Justice of a Local Hero

Section 1: Lord Canelo

It was a bright, sunny afternoon.

From the shadows of a narrow alley, Canelo slowly stepped into the daylight. A dark hoodie hung loosely over his shoulders, and a cigarette rested between his lips. He took a long drag, blew out a cloud of smoke, and stepped onto the sidewalk.

People noticed him almost immediately.

A conversation near the corner stopped. A man walking toward him took one look at Canelo, lowered his eyes, and quietly moved aside. A woman quickly took her child by the hand and pulled him closer.

As Canelo continued down the street, people moved out of his way, leaving a clear path in front of him.

Coming from the opposite direction was a short young man in pajamas with a ridiculous watermelon haircut. His head was lowered, his attention completely fixed on the phone in his hands.

Without noticing what was happening around him, he walked straight into the path everyone had cleared for Canelo.

And kept going.

Straight toward him.

A few people nearby noticed.

The young man didn’t.

He walked straight into Canelo’s shoulder.

THUD!

Canelo barely moved.

The young man bounced backward from the impact, stumbling two steps before finally catching his balance. He looked up from his phone, confused. His eyes moved to the man standing in front of him.

Then he recognized him.

“Ah—!”

The young man froze. His back stiffened. His hand began to shake, the phone trembling slightly between his fingers as he stared up at Canelo with wide eyes.

“L-Lord Canelo…”

He swallowed.

“S-sorry. I—I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’m so sorry, Lord Canelo.”

A few people nearby went still.

Canelo stared at him for a moment, took another drag from his cigarette, and slowly blew out the smoke.

“Nah, it’s fine.”

The young man’s shoulders loosened slightly.

Then Canelo continued.

“Just give me all your money before I crack open that watermelon head of yours.”

The young man stiffened again.

“O-okay! Yes, Lord Canelo!”

He immediately shoved a hand into his pajama pocket and pulled out everything he had.

Five dollars.

His hand trembled as he held the crumpled bill out to Canelo.

Canelo took it and looked down at the money.

Then at the young man.

“That’s it?”

The young man gave a nervous nod.

Canelo stared at him for another second, then grabbed the front of his pajamas with one hand and lifted him straight off the ground.

“AH!”

The young man’s feet left the pavement. His legs kicked helplessly beneath him as Canelo held him in the air with one arm.

Canelo raised his free hand.

SLAP!

His palm cracked across the young man’s face, snapping his head to one side.

Before he could even look back—

SLAP!

Another slap smashed across the opposite cheek. The young man’s head whipped the other way, his ridiculous watermelon haircut swinging with it.

His eyes immediately filled with tears. His lower lip began to tremble.

Then his face completely fell apart.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

He burst into tears.

Canelo stared at him.

The young man hung helplessly from his fist, crying at the top of his lungs, tears running down both cheeks.

After a few seconds, Canelo simply let go.

The young man dropped.

But before his feet could touch the pavement, Canelo planted one foot, turned his hips, and drove a powerful kick straight into his stomach.

BOOM!

The young man folded around the kick, his eyes bulging as a mouthful of white, foamy spit burst from his lips.

Then he shot into the air.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH—!”

A ridiculously high-pitched scream tore out of him as he flew nearly seven feet above the street, his pajamas fluttering around him.

Everyone nearby looked up.

The scream carried across the entire block, so high and sharp that it sounded almost like a woman screaming. The young man flew in a wide arc from one side of the sidewalk to the other, arms and legs flailing the entire way.

Just before he hit the pavement, a figure calmly stepped forward.

Two arms caught him cleanly—one beneath his knees, the other behind his back.

His scream stopped instantly.

The young man blinked, looked down, then slowly looked up at the person holding him.

He was being held in a perfect princess carry.

For a moment, the entire street went quiet.

Then someone in the crowd gasped.

“Sean?”

---

Section 2: The Local Hero

Heads turned.

“Holy shit! It’s Sean!”

“He’s here!”

The whispers quickly spread through the crowd.

“Sean!”

“It’s really him!”

“We’re saved!”

Almost everyone in the neighborhood knew Sean.

He had chased down purse snatchers, beaten up local punks, rescued kittens from flooded drains, and helped old ladies cross the street whenever the traffic lights stopped working. Around here, he was something of a local hero.

Sean was tall and lean, with messy side-swept bangs hanging over one eye and a silver earring dangling from one ear. His button-up shirt was only half fastened, exposing his slim, defined chest. He wore ripped jeans and a pair of polished leather shoes.

Behind him, a bright red cape moved gently in the breeze.

At least, from a distance, it looked like a cape.

The wind spread the fabric open.

Five yellow stars appeared across the red.

It was a Chinese flag.

Sean had apparently taken it down from a nearby flagpole and decided to use it as a cape. It was convenient, and more importantly, it saved him the money of having to buy a real one.

Sean paid no attention to the crowd. His eyes were still on the young man in his arms.

Only moments ago, the young man had been screaming across the entire street. Now he was completely silent. One arm rested around Sean’s neck, while his other hand rested gently against Sean’s exposed chest.

The young man slowly raised his head.

Sean looked down.

Their eyes met.

His glassy eyes were still wet with tears, and his bruised cheeks were slightly red. His moist red lips remained slightly parted as he stared up at Sean.

Sean’s expression softened.

He raised one hand and gently brushed the young man’s messy watermelon hair back into place. His fingers moved slowly through his hair, then down along the side of his head until they reached his cheek.

The young man didn’t move.

Sean’s fingers continued down the side of his face, tracing slowly along his cheek until they reached his chin. He gently placed two fingers beneath it and lifted his face a little higher.

Their eyes remained locked.

Sean leaned slightly closer.

“Are you okay?”

His voice was soft and gentle, almost a whisper.

The young man swallowed. He blinked twice, then gave Sean a small, shy nod.

Neither of them looked away.

For several long seconds, they simply remained there, gazing into each other’s eyes.

Then—

PTOO!

A glob of spit shot straight toward Sean’s face.

Without taking his eyes off the young man, Sean casually tilted his head to the side.

The spit flew past his cheek.

SPLAT!

A man standing directly behind him took it straight in the eye.

He jerked backward and grabbed his face.

“Oh, fuck! Right in my eye!”

The moment was over.

Sean slowly raised his eyes toward Canelo.

Canelo stood across the street, staring back at him. His expression had turned cold.

Sean stared coldly at Canelo.

“A few days ago, you beat the crap out of one of my newer colleagues. She’d only recently joined us as a local hero. Because of you, she resigned. Now she’s gone, and nobody even knows where she is.”

His voice tightened.

“All of us thought she had a bright future ahead of her. She had so much potential as a promising local hero. Her career was just beginning, and now…”

Sean stopped. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t continue.

Canelo rested a hand beneath his chin and thought about it.

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Nor does it matter.”

Then Canelo’s expression became serious.

“Hey, you. My brother.”

---

Section 3: Brothers of the Street

Sean’s eyes shifted.

Several people in the crowd immediately began whispering.

“Brother?”

“Wait. Sean and Canelo are brothers?”

“Like actual brothers? Hmm… but they don’t really look related.”

“Maybe they were BFFs.”

One man lowered his voice.

“Maybe they used to be in the same gang.”

Sean froze.

Sweat immediately broke across his forehead. Within seconds, it was running down the sides of his face. His shoulders tightened, and his entire body became stiff.

For the first time, Canelo’s usual cold expression began to crack.

“You betrayed all of us.”

His voice was louder now, filled with an anger no one had heard from him before.

“You traitor!”

Sean stared at him.

“You know what? Back then, we fought together. We robbed together. And we…”

Sean’s eyes widened.

That was enough.

Canelo had to be silenced before he could say another word.

Sean lunged forward.

In his panic, he had completely forgotten that the young man was still in his arms.

He simply swung his arms to the side and flung him away like a bag of laundry.

“AAAAAAAAAH!”

The young man flew straight into the crowd.

Several people barely had time to turn before he crashed into them, knocking them down like bowling pins.

Sean never even noticed. His entire focus was on Canelo.

Not a single second could be wasted.

He was already charging straight at him at full speed.

Sean closed the distance almost instantly.

The two collided and immediately began trading punches at close range. Fists flew, arms blocked, hands grabbed at shirts and shoulders, and neither man gave the other any room to breathe.

They both fought like thugs.

There were no careful stances or polished techniques. It was the same rough, dirty style they had learned years ago on the streets.

But as the fight continued, the difference between them became clear.

Canelo attacked hard, but Sean was faster. He slipped past Canelo’s punches and answered with quick, clean strikes of his own.

A fist landed in Canelo’s stomach.

THUD!

Before Canelo could recover, another cracked across his jaw.

His head snapped sideways.

Canelo swung back, but Sean knocked the punch aside and struck him twice across the face.

Canelo staggered backward.

They might have learned to fight on the same streets, but Sean’s movements were faster, cleaner, and more controlled.

Canelo was beginning to fall behind.

---

Section 4: Street Hero vs. Peeing Man

Canelo stepped forward and threw another punch.

This time, Sean caught his arm.

Before Canelo could pull away, Sean turned his back to him, pulled the arm across his shoulder, and dropped his weight.

Canelo’s body lifted off the ground. His feet swung into the air as Sean pulled him cleanly over his shoulder.

BOOM!

Canelo’s back slammed hard against the pavement.

“Oh, fuck! It hurts!”

Sean gave him no time to recover. He immediately moved in after him, but Canelo quickly rolled away and scrambled back to his feet.

This time, instead of rushing back in, he began backing away.

Canelo kept retreating, opening more and more distance between them.

An old man in the crowd stroked his goatee.

“Hmm… is Canelo running away? Could the fearsome Canelo actually be losing?”

Sean watched Canelo carefully.

He noticed the way Canelo was moving—the steady retreat, the distance he was creating, the way his body was beginning to lower with each step.

Sean recognized it immediately.

Skyfall Kick.

Before Canelo could create enough distance, Sean rushed forward.

Canelo’s eyes widened.

“What the—”

Sean was already on him.

Canelo tried to back away faster, but Sean kept closing the gap, refusing to give him the space he needed.

Without enough distance, Canelo couldn’t unleash the Skyfall Kick.

Sean knew that.

And Canelo knew that Sean knew.

“You son of a bitch…”

Canelo had no choice but to abandon the move.

Sean immediately pressed the attack. He drove a punch toward Canelo’s face, forcing him to raise both arms to block. In the same motion, Sean dropped low and swept his leg across Canelo’s ankles.

Canelo’s feet were knocked out from under him.

“Shit—!”

BAM!

He crashed onto his back again.

Before Canelo could recover, Sean was already moving into position.

This time, he was going to finish it.

Sean quickly backed away, putting more than a dozen steps between himself and Canelo.

As Sean opened the distance, Canelo slowly picked himself up from the pavement.

The old man stroked his goatee again.

“The Horizontal Execution Kick… Sean’s signature finishing move.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Legend has it that the kick is incredibly fast and almost impossible to dodge.”

He paused.

“I’ve heard it can break through wood, stone… even metal.”

The old man stared at Canelo.

“If that leather shoe hits him in the head, it’ll crack his skull wide open.”

Sean leaned forward.

Then he charged.

---

Section 5: Horizontal Execution Kick

Sean’s steps became faster and faster as he rushed straight toward Canelo.

At the last moment, he launched himself forward.

He stayed low, barely more than a meter above the ground, his entire body flying almost horizontally through the air.

One leg stretched straight ahead of him, the polished leather shoe aimed directly at Canelo’s face.

Sean shot toward him like a human missile.

HORIZONTAL EXECUTION KICK

Canelo brushed the dust from his hoodie and looked up.

A powerful gust of wind struck his face.

His hair swept backward.

Canelo froze.

Something was coming.

Fast.

He felt the force of it before he could even understand what he was looking at. For a split second, all he saw was a polished leather shoe flying straight toward his face.

His eyes widened.

No.

That wasn’t just a shoe.

It was Sean.

The Horizontal Execution Kick was coming directly at his face.

For the first time, Canelo felt the fear of death.

A few drops of urine escaped into his pants.

Fortunately, he had urinated not long ago. Otherwise, he probably would have soaked himself completely.

There were only a few drops—far too little for anyone in the crowd to notice.

“Oh, shit…”

The words barely left his mouth.

Sean was already there.

At the last possible moment, Canelo’s survival instinct took over. He threw himself sideways and rolled across the pavement.

WHOOSH!

Sean’s leather shoe passed his face by inches.

Canelo hadn’t calculated the timing. He hadn’t figured out how to counter the move.

He had simply panicked, rolled out of the way—

and somehow dodged it.

He rolled twice across the pavement before planting one hand against the ground and bringing himself to a stop on one knee.

Canelo straightened his upper body and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Oh, crap… that was close.”

Then—

BAAAANG!

A deafening metallic crash exploded behind him.

Canelo flinched and instinctively turned toward the sound.

Then he froze.

Sean was stuck in a large metal trash bin.

One of his legs had punched straight through the side, leaving his foot buried deep inside. He stood there in a strange, awkward position, one leg on the pavement and the other trapped inside the bin.

Canelo stared at him.

For several seconds, he seemed to be processing what he was looking at.

Then, very slowly, the corner of his mouth began to curl upward.

---

Section 6: One Small Mistake

Sean grabbed his trapped leg and pulled.

Nothing.

He pulled harder.

The metal groaned around his shoe, but his foot refused to come free.

“Holy Jesus Christ…”

Sean pulled again, harder this time.

“This is bad. This is the worst possible time to get stuck!”

He planted his free foot firmly against the pavement and yanked with all his strength.

Still nothing.

Then he heard footsteps behind him.

Sean stopped.

He didn’t turn around.

From the corner of his eye, he could already see Canelo standing behind him.

A faint, wicked smile had appeared at the corner of Canelo’s mouth.

Sweat immediately broke across Sean’s forehead.

Sean swallowed.

Along with it, he swallowed his pride.

This was not the time to act tough. With one leg trapped inside a metal trash bin, he needed to be tactical.

“C-Canelo…”

The footsteps stopped.

Sean slowly turned his head.

Canelo was standing only a few feet behind him.

“Hey, brother.”

Sean forced a nervous smile.

“Hey… take it easy, brother.”

Canelo said nothing.

Sean grabbed his trapped leg with both hands and gave it one last desperate pull.

It still didn’t work.

“Fuck…”

In one last desperate attempt, Sean looked back at Canelo.

“Hey, Canelo… please, help me out of here. We can sit down and talk this through like civilized human beings.”

Canelo didn’t say a word.

He stepped forward and began pounding Sean with punches and kicks, using him like a human punching bag.

With one leg still trapped inside the metal trash bin, Sean had no way to fight back. At first, he could still raise both arms to protect himself, but under Canelo’s relentless beating, his defense quickly gave way.

His arms dropped to his sides. For a while, they were still tense, his fists clenched as his body struggled to endure the punishment.

Then, little by little, the strength left them.

His fists loosened.

Both arms went limp and hung at his sides.

Canelo stopped.

He lowered his body, planted his foot, and drove a powerful kick straight into Sean’s stomach.

BOOM!

Sean’s body folded around the kick. His eyes bulged as a mouthful of white, foamy spit burst from his lips.

Then his entire body shot into the air, the massive metal trash bin still firmly stuck to his leg.

“AH—!”

Sean flew more than a meter above the street, dragging the trash bin into the air with him.

Then both came crashing back down.

BAAAANG!

Sean slammed onto the pavement, the massive metal trash bin crashing down with him.

The crowd went silent.

“Oh no…”

“Sean is done for.”

A woman covered her eyes with both hands.

Then, after a moment, she quietly opened a small gap between her fingers and continued watching.

Sean lay motionless on the pavement.

He was completely unconscious, his body sprawled across the ground, his mouth hanging open.

Canelo walked over and stopped beside him.

He kicked Sean once in the side.

“You son of a bitch.”

Then Canelo reached down and pulled open his zipper.

Several people in the crowd immediately realized what was about to happen.

“Oh my God…”

“No way.”

“He’s doing it again!”

Canelo relieved himself directly over Sean’s open mouth, giving the defeated local hero one final, degrading humiliation.

In the kung fu world, sometimes all it takes is one small mistake.

Even the strongest fighter can lose his life, his reputation, and his dignity in a single moment.