was not devoid of customers. Among them were familiar faces—Marnie, the ranch owner, and Gus, the saloon proprietor. Nigel had encountered them before, though he had never ventured into the saloon himself, his frugal nature preventing him from spending unnecessarily on food.
"Hey! It's farmer Nigel!" Pierre called out cheerfully upon catching sight of him.
Nigel's expression remained stoic as he nodded in acknowledgment. "Hello, Pierre. I'm here to sell my first harvest."
Pierre's face transformed into a greedy smile as he responded, "Well, why don't you show me? I'll pay you the best price possible..."
The door swung open with a loud slam, interrupting their conversation. Nigel's gaze shifted toward the source of the commotion, a man dressed in a black tuxedo, red bowtie, and glasses—Morris. The air of arrogance that surrounded him was palpable as he surveyed the shop, while Pierre's glare betrayed his displeasure. Nigel instinctively recognized him as Morris, bearing a striking resemblance to his former superior.
"...Come and get it, folks! Coupons for 50% off your purchase at JojaMart!"
"50 percent!"
In an instant, Marnie, Gus, and several others flocked to Morris, eagerly snatching up the coupons. Nigel, however, stood his ground. He had no intention of prostrating himself before Joja. Pierre's shocked expression was a testament to the impact of the sudden influx of customers.
"...But... I can't match these prices! I'd be selling at a loss!"
Once the others had left Pierre's shop to make use of their coupons, Morris sauntered toward the counter, a smirk adorning his face. He glanced briefly at Nigel, the only one who had not taken a coupon, but upon meeting Nigel's cold and impassive stare, Morris scoffed and turned his attention back to Pierre.
"Well, well, well... It must be difficult for you to lose your 'loyal' customers like that. But can you blame them? Joja Corporation is clearly the superior choice. You know it! Soon, the whole town will realize that."
"You...!"
Pierre trembled in frustration, but his hands were tied. Joja was a formidable company, and a small local shop like his struggled to compete. Nigel was aware of this reality, but he refused to let himself become beholden to Joja. The thought of being manipulated by them was abhorrent to him.
"Well, why don't you come to our mart? Maybe I'll even hire you as an accountant! I—"
"Stop wasting my time, would you? You're blocking my way."
Morris's surprise was evident as Nigel's voice rang with unwavering strictness. Displeased but having no other recourse, Morris begrudgingly stepped aside while Nigel approached Pierre, handing him the harvested parsnips.
"...Nigel...!"
"I don't have time. From what I know, the price of these parsnips should cover the cost of these seeds. Now, calculate it so I can give you the price, and I'll take the seeds."
Pierre appeared moved by Nigel's words, but Morris watched on with evident dissatisfaction.
"...Well, you are the new local farmer, aren't you! We Joja Mart have a great deal that—"
"Not interested. Now move."
"...O...okay."
Morris had no choice but to step back, silenced by Nigel's unwavering resolve. Nigel walked away, ignoring Pierre's farewell gesture, and ventured out into the rain.
"...I need to find a way to take down Joja Mart as quickly as possible."
Otherwise, the future could prove devastating. Nigel refused to be cornered into buying from Joja. He vowed never to allow himself to be subjected to their manipulations. His expression remained cold, strict, and always logical—a testament to his unwavering determination.
