The Boy with the Lollipop
A young man in a red cape, shirt half-buttoned, jeans hanging a little loose, walked down the street. All around him was chaos—trash everywhere, broken pieces of things scattered across the ground, and bodies lying still. He let out a quiet, weary sigh.
This was Local Hero Sean. He was one of the tournament’s contestants, but the scene here felt far beyond any “normal” fight. He knew that while he had to compete, he also had to protect the innocent—keep them from getting swallowed by the ruthless flames of war.
As he walked, Sean spotted a little kid not far ahead, standing there crying. The boy was holding a lollipop in his hand, calling out for his mom and dad over and over. Sean’s chest tightened. He figured the boy had just lost everything—his parents likely caught and killed in the chaos.
He walked over slowly, crouching down as he reached out with his right hand to gently ruffle the boy’s messy, dirt-caked hair.
“Hey, kid. You okay? I’m here—Local Hero Sean. You’re safe now. I’ll help you find your family. Were your parents… killed in all this?”
The boy just kept crying, not saying a word. Still, Sean felt like something was off, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Then he noticed it—the wrist holding the lollipop had a digital watch strapped to it. That’s when Sean finally realized what was wrong. But by then, it was already too late.
The Hidden Sting
Right then, the boy’s lollipop drove straight into Sean’s side. It wasn’t candy at all—it was a hidden weapon, a dagger disguised as a child’s treat. The blade punched clean through one of his kidneys.
Sean clutched his waist, pain shooting through him, but he stayed on his feet. With a sudden burst, he kicked the boy hard, sending him flying several meters away.
“Come on, kid… what happened? Tell me where your parents are,” Sean said. He still thought the boy might have a shot at redemption. The kid looked no more than ten, maybe eight. If Sean could get him locked up in a detention center for a few years, maybe—just maybe—he’d come out a better person.
The boy threw his head back and laughed into the sky. Then he lifted his hand, showing Sean the digital watch on his wrist. The display read: 2 points.
“I just killed my parents not long ago,” the boy said flatly. “Got two points for it.”
Sean froze, uneasy. In that instant, he knew the kid was beyond saving. Whatever hope he’d had vanished completely.
Sean suddenly kicked off the ground, his whole body launching into the air. Mid-flight, he unleashed his signature move—the Horizontal Execution Kick. He flew sideways straight to the boy and slammed his foot into the kid’s head, smashing it to pieces—clean off.
The headless body collapsed to the ground, the watch slipping from its wrist. Sean picked it up.
+1 point.
Stop the Bleeding
Sean ripped off his cape—blood still pouring from his side—and wound it tightly around his waist. The thick fabric became a makeshift bandage, cinched hard until the bleeding slowed. Only then did he start moving forward again, one steady step at a time.
From now on, he told himself, he’d have to be more careful than ever. If even children could be contestants—and use such cold, merciless tricks—then there was no one he could afford to take lightly.
Up ahead, lying in the middle of the road, an old woman was calling out for help. Cars swerved around her. People passed by without stopping.
Sean slowed, every sense on alert. He glanced at her wrist to check for a digital watch, but it was wrapped in a thick layer of cloth. He couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or because of an old injury.
He approached cautiously.
“Ma’am, put your hands behind your head. No sudden moves,” he said.
She obeyed, and Sean slowly helped her up. For a moment, he thought she was just an innocent bystander. Then, from between her lips, a thin black needle slid out—aimed straight for his heart.
At this range, without preparation, it would have killed him instantly. But the lesson from the boy earlier still burned in his mind. The moment the needle left her mouth, Sean spat from above, the glob hitting it mid-flight and knocking it to the ground.
The old woman hadn’t expected him to block her attack. Her mouth began moving again—ready to fire a second needle.
The moment Sean saw her mouth muscles tense, he lunged forward and clamped her jaws shut with both hands. The needle, forced by the built-up pressure, changed course—shooting out the side of her neck instead. It tore straight through her carotid artery.
Blood sprayed violently. Within seconds, the old woman collapsed to the ground, twitching as the life drained out of her.
Sean stood, breathing hard, a cold sweat running down his back.
“It’s too close,” he muttered. Without another glance, he kept moving. From now on, he told himself, he’d have to be even more careful.
Up ahead, a young woman was walking down the road, pushing a baby stroller. Sean’s eyes went to her immediately. She was stunning—graceful, pure, with a smile that could have belonged to an angel. More importantly, she was wearing short sleeves, and her wrists were bare. No digital watch. That meant she wasn’t a contestant.
Relieved, Sean slowed as he passed her.
“Hey, ma’am,” he said, “you need to be careful. The city’s a mess right now. I’d suggest going home and staying in for a couple of days. Too many contestants out there—crazy for points. They might hurt innocent people.”
The woman smiled softly. “It’s fine. I just wanted to take my child out for some fresh air and sunshine.”
She bent over the stroller, cooing at her baby. The one-year-old laughed brightly.
Sean looked at the baby’s innocent, unguarded face and couldn’t help but smile. Today, he’d seen too much deceit and malice—from children to the elderly—and it made him think that maybe the only truly pure thing left in this world was a newborn.
He leaned in and made a playful bubbling sound. The baby giggled back at him. For one fleeting moment, in the middle of this chaotic city, Sean found a rare and quiet sense of peace.
The Angel Turns
It happened in the one moment Sean had no guard up—because he truly believed this baby was safe.
Without warning, the child sprang into the air. A tiny hand, sharp as a blade, slashed across Sean’s neck. Blood spilled instantly, warm against his skin. In that flash, Sean saw it—the digital watch strapped to the baby’s wrist. The mother wasn’t a contestant… but the child was.
A stampede of curses tore through his mind.
“Shit,” he growled. “I didn’t see this coming.”
Still, the kid’s skill wasn’t fully developed yet. The slash had cut Sean’s neck, but hadn’t gone deep enough to be fatal. Sean struck back instantly, driving a punch toward the child. The baby crossed both arms to block—revealing that, at less than a year old, he already knew martial arts.
Sean’s thoughts hardened. This was a child who could never be allowed to grow up. At this age, he was already this vicious—raise him well and he could become a powerful talent; raise him wrong, and he could destroy society.
The mother, seeing the situation, rushed forward to stop Sean. He caught her mid-charge and threw her over his shoulder, sending her tumbling several meters away. She wasn’t seriously hurt, but she was out of the fight—and couldn’t interfere.
The baby scrambled up from the ground, ran a few steps, then leapt into the air with a flying kick. But his legs were too short. Sean stepped back twice, letting the kick slice through empty air, then caught hold of the tiny leg as the boy came down—gripping it tight.
From the ground, the mother screamed, “Please, don’t hurt my child! He’s just a kid!”
But it was already too late. Sean spun twice in place, then slammed the child into the ground with brutal force. The small body hit the pavement with a sickening crunch, reduced to nothing more than a smear of flesh.
Sean didn’t look back. He walked away, leaving behind only a young mother, collapsed on the ground, sobbing in the raw, hollow pain of losing her child.
Three More Points
And just like that, Sean’s watch showed three more points—three encounters in a row with people who had looked perfectly normal, but turned out to be contestants, each one vicious and relentless.
Now, Sean was on high alert. Anyone he saw, he automatically assumed they were a contestant. He couldn’t afford even the smallest mistake—one slip, and he could be the next to fall.
Just then, an old man came speeding past on a bicycle. Suddenly, the bike hit a large rock. The old man must not have seen it—at least, that’s how it looked. The bike stopped dead, and the man flew several meters through the air before slamming onto the ground.
He cried out in pain, but no one went to help him. In the sweltering heat, he was wearing a heavy coat, making it impossible to see if there was a watch on his wrist. One look was enough for Sean to decide—this old man had to be a contestant. The act was just a little too fake.
Sean stopped a meter away, keeping his distance.
“I’m not helping you up,” he said flatly. “Get up on your own. Your tricks won’t fool me. You’re even faker than the last three.”
The old man lay trembling, spitting a mouthful of blood.
“I’m not a contestant,” he groaned. “Help me up. Call me an ambulance—please. I think I’m done for. My leg’s broken.”
Sean studied him. The injuries looked real enough… but he wasn’t about to be fooled again. He shook his head.
“No. I’ve had enough of this. If you don’t get up right now, don’t blame me for what happens next.”
He began counting down.
“Ten… nine… eight… seven… six…”
The old man struggled desperately, managing to almost get to his feet. But with his leg broken, he collapsed back to the ground.
In that instant, Sean grabbed him by the collar, hauled him upward, and kicked him into the air. As the body rose, Sean aimed a punch straight for the man’s chest, ready to blow through it entirely.
The old man’s eyes went wide, locking onto Sean’s—then his whole body went stiff.
Sean immediately seized both wrists, turning them over. No watch. The old man wasn’t a contestant at all—just an ordinary passerby.
“Shit,” Sean muttered.
That day, Sean had killed several people. But his watch still showed the same three points. A deep, lingering shame sat heavy in his chest. Yet as time passed, it was as if nothing had happened.