The Grand Opening
The next day came quickly. The main arena was dressed up in an over-the-top way, covered with balloons and wreaths, like some strange mix of a wedding and a street fair. This was the stage for the grand finals — impressive, but also a little ridiculous.
In the center stood thirty-two contestants, lined up in a neat row, facing the roaring crowd. Among them were familiar faces: Ginello, Carl, Michael, Raymond — plus a whole bunch of others, even several aunties who somehow made it this far.
Just as the crowd settled, a sudden roar came from above. A helicopter dropped out of the clouds, piloted by Mr. Wei. Hanging below it was a long rope, and at the very end of it dangled a man.
Clutching the rope with one hand and a microphone with the other, the man swung in the air but spoke with full energy. He was today’s host — Mr. Sheng.
“Welcome, everyone, to the grand finals!” His voice boomed through the mic, like some surreal rock concert in the sky. “This lineup of thirty-two is one of the strongest ever! And look at this — sixteen aunties among them. What an unbelievable, once-in-a-lifetime sight!
“But unfortunately, the Queen of the Aunties… didn’t make it here.”
The moment he said that, the audience erupted. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of aunties in the stands raised their banners and shouted at the top of their lungs:
“Aunties, go!”
“Aunties will win!”
The chants rolled like waves, shaking the arena. At the same time, other fans booed loudly, clapping and heckling, each side rooting for their own favorites. The noise clashed together, messy and wild, but it only made the whole scene feel more absurdly alive.
The Helicopter Lands
The opening dragged on with a dull speech that barely lasted a minute. As soon as it ended, the helicopter suddenly dipped, shooting straight toward the ground.
Inside the cockpit, Mr. Wei leaned out of the window, too impatient to wait.
“Friends, ladies and gentlemen! I can’t wait to get down there, back to my commentator’s booth, and see the first match. I know none of you can wait for the real fight either!”
He hadn’t even finished before the helicopter slammed down with a deafening bang. Something hit the ground hard, followed by a sharp scream that cut across the arena.
On the floor lay a man in a crumpled, bloody heap — Mr. Sheng. He had been knocked out cold. Turns out, in the rush to land, Mr. Wei had completely forgotten about the host dangling beneath the helicopter.
Mr. Wei stepped out through the cabin door, finally noticing the scene behind him: medics were already rushing over with a stretcher, hauling Mr. Sheng away. He shrugged, muttered, “Oops! Totally forgot he was back there,” and brushed it off.
Without missing a beat, he raised the mic again.
“But that’s not important. Let’s get straight to the first match! Though, before we begin, I’d like to invite our sponsor for this grand event — DeepSak’s CEO, Mr. Carl — to say a few words.”
Wei strode quickly into the line of contestants. Standing among them was a tall, skinny figure with two enormous bat wings stretched out behind him. Wei pushed the mic toward him.
“Mr. Carl, would you like to address the finals?”
Carl took the microphone, cleared his throat, and began to speak.
The Sponsor’s Words and the First Match
Carl’s wings cast long shadows as he spoke. “Welcome, everyone, to the grand finals. Since we have sixteen aunties among the contestants, why don’t we make the first round a little more interesting? Each fighter will draw an auntie at random. Let’s see whose fighting style turns out the most creative. Whoever impresses me the most… gets a thousand bucks.”
He gave a small nod, as if that settled it. “No more talk. Let’s begin.”
The crowd buzzed with excitement and confusion, some cheering wildly, others shouting that it was unfair. Mr. Wei, meanwhile, had already dashed back to his broadcast booth, eager to deliver his commentary the moment things kicked off.
Up in the judges’ seats, three of the Four Kings — Khan, Joshua, and Mario — sat like stone. Their faces showed almost no excitement at all, as if they were watching something routine.
The first draw was announced: Chief Wayne. A giant, nearly five meters tall, stepped out from behind the wall. Each stride shook the concrete, leaving cracks where his feet landed.
Across from him shuffled an auntie, simply called Auntie A. She held her weapon — just a pair of chopsticks. Looking up at the massive figure, her voice trembled: “Guess I’m unlucky… drew the strongest one right away.”
Wayne didn’t wait. With two steps he was on her, scooped her up in one hand, and tossed her into his mouth. No chewing, just a single gulp.
“Didn’t have breakfast today,” he said, brushing his hands off like nothing happened. “Looks like the first round’s already over.”
The Judges Speak
Out of nowhere, the Attack on Titan soundtrack blasted across the arena, heavy and tragic, filling the air with exaggerated drama.
Chief Wayne lifted his head, nodding along as if he had ordered the music himself. “Wow, even the atmosphere matches perfectly. This soundtrack captures the horror of what just happened. Too powerful.” He turned toward the judges’ table. “Let’s hear what the judges have to say.”
Joshua spoke first, his voice calm. “That move looked cool, sure. But it only works against weak opponents. If Wayne tried it on someone stronger, they could probably blow his throat apart from the inside. That would backfire quickly.”
Mario leaned into the mic. “Yeah. If it were me, I’d use Tornado Blade. Slice the giant from the inside out, cut him into meat scraps.”
Then Mario passed the microphone to Khan. Khan looked bored. “Oh, I don’t really have anything interesting to say. But I do hear something—too much noise. Who’s blasting that music?”
He stretched out his hand. From across the arena, a radio player lifted into the air and flew toward him. With a single punch, he smashed it into pieces. The Attack on Titan theme cut off instantly.
Khan’s voice was flat. “Whoever played that annoying track—next time I’ll turn you into air.”
Down in the crowd, a few of Wayne’s henchmen dropped to their knees, trembling. “Please forgive us! We won’t play it again. Our Chief just loves that music during his attacks!”
Khan gave a small shrug. “Fine. But there won’t be a next time.”
The men froze. Their pants were already soaked, fear written all over their faces. They shook violently, unable to even stand back up.
Back in the booth, Mr. Wei’s voice cut in, trying to keep the show moving. “Look at those pants—if you can’t tell how terrified they are now, you’ll never understand fear. After all, Khan is the strongest man in the world. The pinnacle of the Kung Fu world. Enough stalling—let’s get to the next round.”
The Second Round
The nameless man stepped onto the arena floor. Across from him stood Auntie B, clutching her weapon — a simple ceramic bowl.
From the booth, Mr. Wei’s voice rose with mock curiosity. “A ceramic bowl as a weapon? What kind of secret move could that hold? It looks dumb, sure, but sometimes the dumbest things are secretly deadly.”
The fight began. The nameless man shot forward, lightning fast. In a single motion, he reached inside Auntie B’s collar, brushed across her chest, then pulled his hand back out.
Auntie B gasped, her face red with shock. “You pervert!” she shouted, loud enough to echo through the arena.
Wei nearly fell off his chair. “Oh my god! There are children watching this broadcast! This is way too indecent! Do we cancel his qualification right here?”
The camera cut to the judges’ table. Joshua, Mario, and Khan lazily waved their hands in unison. “Continue,” they said, almost in chorus.
Just then, Auntie B ripped at her clothes, tearing them open in anger. The crowd erupted—then froze. Beneath her yellow undershirt was something strapped tight to her chest.
A bomb.
The truth hit all at once: the nameless man hadn’t been groping her at all. He had planted an explosive device, sealed firmly against her body.
Gasps swept through the arena. Wei’s voice cracked over the mic: “Wait—what?! He wasn’t being indecent… he was strapping on a bomb!?”
From Bowl to Bomb
The ceramic bowl slipped from Auntie B’s hands, clattering to the ground. It shattered instantly, water spilling everywhere.
Wei stared at it in disbelief. “So it wasn’t some hidden secret weapon after all. Just a plain bowl. That’s it.”
But the match was far from over. The nameless man darted toward the edge of the arena, a detonator in hand. Auntie B clawed frantically at her chest, trying to rip the bomb loose, but it was glued fast to her bra.
In desperation, she unhooked it, baring herself in front of the whole arena.
Somewhere outside, a middle-aged man watching the broadcast choked on his drink and sprayed water everywhere. “Oh my god! This is way too much for roommates to be watching, damn it!” he shouted.
Back in the arena, before Auntie B could take another step, the device went off. The blast thundered across the stage, reducing her to blood and scraps of flesh in an instant.
Wei’s eyes widened. “Oh shit… it all makes sense now. Yesterday’s atomic blast — it was him. This nameless guy… he’s the bomber.”
The scene cut to a hospital room. Robinson and Brian lay in separate beds, wrapped in bandages, watching the broadcast on a flickering TV.
Both sat up, shouting at once: “Oh shit! It was this loser who blew us up! Next time we see him, we’re smashing his face into a pig’s head!”