The Next Big Thing
Chapter 164: Trouble?

Chapter 164: Trouble?

"Cavalry has arrived. Finally."

David grinned to himself, the words slipping out like a quiet victory. He had a feeling—no, he knew—that the club had reacted. The captain’s urgency couldn’t be ignored, and most likely, they were already on their way. He leaned back in his chair, his smugness blooming like the sun coming up after a long night.

Bill and Phil, on the other hand, stood frozen in the moment. The captain’s voice—urgent, strained—still echoed in their heads, and a flicker of doubt crept in. For the first time, they felt a little bit of unease. Phil glanced over at Bill, his face tight with worry.

"You don’t think the kids were telling the truth, do you?" Phil asked, voice low and unsure. There was a distinct edge of panic in his tone as the weight of their situation hit him all at once. They might’ve just found themselves in deep trouble.

Bill turned to Phil, his gaze distant for a moment as he processed the captain’s words. The concern was clear in his eyes for just a second, but then, like a switch being flipped, he shook it off. He’d been through too many wild situations to let this one shake him.

"Don’t worry about it," Bill said, his voice more firm than he felt. He exhaled slowly, trying to force calm into the atmosphere. "The captain will be here soon. You handle the one inside. I’ll handle the situation here. Let’s do this quickly—no mistakes." Bill’s voice was sharp, clipped, as he rose from his chair. The urgency in his movements was enough to make Phil jump, and he quickly followed, darting toward the back of the station with a nervous, hurried energy.

David, still lounging in his chair, watched the exchange with mild amusement. He leaned back, arms folded, his grin widening as he saw Bill coming toward him with a pair of scissors in hand. Bill walked over and knelt in front of him, cutting through the zip ties that had been tightly binding David’s wrists earlier.

"Let’s go, kid," Bill muttered as he clipped the final tie. His eyes didn’t meet David’s, but David noticed the slight flicker of tension in Bill’s movements. It was subtle, but it was there.

David, rubbing his wrists with exaggerated flair, flashed a grin at Bill. "Told you guys—we really are footballers," he said, his tone dripping with smug satisfaction. His words were part boast, part playful taunt. He couldn’t resist the opportunity to rub it in, especially after hearing Bill talk down to him earlier.

Bill’s jaw tightened at the cocky look on David’s face. His teeth ground together as he stood, letting out a low, almost involuntary growl. "You little..." Bill started, his patience clearly fraying. But before he could finish his thought, a noise from inside the station interrupted him—a loud, unmistakable voice that cut through the tension like a knife.

David froze, suddenly alert as he recognized the voice—Sancho. And, judging by the tone, things were not going well. Sancho’s voice was laced with frustration, sharp and full of indignation.

"I will call my lawyers! This is unacceptable!" Sancho’s words echoed from inside the building, and the bitterness in his voice was palpable. It was the sound of a man who was absolutely done with whatever had been going on in there.

David’s lips twitched into a grin, amusement flitting across his face. He had been itching to see this moment unfold. The drama had been building all day, and now it seemed like Sancho’s fuse was finally burning down to the end.

David leaned back in his chair, his hands massaging his wrists, which had only just been freed. The room seemed to hold its breath as the sound of Sancho’s footsteps grew louder. And then, just as David was starting to relax, he saw him.

Sancho appeared in the doorway, his posture rigid, his face a mask of pure annoyance. The moment their eyes met, David’s grin widened, instinctively drawing back his shoulders as if he were already victorious. There it was—the clash of personalities.

David kept his eyes fixed on Sancho, still rubbing his wrists with the same carefree air, his smugness practically radiating off him. As Sancho’s gaze locked onto David, the space between them crackled with unspoken tension.

For a moment, David’s cocky smile faltered just slightly. It was subtle—just a flicker in his expression—but enough for him to realize that Sancho wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him. Sancho’s frown deepened, his eyes narrowing as if David’s mere presence was an offense. He stood tall, hands clenched at his sides, exuding frustration like it was a second skin.

David, oblivious to the deeper layers of anger seeping from Sancho, simply tilted his head slightly, as though puzzled. He felt a brief second of confusion, the crack in his confidence barely visible as he tried to piece together what was going on. What’s with him? David wondered, his mind briefly straying from his usual self-assurance. He had expected the banter, maybe some jokes at his expense, but this? This was different. What’s up with him

As Sancho’s eyes bore into him, the anger in them palpable, David’s lips twitched upward again. He couldn’t help it. He was a man who thrived on rivalry, on the energy of competition—and this felt like one of those moments. He couldn’t read it yet, but he could feel it. There was something there. But David, in true David fashion, chose to ignore the discomfort brewing beneath the surface.

David’s voice rang out inside the police station, as casual as ever. "So while they were carrying you inside, I was telling them that he is saying the truth and that you really are a Manchester United player and all."

It was almost surreal. Just minutes ago, both he and Sancho had been zip-tied, yelled at, and tossed around like common criminals. Now? The red carpet wasn’t exactly rolled out, but the shift in treatment was staggering—a complete 180. They had been released, no longer suspects but guests waiting in the reception area for their club representatives to arrive.

David and Sancho sat not quite side by side, separated by a small railing and space between the reception seats. The atmosphere was awkward. David’s phone had long died—thanks, of course, to him never charging it—and now boredom mixed with curiosity made him glance at his teammate.

Sancho hadn’t said a word. In fact, he hadn’t even looked at him. The silence was so thick, David could hear the clock ticking on the wall behind the receptionist. Naturally, David took it upon himself to break it.

He tilted his head slightly and said out loud, more to himself than anyone, "Oooh, I know what this is."

Sancho didn’t turn, but he did register the statement. David grinned, clearly enjoying the sound of his own thoughts. He leaned in a little and said, "This is about earlier, right?"

He turned to face Sancho with that same cheeky confidence. "Guess I can say I did overreact there a little."

Sancho glanced at him, eyebrow raised.

David gave an exaggerated shrug. "Okay, maybe more than a little."

That earned him a pause. Sancho thought about it. Maybe, just maybe, the kid did have a point. He could almost understand why someone would be that defensive—seeing his people injured after a car crash, caught in a weird hospital scene.

But before he could speak, David opened his mouth again.

"But I mean, it’s your fault really."

Sancho blinked.

David waved a hand dismissively, his tone shifting to one of mock frustration, like someone explaining the obvious to a slow friend. "Like, what the hell was that, huh? You cause an accident, show up in the hospital acting like you’re above everyone, then try to walk off like nothing happened? That’s crap, bro. Absolute bullshit."

Sancho turned his head sharply. "Are you insane?"

David tilted his head. "What? I’m literally telling you what happened."

Sancho looked at him like he was witnessing a hallucination. "Wait—no, hold up. You really believe that’s what happened? Are you playing with me right now?"

David just gave him a puzzled look, like a golden retriever trying to understand algebra.

Sancho gave a short, bitter laugh. "No. No way. You... this kid... who even are you actually?"

David sat up straighter, unfazed. "Oo, ehm—I’m your teammate at Manchester United. I’m also a player."

Sancho stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. "No way."

Before the argument could escalate—or spiral into more confusion—the door swung open sharply, grabbing both of their attention.

Two men entered. One was the police captain, his presence loud without even saying a word. Bill and Phil, who had been standing to the side awkwardly, immediately saluted.

But the captain ignored them. He was already talking to someone else—the second man, tall, well-dressed, sharp-eyed. They walked in step like this wasn’t their first time handling chaos.

"While they might not have technically violated COVID protocols as they were on their way to the club, they still disrupted public order," the police captain stated, voice clipped and commanding. "They were fighting in a hospital, causing panic among patients and staff. And let’s not forget—they were involved in a car accident just hours ago. You can’t tell me this doesn’t constitute criminal negligence."

The second man stepped forward, his tone smoother, cooler, and absolutely precise. "With all due respect, Captain, you are misapplying the law. Neither of these young men were attempting to flee custody. There was no formal charge, no Miranda warning equivalent under British law, and the physical restraints applied were unwarranted. More importantly, the police violated COVID protocols by detaining them without testing or maintaining distance."

He turned to the boys, locking eyes with both.

"I’m Maxwell Harris, Head of Legal Affairs at Manchester United. You’re both coming with me. Now."

Without a word, Sancho stood up. David followed suit, a bit slower, still trying to process everything. As they stepped outside, a sudden noise shattered the brief calm.

Click. Click. Click.

"Sancho! Here, Sancho!"

The sharp buzz of camera shutters pierced the air, and they turned to see three paparazzi stationed across the street—spaced apart, masked, gloved, but lenses locked onto them like hawks. Even in a pandemic, scandal made headlines.

Sancho muttered, "Shit."

David looked around, confused, as more flashes went off. He squinted at the photographers, wondering if he should smile or wave. He didn’t get the chance.

"That’s my car up there," Harris said quickly, already moving. "Let’s go."

Sancho climbed into the backseat first, hissing, "Shit, shit, shit," under his breath, trying to hide his face from the lenses.

David paused, taking in the flashing lights, the rush, the stress. The lawyer. The paparazzi. Sancho melting down next to him.

He sat down and muttered to himself, wide-eyed, "Fuck."

And then the thought hit him like a cold splash of water:

’Are we the ones in trouble?’

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