CHAPTER 9 – STADIUM LARKIN: FOOTBALL, BAZAAR, AND THE SMELL OF ARMPITS!
That night, Aiman and his gang—Johan, Din, Badrul, and Faizal (who had somehow tagged along)—found themselves near Stadium Larkin. But they weren’t there for a football match.
Outside the stadium, the Mega Ramadan Bazaar was in full swing. It was the biggest bazaar in Johor Bahru that year. Aiman’s mother often bought ingredients here because it was cheaper and had more variety. But tonight, the boys weren’t here for groceries. They had a mission.
“This is the last place we need to check,” Johan said as he weaved through the bustling crowd.
Aiman nodded. They needed to find the stall selling semperit cookies that tasted exactly like the ones his mother used to make. The ones that were suspiciously similar to her stolen recipe.
1. THE SMELL OF SEMPERIT… OR THE SMELL OF SWEAT?
They walked past rows of food stalls selling all kinds of Ramadan treats—roti john, air katira, ayam percik, and of course, the year’s most popular drink: giant plastic bags of sugarcane juice with long green straws.
“There it is!” Aiman pointed at a stall packed with customers.
A middle-aged woman was buying several jars of semperit. Aiman and Johan quickly stepped forward, trying to get a closer look at the cookies.
Din leaned in to sniff the semperit up close. But suddenly, he recoiled.
“Whoa! What’s that smell?!”
Johan coughed. “Is that the smell of semperit… or someone’s armpits?”
Badrul and Faizal turned their heads towards a sweaty man in a tight yellow shirt standing nearby. He was chatting with the semperit seller.
“Bro, that’s not just any smell…” Aiman whispered.
Din’s eyes widened. “That’s the legendary armpit smell.”
Johan pinched his nose. “And the owner of that smell… we know him.”
2. FAIZAL TRIES TO INVESTIGATE (BUT FAILS, AS USUAL)
For once, Faizal was actually being useful. He casually walked over to the sweaty man and struck up a conversation.
“Bro, these cookies are good, huh?” Faizal said, pretending to be interested.
The man nodded. “Best in town! Secret recipe, you know.”
Faizal nodded back, subtly glancing at Aiman and the gang. Aiman got the message. These cookies were definitely made using the stolen recipe!
Johan whispered to Din, “Does this guy look familiar to you? I swear I’ve seen him before.”
Din squinted, trying to remember. “I think… I think he works at that bakery behind my house.”
Aiman’s eyes widened. “The bakery next to your house?!”
3. A CONNECTION TO THE BAKERY BEHIND DIN’S HOUSE?!
A few weeks ago, that bakery had been selling semperit, but it wasn’t selling well because the taste was off. If suddenly their cookies were now a hit, there was a high chance they had ‘upgraded’ their recipe.
Johan quickly snapped a photo of the stall using his Sony Ericsson K300i. Even though it had only a 0.3-megapixel camera, it was good enough for evidence.
“Guys, we’ve got a solid lead,” Johan said. “This stall is selling the same cookies, and we now know who’s involved.”
“So what’s next?” Badrul asked.
Aiman clenched his fists. “We need to find out who the real mastermind is.”
4. THE SMELL OF ARMPITS EXPOSED – SOMEONE RUNS AWAY!
Suddenly, the sweaty man noticed Johan taking a picture. His face paled.
“Hey! Did you just take a picture of me?!”
Johan quickly hid his phone. “Uh, no… I was just testing my camera.”
But the man didn’t buy it. Looking panicked, he suddenly took off running.
“CHASE HIM!” Aiman shouted.
The boys bolted after him as he sprinted towards a futsal court near the stadium.
Faizal huffed, “Bro! He’s fast! Like Ronaldo!”
“That’s not Ronaldo, bro. This is like David Beckham running from crazy fans!” Badrul shot back.
Even though the guy was fast, his armpit smell gave him away. They just had to follow the scent.
Finally, in his panic, the man made a wrong turn and ran straight into a lamp post.
“BAM!”
He collapsed onto the ground.
Aiman and Johan rushed forward, grinning.
“You’d better start talking,” Johan said. “Who told you to sell cookies using a stolen recipe?”
The man looked up, terrified. He hesitated.
“I swear I don’t know anything… I just follow orders from my boss.”
Aiman grabbed his collar. “Who’s your boss?!”
The man gulped. “My boss… he… he—”
Before he could finish, a deep voice called out from behind them.
“Oi! What are you doing over there?!”
They all turned around.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with a thick mustache was walking toward them.
Johan froze. “Guys… that’s not just anyone…”
Aiman felt a chill run down his spine.
Din whispered, “Bro… that’s the owner of the bakery behind my house!”
The mustached man’s eyes gleamed with a sinister smile.
“You boys have been snooping around my kuih business, haven’t you?”
Aiman knew… they had just stepped into something much bigger than they had expected.