World Domination Begins With Getting a System in a Modern World-Chapter 109: The Old Man At The Store

James started looking around the shop for what to buy but but it didn’t take long for reality to smack him in the face.

He was utterly lost.

Rows and rows of clubs, bags, shoes, gloves, polos, hats — it was a sensory overload. He couldn’t even tell the difference between a driver and a putter. Everything looked sharp, expensive, and important.

For someone like James who doesn’t know anything about golfing, it’s natural that he would find himself at a loss here.

Though he had searched for information online, he sighed quietly, realizing that the bit of online research he’d done was like throwing a pebble into the ocean. It barely scratched the surface.

He needed help. Real help.

Glancing around, James spotted an older man in a sharp navy-blue polo shirt and khaki trousers, quietly heading back toward the receptionist desk after helping another customer. He looked professional but calm, with the patient air of someone who had seen a thousand rookies like James before.

James quickly called out to him.

"Hello. Can I get some help over here, please?"

The elderly man turned, smiled warmly, and walked over.

"Good morning, sir. How may I help you?" he asked, his voice deep and seasoned with years of experience.

The man had a weathered but friendly face, with a trim white beard and sharp blue eyes that seemed to miss nothing. His skin was tanned from years under the sun, and the way he moved — relaxed, confident — told James he wasn’t just any store staff. This was a man who had lived golf.

James felt that the elderly man might be the owner or manager of the place.

"I need a full set of golf gear," James said honestly. "But I have no idea what to choose. Can you help me out?"

The old man chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling.

"Of course, sir. Budget range?"

James shook his head slightly, offering a small smile. "You don’t need to worry about the cost. Just give me the best."

The man raised an eyebrow approvingly.

"Your golf coach didn’t give you any recommendations?" he asked casually.

James smiled wryly. "I don’t have a coach yet. It’s also part of why I’m here."

"I see..." the man nodded thoughtfully, studying James for a second.

Without another word, he started moving around the store with practiced efficiency. He picked out a top-tier set of TaylorMade clubs — a stealth driver, precision irons, and a premium putter — explaining as he went.

"This driver will forgive your rookie swings but still give you the distance you need," he said, demonstrating the balance by lightly swinging it.

"These irons are for control. You’ll thank yourself later. And this putter... this putter will save you more strokes than anything else." He continued demonstrating.

James nodded attentively, absorbing everything. He wasn’t just blindly following; he asked questions. Smart ones.

"Is there a real difference between graphite shafts and steel?"

"For someone new like you? Yes. Graphite is lighter and helps with swing speed," the man explained patiently.

Over the next thirty minutes, they moved through the store together, picking out everything James would need: premium gloves, custom-fitted shoes, breathable but elegant polos, weather-resistant golf bags, and even a sleek white visor that actually looked good on James when he tried it on.

When the pile started getting high, the older man called for a young staffer to help them carry the equipment.

As they made their way to the checkout counter, James could feel the heavy gazes of a few customers lingering on him. He paid them no mind. He was used to attracting attention now.

While they waited for the lady at the register to calculate the final cost, the elderly man turned to James, his expression thoughtful.

"Mind if I ask you a question?" he said.

James turned to him, curious. "Sure."

"Are you picking up golf because you want to... or because you have to?"

James blinked, caught a little off guard.

He immediately realized the old man wasn’t asking casually. It wasn’t a throwaway comment.

James smiled as he processed it. Though the question might seem simple, he saw that it carries a deeper meaning, which is does he want to start playing golf because it’s a hobby he wants to take up, or does he want to start playing it because he’s required to.

These were two different things. The first is him taking up golfing as an hobby and the second is him taking it up because to achieve some things, and knowing how to play golf is a requirement.

It’s no secret that golf is the literally the unofficial language of the rich and the old man knows this.

For others, choosing the first would be answer and for others it might be the second, but not for James. He feels that the reason why the man is asked the question is because he wants to introduce him to a golf coach — exactly what he need right now.

This means his answer will determine whether the man will hell him or not. James thought carefully.

He could easily lie. Say he loved golf. Say it had always been his dream. But he wasn’t here to play games.

He smiled, as he decided to answer honestly.

"Both," he said. "I want to learn because I want to. And because I have to."

The old man’s eyes twinkled again, and this time his smile deepened into an approving one.

"Good answer," he said simply.

He turned and signaled the young staffer, who quickly brought over a pen and a piece of paper.

The old man scribbled something down, then handed the folded paper to James.

"This is the number of someone who can help you," he said. "He’s an old acquaintance of mine. Private coach. Best of the best. He doesn’t take on just anyone, though. You’ll have to convince him."

James accepted the paper with both hands, nodding in gratitude.

"Thank you. Seriously."

The older man simply tipped his chin in a respectful nod.

The cashier finally finished calculating, and James turned his attention to her.

"That’ll be $18,470 in total," she said politely.

James nodded without hesitation. He tapped his debit card on the terminal, and with a soft beep, the payment went through.

"Would you like assistance loading these into your car, sir?" the young staffer asked.

"Please."

James was about to leave when he remembered something and turned back.

"How rude of me, sir. I forgot to ask for your name. I hope you don’t mind?" James asked, with a polite smile.

"The name’s Chris, kid." The old man replied with a smile.

James nodded once more in appreciation, before walking to the store’s exit. He and the young staffer moved out into the sun, the young staffer carrying the bags carefully.

He unlocked the Chevrolet Trax, popping the trunk open. Bag after bag went inside: the clubs, the clothes, the shoes, and the accessories.

When they were done, James smiled at the young staffer.

"Thanks, man."

The staffer smiled back, clearly not expecting a tip but still grateful for the respect.

James thought about tipping him but decided against it — not because he didn’t want to, but because some stores had strict no-tipping policies and he didn’t want to get the guy in trouble.

After a quick nod of farewell, the staffer headed back inside.

James stood there for a second, the warm Los Angeles breeze brushing over him, before sliding into the driver’s seat.

He pulled out the piece of paper again, unfolding it carefully.

On it was a simple name and a number: "Coach Donovan — (310) XXX-XXXX"

James smiled to himself.

"Looks like my real journey is finally starting," he muttered.

With that, he started the engine, pulled out of the parking lot, and headed back home.