The Underwear vs. Golden Eyes

Section 1: Operation Rights

Inside the Humble Organization’s headquarters, the office was dim. Four men sat around a round table.

Colin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, one leg resting over the other. “I heard you got your ass kicked recently,” he said flatly, glancing at Mr. Sang. “By some… perverted freak in women’s underwear. That’s unfortunate. Let’s get to the point. Tell us what you think should be done.”

Mr. Sang’s face twisted with anger. He slammed his palm against the table. “That bastard doesn’t know anything. He has no idea how this world works. He disrespected the entire Kung Fu Association. I want him punished—beaten so badly he’ll never forget it. I want him to learn what it means to respect us.”

Colin turned to Brian. “You scouted him last time. How strong is he?”

Brian answered without hesitation, completely confident. “Very weak. Pathetically weak. I don’t think he’ll be much trouble.”

Colin nodded. “Good. Then it’s your job. Michael’s tied up with something else right now, so he’s out.”

Brian gave a small nod. “Understood. Just to clarify—what’s the end goal of this mission?”

Colin replied without hesitation. “Teach him a lesson. Beat him up. And fuck him good.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Alive or dead?”

Colin shrugged. “I don’t care.” Then he looked at Mr. Sang, waiting for his response.

Mr. Sang shrugged. “Up to you. As long as he learns the damn lesson.”

At that moment, Michael placed his briefcase on the table and opened it. Inside were neatly bundled stacks of cash.

He slid the briefcase toward Mr. Sang. “Mr. Sang, this is a little gift from the Humble Organization. Buy something nice. Something that helps you heal faster. Or visit our best masseuses, Amy and Coco, at Sakura Spa. You could even go see Linda at the Forbidden Garden. Although it’s not one of our massage parlors, I have to admit, Linda is incredibly seductive. She is indeed the best prostitute in Flushing City.”

Mr. Sang’s face brightened. “Thank you very much. That’s very thoughtful. I can’t wait to see Amy and Coco again.”

Then he paused, looking puzzled. “Wait. Since when did Linda become a prostitute? Wasn’t she one of the most feared professional assassins in the city? The ace of the Flugal Organization?”

Michael adjusted his glasses. “Thanks to our boss Colin’s Golden Speech, she became what she is today—a legendary prostitute for years to come.”

Mr. Sang stared at him for a moment, then cleared his throat and straightened up. “Ahem. I’ll make sure you guys get the full operation rights for the new massage street. The place is all yours.”

Colin smiled faintly.

“Bribery makes the world a better place.”

Section 2: Flying Pink Underwear

Night had fallen over Flushing City.

Brian rode his motorcycle through the city streets, its engine roaring through the neighborhood. Dogs barked and windows rattled as he passed.

As he entered Local Alley, something pink appeared in the distance. Under the beam of his headlight, a small triangle of pink underwear seemed to float through the darkness, swaying gently like a butterfly.

Brian stared at it. “Holy crap. A flying pink underwear.”

He rode a little closer, and the truth came into view. It wasn’t a flying pair of underwear at all, but an almost-naked muscular man walking through the middle of the alley, wearing nothing but a pair of tight, triangle-cut pink underwear.

It was Dave—the Underwear.

Brian casually pulled his motorcycle to a stop in front of Dave and shut off the engine. He got off, lowered the kickstand with his foot, and leaned the motorcycle onto it. Then he slowly walked toward Dave.

“You’re the perverted freak everyone’s been talking about, aren’t you? The Underwear?”

Dave looked at him for a moment. Then he noticed Brian’s eyes, glowing faintly in the darkness.

Brian stepped closer. “Out of all the clothes in the world… why the hell did you choose that?”

Dave replied calmly, “Please leave my underwear alone.” Then he looked at Brian. “So… what are you here for?”

Brian spread his arms slightly. “Nothing personal. Just business. I got an assignment from above.” He paused for a moment. “I’m here to teach you a lesson. Beat you up… and fuck you good.”

Dave’s eyes lit up. He had been waiting for someone bold enough to challenge him. A slow smile appeared on his face.

“Then bring it on.”

Section 3: Golden Eyes

Dave charged forward and threw a heavy punch straight at Brian’s face. His movement was powerful, but slow and amateurish.

Brian’s Golden Eyes caught everything—the tightening of Dave’s shoulder, the turn of his waist, the shift of weight onto his front foot. Before Dave’s fist had even traveled halfway, Brian already knew where it was going.

He traced a smooth circle with both hands. One palm guided Dave’s wrist aside while the other redirected his elbow, turning the heavy punch away from his face and draining its force almost completely. Dave stumbled half a step forward, surprised that a punch carrying so much power had suddenly become useless.

HEAVEN EARTH SHIFT.

It was Robinson’s signature move—the same technique Brian had seen during Robinson’s fight with Canelo.

Dave stepped back and nodded. “Not bad.” The move felt strangely familiar, like something he had seen before.

He attacked two more times, changing the angle each time, but Brian neutralized both with the same technique. No matter where Dave aimed, Brian’s hands were already waiting for him. Dave stepped back again, but instead of looking frustrated, he grinned.

Those three attacks had only been bait.

The fourth would be the real one.

Dave lowered his body and slammed his back foot into the ground.

CRACK.

The concrete beneath him split.

MUSCLE DASH.

Dave shot forward, closing the distance in less than 0.1 seconds. Dust exploded from behind his feet as his body tore through the alley, his right fist pulled back and ready to drive straight through Brian’s guard.

But Brian’s Golden Eyes had already caught the pressure building through Dave’s leg, the tightening of his lower body, and the exact direction of the launch. By the time Dave exploded forward, Brian was already moving.

He dropped low, planted one hand against the pavement, and spun.

TORNADO SWEEP.

His leg struck Dave’s ankles just as the Muscle Dash reached full speed. Dave’s feet disappeared from beneath him, and the momentum of his own attack sent his body flipping forward through the air. For an instant, he was almost completely horizontal above Brian, still flying forward at full speed.

Brian planted both hands on the ground, folded his legs toward his chest, and kicked upward.

THUMP!

Both feet slammed into Dave’s abdomen. Combined with the remaining momentum of the Muscle Dash, the kick folded his body around Brian’s feet for a split second before launching him backward across the alley.

Dave flew over several garbage bags, clipped the edge of a metal trash can and sent it spinning across the pavement, then crashed back-first into a concrete wall.

Cracks spread across the wall behind him. Dust burst from between the bricks and fell over his shoulders as Dave dropped to the ground, blood running from the corner of his mouth.

Brian calmly stood and brushed the dirt from his hands.

Dave slowly pushed himself back up. “How… how can you move that fast? That’s not human.”

Brian smiled and tapped the corner of his glowing eye.

“Golden Eyes. I see it all before you even move. Every twitch, every shift in your body gives you away. You were finished before you even started.”

Dave stared into those glowing eyes. Brian wasn’t simply faster. He was reading him before each attack even began.

Brian’s smile faded as his whole body tensed.

“Playtime is over. Time to end this.”

Section 4: Extended Skyfall Kick

He dashed toward a tall industrial dumpster, nearly two meters high, and jumped onto the metal lid. Dave looked up, unsure of what Brian was planning.

Then Brian lowered his body.

MUSCLE DASH.

His foot slammed into the lid, caving the metal inward with a deafening bang as he launched himself upward and across the alley. His body cleared the second floor and landed on the railing of a third-floor balcony, making the metal shake beneath his shoes.

Dave’s expression changed. Whatever Brian was planning, he could already tell it was dangerous.

Brian backed up several steps. His Golden Eyes glowed as he measured the distance, height, angle, and Dave’s exact position.

Then he ran and jumped.

His body rose nearly ten meters into the air. One leg curled inward while the other extended straight as he turned into a steep downward angle.

SKYFALL KICK — EXTENDED VERSION.

Dave’s eyes widened.

It was Canelo’s most destructive technique. Normally, Skyfall Kick was performed from around three meters.

Brian had pushed it to nearly ten.

As Brian descended, sparks flickered from his heel. The move wasn’t powered by strength alone. It depended on precise calculations of physics—angle, speed, momentum, gravity, and impact.

If the angle was wrong, the kick would lose power. If he struck too steeply, the recoil could destroy his ankle or knee. If he missed completely and hit the ground at this speed, his leg could snap.

This version of the Skyfall Kick was extremely dangerous without precise calculation.

Colin had the intelligence for it, but not the body. Michael had the body, but not the math. Brian was the only one who had both—in fact, he might be the only person in the world who could pull this off.

Kids watching at home, please do not try this.

Below him, Dave watched Brian falling from the sky.

For the first time in years, he felt something he had almost forgotten—fear. Brian was coming down far faster than he had expected. By the time Dave realized how dangerous the attack was, it was already too late to dodge.

He had only one choice.

Dave planted both feet into the pavement, tightened his entire body, and threw both forearms above his head. His muscles swelled as he crossed his arms in front of his face, bracing for the impact.

Brian came down like a falling meteor, cutting through the air at terrifying subsonic speed. The sound grew louder as he descended, until the air itself seemed to scream around his leg.

Dave looked up through the narrow gap between his crossed arms.

Brian’s heel filled his vision.

BOOM.

The Skyfall Kick crashed into Dave’s crossed forearms.

A white flash burst across the alley as sparks exploded through the air. The pavement beneath Dave’s feet shattered instantly, cracks racing outward in every direction as loose stones jumped from the ground. The impact echoed like a thunderclap, cracking the windows of several nearby homes and setting off a parked car alarm.

Dave’s knees bent under the pressure. His teeth clenched as both arms shook violently beneath Brian’s heel. The force continued driving downward, pushing his feet deeper into the broken pavement.

For one second, Dave held.

Then—

CRACK.

Something broke inside his left forearm.

Another crack followed from the right.

Dave’s face twisted in pain, but he refused to lower his arms. “AAAAARGH!”

The ground beneath one foot gave way. His ankle rolled sideways, sending another burst of pain through his leg, but he somehow remained upright long enough to absorb the last of the attack.

Finally, the impact exhausted itself.

Brian pushed away from Dave’s arms, flipped backward through the air, and landed perfectly on his feet.

Everything went still.

Dust drifted through the alley. The car alarm continued screaming somewhere behind them, and tiny pieces of broken glass fell from a nearby window.

Brian stood motionless several meters away.

Then Dave’s body trembled. One leg gave way, and he dropped to one knee.

Both forearms had suffered multiple fractures, and one ankle was badly sprained from the force of the impact. His arms hung heavily at his sides as he struggled to breathe, his face pale from the pain.

But he was still conscious.

Still kneeling.

Still looking at Brian.

Slowly, Dave lifted his head, gritted his teeth, and said calmly,

“Finish it.”

Dave let out a long sigh and lowered his head. He had never expected to be defeated like this.

For years, he had believed that endless training would eventually make him the strongest man alive. Every day in the gym, every fight, every injury had been another step toward that goal.

But now he was kneeling in the middle of a broken alley while Brian stood several meters away, apparently untouched.

For the first time, Dave began to wonder if he really was the strongest man on Earth.

He still believed he was very strong. Incredibly strong.

There might just be a few people above him after all.

Brian didn’t move closer. Instead, he turned and walked back toward his motorcycle.

“Let’s call it a day,” he said over his shoulder. “My mission is complete. Just be good. I have no intention of killing you today.”

Brian reached his motorcycle, swung a leg over the seat, and started the engine.

“There are many strong people in this world,” he said. “You’re strong too. Very strong. But there are still people far above you.”

The engine growled beneath him.

“This world is full of monsters. And even among monsters, there are monsters of monsters.”

Brian revved the engine.

“The world is big,” he said. “Bigger than—”

He suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

Without another word, he twisted the throttle and sped away, disappearing around the corner.

Dave remained kneeling in the middle of the alley, bruised and bloodied, staring at the corner where Brian had disappeared. Somehow, those unfinished words stayed with him.

“The world is big…”

He lowered his head and gave a weak laugh. “Yeah… maybe it really is.”

Section 5: One Lousy Digit

A few blocks away, Brian’s motorcycle began to wobble.

His vision blurred. The streetlights stretched into glowing lines in front of him, and a deep pain spread through his chest and abdomen. His right leg had begun to shake, while every heartbeat sent another pulse through his skull.

Brian tightened his grip on the handlebars and tried to keep riding. The hospital wasn’t far away.

Then the road tilted.

He lost control.

The motorcycle slid sideways across the pavement, sparks spraying from the metal. Brian rolled across the ground before slamming against the base of a streetlamp.

For several seconds, he didn’t move.

The motorcycle lay on its side a few meters away, the rear wheel still spinning.

Brian slowly pushed himself upright and leaned against the streetlamp, breathing heavily. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

The truth was, Brian had miscalculated the recoil from the extended version of the Skyfall Kick.

Not by much.

Just enough.

The counterforce had traveled through his leg and slammed back through his body much harder than expected. His head was pounding, his organs felt shaken, and he could already feel the early signs of a concussion.

That was why Brian had left so suddenly. He didn’t want Dave to see what the attack had done to him. If he had stayed much longer, he might have collapsed right there in Local Alley.

He had tried to make it to the hospital, but only made it a few blocks before collapsing beneath the streetlamp.

Brian closed his eyes.

“One lousy digit…” he muttered.

Section 6: Unlicensed Doctor

Then footsteps approached from down the street.

Two familiar figures were walking toward him—Michael and Mildy, returning from a late-night meal and a few drinks.

Michael spotted Brian first.

“Brian?!”

He rushed over and crouched beside him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Brian slowly opened his eyes and gave a faint smile.

“I… miscalculated. Just one lousy digit.”

Michael stared at him. He had no idea what that meant.

Michael frowned. “Screw your decimal points. I’m taking you to the hospital. Now.”

But before he could help Brian up, Mildy stepped forward with a smug look.

“No need. I’m a doctor.”

He paused dramatically.

“An unlicensed one.”

Michael slowly turned toward him.

“Get the fuck out of here.”