A Casual Entry
Right after the previous auntie got blown into pieces, the organizers didn’t waste even a second—they jumped straight into the second round, not even bothering to clean the stage. At that moment, an auntie walked in, her name was Auntie C. Her opponents crawled in right after—Dave riding on top of Norman, and Norman on all fours like a dog, slowly dragging himself to the center of the arena.
Auntie C was holding a weapon in her hand—a spoon. She raised it, pointing at Dave and Norman. “What the fuck are you guys doing? You can’t both be in here at the same time. I don’t even know why you’re still allowed in this tournament.”
Mr. Wei, sitting off to the side, calmly explained, “Our organizers approved their combined mentality as one single unit in this tournament. So them being here together is perfectly legal, reasonable, and compliant.”
Auntie C didn’t care anymore. She lowered her body, spoon in hand, ready to launch an attack. But right then, Dave slowly lifted up a bottle of Coke, cracked it open, and started sipping in front of everyone.
“Man, it’s been a long time since I had Coke. Feels so guilty. I’m gonna hit the gym tonight to train my muscles, since I’ve already taken in way too much sugar today.”
Norman looked at him and shouted, “Fuck you, why’d you only bring one? Why don’t I get a Coke too? I want one!” The two of them just kept chatting casually, completely ignoring Auntie C standing there.
Norman suddenly tilted his head back and howled at the sky, like a wolf. Auntie C stared at the two of them doing all this weird shit, and finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. She cursed, “Fuck your mother, treating me like I’m invisible here! I’ll show you what it means to be a real Auntie.”
The Dog Invasion
Just as Auntie C was about to strike, a pack of dogs suddenly stormed in from outside—big ones, small ones, all shapes and sizes. In an instant, Auntie C was surrounded.
“What the fuck? Why are there so many dogs here?” she shouted. She swung her spoon wildly and smacked one on the head. The poor dog collapsed, knocked out cold. But the rest of the pack immediately rushed her, biting and clawing.
Norman sighed from the sidelines. “Oh, my children… always feed yourself.”
Turns out, those were the very dogs summoned by his earlier howl.
Auntie C kept swinging her spoon like crazy, but it was too late. The dogs tore her apart, leaving nothing but bones. One even snapped off a rib and ran away with it through the wall.
Mr. Wei, watching calmly, commented, “Huh. What did this auntie ever do to piss off so many dogs? Looks like before the fight even started, our two-man fusion team already claimed victory.”
Obviously, Mr. Wei had no idea—Norman was the king of dogs, with the power to command them.
Dave, meanwhile, finished the very last drop of his Coke. He tilted the can above his head, letting that single drop slide down his throat. He let out a deep breath, satisfied. “Tasty.” Then he casually tossed the empty can into the middle of the arena.
And just like that, he and Norman slowly walked out together. A perfectly clean and easy victory.
The Mop and the Beggar
The staff rushed in, swept the pile of broken bones straight into a trash bin, and wheeled it away. Mr. Wei wasted no time. He stood up and shouted, “Next round starts immediately!”
Walking in now was Auntie D. Her weapon? A mop. She slung it over her shoulder, chewing on a toothpick with a cocky look on her face.
From the other side of the arena came her opponent—a tall man, head down, with a bit of a belly. His clothes were filthy, torn, and hanging off him. He was a homeless guy. His name was Tom. Behind him, stuck to his pants, was something yellow. Probably shit.
Tom slowly raised himself up, and Mr. Wei narrowed his eyes. “What kind of dirty trick is this sleazy man about to use? Look at that stance… he’s setting up for some secret move.”
But Tom only bent down, picked up the Coke can Dave had finished earlier, and slipped it into his pocket. The corner of his mouth curled into a little smile.
“Sweet. That’s another five cents.”
Right then, Auntie D charged forward. She swung the mop across his face. Tom’s face was smeared instantly with a mess of yellow, white, and black gunk—most likely shit.
Tom looked at her, annoyed. “What the hell is that? You trying to steal my Coke can? I picked it up, it’s mine, it’s all mine. Go find your own trash somewhere else.”
Auntie D didn’t stop. She went crazy, swinging the mop and smashing it against his body over and over.
Tom groaned, “Alright, alright, if you keep this up I won’t hold back. It’s just a Coke can! You can find one in any trash bin. Don’t fight me for this, Auntie, Auntie… bird’s got no soup…”
The mop cracked across him again, hard enough to snap hairs from his head and send them flying into the air.
“You beggar!” Auntie D shouted. “I’ll beat you till even your mother won’t recognize you!”
Tom clutched his head, mumbling, “Oh shit… looks like if she doesn’t get this Coke can, she won’t let me go. Guess I’ll just have to reflect on my life right now.”
A False Victory
Tom realized he had no way out. He grabbed both of Auntie D’s arms, yanked her close, and started running in place, knees pumping high. Each strike drove into her stomach like a relentless piston. He kept at it for a full minute.
Blood burst from Auntie D’s mouth as she collapsed, unconscious. Tom lifted her limp body and tossed her straight out of the arena.
It was over—an easy win. Tom advanced to the next round.
But then, another figure walked in. Medium build, muscular. It was Jackie Chan—a famous dance instructor. He looked straight at Tom and snapped, “What the fuck are you doing here, man?”
From the commentary booth, Mr. Wei cleared his throat. “Ah, it turns out this homeless guy was never a contestant at all. He was just a random passerby. The real competitor is Jackie Chan. Looks like Jackie moves on to the next round without even fighting.”
Security rushed in, grabbed Tom, and dragged him away.
As they hauled him off, Tom shouted, “I was just here to pick up cans! Don’t take me to the cops—I didn’t steal anything!” He bolted for the exit, but on the way, he scooped up one of the dogs that had been knocked out earlier and slung it over his shoulder, sprinting wildly.
In his head, he thought, Finally, maybe a decent dinner tonight. Dog soup, perhaps.
But he didn’t get far. A shadow blocked his path. It was Norman.
Norman roared, “Put that dog down. I know exactly what you’re trying to do. Not happening. I watch over every one of my children.”
Tom frowned, frustrated. “Man, first someone tries to steal my Coke can, and now someone’s stealing my dog meat? What the hell… can’t I just get one good dinner today?”
The Fair Division
Tom let out a helpless sigh. With no way out, he grabbed the dog tighter and, in a burst of desperation, tore one of its legs clean off. He held it out to Norman.
“Here, brother, take this leg. Boil it up, it’ll taste good. The rest is mine.”
The dog shrieked in agony, the pain shocking it awake. Blood poured from the wound as it whimpered weakly in Tom’s arms, pitiful and broken.
Norman’s eyes widened. He snatched the severed leg, shouting, “Imbecile! What have you done to my children?” He raised one hand, claws sharp as blades, ready to deliver a fatal strike that could slice Tom clean in half.
But before he could, a flash cut between them—a samurai blade blocking Norman’s claw. The man holding it was Mario, one of the Four Kings, who had just been sitting calmly at the chairman’s table.
“Hey,” Mario said casually, “no need to get violent over a dog.”
The dying dog looked up at him with a flicker of hope, tongue hanging, eyes filled with longing. Mario just sighed. “It’s only dog meat. No point fighting over scraps. Let me divide it fairly for you.”
Before Norman could react, Mario’s blade moved in a blur. In one clean motion, the dog was sliced into a dozen pieces. He neatly arranged them on a platter, then pulled out a leg and handed it to Tom.
“Here. One leg each. Fair. No need for violence when distribution can be solved equally.”
Tom stood frozen, still processing. Mario cocked his head. “What? You don’t like that leg?” He tossed it back onto the platter and handed Tom a dog’s head instead. “Here. Take the head. I hear people like you—homeless types—enjoy the strange parts the most.”
Norman’s face twisted with madness. His child—cut up before his eyes. His legs stretched long, trembling with fury. Just as he was about to explode, Dave rushed in, grabbed Norman by the shoulders, and yelled, “Hey, don’t lose it! You can’t beat Mario. He’s one of the Four Kings. Let it go. It’s just a dog. We’ll bury the right leg and hope it comes back luckier in the next life.”
Norman’s rage trembled in his chest, but Dave held him firm. Step by step, Dave dragged Norman away from the arena.
Hotpot and Bat Wings
Mr. Wei stood up and clapped his hands. “Ah, excellent! No wonder Mario is one of the Four Kings. Fast, precise, and fair—making sure everyone gets their share. Truly outstanding!”
Mario simply nodded, carrying the platter of dog meat back to the chairman’s table. Joshua was already waiting there with a pot of water boiling over the fire.
“It’s hotpot time,” Joshua said, grinning. “I had my eye on that dog earlier, but looks like this homeless guy grabbed it first. Excellent work, Mario.”
Mario gave a faint smile. “Let’s dig in.”
And so, with food on the table, the three chairmen and the referee happily ate while watching the next round unfold, as if it were dinner and a show.
Who would be next?
An auntie stepped slowly into the arena. On the opposite side, no one appeared. The stage was empty—until you looked up.
From above, a man came gliding down with two enormous bat wings stretched wide.
It was Karl himself—the sponsor of the tournament. And somehow, he was also stepping in as a competitor.