The Rules, the Crowd, and the First Blood
Mr. Wei stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand, and announced the rules for the first round.
For the next twenty-four hours, each contestant would be dropped off in a different part of the city. Everyone wore an electronic watch that looked like a GPS tracker. It not only tracked their location but could also black out the display on command. The city was wired for surveillance—every watch feeding in data, while drones hovered in the skies, recording every detail.
The scoring was simple: knock someone out, cripple them, kill them, or force them to surrender—one point. At the end of the day, everyone would return to the arena, and the top thirty-two scorers would advance to round two.
The contestants grinned with confidence. Even an old lady leaning on a cane was smiling. “Too easy,” she said. “This is way simpler than I thought.” She barely got the words out when a contestant came sprinting past, laser-focused on something ahead, not even seeing her. His shoulder clipped hers hard. She staggered, dropped her cane, and collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. No scream, no struggle—just silence.
The crowd froze for a moment. Then a drone camera zoomed in on her body. Somewhere backstage, the scoring system beeped, and the runner’s watch ticked up by one point.
Soon after, buses and helicopters began ferrying contestants to their assigned drop-off points. A few, along with some staff, went on foot. The battleground was five square kilometers wide, and there was only one real rule: there were no rules. Across the city, civilians sat glued to their TV screens, flipping channels to watch different corners of the action. In the broadcast booth, Mr. Seng and Mr. Wei randomly picked fights to stream live, sending the most explosive moments into living rooms.
The Aunties’ First Hunt
Four middle-aged aunties had been assigned to the same park. They huddled together under a tree, whispering like they were plotting a weekend bargain raid.
“Here’s the plan,” one said. “We stay hidden here. If we see anyone with one of those electronic watches, two of us distract them from the front, one flanks from the side, and the last one—” She mimed stabbing someone. “—we take them out and score a point.”
The others nodded like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.
Just then, a young man jogged into view, wearing a watch and holding a phone, watching the tournament livestream as he ran. The aunties’ eyes lit up. Their first victim. Three of them quickly moved to block his path.
“Hey, handsome, stop for a second. We just wanna ask you something,” one said. Her clothes dipped low enough to show cleavage, but her body was so large that the effect wasn’t exactly seductive.
The young man glanced at them. “Oh, you’ve got the wrong idea. Yeah, I’m wearing a watch, but it’s a Swiss luxury watch, not your tracker. I’m not a contestant—I’m just watching the match.”
They didn’t care. One of the aunties planted her foot on a bench and yanked up her skirt, exposing a thick, dark thigh that looked like it hadn’t seen soap in days. The jogger shuddered head to toe. “I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to do. Can I go now?”
That’s when the fourth auntie came up behind him with a knife. Luckily, he sensed it, spun around, and smacked her hand hard enough to knock the blade to the ground.
“What the fuck are you doing, man? I told you I’m not a contestant!”
Then he really let them have it—cussing them out, dragging their parents, their ancestors, their ancestors’ ancestors. When he was done, he just kept jogging, shaking his head. Looking down at his phone, he realized the whole tirade had been broadcast live. On-screen, Mr. Sang was commentating with the same enthusiasm he reserved for fights.
“This young man’s swearing ability is truly impressive,” he said. “Kids watching at home—please, do not try this yourselves.”
Dave Enters the Game
The aunties kept waiting in the park for hours, with almost nothing to show for it—just a few unlucky bystanders stabbed along the way, and not a single point earned.
Then, out of nowhere, a tall, broad-shouldered man strolled past wearing nothing but a pair of pink women’s triangle underwear. His name was Dave.
The three front-line aunties went into their usual routine—blocking his path, flashing cleavage, hiking skirts to show thick inner thighs. This time, another one decided to go all out: she yanked off her top entirely, revealing sagging breasts in a display that was more unsettling than seductive.
Dave scratched his head, genuinely confused. “What exactly are you doing? I don’t get it.”
Before he could get an answer, a shadow stepped up behind him. A blade drove straight toward his waist—then snap! The sound of metal breaking rang out. The sword had shattered.
The attacker froze, clutching the broken hilt. “No way… his body’s harder than steel?!”
Dave turned his head lazily. “Yeah. My muscles really are harder than steel. You didn’t know?”
That’s when he noticed all four of them were wearing the tournament’s electronic watches. Suddenly it clicked—these weren’t just random middle-aged women with zero martial skills. They were contestants, chasing that eight-million-dollar prize.
He couldn’t believe such obvious weaklings had entered. But he didn’t care. He decided to take all four points right now.
His first punch crushed the face of the auntie behind him. Beep! +1 point.
He swung a kick at another auntie, sending her flying more than ten meters before she crashed into a decorative fountain. The water turned red instantly. Beep! Another point.
The Last Chase
The last two aunties weren’t as helpless as they looked. In fact, they possessed one of the most powerful escape techniques in the world—Gale Step. They seemed to float a few centimeters above the ground, moving so fast their feet barely touched it. Up ahead, two pedestrians were walking shoulder to shoulder, leaving only a narrow gap between them. The aunties slipped right through the space without even brushing them. Amazing.
Dave didn’t bother chasing at full speed. Instead, he lazily extended one leg—except it stretched five meters long in an instant. His foot slammed into one auntie’s back, punching straight through her body and out her chest. Her entire body went limp and damp, hanging in midair. Beep. +1 point.
The last auntie panicked. She launched her ultimate move, leaping sideways into the air, arms tight at her sides, legs locked straight—a perfect human rocket. Her shins brushed against a burst of flame, propelling her forward at a blistering speed, easily over a hundred kilometers per hour.
She was seconds from escaping when something leapt from behind a tree. It wasn’t just an animal—it was Norman, the Dog Man.
In one clean motion, he clamped his jaws around her neck mid-flight and dragged her down to the ground like prey. Then came a brutal death roll, tearing her head clean off. The severed head bounced along the ground like a basketball, rolling several times before stopping.
Beep. Another point for Dave.
Dave and Norman walked over to each other, calm as ever.
“These people are way too weak,” Dave said. “Think we can pull in a hundred, maybe two hundred points by the time we get back to the arena tomorrow?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Norman replied. “Not if everyone in the North District is as pathetic as these four.”
Their precise, efficient performance was broadcast to every corner of the city. Viewers clapped and cheered from their living rooms. “Oh yeah, baby,” one shouted at the screen. “That’s the show we love to watch!”
Blood in the Red-Light District
Michael had been assigned to a street in the red-light district. The whole place was dead quiet—no one in sight. Looked like today was going to be a bad day for scoring points.
Then, out of nowhere, an old man burst out of a massage parlor. Behind him, a woman in nothing but a towel came storming after him, shouting, “You old bastard, you didn’t pay! People like you—enjoying the special service and running without paying—you’re why our shop loses so much money every year!”
Michael’s instincts kicked in. Without a word, he flashed forward, grabbing the old man by the collar and lifting him into the air.
“You’re gonna pay the 150-dollar massage fee,” he said coldly, “and another 150 as a penalty for wasting my time. If you don’t have the money, I’ll just cut your head off.”
The old man begged for mercy, saying he had nothing—he was just a homeless beggar. Michael snarled, “Then you shouldn’t have gone for such an expensive service.” Without another word, and without even blinking, he swung his weapon and took the man’s head clean off. Blood sprayed across the entire street.
Beep. +1 point. Turns out the old man had been a contestant all along. Michael shook his head. Why the hell would a contestant stop mid-tournament to get a special massage? Whatever.
A few streets away, another Humble Organization member, Raymond, was surrounded by more than a dozen gangsters. “Give it up,” one of them sneered. “We’re taking that point.”
Raymond didn’t even glance at them. He slammed a fist into the ground. The pavement shattered instantly, cracking into a spiderweb pattern. The shockwave hit so hard that the gangsters’ bodies blurred for a split second—then every last one of them spat blood, reeling from massive concussions.
His watch went off in a rapid beep-beep-beep-beep, like it was broken. In one move, he’d scored thirteen points. Raymond’s face didn’t change. He just kept walking.
At a crossroads, he ran into Michael. They didn’t greet each other—just exchanged a brief glance before walking side by side down the street. On TV, viewers across the city saw the moment and murmured in awe.
As Mr. Sang put it, “The Humble Organization’s members are as strong as their reputation. With Michael and Raymond together… they’re practically unstoppable.”
The Dark Corners of the Game
With millions in prize money on the line, and the chaos of the tournament as the backdrop, the darkest corners of human nature were on full display. In every street, in every alley, scenes unfolded that no one could have predicted.
Two close girlfriends were walking side by side, both contestants. “We need to find someone to ambush,” one said. “That’s the only way we’ll score points.” She never saw it coming—her best friend suddenly drove a blade straight into her heart. She turned her head, eyes wide, trying to speak, but it was too late. She was gone, and her friend had earned herself an easy point.
In a pitch-black alley, a man passed by a woman leaning against the wall, smoking. He was a contestant too, but he wasn’t here to win—just to see what he could get out of the game. He raised his watch-wearing wrist and said, “How about this? I surrender, if you… give me something in return.” The woman looked him up and down, then shrugged. “Alright.” Moments later, in the shadows of the alley, they struck their deal—he gave up, she gained a point.
Out in the middle of a road, an old granny lay sprawled on the asphalt. Concerned passersby rushed over to help her up. The moment they reached down, she whipped out a dagger and stabbed them dead. She repeated this trick again and again, racking up more than ten points in no time.
And these were just a few of the countless schemes playing out across the city.
In the broadcast booth, Mr. Seng and Mr. Wei shook their heads in disbelief. “Looks like people in this society are getting more strategic,” Mr. Seng said. “Some of these folks are brilliant tacticians. Fighting isn’t always about raw strength—it’s about cunning.” Mr. Wei nodded in agreement.
But back in living rooms across the city, many viewers sat staring at their screens, wondering if maybe—just maybe—it had all gone a little too far.