Evelyn was instantly pulled back to attention, her eyes sparkling: "Just once, just for her! Mr. Harris is only willing to drink for one person, isn't that sweet?"

　　Ethan Wood sneered, "Sweet my ass."

　　William Harris frowned slightly, lifting his gaze to glance at Henry Clark's back.

　　Henry Clark downed several cans of beer in a row, his eyes already a bit glazed. He rubbed his eyes, slowly raised his hand, and the waiter in the private room hurried over.

　　The waiter bent down slightly, and Henry Clark turned his face to quietly give a few instructions. The waiter nodded and left.

　　Henry Clark took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, put one in his mouth, lit it for himself, and took a deep drag.

　　On this side, William Harris watched Henry Clark's practiced way of lighting a cigarette, his brows furrowing slightly. He held back, but still turned to Edward Grant: "When did he start smoking?"

　　Edward Grant realized "he" referred to Henry Clark, and asked back, "He didn't smoke before?"

　　William Harris shook his head.

　　Edward Grant said, "He was already smoking when he joined our team two years ago."

　　William Harris took a sip of watermelon juice. "...So young."

　　Ethan Wood turned his face with disdain: "You have the nerve to talk? Do you remember how old you were when you started smoking?"

　　William Harris said, "I don't remember. Why?"

　　"It's nothing. He's an adult now, doing just fine, so it's none of your business anymore, is it?" Ethan Wood said indifferently. "If he wants to drink, he drinks. If he wants to smoke, he smokes. It's not your concern."

　　Ethan Wood curled his lip. "Besides, he's got a big heart. You can't figure out what he's thinking anymore, so why worry?"

　　William Harris looked at Henry Clark's back, trying his best to ignore the stormy tension in the air that only he could sense, muttering to himself, "Can't figure out what he's thinking... if only."

　　William Harris's sixth sense had always been accurate for bad things, not good ones, and this time was no exception.

　　Ten minutes later, the waiter placed a tray in front of William Harris's table, filled with ten large glasses of some unknown beverage.

　　Ethan Wood was chatting with Edward Grant about the transfer window, turned his head to take a look, and asked in confusion, "What's this?"

　　The waiter hesitated, "Distilled vodka, actually for our cocktails, over ninety percent alcohol. We recommend not drinking it straight..."

　　"No one's going to drink it straight." Ethan Wood was completely baffled. "Who ordered this?"

　　Henry Clark stubbed out his cigarette, picked up a can of beer, walked over, and looked calmly at William Harris, saying, "I did."

　　Ethan Wood and Evelyn exchanged glances. William Harris put away his phone and let out a soft breath. It was finally happening.

Chapter 8

　　Half the private room fell silent.

　　People farther away in the room couldn't actually hear what was being said at this table, but the heavy atmosphere spread instantly, and everyone vaguely sensed something, turning to look over.

　　The room was as quiet as a library.

　　No one knew the details between William Harris and Henry Clark, but the major favors and grievances were all out in the open, understood without words.

　　To say these two were like fire and water would be an understatement.

　　If Henry Clark were to pull out a watermelon knife and challenge William Harris to a real fight right now, no one would be too surprised.

　　Ever since they learned William Harris had returned to the country, everyone had a feeling this was bound to happen sooner or later.

　　Those singing, drinking, and playing dice all stopped, turning to watch, nerves a bit tense.

　　Henry Clark was already half-drunk, the flush on his neck spreading down into the low collar of his T-shirt, making him look even more aggressive. Henry Clark rubbed his neck, stretched out his long leg to hook a small stool over, and sat down with one knee up in front of William Harris, facing him across the table.

　　"You've been back for so long," Henry Clark stared intently at William Harris, opening his beer as he spoke slowly, "and still haven't greeted Mr. Harris."

　　Before William Harris could speak, Ethan Wood, realizing Henry Clark was up to no good, laughed and tried to break the tension: "Isn't this a greeting? Hey, you were ruthless in last week's match! I reviewed your game, watched from your perspective, you had Evelyn all set up, let me tell you..."

　　Henry Clark didn't even glance at Ethan Wood, acting as if he didn't exist. He looked at William Harris and asked, "Mr. Harris is forming a new club?"

　　William Harris looked at Henry Clark in surprise, then relaxed.

　　Henry Clark really was too smart.

　　Edward Grant watched the already drunk Henry Clark warily and said in a low voice, "Henry Clark, you've had a bit much to drink. Should I call your team's assistant? Or I can take you back, you can talk another day..."

　　Edward Grant had looked after Henry Clark before. Although Henry Clark had become more withdrawn over the past two years, he had always respected Edward Grant. But now, Henry Clark ignored him completely, his eyes only on William Harris: "Mr. Harris, about the new club—it's true, right?"

　　William Harris knew there was no avoiding it today. After a moment, he said, "Yes."

　　Henry Clark nodded, muttering to himself, "See, I guessed it again."

　　Henry Clark took a sip of beer, then asked, "So, do you need an assaulter?"

　　Everyone was stunned.

　　The players sitting farther away looked at each other.

　　What did Henry Clark mean by this? Could he really want to join William Harris's team? Weren't they supposed to have cut ties long ago?