Tank Yasuo VS Lucky Player

The Arena of the Martial Arts Temple, battered from the previous rounds, still looked scarred and mottled despite the staff's emergency repairs.

The air still carried the acrid smell of gunpowder from the last fight—the scent of a Martial Artist's blood and sweat.

"Next match: Yajirobe versus Mr. Shen!"

As the Blonde Host's impassioned voice rang through the venue, two fighters of vastly different styles slowly stepped onto the Arena.

On the left stood a man built like a powder keg ready to explode, his sturdy frame wrapped in coarse cloth fighting gear.

His long, messy hair hung loose, and a string of worn-looking prayer beads dangled around his neck.

He was still chewing on half a burnt flatbread, crumbs spraying everywhere with every bite.

Yajirobe, the wild Martial Artist Goku had dragged out of the jungle, had "annoyed" written all over his face.

He wolfed down the last of his food, patted his round belly, and couldn't even be bothered to look his opponent in the eye.

"Tch, what rotten luck."

Yajirobe grumbled, loud enough for the whole crowd to hear.

"Why do I have to fight some geezer with one foot in the grave?"

"Winning's no glory, and losing... hah, no way I'm losing to some crumbling old bones."

Across from him stood a middle-aged man in a black-rimmed glasses and a neat suit.

He looked like any ordinary office worker you'd see on the street, or maybe a timid school disciplinarian.

Mr. Shen pushed up his glasses, a gentle but slightly awkward smile on his face, looking utterly harmless.

"You young folks sure have energy these days. Makes me envious."

Mr. Shen's voice was slow and mild, and he even gave Yajirobe a polite bow.

"Um, little fatty, go easy on me, alright? These old bones of mine can't take much. I'm just an ordinary guy here for the show."

"Huh? Little fatty?!"

The veins on Yajirobe's forehead bulged instantly, writhing like earthworms.

He hated anyone commenting on his weight, especially some frail-looking punk.

"Old man, since you're in such a hurry to die, I'll oblige you!"

Yajirobe stomped the ground, his lazy demeanor vanishing in an instant, replaced by a savage, beast-like killing intent.

"For the sake of your brittle bones, go home and babysit your grandkids! Stop wasting space here!"

The audience below started murmuring.

"That fatty looks fierce. Is someone gonna get killed?"

"Poor Mr. Shen, he looks like just some office worker."

"This is a mismatch. The bracket's totally unfair."

"Fight, start!"

Before the Referee's words faded, Yajirobe moved.

Despite his bulk, he shot forward like a cannonball.

He crouched low, right arm muscles bulging, his fist driving straight at Mr. Shen's face with a gust of wind.

In that instant, the air seemed to split open from the heavy punch, letting out a dull boom.

No tricks, just pure speed and power.

But just as the fist was about to touch the tip of Mr. Shen's nose—

"Oh dear!"

Mr. Shen yelped, his foot slipping on something slick, his body lurching awkwardly to the left.

He looked like a drunk stepping on a banana peel, utterly ridiculous.

Yet that clumsy, almost embarrassing dodge let Yajirobe's killing blow whistle past his ear.

"Whoosh..."

The punch's wind swept by, sending a few gray hairs drifting down.

Mr. Shen narrowly avoided the fatal strike, stumbling back a few steps, clutching his chest and panting.

"Close call, close call! Almost got my nose flattened! Why's the floor so slippery? Did they just mop and not dry it?"

Yajirobe's eyes went wide, his fist still frozen mid-thrust.

The fat slob might look crude, but as a lifelong hunter in the wild, his instincts were sharp as a beast's.

He'd locked onto the guy's aura with that punch—how could it have missed?

"Just lucky!"

Yajirobe ground his teeth. He refused to believe this frail-looking old man could dodge his fist.

"Quit faking! Let's see how many times you can dodge!"

Yajirobe let out a furious roar, his thick arms turning into a blur as his fists alternated in rapid succession, enveloping every vital point on Mr. Shen's body in an impenetrable net.

The sound of fists tearing through air merged into a continuous roar, like a dense drumbeat.

What happened next left the entire audience stunned, and more than a few couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Mr. Shen looked like a scarecrow swaying in a strong wind, or a clown in a circus.

Facing the sweeping heavy punches, he suddenly bent down to tie his shoelaces.

"Oh, my shoelaces came loose, how embarrassing."