Farewell, The Underwear – Part 2

Section 1: Three Perspectives

Three minutes.

Mario studied Michael carefully.

Michael’s current condition was clearly not natural. His muscles were swollen far beyond their normal state, veins bulging beneath his skin as his entire body operated under enormous pressure.

There was no way a human body could maintain this for long. Push it too far, and the muscles could start cramping. A blood vessel could burst.

Mario narrowed his eyes.

Three minutes sounds about right.

The safest strategy was obvious. With his speed, Mario could simply keep his distance and drag the fight out until Michael’s body reached its limit.

He considered it.

But that wasn’t Mario’s style.

If he was going to fight Michael, he was going to fight him at full strength.

Mario tightened his grip on his twin katanas.

A short distance away, Dave remained on the ground, holding his injured arm as he stared at Michael.

His attention wasn’t on the strategy.

It was on Michael’s body.

Those muscles.

Dave had always taken pride in his own physique. Even after everything that had happened, some part of him still believed his muscles were exceptional.

But Michael’s were different.

Holy shit… His muscles are far stronger than mine.

Not just stronger.

On another level.

Dave stared in disbelief as what remained of his confidence continued to collapse.

Michael, meanwhile, had a completely different concern.

His eyes were fixed on Mario’s twin blades.

Michael knew his own limit.

Three minutes.

But after seeing Mario draw both katanas, even that suddenly felt optimistic.

Shit. I don’t think I can last three minutes against those.

Three men stood in the same place, watching the same battle from completely different perspectives.

Mario saw a body that could destroy itself within three minutes.

Dave saw strength on another level.

And Michael saw two blades that might make three minutes far too long.

Section 2: By Any Means Necessary

Michael suddenly exploded forward, dropping low and whipping his leg across the pavement, straight for Mario’s prosthetic leg.

Mario saw it immediately.

Most martial arts masters at their level carried some sense of pride into a fight. Michael didn’t. If attacking a weakness gave him an advantage, he would attack it. If a cheap trick worked, he would use it.

Oh, shit. This guy hasn’t changed at all after all these years.

Michael believed in winning by any means necessary.

Mario sprang backward over the sweep. While he was still airborne, Michael suddenly widened his eyes and stared behind him.

“Oh, shit. What the fuck are you doing here, Joshua?!”

Mario immediately glanced over his shoulder.

There was no Joshua.

What the—

Michael’s foot slammed into the briefcase on the pavement.

BANG!

The briefcase shot into the air, spinning like a giant metal Frisbee. By the time Mario realized what Michael had done, it was already flying dangerously close to his prosthetic leg.

Worse, Mario was still airborne.

“Shit!”

Mario snapped his right arm downward and hurled one katana. The blade stabbed straight through the spinning briefcase and drove it into the pavement with a violent CLANG!

Mario landed, rolled with the momentum, and came smoothly back up on one knee, his remaining katana beside him.

Michael was already charging toward the briefcase.

Oh, wait. He’s retrieving the briefcase?

Michael grabbed the katana sticking out of it.

No. He’s retrieving the katana.

Michael ripped the blade free.

Mario watched him carefully.

After all that cheap shit, you’re planning to fight me with my own katana? You don’t stand a chance.

Michael swung his arm hard to the right and let go.

WHOOOSH!

The katana shot down the street like an arrow, blade-first and perfectly straight. It crossed one intersection, then another.

Three streets.

Four.

Five.

Then it disappeared from sight.

Mario remained on one knee, staring after it.

Oh, fuck me. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Michael had never intended to fight him with the katana.

He had simply thrown it away.

Michael looked back at Mario and muttered, “Now we can have a fair fight.”

Section 3: A Speck of Dust

The fight continued for nearly another minute.

Mario moved around Michael like a shadow, their exchange passing a hundred moves almost too quickly to count. His remaining katana struck Michael’s shoulders, ribs, back, arms, and neck.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Still nothing.

Not even a scratch.

Michael had seen enough. Mario’s speed was extraordinary, but his prosthetic leg remained a weakness. On flat pavement, he could compensate for it almost perfectly.

But unstable ground would be different.

So Michael decided to take away the ground.

He lowered his body and planted both hands against the pavement.

SERIOUS SERIES — SERIOUS TABLE FLIP

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

The street erupted.

A section of ground nearly half the size of a basketball court was ripped apart and hurled upward. Asphalt shattered. Concrete split open. Dirt and stone exploded into the sky as enormous slabs of pavement tore free from the earth.

Michael and Mario rose with them.

Within seconds, both men had been carried nearly fifty meters above the street, surrounded by a massive field of broken stone. Some chunks were barely large enough to stand on. Others were the size of cars.

Nothing beneath them was stable. The slabs tilted, shifted, and slowly rolled through the air.

Far below, Dave stared upward.

“Oh, shit…”

Half the street was gone.

He lowered his eyes.

Broken asphalt and shattered concrete covered everything around him.

Sitting there among all of it, Dave suddenly felt like he was just another piece of wreckage.

“Oh, no.”

Michael’s words came back to him.

In this world, there are monsters. And there are monsters even among monsters.

Dave looked back up at Michael and Mario standing fifty meters above him.

They’re not even at the very top of the food chain.

These two were already monsters, yet somewhere above them were still the monsters among monsters.

Michael’s other words returned.

The bigger your ego gets, the smaller you’ll start to feel. Until one day, you finally realize…

You’re nothing but an ant. Or worse—just a speck of dust.

Dave stared at the two figures above him.

That day had come.

He slowly pushed himself to his feet, holding his injured arm.

“I’m done.”

There was no anger. No determination. No promise to train harder and return stronger.

Dave simply turned around and walked toward the main street.

He had given up fighting forever.

Section 4: The Wrong Battlefield

Michael immediately moved.

The shattered street wouldn’t stay in the air forever. Once the debris came crashing back down, he might have only a minute left.

He had to finish this now.

Michael launched himself from one slab of broken pavement to another. The first tilted violently beneath his weight. He pushed off, landed on a second, then immediately jumped again toward Mario.

Two jumps.

Then Michael noticed something was wrong.

Mario wasn’t struggling.

While Michael had to carefully choose each landing point, Mario bounced effortlessly through the debris. He touched the edge of a rotating slab, pushed off sideways, landed on another, then instantly changed direction.

Michael’s eyes widened.

Oh, no.

He had completely forgotten.

Mario fought like a ninja.

Trees, branches, rooftops, walls, obstacles—this kind of three-dimensional movement was Mario’s specialty.

Michael had destroyed the flat ground to take away Mario’s advantage.

Instead, he had created the perfect battlefield for him.

Mario vanished.

Michael searched the debris.

Above—

CLANG!

Mario’s katana crashed against Michael’s shoulder as he flew past.

Another strike came from the right.

CLANG!

Then below.

CLANG!

Michael turned again and again, but Mario kept rebounding through the debris, attacking from different directions before disappearing again.

Suddenly, Mario appeared directly in front of him.

His katana pulled back.

SPATIAL IMPALE!

Michael jerked his upper body aside.

SHHHK!

The tip missed his torso but sliced across his arm as Mario flashed past.

Michael landed heavily on another slab and looked down.

A thin line of blood had appeared across his arm.

Mario had finally cut him.

Michael understood immediately.

The remaining minute had become a desperate minute.

Out here, he didn’t stand a ghost of a chance.

Then he spotted a massive slab drifting nearby.

Michael jumped behind it and pressed himself against the broken surface, using the entire chunk as cover.

He stopped chasing Mario.

For now, he just needed to stay hidden.

Mario continued searching through the debris, but this time, he couldn’t find him.

Seconds passed.

Then gravity took over.

The entire battlefield began to fall.

Tons of asphalt, concrete, dirt, and stone plunged back toward the ruined street.

BOOOOOOOOM!

A massive cloud of dust swallowed everything.

When it cleared, Michael and Mario were back on the ground.

But Michael no longer looked the same.

His face had turned deep red, his lips faintly purple. Thick veins bulged across his forehead, neck, and arms.

Michael clenched one fist.

His fingers resisted. His forearm tightened involuntarily, then released. Small cramps were beginning to run through his legs as well.

Michael looked across the wreckage at Mario.

His body was reaching its limit.

Section 5: Blood Arrow

Mario moved first.

He launched himself forward and slashed across Michael’s body.

CLANG!

Still no real damage.

Michael swung a fist at Mario’s prosthetic leg, but missed. Mario was already airborne, flying past the side of his head.

Then Michael felt it.

A swollen vein at his temple was throbbing violently, ready to burst.

An idea came to him.

Instead of holding it back, Michael concentrated his energy directly into the blood vessel.

POP!

The vein burst.

A razor-thin stream of blood shot from Michael’s temple like an arrow.

SHHHK!

It sliced straight through Mario’s prosthetic leg.

Mario lost his balance in midair and crashed into the wreckage, bouncing and rolling across the pavement five or six times before coming to a stop. Bruises covered his body, and he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Michael took two steps toward him with a faint smile.

Then the world tilted.

His vision blurred. His legs gave way, and he dropped onto one knee, catching himself with one hand. Blood ran down the side of his face as his consciousness faded.

Mario slowly pushed himself back up.

Balancing on one leg, he raised his remaining katana.

Michael’s eyes were half-open.

One Spatial Impale would kill him.

Mario aimed the blade.

One second passed.

Then—

CLICK.

He slid the katana back into its sheath and pulled out his phone.

“Hey, Dinello. Bring me a prosthetic leg. And call an ambulance while you’re at it.”

“Master Mario? Are you hurt?”

“No. Not me. My opponent. Michael.”

“Why?”

“Because Michael is with the Humble Organization. If he dies on me, we’ll be in trouble. You don’t want to mess around with Colin’s Golden Speech. Your big sister is a perfect example.”

Mario hung up.

By then, Michael had completely lost consciousness.

Amy and Coco rushed over and carefully supported their unconscious Captain Lam.

Less than three minutes later, a gust of wind swept through the ruined street.

Dinello had arrived.

He handed Mario a replacement prosthetic leg, then looked down at the unconscious Michael.

Dinello leaned over him.

PTOO!

He spat directly into Michael’s face.

“Next time, I’m gonna beat you up and fuck you good.”

Dinello helped Mario away.

Moments later, an ambulance arrived. The paramedics lifted Michael onto a stretcher and rushed him to the best nearby hospital.

Amy and Coco climbed in with him. Neither had ever seen Captain Lam injured this badly before.

The doors slammed shut.

The ambulance pulled away.

At last, the ruined street fell quiet.

Section 6: The Underwear Is Dead

Dave walked slowly down the street with his head lowered.

He was completely naked now. His shoulders sagged, his eyes had lost their usual spark, and he stared blankly at the pavement. The confidence that once followed him everywhere was gone.

As he passed a lamppost, he didn’t notice the three men pinned to it. A katana had skewered straight through all three of them, one behind another, pinning their bodies against the pole like meat on a kebab.

It was the same katana Michael had thrown away earlier.

Dave didn’t even look up. He simply walked past.

Farther down the sidewalk, a tall, slim figure appeared.

It was Sean.

The Chinese flag attached behind him fluttered proudly in the wind.

“Hey, you! The Underwear! What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?”

Dave recognized the voice but didn’t raise his head.

“What a joke,” he muttered. “Do you see me wearing underwear? The Underwear you knew has died. He’s dead.”

Dave walked straight past him.

Sean spun around.

“Hey, you—”

He stopped himself.

Sean had been about to chase after Dave and lecture him about public obscenity. His fist was already raised. But then he noticed the lowered head, the empty eyes, and the slow, defeated walk.

Sean’s fist gradually lowered.

Standing beneath the Chinese flag fluttering in the wind, he silently watched Dave disappear farther down the street.

This time, Sean didn’t follow him.

Dave eventually passed the entrance to the Local Alley, where Lawson was sitting in his usual spot.

Lawson raised his chipped ceramic bowl. A faint golden light began to glow from inside it.

“Spare a little rice money… kind folks…”

The golden light swept across Dave.

Nothing happened.

Dave didn’t stop or turn his head. He didn’t even seem to hear Lawson.

Lawson blinked and looked down at his bowl.

The Golden Bowl had failed.

But there was nothing wrong with the technique. Dave was trapped so deeply inside his own frustration and desperation that the outside world barely reached him anymore.

For once, there was simply nothing for the Golden Bowl to reach.

Dave continued down the street.

A few blocks later, he accidentally walked straight into a watermelon-shaped head.

BONK.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Benson said automatically.

Dave stepped around him and continued forward.

Benson turned and stared at Dave’s lowered head and lifeless expression.

For a long time, Benson had wanted to bully someone. The problem was that he could never seem to find anyone weaker than himself.

Until now.

Benson’s eyes lit up.

He hurried after Dave and slapped him across the face.

SMACK!

“What? Where are you going?”

Dave barely reacted.

Benson stepped directly in front of him, grabbed his junk, and pulled it hard.

Still, Dave barely reacted.

Benson puffed out his chest.

“Do you know who’s the boss? I’m the boss of you!”

Dave finally looked at him.

“Please. Just move out of the way.”

He gently pushed Benson aside.

WHOOSH!

Benson shot backward and slid five or six meters across the pavement before crashing back-first into a wall.

BANG!

“AAAAAH!”

Benson immediately threw both hands into the air.

“PLEASE DON’T HURT ME!”

Dave didn’t even look back.

He walked on aimlessly as the buildings gradually became fewer and the noise of Flushing City faded behind him.

Dave had no destination.

He just kept walking.

Eventually, the lonely figure who had once wandered proudly through Flushing City as The Underwear drifted farther and farther into the distance.

And without looking back, Dave eventually vanished from sight.