A Street Full of Aunties
In another corner of the city, Robinson was strutting down the street with a pack of a dozen thugs at his back. The guy looked like he owned the place, swaggering through neon lights and cracked sidewalks as if the whole block was just another stage for him to rack up points.
One after another, contestants tried their luck—only to get flattened in seconds. By now Robinson had steamrolled more than twenty of them.
He glanced at the numbers glowing on his wristwatch: 25 points. Not bad. Respectable, even.
But something about it felt… off.
Walking beside him was one of his higher-ranking lackeys, the kind of guy you notice for the wrong reasons. His hair was absurdly long—practically dragging behind him like he’d lost a bet at a hair salon—and his face wasn’t doing him any favors either. The crew just called him “Long-Hair Dude.”
“Hey, boss,” Long-Hair Dude muttered, squinting around, “you feel like something’s weird?”
Robinson didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. I’ve felt it too.”
“Right? I mean, think about it. Every single fight today—it’s just been aunties. Not one serious fighter, just a parade of middle-aged women with kitchen tools. Like, spatulas, rolling pins, ladles—what is this, Iron Chef? Are we in the wrong tournament, or is this some kind of cooking show spin-off?”
They kept walking until the street opened up. At the far end, a whole swarm of aunties—fifteen, maybe twenty of them—stood waiting, blocking the road.
The two groups froze, facing each other from thirty meters apart. For a second, the street felt like it was holding its breath.
A War of Voices
Long-Hair Dude puffed up his chest, eager to mock.
“You aunties should be home doing chores, not out here pretending to be kung fu fighters. What kind of joke is this?”
But before he could go on, the aunties erupted, their voices tearing into him from every direction.
“Why don’t you chop off that filthy hair? You look like a mop!”
“Ugly! You’ve been single since birth, haven’t you?”
“He’s not even human—probably some beast that crawled down from the mountains!”
The insults overlapped, louder and louder, until Long-Hair Dude’s voice disappeared completely, drowned under a tidal wave of auntie fury.
A few of Robinson’s other lackeys stepped up beside him, shoulder to shoulder. They gave each other a look—time to fight noise with noise. Together, they yelled at the top of their lungs:
“You aunties better go home and do your housework! Stop disturbing public order!”
But the counterattack was instant. The aunties screamed all at once, a hurricane of sound, high-pitched shrieks stabbing the air like sonic weapons. It wasn’t even words anymore—just a wall of sound that rattled bones and made ears go numb.
Even Robinson himself couldn’t take it. He froze in place, clamped both hands over his ears, and bellowed:
“Shut up!”
But his shout was swallowed whole by the storm.
The Brawl Breaks Loose
Robinson snapped. With both hands still on his ears, he broke into a run—straight toward the wall of aunties. His men roared and followed, and in seconds the two sides collided in an all-out brawl.
The noise stopped. Now it was fists, feet, and frying pans.
A punch landed, swelling an auntie’s cheek in an instant. A kick slammed into another’s stomach, launching her several feet through the air. But the aunties weren’t helpless. One blocked a strike with her cooking pot and smashed her spatula right into a thug’s face.
And then, through the chaos, one figure stood out—spinning in place like a human tornado.
It was Robinson.
His legs whipped through the air in a blur, each Tornado Kick launching an auntie into the sky—ladles, peelers, spatulas flying out of their hands. The whole thing looked absurdly stylish, like a kung fu movie shot on steroids.
Even the aunties paused. A few of them, cheeks pink, looked at Robinson with open admiration. His men stared in awe.
“Damn, boss is a monster,” one whispered.
Long-Hair Dude shouted, eyes sparkling:
“Boss—you’re invincible! An absolute professor of violence!”
Long-Hair Dude’s Disaster
Inspired, Long-Hair Dude felt a surge of power inside him. This must be it—the secret of Tai Chi.
He stumbled forward, spun three times, and launched his own Tornado Kick.
It was a disaster. He locked mid-spin, tripped, and fell right at the feet of an auntie with a butcher’s knife. One swing—and his right arm was gone.
He screamed, clutching the stump.
“My god! You ambushed me!”
The auntie scoffed. “Ambush? Boy, I don’t even know what clown act you’re pulling. You sick or something?”
She pulled out a fistful of salt and flung it onto his wound. He writhed on the ground, shrieking.
Desperate, he pushed himself up and kicked. She swung again—this time cutting his throat wide open. Blood poured as he gasped:
“What… the hell… Am I really dying here today?”
Robinson, seeing his beloved lackey collapse, sprinted to save him.
And then came the final blow.
The auntie drove her knife into Long-Hair Dude’s chest. His whole body went stiff, locked upright, trembling like a puppet refusing to fall.
Robinson screamed, his voice breaking with rage and desperation:
“Long-Hair! Don’t die on me! Stand strong—stay with me!”
But Long-Hair Dude’s body stayed frozen, then toppled lifelessly to the ground.
Queen of the Aunties
The auntie wrenched her knife out of his chest and, just to humiliate him, gave two playful flicks of her blade. Robinson’s loyal lackey—Long-Hair Dude—was instantly reduced to Flat-Top Dude, his treasured locks hacked away in mockery.
Robinson’s veins bulged as fury consumed him. He shot forward, roaring:
“Fuck you! I’ll make you pay. I’ll beat you up and fuck you good!”
But she lunged first, knife aiming straight for his chest.
At the last second, Robinson circled his hands. The blade froze just short of his heart, its force dissolved by Tai Chi. He caught her wrist, ready to smash her face—
—but she planted her feet, dropped low, and yanked him forward like a rag doll. She was a head shorter but twice as strong. Robinson staggered, released her, and jumped back in shock.
“Who the fuck are you? You’re no ordinary auntie.”
The woman laughed, voice booming:
“Ever heard of Lady Spatula? Lena Wok? I am the one they call—the Queen of the Aunties!”
Robinson blinked. “Oh my god… never heard of you. But—damn—it sounds scary as hell.”
She struck again, her speed overwhelming. Robinson blocked and retreated, sweat flying, his mind racing:
Oh shit. If this keeps up, I’m done. The only way out… is if I can truly understand the essence of Tai Chi.
The Revelation
The Queen’s attacks grew faster, her rhythm merciless. Robinson kept retreating until he was nearly cornered. Then came the pepper spray, hissing toward his face.
He spun his arms, gathered the mist, and shaped it into a glowing ping-pong-sized orb. The auntie’s blade nicked his waist, blood dripping, but he held on.
And in that desperate instant, his mind cracked open.
He saw the universe—the flow of matter, the birth of stars, the origin of life. Cosmic reels flashed across his vision like a film strip. And in that dizzying storm, Robinson finally grasped the true essence of Tai Chi.
With a roar, he redirected the orb. The Queen dodged, but another auntie behind her took the full hit.
“Who the fuck did this to me? It’s burning!” she screamed, coughing flames.
The Queen pressed again, knife flashing. Robinson smiled calmly, traced circles, and swept her strike aside. The redirected force hurled him into a roll across the pavement. Her blade struck the ground with such violence that it snapped in half.
Robinson leapt to his feet, fists clenched, and shouted, triumphant:
“Finally—I did it!”
For a moment, he basked in glory. And then the Queen’s eyes went wide—she dropped and rolled, fleeing into the shadows. The remaining aunties scattered after her, stumbling in panic.
The street went silent.
Robinson stood tall. He hadn’t won the point from defeating the Queen, but it didn’t matter. Because now, he was no longer just a street thug.
He had become something else.
A brand-new master.