Reverse Gear
After finishing their stroll through the AI exhibition, Kyle stretched and rubbed his stomach.
“I’m kinda hungry. Can’t believe it’s almost noon already. Wanna hit McDonald’s?”
Dinello lit up.
“Oh yeah, baby. Let’s go.”
The two turned and started walking in the direction of the food court.
But just a few steps in, they noticed someone approaching them—slowly, eerily.
It was a short, scrawny guy with a face full of pimples. He wore a neatly buttoned Zhongshan suit—every button fastened to the top. His hair was carefully parted down the middle, combed flat with precision.
But the strange part wasn’t just his outfit.
It was the fact that his face was looking directly at them…
but so was his back.
He was walking backward, but his head had been twisted 180 degrees—staring at them while his feet stepped away. A sick, unnatural motion. Like something out of a horror film.
Kyle shivered.
“That’s… not right. That’s not human.”
But Dinello recognized him instantly.
“Wait a sec… no way. That’s Pimple Face.”
It was. Pimple Face—Dinello’s current classmate. He had looked relatively normal just a few days ago. Now, his face had been spun around like a broken doll.
Dinello stepped forward, amused.
“Hey, loser. What the hell happened to your face? You look all damn.”
Pimple Face’s lips quivered. His whole mouth moved like he was trying not to gag.
“I-I was just studying at a bubble tea shop the other day… minding my own business… when this crazy pervert walked in—wearing triangle-shaped pink women’s underwear. Just that. Nothing else. Out of nowhere, he came over and twisted my head. Just—cranked it. Like this.”
He gestured clumsily with his thumb, pointing behind him.
“I was lucky,” he added, tears starting to form in his eyes. “If I weren’t so flexible, my neck would’ve snapped right then and there.”
Dinello muttered, “Triangle. Pink. Woman’s underwear… oh damn.”
He knew immediately.
There was only one person that stupid, that aggressive, and that underqualified in martial arts.
Dave.
The idiot with steel-hard muscles and toddler-level combat instincts.
Dinello casually pulled out his phone and snapped a few pics of Pimple Face—framing it just right. A perfect Instagram story.
No caption needed.
Then, slipping his phone back into his pocket, he asked with fake concern,
“Did you go to a hospital? Try to fix it?”
Pimple Face sniffled.
“Yeah. But the doctor said… if they try to twist it back, I could snap my spine. One wrong move and I’m paralyzed. Or dead.”
Dinello didn’t respond. He didn’t care.
He simply turned back to Kyle, nodded, and the two of them walked away—heading toward McDonald’s like nothing had happened.
Pimple Face, still walking backward, slowly faded into the distance behind them.
They passed each other. Just like that.
One forward. One reversed.
Different directions. Different lives.
Underwear No More
Dinello and Kyle strolled side by side through the mall. As they passed the tech expo booths, Dinello muttered to himself, “Can’t believe Dave’s still out here picking on our classmates.”
But as soon as the words left his mouth, he stopped short.
“Speak of the devil… there’s the devil,” he said.
Walking toward them was a muscle-bound figure—Dave.
But something was off.
Gone was the arrogant fire from before. His eyes were cold now. Empty. Like whatever spark had driven him was long gone.
“Hey! Geek! How’s it going?” Dinello shouted.
Dave glanced up for half a second, then looked away and kept walking like he hadn’t heard anything.
Dinello didn’t let that slide. He walked up and blocked Dave’s path—face to face, chest to chest. Tension hung in the air.
Dinello had to look up slightly—Dave was taller. But Dave just stood there, head lowered like a deflated balloon, no resistance in his body at all.
Dinello’s gaze swept over him. And then he saw it.
The pink women’s underwear—the infamous triangle—was gone.
In fact, Dave was completely naked. His body fully exposed, except for a censor blur kindly placed over his waist and thighs by the narrator.
Dinello narrowed his eyes and said dryly,
“Hey, the infamous underwear—what the fuck happened to you? You look like a damn whipped dog. No fight left in you.”
Dave replied in a low, expressionless voice,
“What a joke. Calling me underwear? I don’t even have my underwear on.”
Then he walked around Dinello without another word, keeping his head down.
Dinello watched him go. He had more insults ready—but looking at Dave’s hollow posture and dead eyes, he decided it wasn’t worth it.
He just wasn’t feeling it anymore.
Dave hadn’t walked more than fifty steps before a small group of petty gangsters blocked his way.
“Hey! Hand over your cash!” one of them shouted.
Another sneered, “He’s not even wearing clothes. Where the hell would he be hiding money?”
“Wasting my damn time,” muttered the third.
He stepped forward and slapped Dave across the face.
The others joined in, punching and kicking at random. Dave didn’t defend himself. He just stood still, his muscles absorbing the blows with almost no reaction.
Dinello shook his head and turned back to Kyle. Without saying anything, they continued walking toward McDonald’s.
Behind them, one of the gangsters stepped up for one final insult. He flicked Dave’s exposed penis with two fingers. It swung in the air like a sausage on a string, bobbing lazily before coming to a stop.
Then the gangsters walked off, laughing.
And Dave?
He just stood there—naked, humiliated, and completely still.
When Old Foes Cross Paths
Dinello and Kyle strolled casually through the Pasdarian Walkway inside the shopping mall, heading toward McDonald’s.
As they turned the corner, Dinello suddenly slowed down.
Coming from the other direction were three familiar figures: Brian, Michael, and a short, pale guy in a crisp white lab coat. Dinello didn’t recognize the third one, but it was obvious from his posture and placement that he was part of their group—The Unlicensed Dr. Mildy.
Dinello raised one hand and called out with his usual carelessness,
“Hey! What’s up, losers?”
Brian and Michael barely glanced at him. They both smirked faintly, then turned their heads and kept walking without saying a word.
Dinello muttered under his breath,
“They completely ignored me…”
Annoyed, he suddenly reached into a pocket and—with a whip-fast motion—hurled a phone across the mall walkway. It sliced through the air like a missile, making a loud swoosh like a gliding aircraft.
Brian’s golden eyes shimmered faintly. He shifted back just enough to let it pass.
Michael didn’t even look. He stepped to the side, relying purely on instinct.
The phone was about to crack Mildy’s skull when Michael casually threw a punch forward—striking the flying device with perfect timing.
It shattered midair with a snap, exploding into black smoke and ash like a cheap firework.
Mildy stood frozen for a second, and then suddenly screamed:
“HOLY FUCK! I almost died! Who the hell throws a phone like that?!”
Kyle turned in confusion.
“Wait… Dinello, did you just throw your phone?! That thing’s like, what, a few hundred bucks?! How are you gonna call anyone now? Re-add all your contacts?”
Dinello smiled calmly.
“Nah, that wasn’t my phone.”
Kyle blinked.
“…Then whose—”
Dinello turned to him with a smirk.
“It was yours.”
Kyle reached for his pocket—
Empty.
His eyes widened in horror.
His face flushed red. A vein throbbed near his temple—then pop!
A fat pimple sitting nearby burst from the pressure, spraying a string of pus and goo through the air.
It was disgusting.
Dinello, completely unfazed, turned back to Brian and shouted:
“Yo, Brian! Haven’t seen you geeks in a while. That Captain Lam, right? Still as cool as ever. Breaking shit without saying a word.”
Brian gave a lazy grin.
“Yeah. Been a while. Next time he sees you, he might just break your face into a pig’s head.”
Dinello scoffed.
“I’d beat your ass right now if I wasn’t going to lunch with my friend right now.”
With that, the two groups turned and walked off in opposite directions.
But whatever grudge they had…
It wasn’t settled.
It would unfold in future chapters.
They Are Not What They Look
Dinello and Kyle finally arrived at the golden gates of salvation—McDonald’s.
Their stomachs growled in unison as they looked up at the glowing golden arches like two wanderers who had just crossed a desert. Their eyes sparkled with greasy anticipation.
But just as they were about to enter, the doors swung open.
Out walked a guy in a Zhongshan suit, his hair parted sharply down the middle. He had a bit of a pot belly and an oddly oily, sleazy aura about him. That was Marvel.
Dinello didn’t know him personally—but from the hairstyle, the uniform, and that unmistakable aura, he figured the guy had to be a fellow student from their school. Probably from another class.
He also caught a glimpse of two suspicious figures crouching behind the trash bin nearby. At first, he thought, Wait—are those two trying to make out back there? But then he noticed the way they stared nervously at Marvel. After a second glance, Dinello shook his head. No… they’re hiding from someone. They’re clearly trying to avoid that guy.
One was a beautiful young woman in her early twenties. The other was an extremely old-looking man in a faded 1950s-style railroad worker uniform—bony, wrinkled, and ghostly pale. That was Lawson.
Dinello stepped forward and casually blocked Marvel’s path.
“Hey there, same school, right?” Dinello said, squinting. “But from the look on your face, I gotta say—maybe you’re learning martial arts for the wrong reasons. You shouldn’t be out here bullying helpless old men.”
Marvel turned his head slowly. His expression was pure innocence—soft, confused, and completely blank. He looked at Dinello with wide, honest eyes and replied in a soft, puzzled voice:
“Are you… talking to me? I don’t understand anything you just said. I never bully anyone. I’m a good boy.”
Dinello blinked, then gave a shrug and stepped aside.
“Whatever. Some people just learn kung fu so they can beat up the weak. That’s just how the world is, I guess.”
Marvel calmly walked away, completely unbothered.
Only after he’d gone did the two figures behind the trash bin finally emerge.
Lawson muttered under his breath,
“That beast… If he saw me with a girl again, he’d lose his mind and turn into a damn animal. Ugh. I’m done. I’m not dealing with that today.”
Dinello glanced over and waved at them.
“Hey, you two are safe now. The bully’s gone.”
He paused, eyeing the strange couple, then smirked.
“By the way, old geezer… for someone your age, pulling such a young, pretty girlfriend? That’s… impressive. Congrats, I guess?”
Lawson’s face twisted in offense.
“What the hell are you talking about? I’m only eighteen!”
Dinello froze.
“…Say what?”
He turned slowly toward Kyle, then rubbed his chin in deep thought. After a moment, he nodded to himself.
“You know what… maybe that checks out,” he muttered. “My buddy Kyle over here isn’t even thirty yet, but he already looks twice his age. I guess some people are just born looking old…”
He looked into the distance with strange clarity, then nodded again.
“…Make sense.”
Prank Gone Wrong
Dinello and Kyle finally stepped into McDonald’s—but to their dismay, the line stretched all the way to the door.
Their stomachs grumbled in protest. Still, with no other option, they joined the long line and waited.
Barely a minute passed before Kyle muttered, “Ugh… I really need to pee. You stay in line. I’ll go find the bathroom.”
“Go,” Dinello replied casually. “I got you.”
Kyle trotted off toward the restroom.
Several minutes ticked by. Dinello stood alone in line, growing increasingly bored and impatient.
He sighed, glancing at the bathroom.
“What’s taking that kid so long? He’s young—his kidneys shouldn’t be that slow…”
Just then, another figure joined the line behind him.
It was Sean—the so-called Local Hero.
He stood tall in his signature look: white button-down shirt half undone, revealing a lean, toned chest. Draped over his shoulders was a flowing red cape. One side of his fringe dipped over a silver earring and partially covered one eye, giving him a mysterious air.
He crossed his arms and waited patiently, silent and composed. The line crept forward inch by inch, now nearly stretching outside the entrance.
Eventually, Kyle returned—clearly flustered.
“All the urinals were broken,” he complained. “Only one was working. I had to wait forever.”
Dinello smirked.
He was so bored, he decided to pull a prank.
As Kyle took his place in line, Dinello acted like he didn’t know him. With a scowl, he pointed and shouted,
“Hey! How dare you cut the line?!”
Without giving Kyle a chance to react, Dinello grabbed his friend by the collar.
Kyle stared at him in total confusion.
“Huh? Wha—?”
Before he could finish, Dinello yanked him backward—hard.
Way too hard.
He had underestimated his own strength… and completely overestimated Kyle’s physical resilience.
Kyle was flung horizontally across the restaurant—flying a good five or six meters through the air.
He crashed into a wall, bounced off, and landed upside down in a large trash bin. His butt and hips were inside the bin, while his limbs and head hung limp outside like a discarded puppet.
He was out cold.
The whole restaurant fell silent.
Dinello froze, eyes wide. He scratched his head awkwardly and muttered,
“…Oops.”
Just then, footsteps approached from behind.
A firm hand landed on Dinello’s shoulder.
It was Sean.
“This is uncalled for,” Sean said, his voice calm but firm. “No matter what he did, you don’t treat an old man like that.”
Dinello blinked.
“Old man?”
Sean continued coldly,
“Using violence on a senior citizen—shame on you.”
Dinello turned to face him. He instantly picked up on Sean’s hostility.
He didn’t bother explaining.
He slapped Sean’s hand off his shoulder.
The two locked eyes.
Tension snapped into the air like a charged wire. The crowd in the restaurant sensed it too.
A fight was about to break out.
Offscreen KO Again
The moment was still.
Dinello and Sean stared each other down. Neither moved, neither blinked. There was no shouting, no dramatic speech—just silent pressure building between them like a storm ready to break.
Then—Sean made the first move.
He shot forward with sudden speed, striking out with a sharp right fist. Dinello raised both arms and blocked the hit cleanly. The two were locked, testing each other’s strength in the middle of the McDonald’s.
Near the front of the line, a middle-aged woman was holding her daughter—a curious little girl around three years old—in her arms. The girl pointed at the two men, eyes wide with wonder.
“Mama, mama, which uncle do you think will win?”
Her mother chuckled softly.
“I don’t know… they both look pretty badass.”
Suddenly, the girl’s attention shifted. She pointed toward the window.
“Mama! Look! That uncle outside is pooping!”
Everyone turned to look.
Out on the sidewalk, a tall, scruffy man in filthy clothes was squatting next to the curb, pants around his ankles, his bare butt in full view. It was Tom.
He mumbled to himself as he strained:
“You gotta go… when you gotta go…”
Just as something terrible was about to launch from Tom’s rear, the woman quickly turned her daughter’s head away from the window and covered her eyes.
By the time they looked back inside—
The fight was already over.
Dinello’s palm had landed a clean karate chop to the back of Sean’s neck. Sean collapsed instantly, unconscious on the floor.
Without missing a beat, Dinello walked over, picked him up, and gently sat him at a nearby table. He leaned Sean’s limp body forward, resting it against the edge as if he were just tired. For good measure, Dinello even placed a cigarette between his lips.
To anyone walking by, it looked like a regular customer taking a quiet smoke break.
Soon after, an ambulance arrived.
Kyle, still knocked out from earlier, was wheeled away on a stretcher.
In the end—they never got to eat McDonald’s.