Qingxiao sneered with utter disdain, as though he had heard some fantastic nonsense. "You?"
"Me." Takaba puffed out his chest and slapped his scrawny chest with a couple of loud smacks:
"Once an angry ordinary guy gets an adrenaline rush, muscleheads like you are the bottom of the combat rankings."
Takaba walked around twice, then suddenly stopped and pulled a syringe from his inner pocket. The clear liquid inside gleamed coldly under the backstage lights.
He rolled up his sleeve, ready to stick it into his arm.
Qingxiao saw him in the mirror and raised an eyebrow:
"You shoot Nine Dragons too?"
"Oh, get lost." Takaba rolled his eyes at him. "I don't want to hear tragic news from the bodybuilding world. This is adrenaline!"
"I think there's something wrong with your brain. Stay away from me."
At that, Takaba moved even closer.
Qingxiao began counting, his voice low, each word forced out like a countdown:
"I'll count to three. Get away from me."
Takaba brought his face even closer, his nose almost touching Qingxiao's chin, and replied with a cheeky grin:
"What a small fry you are, senior."
"One." Qingxiao's fist was already clenched.
"Small fry, small fry."
Qingxiao couldn't take it anymore. He raced through two and three in his head and threw a punch.
It was a clean, sharp straight punch, fast and vicious, that slammed into Takaba's face.
Takaba's feet left the ground as though he had been hit by a truck, and he flew more than half a meter.
He finally crashed heavily onto the stage floor with a dull thud, then lay facedown without moving.
Fake blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and seeped into the cracks in the stage floor, a dazzling red.
A false tooth flew out of his mouth,