The Martial Arts Temple's Arena had been battered over the past few rounds. Although the staff had made emergency repairs, it still looked badly scarred.
The smell of gunpowder from the previous battle lingered in the air, mingling with the sweat and passion of the martial artists.
"The next match is Yajirobe versus Mr. Shen!"
As the Blonde Host's impassioned voice rang across the venue, two competitors with completely different styles slowly stepped into the Arena.
The one on the left was as stocky as a barrel of gunpowder ready to explode. His sturdy, meaty frame was wrapped in a rough martial arts outfit.
He had a head of unruly long hair and a string of prayer beads around his neck that looked like they had seen better days.
He was even chewing on half a flatbread he hadn't finished, scattering crumbs everywhere with every bite.
Yajirobe, the unorthodox martial artist Goku had brought out of the jungle, wore impatience all over his face.
He gulped down the food in a few bites, patted his round belly, and could barely be bothered to look his opponent in the eye.
"Tch. What rotten luck."
Yajirobe muttered, just loudly enough for the whole crowd to hear.
"Why do I have to fight some old man who looks like he's already got one foot in the grave?"
"Winning wouldn't even be an accomplishment, and losing... Hmph. There's no way I'd lose to a bag of bones that's about to fall apart."
Standing across from him was a middle-aged man in a well-tailored suit and black-framed glasses.
He looked like an ordinary office worker you might see anywhere, or perhaps a timid school disciplinarian.
Mr. Shen pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He wore a gentle, somewhat awkward smile and looked completely harmless.
"Are all young people so full of energy these days? I'm envious."
Mr. Shen spoke in a mild, unhurried voice. He even gave Yajirobe a polite bow.
"Um, young man, take it easy on me later, all right? These old bones can't take much of a beating. I'm just an ordinary middle-aged guy here for the excitement."
"Huh? 'Young man'?!"
The veins on Yajirobe's forehead immediately bulged and writhed like earthworms.
He hated it when people brought up his build, especially someone who looked as frail as this guy.
"Old man, if you're in such a hurry to die, I'll be happy to oblige!"
Yajirobe stamped his feet against the ground. His lazy air vanished in an instant, replaced by a ferocious, beastlike killing intent.
"Do your osteoporosis a favor and go home to hold your grandkids! Quit getting in the way!"
The audience began whispering among themselves.
"That fat guy looks terrifying. Is someone going to die?"
"I feel bad for Mr. Shen. He looks like an ordinary office worker."
"Isn't this just a mismatch? What an unfair pairing."
"Begin!"
The instant the referee's words left his mouth, Yajirobe moved.
Despite his size, he shot forward like a cannonball.
He hunched forward, the muscles in his right arm bulging as he drove his fist straight toward Mr. Shen's face, accompanied by a gust of wind.
For an instant, it seemed as though the heavy fist had smashed the air itself, producing a dull boom.
There was nothing fancy about the punch. It was pure speed and power.
But just as his fist was about to touch the tip of Mr. Shen's nose—
"Whoa!"
Mr. Shen suddenly cried out. It was as if he had stepped on something slippery; his body lurched awkwardly to the left.
He looked just like a drunk who had slipped on a banana peel—ridiculously comical.
Yet that seemingly clumsy, even embarrassing wobble made Yajirobe's supposedly fatal punch skim past his ear.
"Whoosh..."
The force of the blow swept past, and several gray-white hairs drifted through the air.
Mr. Shen had narrowly dodged the deadly strike. He staggered back several steps, patting his chest as he gasped for breath.
"That was close! I almost got my nose crooked! Why's the floor so slippery? Did they just mop it without letting it dry?"
Yajirobe's eyes widened, his fist still extended from the punch.
Though the fatso looked rough, he was a hunter who had survived in the wilderness for years. His instincts were as sharp as a beast's.
He had clearly locked onto his opponent's energy with that punch. How could he have missed?
"You just got lucky!"
Yajirobe gritted his teeth. He couldn't believe an apparently frail middle-aged man had dodged his punch.
"Quit pretending! Let's see how many times you can dodge!"
Yajirobe roared. His thick arms turned into a blur as he unleashed a flurry of alternating punches, covering every vital point on Mr. Shen's body.
The sound of his fists tearing through the air ran together like a rapid drumroll.
The scene that followed left the audience staring in disbelief. Quite a few of them couldn't help laughing.
Mr. Shen was like a scarecrow swaying in a gale, or a clown in a circus.
As a heavy punch swept toward him, he suddenly bent down to tie his shoelace.
"Oh dear, my shoelace came undone. I'm terribly sorry."
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