Master Lee’s Vengeance

Section 1: A Perfect Misunderstanding

Inside the main hall, Benson stood arrogantly in his ridiculous thug-like outfit. The disciples exchanged puzzled glances.

One disciple finally stepped forward.

“Who are you?”

Benson lifted his chin.

“Yo, man. Canelo’s my cousin, you know what I’m saying?”

Oh yeah! I fucking nailed it, bitch! I’m getting into this dojo for sure!

The entire hall fell silent. The disciples’ faces stiffened as they exchanged uneasy looks.

“Canelo…? You mean…?” one disciple asked, his voice trembling.

Benson gave an arrogant nod and took another drag from his unlit cigarette.

“Hell yeah, dude! That’s my cousin. By the way, I heard a lotta shit about Master Lee, so I figured I’d come down here and pay my respects to the man… and his family, you know?”

The disciples grew even more uneasy as Benson finished speaking. He noticed their reactions, and his confidence soared.

Oh yeah! Even I’m convinced I’m a total badass now! Come on, just let me in already! This is the best gangster act I could ever pull off!

CRACK!

A wooden staff snapped at the far end of the hall.

Everyone turned.

Master Lee KumLok had been demonstrating a staff technique to his disciples. In a fit of rage, he crushed the middle of the staff with one hand, snapping it in two.

Several disciples immediately rushed forward to stop him.

“Master, wait! Don’t do anything reckless!”

KumLok shoved them aside with one hand and walked straight toward Benson.

He stopped in front of him and lowered his voice to an unsettling calm.

“All right. Let’s have a fair fight.”

A smug grin spread across Benson’s face.

A fair fight? Wait… Is this some kind of entrance test? He’s gonna check my power level and decide which class to put me in? Oh hell yeah! I’m finally getting in!

Section 2: A Fair Fight

Benson eagerly stepped forward and formed what he thought was a proper fighting stance. His feet were spread too far apart, his guard was loose, and his abdomen was wide open.

“Yo, Master! Please go easy on me!”

Master Lee’s expression darkened.

Go easy on him? Is this bastard mocking me? After everything his cousin did to my brother and our dojo?

He studied Benson’s stance. It was amateurish, with openings everywhere. But street fighters and gangsters rarely followed the rules of traditional martial arts. If this man really was Canelo’s cousin, Master Lee had no intention of underestimating him.

Still, Benson’s exposed abdomen presented an opening too obvious to ignore.

Master Lee clenched his fist.

Then he moved.

BAM!

His fist shot forward like a cannonball, burying itself deep into Benson’s abdomen.

Benson’s eyes bulged.

“UGH!”

His body folded forward around the punch. White foam burst from his mouth, and the unlit cigarette flew from his lips as the impact sent him hurtling backward across the hall.

But Master Lee was already moving.

With a rapid series of short steps, he closed the distance, slipped around behind Benson, and drove a powerful kick straight into his back.

BAM!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Benson let out a high-pitched, girlish scream as his body folded in the opposite direction. His sunglasses flew off as the kick launched him back across the hall.

He crashed onto the floor, rolled twice, and skidded to a stop exactly where he had started.

Master Lee followed with the same rapid, short steps and returned to his original position.

Less than ten seconds had passed.

In that brief time, the fight had traveled from the center of the main hall to its far end and all the way back again.

Both men were now back in their exact starting positions.

The only difference was that Master Lee stood tall, while Benson lay sprawled on the floor, twitching, with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Master Lee raised one hand, pressing his fingers tightly together into the shape of a blade.

Now’s my chance.

In a fair fight, injuries and deaths are nothing unusual. In Flushing City, dozens of people disappear or get killed every day. One more death wouldn’t be a big deal.

Canelo killed my older brother, Lee Kumkee. If I take his cousin’s life in a fair fight, that should make us even.

Master Lee stepped forward and brought his knife-hand down toward Benson’s neck.

Several disciples immediately realized what Master Lee was about to do.

“MASTER! NO!”
“DON’T KILL HIM!”
“WE CAN’T AFFORD TO MESS WITH CANELO’S GANG!”

They rushed forward desperately, trying to stop him.

But they were too far away.

Master Lee’s knife-hand was already descending at terrifying speed, closing the distance to Benson’s exposed neck.

Only inches remained.

Section 3: Survival Instinct

Just as Master Lee’s knife-hand was about to strike Benson’s neck, something inside him screamed.

STOP!

His entire body reacted. Master Lee pulled back with all his strength, desperately trying to stop the strike. But the momentum was already too great. The edge of his hand scraped across Benson’s neck before finally coming to a halt.

A thin red line appeared on Benson’s skin. A few drops of blood trickled down.

Another fraction of a second, and the strike would have cut straight through his neck.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Benson let out a high-pitched, girlish scream.

Master Lee stood frozen, cold sweat running down his forehead. He stared at Benson in disbelief.

“What… are you?”

Master Lee had never been as strong or fast as his older brother, Lee Kumkee. But since childhood, he had possessed an extraordinary survival instinct. His body could sense danger and dodge attacks before his mind even understood what was happening. That instinct had kept him alive through countless battles in the martial world.

But never before had it reacted so violently.

Master Lee looked down at Benson. His skinny arms, narrow shoulders, and fragile body made him look like the weakest man alive.

Yet, for one terrifying instant, Master Lee saw something impossible.

Deep inside Benson’s body, a demon lay sleeping.

Its skin was deathly pale, with long white hair falling around its shoulders. Slowly, one blood-red eye opened.

The demon looked straight at Master Lee.

A sinister smile spread across its face, revealing two sharp fangs.

Then it raised one long, clawed finger and slowly wagged it from side to side.

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” the demon said with a sinister grin.

The vision vanished.

By then, several disciples had reached Master Lee and seized his arms.

“Master! Stop!”
“Don’t kill him!”

But Master Lee offered no resistance. He had already stopped the attack himself.

His hands were trembling, his palms covered in cold sweat.

He stared at Benson, who had managed to sit up on the floor but was still crying and shaking. His shorts were completely soaked, and a puddle of urine had formed beneath him.

Master Lee could hardly believe what he had seen. Such a weak, pathetic body, yet something so terrifying lurked within it.

Suddenly, he pointed an accusing finger at Benson and shouted.

“What are you, three years old? Three years old?! A grown man pissing himself in front of everyone! Have you no pride? No dignity?!”

Section 4: Failed Confession

Master Lee glared at Benson.

“Do you have any idea what happened to my brother? My older brother, Lee Kumkee?”

Master Lee continued.

“Canelo killed him. People online say our kung fu is fake. Some even call us ‘Kung Flu.’ Nobody wants to join our dojo anymore. And now you show up claiming to be his cousin. Are you here to humiliate us again?”

Benson froze as everything suddenly made sense. Lee Kumkee. Canelo. His death.

Oh shit…

“No, wait!” Benson raised both hands desperately. “You’ve got it all wrong! I’m not Canelo’s cousin! I lied! I just wanted to learn kung fu, but nobody would give me a chance. I thought pretending to have connections might help. That’s all! I don’t even know Canelo!”

Master Lee shook his head.

“No way. You’re Canelo’s cousin. I’m not falling for that.”

“Master is right,” one disciple said. “He’s just trying to save his own skin.”

Another disciple grabbed a wooden staff. “If this guy isn’t Canelo’s cousin, I’ll shove this entire stick up my ass right here, right now!”

Benson stared at them in disbelief.

“Please! I’m telling you the truth! Just look into my eyes! Do these look like the eyes of a liar?”

For once, Benson was being completely honest. There was no performance, no clever plan, and no attempt to fool anyone.

Master Lee and the disciples stared into his eyes. The hall fell silent for several long seconds, and a little hope returned to Benson’s face.

“Right? You believe me now?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“Nope.”

Section 5: Punishment Debate

For a moment, nobody said anything. Then one of the disciples looked around.

“So… what do we do with him now?”

The question immediately divided the room.

One disciple said, “Just let him go. We’ve already taught him enough of a lesson.”

Another argued, “No way! He came here to humiliate our dojo. We can’t just let him walk out like nothing happened.”

The disciples exchanged glances and began discussing it among themselves. The discussion quickly became an argument. Voices grew louder, fingers started pointing, and before long, shoulders were bumping and hands were shoving people back.

Within moments, the disciples had split into two angry groups facing each other across the dojo.

Neither side backed down.

The confrontation quickly turned physical, until one disciple suddenly snapped and drove a kick into another man’s chest.

BAM!

The man flew across the dojo and slammed into the wall, cracking the surface around him and leaving his entire body embedded in it.

For a second, everyone froze. Then the argument exploded.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

More disciples surged forward. Fists clenched, sleeves were pulled up, and within seconds, the two sides looked ready to turn the entire dojo into a battlefield.

Just as the two sides were about to collide—

Section 6: The Unfunny Jokester

A voice thundered across the dojo.

“STOP!”

Everyone turned.

A funny-looking disciple had jumped between the two groups, one hand raised dramatically.

A few disciples immediately groaned.

“Oh, this guy again…”

Another disciple covered his face with one hand.

“This guy is a total noob.”

“Oh yeah!” another disciple shouted. “He sucks royally!”

This wasn’t the first time. Whenever things became tense, this particular disciple had a habit of jumping in with a joke at exactly the wrong moment. He had never actually helped. If anything, he usually made things worse.

The moment the others saw him step forward, they already had a bad feeling about this.

“Everybody calm down,” he said. “There’s no reason for us to fight each other.”

Surprisingly, the room actually began to quiet down.

The disciple cleared his throat, straightened his back, and put on a serious expression.

“I have a solution.”

Every eye in the dojo turned toward him.

The disciple paused deliberately, enjoying the attention. He had no real solution in mind, and certainly no intention of hurting Benson. He simply wanted to throw out a ridiculous joke, get everyone laughing, and break the tension.

He slowly raised one hand and pointed straight at Benson’s crotch, his expression dead serious.

“Let’s chop his dick off.”

He looked around expectantly. In his head, everyone was about to burst into laughter any second now.

Instead—

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Nobody laughed. Nobody even smiled.

The disciple kept looking from face to face, waiting for a reaction that never came. His confident smile slowly turned awkward.

“Heh… heh…”

Meanwhile, Benson’s face had gone completely pale.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! NO! NOOOOO!”

Before the disciple could explain himself, Benson rushed forward, dropped to the floor, and wrapped both arms around his leg.

The disciple stared down at him, completely bewildered.

“Oh, dude, I was just jo—”

“PLEASE!” Benson cried. “Don’t do that! I don’t even have a girlfriend yet! I don’t have any kids yet!”

Benson tightened his grip around the disciple’s leg.

“Oh, chill out, man.”

Benson screamed in a high-pitched, girlish voice.

“I’LL DO ANYTHING!”

Section 7: Good Boy

Before anyone could respond, Benson let go of the disciple’s leg and immediately dropped onto all fours.

“I can be a dog! I can bark! Anything but chopping my dick!”

“Woof! Woof!”

One disciple walked over and patted Benson on his bowl-cut head.

“Good boy.”

“Sit!” someone called. Benson immediately sat back on his heels.

“Paw!”

Benson placed one hand in the disciple’s palm.

“Other paw!”

He obediently switched hands, drawing laughter from the crowd.

“Woof! Woof!”

Within moments, the same disciples who had nearly started a civil war were laughing and treating Benson like the dojo’s new dog. He obeyed every command.

Master Lee didn’t join in.

He stood aside, watching Benson crawl around like a pathetic little dog. Yet the terrifying vision from earlier still haunted him.

How could something so terrifying be hiding inside such a pathetic man?

Master Lee shook his head in disbelief. Then his gaze wandered toward the courtyard, where something near the entrance caught his attention.

He stared at it for a moment, and a small, crooked smile slowly spread across his face.

An idea had come to him.

Section 8: Heavenly Taste

Master Lee raised one hand.

“Enough.”

The laughter stopped. The disciples turned toward him, while Benson remained on all fours.

Master Lee looked down at him.

“You came here claiming to be Canelo’s cousin and humiliated our dojo. But I’m willing to let you leave alive.”

Benson’s eyes lit up.

Master Lee continued.

“However, there’s one condition. You must pay for that humiliation.”

His hope vanished.

Master Lee pointed toward the entrance. Everyone followed his finger.

Beside the little stream lay the dry pile of dog shit. Benson stared at it, then slowly looked back at Master Lee.

“Eat that. All of it. Then you can walk out of here, and no one will stop you.”

The funny-looking disciple immediately lit up.

“Oh yeah, Master! As wise as ever!”

He rushed outside, scooped up the pile of dog shit with his bare hand, and hurried back to Benson.

With a big grin, he held it right in front of Benson’s mouth.

“Here you go, boy. Eat up!”

Benson sniffed the dog shit like a dog. His stomach churned, and he swallowed hard.

Sweet death comes to me. Here goes nothing.

He squeezed his eyes shut, grabbed the disciple’s wrist, and tipped his hand toward his mouth, dumping the entire pile inside.

Benson froze with his cheeks bulging, his eyes watering.

The funny-looking disciple leaned closer, genuinely curious.

“So, how does it taste?”

Benson forced himself to swallow everything in one enormous gulp.

GULP!

He slowly raised a trembling thumb.

“Délicieux!!”

At that moment, Benson felt his soul leave his body.

For one glorious instant, he saw the gates of heaven opening before him, with a brilliant beam of light shining down upon his departing soul.

Somehow, Benson managed to get to his feet. With the empty stare of a walking corpse, he shuffled out of the main hall without another word. Nobody stopped him.

He wandered through the peaceful courtyard, past the blooming flowers and the little wooden bridge over the clear stream.

Everything looked just as beautiful as before.

Except for one thing.

The pile of dog shit by the entrance was gone.

The entire courtyard had never looked more peaceful and harmonious.

Master Lee watched Benson disappear into the distance, then turned back to his disciples.

“Everyone, back to training.”

The disciples dispersed, and the dojo soon returned to normal.

Only the funny-looking disciple remained, staring curiously at his palm, which still had traces of dog shit on it.

“Délicieux!? Hmm… I wonder…”

He cautiously stuck out his tongue and licked his palm.

“BLEGH!”

He gagged, his face twisting in disgust.

“Ugh! It tastes awful!”