The owner only felt a blackness in front of his eyes and a chill down his spine. Being exposed on the spot made him irritated and angry.
"Ah. So your guns are tampered with! No wonder I shot eighty rounds and didn't even hit the board! I just wondered when my shooting became so bad! You shameless!" The male colleague shouted from the side.
Other onlookers, who had spent money here, all began to shout at the stall owner, "Shameless! So it was you who did the trick!!"
"Give us our money back! Give us our money back!"
"Give us our money back!"
The shouting rose up gradually, and more and more people came and joined them.
The owner of the stall went so desperate and pointed at Joyce, "Don't listen to her nonsense, if I did anything to the guns, then how did she hit the center?"
"Huh." Joyce handsomely put the air gun on the table, "because I weighed the gun, observed the angle at which the others shot off, and measured the shooting trajectory. Since I know the aims are off the correct position, I just need to calculate the angle, so I can still hit the red center. What, any more questions?"
The crowd began shouting again.
"Money back, money back, money back!"
"Bitch, are you looking for trouble here deliberately?" The owner of the stall vented all his anger on Joyce. It was all her fault, otherwise he could make a big profit and then leave this place and no one would ever know what he did.
He suddenly rushed forward and violently raised his hand and tried to slap Joyce.
"Ah—” Suddenly, he let out a violent scream, “It hurts! It hurts! My hand … my hand is going to break."
The screams were sharp and piercing, resounded throughout the room.
It was Luther. His face was as gloomy as dark clouds. He stopped the stall owner immediately when he saw him raise his hand.
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: You Hit My Heart