Yes! He's the god of acting

William's Directives, Rule #9:

"To create and develop a compelling plot, conflict is key. If the inherent conflict isn't strong enough or captivating, then manufacture 'misunderstandings' to drive the narrative forward."

A faint smile touched William's lips as several rules, secretly summarized during his previous life as a director, flashed through his mind.

[AUDIENCE EXPECTATION +3] [CURRENT EXPECTATION: 32%]

The instant these two lines of text appeared in his soy milk, William knew he had guessed right.

Oliver's expression visibly stiffened. He stared at William, his face transitioning from bewilderment to shock, then settling into a deathly silence...

"Oliver, I promised Jones I'd keep it a secret... but Uncle, Jones is your only son; you must want him to carry on the family name... and him always hanging around with that other boy will really affect his studies." William sighed. "Today, I even saw him riding on that boy's bike, smiling so happily, you wouldn't believe it..."

Oliver's body began to tremble slightly, his hands involuntarily clenching into fists, his breathing growing heavier.

"Alright... Uncle understands," Oliver forced a smile, which looked unsettling. "Thank you, William."

"Oh, and Uncle, I promised Jones I'd keep this confidential, so you absolutely can't tell him it was me who told you..."

"Don't worry, Uncle knows."

William finished the last sip of soy milk, then bid Oliver farewell and left the stall. Oliver, seemingly deaf to his departure, continued rummaging inside the shop. A few minutes later, he pulled a club, thick as a fist, from a corner and slowly sat down on a bench outside the shop.

A cold gust of wind swept down the street, ruffling Oliver's few remaining hairs and the sweat-soaked towel on his forehead. He sat there silently, one hand resting the club on the ground, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the end of the street, looking exactly like a battle-hardened general seething with murderous intent!

William appeared to leave the street but secretly circled back through an alleyway. He stood in the shade of a corner tree, with a full view of the shop.

A few minutes later, a tricycle swayed into view from the end of the road. Jones sat casually on the side of the bike, his legs crossed, the two barrels of salt behind him now completely empty. He toyed with the few copper coins he'd just earned, a wide grin stretching to his ears.

"Heh, making money isn't so hard after all."

"Jones, it's not hard for you! I'm the one who rode the bike all day!" The boy in front stood up, pedaling the tricycle with effort, breathing heavily.

"We're like brothers, no need to distinguish between you and me." Jones took two copper coins from his palm and slipped them into the boy's pocket. "Here, for you."

Not far away, Oliver, who witnessed Jones casually touch the boy's waist, felt his eyelids twitch.

"Jones, I rode this bike for you all day, and you only give me two coins??" The boy's eyes widened. "Didn't you get twenty from the Road Management Bureau?!"

"Riding is manual labor, scattering salt is skill work. Of course I get a bigger share." Jones replied lazily, then leaped from the tricycle, squinting and waving at the boy. "I'll wait for you at the usual spot tomorrow... If you dare not show up, I'll beat you every time I see you, understand?"

With that, he clutched the remaining eighteen copper coins in his hand and walked towards his own shop with a confident swagger. The boy on the bike glared at him furiously, but as Jones shot him a fierce look back, he immediately cowered, lowering his head to continue pedaling dejectedly, heading home alone.

Jones, the young bully of Frost Street, was almost untouchable among the younger generation. The boy on the bike, exploited for a day, could only grit his teeth and swallow his resentment.

"Dad, I'm home!!"

Jones strode confidently, clutching his eighteen copper coins. He'd never felt so sure of himself coming home. But for some reason, the moment he reached the shop's entrance, a chill washed over him.

The figure holding the wooden club slowly stood up. The atmosphere instantly dropped to freezing. Oliver's furious gaze locked onto Jones. He approached him with the intimidating aura of a general wielding a spear.

"D-dad?" Jones saw the club and instinctively took a step back.

"It's him, isn't it?" Oliver pointed a trembling finger at the panting boy pedaling away in the distance. "You little bastard! Not bothering with your studies, just secretly messing around with this?!"

"And if you were properly dating a girl, fine, but you're going for a guy?"

"Can a man give you children?! Can he carry on our family name?!"

"You're trying to end your father's lineage!!"

Oliver cursed wildly, chasing after Jones with the club, the latter screaming in pain with every blow.

Hearing Oliver's furious shouts, neighbors from half the street perked up their ears. They gathered curiously nearby, beginning to point fingers at the fleeing Jones. Whispers exchanged, and expressions of shock simultaneously appeared on their faces.

[AUDIENCE EXPECTATION +1... +1... +1...]

As Jones screamed from the beating, the numbers before William's eyes continuously jumped. If he could re-enter the theater in his mind, he would see the dense, shadowy "audience" watching this scene with great interest, subtle smiles playing on their lips.

"The conflict is right... but the cast isn't complete yet." William's gaze fell on the tricycle in the distance.

"Little Six."

At William's call, the boy on the bike, who had been staring blankly at the unfolding drama, turned his head. "William, you're here too?"

"How much did Jones pay you for melting the ice today?"

"...Two coins." At the mention of it, resentment flashed across the boy's face. "He broke his word. He said I'd drive and get the biggest cut of the money, but he only gave me this much. And he even threatened me to keep working for him tomorrow..."

"Do you want to get back at him?" William looked into his eyes. "Or, do you want him to never dare bully you again, even to avoid you when he sees you?"

"Yes!!"

"Then I'll teach you..."

As the two whispered, Jones was already exhausted from being chased.

"Dad, Dad, stop hitting me! I really didn't get involved with a guy!" Jones finally reacted, desperately explaining, "I swear, I, Jones, have always only liked women! Especially the full-figured, charming kind..."

The mouths of the surrounding onlookers slightly agape, looking thoughtful.

Oliver paused, his footsteps immediately slowing.

"Then what's your relationship with that boy on the bike?"

"We're just normal friends!"

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm seri—"

"Brother Jones!" A young figure pushed through the crowd, rushing madly towards Jones, wrapping his arms around him, taking the brunt of the wooden club on his back.

Jones froze.

Oliver froze too.

"You..." Jones's mind went blank.

Before Jones could speak, the boy, eyes red-rimmed, loudly addressed Oliver:

"If you're going to hit someone, hit me! Don't hit my Brother Jones!!!"

The atmosphere instantly became deathly silent!

[AUDIENCE EXPECTATION +2... +2... +2... +2...]