The Underwear vs. Gangsters

It was a scorching summer afternoon. Inside the cool, air-conditioned mall, Dave sat comfortably in a ramen restaurant, enjoying a bowl of ramen. As usual, he wore nothing but a pair of pink women’s underwear, leaving his absurdly muscular body completely exposed.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside. Several customers turned toward the entrance, and one of them shot to his feet. “Oh, shit! Canelo’s gang and Robinson’s gang are fighting over the territory! We gotta get out of here!”

That was all it took. Customers abandoned their meals, grabbed their belongings, and hurried for the exit.

“Hey! Don’t leave!” the owner’s daughter called after them from behind the counter. Her dark hair was tied into the same small ponytail, and she still wore her familiar pink apron. “It’s safe in here! We pay protection money to Lord Canelo! He’ll protect us!”

Nobody listened. Within moments, nearly the entire restaurant was empty—except for Dave, who remained comfortably in his seat, leisurely eating his ramen as if nothing were happening outside.

Suddenly, one of Canelo’s men came flying through the entrance.

CRASH!

He slammed straight through Dave’s chair, shattering it beneath him, then crashed into the wall and dropped unconscious to the floor.

Dave didn’t even look up. He simply remained in the exact same sitting position, his legs still bent beneath him as though the chair had never disappeared, calmly lifting another mouthful of noodles to his lips.

Behind the counter, the owner glanced nervously toward the fighting outside. “Are we gonna be okay?”

“Don’t worry,” his daughter said confidently. “Lord Canelo will protect us. He’s not only a strong leader—he’s also a nice guy. If it weren’t for him, I might’ve been raped.”

She swallowed, then fell quiet for a moment.

Her father nodded. “Yeah. Lord Canelo will protect us. We pay him protection money, after all.”

The daughter quickly nodded along, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks.

Just then, Canelo was sent skidding through the entrance by a powerful kick from outside. He slid across the restaurant floor for more than ten meters before finally grinding to a stop.

“Shit…”

Canelo slowly raised his head. Right in front of his face was a pair of pink, triangle-shaped women’s underwear, stretched between two enormously muscular thighs.

Canelo froze. “Holy fuck… what kinda nasty-ass view is this?”

He stared at the bizarre sight for another second before getting back onto his feet. By then, the owner and his daughter had hurried over as well.

Canelo looked at Dave, then finally noticed something even stranger. “Yo… what the fuck are you doing?”

Dave looked up from his ramen. “Eating ramen. Duh.”

“I can fucking see that!” Canelo snapped. “What the fuck are you sitting on?”

Dave paused and looked down. Only then did he notice the shattered pieces of his chair scattered across the floor. “Oh. I didn’t notice my chair was gone.”

The owner’s daughter stared at Dave’s legs in disbelief. “Sir… how long have you been sitting like that?”

Dave shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe twenty or thirty minutes.”

The owner and his daughter stared at the bizarre sight for a moment, neither quite sure what to make of it.

Canelo turned toward the entrance. “I gotta get back out there. My boys need me. That bastard Robinson is tough as hell.”

He started toward the door, only to find a wall of muscle blocking his path. Canelo stepped left… Dave moved left. He stepped right… Dave moved right. Left again… Dave was still there.

Canelo slowly raised his head and glared at him. “Get the fuck outta my way.”

Dave had heard the owner and his daughter call him “Lord Canelo.” That sounded like the name of someone strong.

“Hey, you’re Lord Something, right?” Dave said. “Listen up. I challenge you right now. I’m ready whenever you are.”

Canelo didn’t bother answering. He drove his elbow straight into Dave’s abs.

THUD!

It felt like slamming his elbow into a wall of solid steel. Canelo slowly raised his eyes and found Dave looking down at him with the same calm expression.

“I’ll take that as you’re ready.”

Dave casually threw a punch.

BAM!

Canelo was sent flying backward. He smashed straight through a table, reducing it to splinters, then slammed into the wall with enough force to embed his entire body in it, already unconscious.

Dave looked at him for a moment. “Oh, no. I guess I overdid it again.”

He turned and walked away as the owner and his daughter immediately rushed over and tried to pull Canelo out of the wall.

“Lord Canelo! Are you okay?!”

Without Canelo leading them, his men quickly began to fall apart. One after another, they were beaten down or sent flying across the food court, until most of them were sprawled across the floor, unable to get back up and groaning in pain.

Robinson took a short run toward a table in the middle of the food court, leaped onto it, and raised one fist high above his head. “Brothers! Victory is ours!”

Robinson’s men erupted into cheers. They clapped, shouted, and raised their fists as the food court filled with the sound of celebration.

Standing proudly on the table, Robinson spread his arms and soaked it all in. “All right, brothers! From this day forward, this mall is under my leadership! And under my leadership, I promise all of you a future of prosperity, dignity, and—”

“Excuse me.”

A calm voice came from directly below him. Robinson stopped and looked down. Dave was standing at the foot of the table, looking up at him.

“Wanna spar?”

Robinson looked down and found an enormous, absurdly muscular man standing beneath him, wearing nothing but a pair of pink, triangle-shaped women’s underwear.

“What in the world kind of creep are—”

BAM!

Before Robinson could finish, Dave casually punched the table beneath his feet, blasting it into pieces.

Robinson reacted instantly. He sprang backward, flipped through the air, and landed several meters away. But before he could fully regain his balance, Dave was already rushing toward him, throwing a rapid series of punches.

Robinson’s eyes sharpened.

HEAVEN AND EARTH SHIFT!

He raised both arms in front of him and began circling them continuously, one hand flowing after the other. Each time one of Dave’s punches entered the rotating motion, its tremendous force was gradually neutralized until almost nothing remained.

Dave found the technique fascinating. That brief moment of admiration gave Robinson the split-second opening he needed.

Robinson immediately opened some distance between them. He charged forward, spun two full rotations across the floor, then launched himself into the air, his entire body whipping around as he unleashed a devastating spinning kick.

Robinson’s men went wild, clapping and screaming like a crowd at a concert. “Oh, shit! Boss is using it!” “He’s using it now!” “That freak is fucking dead!”

Robinson’s heel slammed directly into the side of Dave’s neck.

BOOM!

The impact blasted out a violent gust of wind, whipping the hair and clothes of every gangster nearby. Sparks burst from the point of contact as the shockwave swept across the food court.

CRACK!

Dave staggered two steps backward, his head snapping sharply to the side.

Robinson, meanwhile, carried forward with the momentum of the kick, spinning twice through the air. But instead of landing cleanly on his feet, he crashed onto the floor and rolled several times before finally coming to a stop. He didn’t get back up. His men stared at him. One of Robinson’s legs was twisted at a horrifyingly unnatural angle.

“Did you hear that crack?” one of Robinson’s men whispered. “Boss just snapped that creepy naked freak’s neck with one kick!”

“No… that’s not quite what happened,” another man said, staring at Robinson’s twisted leg. “I’m afraid Boss broke his own leg.”

Dave slowly turned his neck back into place and rolled it once. “Ahh… that felt like a really good massage.”

Two of Robinson’s men immediately rushed forward and helped their boss up. With Robinson unable to stand on his own, they supported him between them and hurried away, while the rest of the gang quickly followed.

Dave remained standing in the middle of the food court, quietly watching Robinson’s gang disappear into the distance. “That’s it?” he muttered. “I kinda got my hopes up.”

He let out a disappointed sigh. For a moment, he had actually thought Canelo and Robinson might be strong.

Just then, Sean strode into the food court, his red cape fluttering dramatically behind him. He glanced around at the overturned tables, shattered furniture, and unconscious gangsters scattered across the floor, then quickly spotted Dave standing in the middle of it all.

Sean walked over and placed a hand on Dave’s shoulder. “Hey, are you okay? I heard there was a gang turf war going on here. You didn’t get caught up in it, did you? Are you hurt?”

“Oh, I’m totally fine,” Dave said. He glanced toward the direction the two gangs had retreated. “I’m more worried about Lord Something and… Robinson, Robertson, Romeo, whatever his name was. I wonder if they’re gonna be okay.”

Sean frowned. “Who?”

Dave paused. “Oh. Never mind.”

Sean looked around once more. “All right. Well, looks like everyone’s okay. Guess I got here too late.” With that, he turned around and started walking away.

As Sean turned away, Dave suddenly paused. Something about him looked familiar. His eyes followed the long bangs hanging over one side of Sean’s face, then dropped to his half-buttoned white shirt. A memory flashed through his mind—the supermarket ten years ago, the gangster who had mugged him, beaten him up, and sent him crashing through the crab tank.

Dave’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit. It’s him.”

Sean had barely taken another step when Dave rushed forward. “Wait!” He grabbed Sean by the forearm from behind.

Sean stopped and looked back. “Huh?”

“You’re that gangster who mugged me ten years ago!”

Sean’s expression changed instantly. “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! Who the hell are you calling a gangster?!”

Sean quickly glanced around, then lowered his voice, a hint of guilt creeping into his tone. “Hey, you got the wrong guy. I’m a local hero now, all right? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He tried to pull his arm free, but Dave held on. “No, I’m pretty sure it was you.”

“Let go of me!” Sean yanked his arm harder, and without thinking, Dave tightened his grip.

CRACK!

Both of them froze and slowly looked down. Sean’s forearm was bent at a very wrong angle inside Dave’s hand.

For several seconds, Sean simply stared at his bent forearm before his face twisted in pain. “AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!! MY ARM!! JESUS CHRIST! FOR GOD’S SAKE!”

Dave immediately let go. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I barely squeezed it.”

“BARELY?! You fucking snapped my arm!” Sean clutched his broken arm against his chest and stumbled backward.

Dave looked genuinely apologetic. “Sorry. I’m still getting used to my strength.”

Sean stared at him, then at his own arm. Whatever argument he had been about to make seemed to disappear from his mind. “…You know what? Forget it.”

He turned and hurried away, clutching his broken arm as his red cape fluttered behind him.

A short while later, Sean walked into a nearby hospital, clutching his broken arm against his chest. The nurse at the front desk took one look at it.

“So, what happened to your arm?”

Sean went quiet for a second and looked away. “You know what? Don’t worry about that. It’s nothing important.”

The nurse stared at the obviously broken arm. “…Right. Have a seat.”

The next morning, the ramen shop owner sat behind the counter reading the newspaper while his daughter prepared the restaurant for another day. Suddenly, his eyes widened. “Hey… come look at this.”

His daughter leaned over his shoulder. Across the front page was a huge headline:

THE UNDERWEAR VS. THREE GANGSTERS

Below it were four photographs—The Underwear, Canelo, Robinson, and Sean.

The daughter stared at Dave’s picture. “Oh, wait… the guy in the pink underwear? He was The Underwear? The guy everyone’s been talking about in the news lately?”

Her father leaned closer to the newspaper. “So that’s who he was.”

“No wonder Lord Canelo lost to him!” she said. “There’s no shame in losing to The Underwear. Lord Canelo actually did pretty well!”

Her father nodded firmly. “Yeah. Pretty well.”

Later that morning, Sean walked down the street with his broken arm wrapped in a cast. As he passed a newsstand, a familiar face on the front page of a newspaper caught his eye—his own.

Sean stopped and stared at the enormous headline splashed across the front page, printed in thick, oversized letters that took up nearly a fifth of the entire page:

THE UNDERWEAR VS. THREE GANGSTERS

His eyes moved across the four photographs until they landed on an old mugshot of himself in a prison uniform. “What the fuck?” Sean snatched up the newspaper and started reading.

Yesterday afternoon, the infamous fighter known as The Underwear was involved in a violent confrontation with three gangsters at a local shopping mall. Among them was Sean, a former convict who served three years in prison—

Sean’s eye twitched. “Former convict? Three gangsters?” He looked at his old prison photo again. “Seriously? Of all the pictures you could’ve used, you had to use this old one? Couldn’t you find a newer picture of me?”

Then his eyes drifted back to the gigantic headline. At the same time, he noticed a tiny article squeezed into the corner beside it, its headline not even one-tenth the size: Brooklyn City’s Greatest Mayor Passes Away.

Sean stared at the tiny headline, then slowly back at the gigantic one taking up nearly a fifth of the page. His eye twitched.

“What the fuck is wrong with these font sizes?”

He stared between the two headlines for another second before finally snapping, crumpling the newspaper in his hands and hurling it onto the ground.

“FUCK YOUR STUPID FONT SIZES!!”

Sean stomped on the newspaper several times before turning around and storming away, his red cape fluttering behind him.

“Hey,” the newsstand owner called after him. “You haven’t paid for that newspaper.”

Sean stopped in his tracks. After a brief silence, he quietly turned around, walked back to the stand, and placed a dollar on the counter.

“Oh. My bad.”

He turned around once more and walked away, his red cape fluttering behind him once again.