Skyfall Kick

Section 1: Brick Demo

Canelo stared at Master Lee Kumkee, then pulled out his phone again.

4:10 PM.

He checked the time, put the phone away, and opened his mouth.

“Look, I—”

“Wait!”

Master Lee suddenly raised one hand. Canelo stopped.

Master Lee turned around and walked toward the side of the alley. Everyone watched as he bent down, picked up a brick, then another, then another. He carried all three back and carefully stacked them on top of one another.

Canelo stared at him. The reporter stared at him. The three crew members stared at him.

Nobody said anything.

The reporter finally lowered her microphone.

“What the hell is he doing?”

Master Lee stepped back from the bricks. His expression hardened as he raised one hand high above his head.

“HAAAAAA!”

His hand came down like a blade.

CRACK!

All three bricks split apart, broken pieces dropping onto the pavement.

Master Lee slowly straightened and turned toward Canelo with a proud smile.

“You see?”

He pointed at the shattered bricks.

“That’s the power of karate.”

Canelo looked at the bricks, then at Master Lee.

Then he simply walked past him.

Master Lee’s smile disappeared.

Canelo kept going without even looking back.

“Hey!”

Master Lee spun around, his face tightening. He rushed forward and threw a punch straight at the back of Canelo’s head.

WHOOSH!

The moment Canelo felt the rush of air behind him, his head snapped slightly to the side. The fist passed beside his face.

Canelo pivoted and swept his leg low across the pavement.

THWACK!

Master Lee’s ankles disappeared out from under him.

“Whoa—!”

BAM!

He hit the ground.

Master Lee immediately rolled across one shoulder, planted a hand against the pavement, and sprang back onto his feet. His uniform was dusty and his hair was slightly out of place. Otherwise, he looked perfectly fine.

He straightened his black belt and looked at Canelo. A small smile appeared on his face.

“Not bad.”

Master Lee rolled his shoulders and stepped back, his feet sliding into position.

“Hah!”

Two rapid punches shot into the empty air.

WHOOSH! WHOOSH!

He turned his hips, swept one arm across his body, spun around, and fired a high kick at absolutely nothing.

“HA!”

His foot sliced through the air. He landed and immediately followed with another punch, another kick, a spinning backfist, then another high kick. Master Lee moved faster and faster, flowing from one elaborate technique into the next.

The reporter watched.

The three crew members watched.

Canelo watched.

For about three seconds.

That was enough.

While Master Lee was still completely absorbed in his performance, Canelo suddenly rushed forward.

Master Lee turned—

SLAP!

Canelo’s palm cracked across his face.

Before he could react—

SLAP!

The other hand smashed across the opposite cheek. Master Lee’s head snapped from side to side.

“What the—”

BAM!

Canelo planted a foot into his chest.

Master Lee flew backward and crashed onto the pavement. But almost immediately, he rolled, planted one hand on the ground, swung his legs underneath him, and somehow, instead of simply standing up like a normal person, spun back onto his feet and landed in another fighting stance.

Master Lee wiped the dust from his uniform. His face darkened.

“You…”

He pointed at Canelo.

“You don’t fight like a martial arts master at all!”

Canelo stared at him.

“There’s no form!” Master Lee demonstrated a proper stance with his hands. “No discipline!” He shifted his feet. “No professional training!”

His voice rose with every accusation.

“You slap! You kick! You attack people while they’re performing their techniques!”

Canelo said nothing.

Master Lee shook his head in disgust.

“You have no technique at all.”

He pointed directly at him.

“You fight like a thug.”

Canelo moved.

Fast.

Master Lee barely had time to widen his eyes before Canelo was already in front of him. Both hands shot forward and grabbed two fistfuls of Master Lee’s hair.

“What—”

Canelo yanked his head downward.

At the same instant—

THUD!

His knee drove straight into Master Lee’s face.

A burst of blood sprayed from his nose. His head snapped backward, and Canelo released him.

Master Lee staggered one step, then another. His nose was bleeding heavily now, and his cheeks were already beginning to swell, but he didn’t fall. He swayed for a moment, then slowly straightened his back.

He wiped the blood beneath his nose with the back of his hand, looked at it, then looked at Canelo.

“All right.”

Master Lee raised both fists. His swollen face became serious.

“It looks like I’m going to have to start fighting you seriously.”

He paused for a second, then pointed at Canelo.

“And you—fight like a true martial arts master. Stop fighting like a thug.”

Canelo stared at him, genuinely confused.

“What do you mean? I am a thug.”

Section 2: Thug Style

Canelo stared at him for another moment, then pulled out his phone again.

4:20 PM.

He had barely looked at the time when—

“HA!”

Master Lee was already coming at him.

Canelo shoved the phone back into his pocket as Master Lee closed the distance with a rapid combination.

Punch. Punch. Elbow. Kick.

Canelo slipped the first punch, knocked the second aside, twisted away from the elbow, and the two of them crashed into close-range combat.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

Fists and forearms collided.

Master Lee attacked rapidly, throwing one trained combination after another. Canelo answered with none of the elegance Master Lee had been complaining about.

SLAP!

A palm cracked across Master Lee’s face.

SLAP!

Another one from the opposite side.

Master Lee grunted and drove forward. Canelo shifted aside.

THUMP!

Canelo kicked him straight in the crotch.

“UGH!”

Master Lee’s knees buckled.

Before he could recover, Canelo moved around him.

JAB! JAB! JAB!

Several hard finger strikes dug into Master Lee’s back.

Master Lee twisted around with a furious punch, but Canelo ducked underneath it.

Another kick. Another slap. A short punch buried itself in Master Lee’s ribs.

The two continued trading blows. Master Lee kept attacking while Canelo kept slipping away and hitting him from every ugly angle he could find—face, ribs, back, legs, crotch.

There was no form. No ceremony. Nothing pretty about it.

And it worked.

The fight dragged on, minute after minute, until one last strike finally sent Master Lee stumbling backward.

BAM!

The two men separated.

Master Lee staggered several steps before catching himself. His white uniform was dirty, dark bruises were already spreading across his body, his face was swollen, and blood still ran from his nose.

He bent forward.

“Guh—!”

A mouthful of blood splattered onto the pavement.

The reporter winced.

Master Lee wiped his mouth and slowly stood straight again.

Across from him, Canelo looked almost exactly the same as when the fight had started.

Not a bruise.

Not a drop of blood.

One of the crew members leaned toward the reporter.

“At this rate…” He kept his voice low. “I don’t think we’re ever going to see Canelo’s Skyfall Kick.”

The reporter looked at him.

The crew member nodded toward Master Lee.

“Master Lee is completely outmatched.”

The reporter’s expression tightened. She looked at Canelo, then at Master Lee.

They had come all this way for the Skyfall Kick.

She raised both hands around her mouth.

“MASTER LEE!”

Master Lee glanced back.

“If you beat Canelo, we’ll double your appearance fee!”

Master Lee’s eyebrows rose.

“Double?”

“Four hundred dollars!”

Master Lee stared at her.

Then a smile slowly appeared across his battered face.

He turned back toward Canelo.

“Well…”

He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.

“I suppose I have no choice.”

He straightened his black belt.

“Looks like it’s time…”

His eyes narrowed.

“…to show you my true power.”

Section 3: Four Hundred Dollars

Master Lee suddenly looked around the alley. His eyes stopped on a mop leaning against the wall.

He walked over and picked it up.

The reporter blinked.

One of the crew members frowned.

“Now what?”

Master Lee gripped the handle with both hands.

Then—

BAM!

He smashed the mop against the pavement.

The mop head snapped off. Master Lee kicked the broken head aside, leaving only the long wooden handle. He spun it once between his hands.

Then twice.

Then—

WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!

The wooden staff began whipping around his body. Master Lee spun it over his head, swept it behind his back, caught it beneath one arm, reversed direction, then sent it circling around his waist.

“HA!”

He thrust it forward.

WHOOSH!

He pulled it back, spun, turned, and dropped into a low stance. The staff whirled over one shoulder and under the other, moving so quickly that the wooden shaft became a blur.

“HAAAA!”

Master Lee leaped into the air, turned completely around, landed on one foot, and immediately continued spinning the staff.

He looked less like a man in an alley fight and more like someone performing onstage in a traditional martial-arts opera.

The reporter watched. The three crew members watched. Even the camera followed him back and forth.

Master Lee kept going.

And going.

And going.

For nearly half a minute.

Canelo just stood there.

Waiting.

Finally—

“HA!”

Master Lee slammed one end of the staff against the pavement.

THOCK!

He froze in a dramatic stance, one hand gripping the staff behind his back, the other extended toward Canelo. His chest rose and fell as a proud smile appeared on his swollen, bloodied face.

Canelo stared at him.

Then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

4:40 PM.

His eyes widened slightly.

“Oh, shit.”

He looked at the time again.

“Time is running out.”

The phone disappeared into his pocket. Canelo looked up at Master Lee, his patience finally gone.

“I don’t have time for this anymore. I gotta end this fast.”

He lowered his body slightly.

Master Lee tightened his grip on the wooden staff.

“HAAAA!”

He rushed forward, the staff spinning again as he charged, sweeping from one side of his body to the other.

WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!

Behind him, the reporter watched closely, her arms folded across her chest.

“I don’t think Master Lee can actually beat Canelo.”

One of the crew members looked at her.

The reporter kept her eyes on the fight.

“But now that he has a weapon…”

A small, confident smile appeared on her face.

“…I think he definitely has what it takes to force Canelo to use his ultimate technique.”

Master Lee closed in. The staff whipped toward Canelo.

The reporter’s eyes narrowed with anticipation. She murmured to herself,

“Finally… behold! We are about to witness the legendary Skyfall Kick with our own eyes!”

CLAP!

Canelo caught the staff between both hands.

Master Lee froze.

Before he could pull it back, Canelo jerked the staff toward himself and drove his knee upward.

CRACK!

The wooden shaft snapped cleanly in two.

Master Lee stared at the broken pieces.

Canelo ripped them out of his hands and casually threw both pieces over his shoulder.

Clack.

Clatter.

They bounced across the pavement behind him.

The reporter’s eyes bulged. Her arms were still folded across her chest.

“It can’t be!”

Beside her, the three crew members reacted almost at the same time.

One covered his eyes with his hand.

Another dropped his head and pressed a palm against his forehead.

The third dropped to his knees.

“Oh, shit!”

He stared helplessly at the ground.

“We’re screwed.”

Section 4: Broken Staff

Canelo looked at Master Lee.

“Move.”

Master Lee didn’t.

Canelo’s expression hardened.

“Move now, before it’s too late, and I’ll still spare your life. You see, I have something really important to do.”

He pointed toward the end of the alley.

“I have a five o’clock appointment with Amy and Coco.”

The reporter and all three crew members stared at him, their jaws dropping at once.

“Say what?!”

The reporter threw up a hand and suddenly shouted,

“He’s been checking the time this whole time just to go get a massage? What the hell? I thought it was something truly important!”

Canelo continued as if this were the most serious matter in the world.

“If I leave now, I can still make it on time. But if you keep delaying me, I’m going to be late.”

He stepped closer to Master Lee, his eyes narrowing.

“And trust me. You won’t be able to handle the consequences.”

Master Lee blinked.

Then his face suddenly brightened.

“Oh! Amy and Coco! I just went to see them right before I came here!”

He smiled happily despite his swollen face and bloody nose.

“Let me tell you something. You’ve gotta try their RPG service—the ‘Two Girls, One Cop’ package. That’s the one you want.”

He gave Canelo an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Trust me. That’s the best service you’ll ever get from them.”

He nodded to himself.

“I’m definitely going back tomorrow.”

“Recommendation accepted.”

Canelo’s voice hardened.

“I’m gonna say this one last time. Move. Now.”

He pulled out his phone again.

“My time is running out.”

“No.”

Canelo slowly slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Master Lee stood firmly in his path and raised one open palm, blocking the way.

“I’m afraid you’re still not going anywhere.”

His voice was calm but firm.

“I have four hundred dollars to collect.”

Canelo said nothing.

Instead of moving forward, he took one step backward.

Then another.

And another.

Master Lee frowned.

Canelo kept backing away—five steps, eight, ten. He didn’t stop until more than a dozen paces separated them.

Master Lee slowly lowered his hand.

“What…?”

Behind him, the reporter frowned. The three crew members looked at one another.

“What is he doing?” the reporter asked.

Section 5: Skyfall Kick

Canelo stopped.

For one second, he stood completely still.

Then—

He exploded forward.

THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

His shoes hammered against the pavement, every step faster than the one before it.

Five meters.

Eight.

Ten.

Master Lee’s eyes widened.

Canelo drove one final step into the ground—

BOOM!

—and launched himself into the air.

The reporter’s head snapped upward.

Canelo rose.

One meter.

Two.

Three.

At the highest point of his ascent, his body began to turn. His torso tilted forward, his hips rotated, and his entire body settled into a forty-five-degree angle above the alley.

Then his leg extended.

Straight.

Perfectly straight.

From his hip to his knee, from his knee to his ankle, there was no break in the line. His other leg folded behind him. His shoulders tightened. His torso locked.

Every muscle in his body seemed to align behind a single point—

the tip of his foot.

Then gravity took him.

Canelo plunged downward.

WHOOOOOOOOSH!

His speed climbed. The air screamed around his descending body.

Tiny sparks began to flicker around the tip of his shoe.

One.

Two.

Then dozens.

ZZZT—!

For a split second, the descending foot seemed to drag a trail of sparks through the air.

Master Lee looked up.

His eyes widened.

The wind reached him before Canelo did.

WHOOOOSH!

His hair blasted backward. His white uniform snapped violently against his body.

Behind him, the reporter’s mouth fell open. The three crew members stared upward.

One of them whispered,

“Can this be…?”

The reporter’s eyes lit up.

“Yes.”

She immediately pointed toward the sky.

“This is it!”

She spun toward the crew.

“The legendary Skyfall Kick! Make sure you guys get this on camera!”

The cameraman jerked the lens upward.

Master Lee planted both feet.

“HAAAA!”

He crossed his forearms in front of his chest. Every muscle in his body tightened.

Canelo came down.

Three meters.

Two.

One—

BOOOOOOM!

His foot crashed directly into Master Lee’s crossed guard.

CRACK!

Both forearms broke.

Master Lee screamed.

“AAAAARGH!”

But the Skyfall Kick didn’t stop.

His shattered guard collapsed inward. Canelo’s leg drove straight through it and slammed into Master Lee’s chest.

BAM!

His body folded.

Then—

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

The sounds erupted through the alley like a string of firecrackers.

One rib.

Another.

Then several more.

Master Lee’s eyes bulged.

“GAAAAAAAH!”

His feet left the ground and his entire body shot backward.

Five feet.

Ten.

Fifteen—

CRASH!

He disappeared into a pile of garbage bags at the side of the alley.

Bags burst apart. Cardboard boxes collapsed. A metal trash can flipped over and rolled across the pavement.

CLANG—

CLANG—

CLANG—

At the same moment, the force of the impact kicked Canelo back upward. His body rotated through the air in one complete turn, his leg dropped beneath him, and—

THUD!

One foot touched the pavement.

His knee bent, absorbing the landing.

A fraction of a second later—

Tap.

The other foot came down.

Canelo straightened.

Behind him, the overturned trash can continued rolling.

Clang…

Clang…

Clang…

Then it fell flat.

Silence.

Everyone stared at the pile of garbage.

For several seconds, nothing moved.

Then the reporter looked toward Canelo.

He had already turned around.

Without saying another word, he started walking toward the end of the alley.

One of the crew members lowered the camera.

“I got it.”

The reporter turned.

“You got everything?”

“Everything. The whole Skyfall Kick.”

Another crew member pointed.

“Canelo’s leaving.”

The reporter glanced over. Canelo was already walking away.

She waved a hand.

“Oh, it’s fine now. Our job is done.”

Section 6: Small Injury

Then—

Rustle.

Everyone turned.

Something moved inside the pile of garbage.

A black belt appeared.

Then a shoulder.

Slowly, Master Lee Kumkee climbed out.

The reporter’s eyes widened.

“He’s alive!”

Master Lee stumbled toward them. Both of his forearms hung uselessly in front of him, his broken arms swinging loosely with every step. His face was badly swollen, and his white uniform was covered in dirt and blood.

He took another step.

Then stopped.

“Cough—!”

A large mouthful of blood splattered onto the pavement.

Everyone rushed toward him.

“Master Lee!”

“Are you okay?”

“Jesus Christ, are you all right?”

Master Lee slowly raised his head.

“I’m completely fine.”

Everyone stared at him.

Master Lee swallowed.

“My four hundred dollars.”

The reporter blinked.

“Oh.”

She immediately reached into her pocket, pulled out four hundred dollars, looked at his broken arms, then simply folded the bills and stuffed them into his pocket.

“There.”

Master Lee nodded.

“Thank you.”

One of the crew members looked at his arms.

“We need to get you to a hospital. Right now. You’re seriously hurt.”

The reporter pointed toward the end of the alley.

“There’s literally a hospital around the corner.”

Everyone looked.

The entrance was less than fifty meters away.

“We can get you there in less than a minute.”

Master Lee shook his head.

“Nah.”

The reporter stared at him.

“Nah?”

“Small injury.” He looked down at his useless arms. “I’ll go home and get some dit da.”

He nodded confidently.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Master Lee, both of your arms are broken.”

Master Lee smiled.

“Nothing serious.”

“Cough—!”

Another splash of blood hit the pavement.

Everyone stared at him.

“Are you sure?”

Master Lee nodded.

“Absolutely.”

He turned around and, step by step, began walking toward the other end of the alley.

Nobody stopped him.

They simply watched as his broken arms swung uselessly at his sides.

Eventually, Master Lee Kumkee disappeared around the corner.

The reporter and the three crew members remained silent for a moment.

One of them finally shook his head.

“Wow.”

Another nodded.

“Master Lee is one tough son of a bitch.”

The reporter looked toward the corner where he had disappeared.

“A true martial arts master.”

The others nodded.

The next evening, the reporter sat behind the news desk, her long black hair resting neatly over one shoulder. She looked directly into the camera with her usual gentle, professional smile.

“In other news…”

Her expression became appropriately serious.

“Martial arts master Lee Kumkee, who challenged the legendary Peeing Man yesterday, passed away earlier today.”

A photograph of Master Lee appeared beside her.

“According to the hospital, Master Lee suffered multiple fractures and severe internal bleeding following yesterday’s fight.” She glanced down at her notes. “He reportedly declined immediate medical treatment after the incident.”

The reporter looked back into the camera.

“He later died from complications related to his injuries.”

A brief pause.

She calmly moved to the next sheet of paper.

“And now, tomorrow’s weather.”