“Baka!” Miyagi Sawano cursed and strode toward me.
But before he could strike, I slapped him across the face. “Baka? Screw you! Is that any way to talk to me?”
My slap was lightning-fast—Miyagi didn’t even have time to react.
He stared at me in shock, then gritted his teeth, eyes burning with fury. “Baka! Shinē!” he roared, throwing a punch straight at my face.
“I don’t understand your bird language! Speak like a human!” I grabbed his fist mid-air, twisted my wrist sharply, and flung him aside.
Miyagi staggered back, stunned that I had blocked his attack so effortlessly.
“Karate is the strongest in the world!” he shouted, this time in Chinese, before charging at me again. Another punch, but this time aimed at my chest.
I didn’t even flinch.
The moment his fist connected, a loud crack! echoed through the room.
“Ah! Ah!” Miyagi screamed, clutching his hand as he stumbled backward.
My body wasn’t so tough that it could dislocate someone’s hand on impact. The truth was, when I threw him earlier, I had secretly channeled a trace of True Qi into his wrist, holding his already dislocated joint together. If he didn’t exert force, he wouldn’t notice.
But when he punched me with that damaged hand? Even if he didn’t end up permanently disabled, he’d never use that hand for fighting again.
“Yah!” Miyagi roared through the pain and lunged at me once more—this time switching to a vicious kick aimed at my temple. If it landed with full force, it could rupture my eardrum and leave me deaf.
“Shut the hell up!” I snapped, lifting my leg to meet his.
Snap! Another crisp sound of breaking bone. Miyagi collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony.
Even a Yellow Rank expert wouldn’t stand a chance against me in a direct clash, let alone a nobody like Miyagi.
“Kusō!” he hissed through gritted teeth, glaring at me with pure hatred.
I blinked. “Coughing? I’m perfectly healthy, thanks. Get up, let’s go again!” I stepped forward, but Lin Youchen quickly intercepted.
“Xia Tian! Sparring should end when honor is satisfied. I concede on Miyagi’s behalf!”
“Honor? Is that why Yang Fan ended up like that?” I pointed at Yang Fan’s injuries—then froze.
What the hell? Since when was he covered in so much blood?!
A closer look revealed it wasn’t blood at all—just red ink. This guy was really milking it.
“T-This…” Lin Youchen stammered, lost for words.
Meanwhile, Miyagi forced himself up from the ground. “Youchen! I haven’t lost yet! Let me fight him!”
“You see? He’s not surrendering. Why butt in?” I shrugged mockingly.
“Miyagi!” Lin Youchen frowned, but Miyagi cut him off. “The Yamato people have no weaklings!” He pointed at me defiantly. “You will fall to me!”
“Enough yapping.” I seized his outstretched finger and snapped it backward.
“AAAH!” Another scream. I didn’t stop—kicking his shin hard. Though the bone didn’t break, that leg was done for.
In fights, striking first matters when opponents are evenly matched. But the gap between Miyagi and me? As vast as the one between me and that young man.
“Xia Tian, enough!” Lin Youchen finally snapped, stepping forward as Miyagi crumpled, crippled.
I raised an eyebrow. “You want some too?”
“You—!” He clenched his jaw. “He’s a disciple of Kyokushin Karate! The forces behind him are beyond you!”
“If you’re done, step aside.” I smirked dismissively.
Miyagi had passed out from the pain, but I wasn’t finished. Yang Fan’s injuries were his doing.
Whack! I yanked Miyagi up and slapped him. “Quit faking! Wake up!”
Of course, he didn’t.
“Move!” Lin Youchen suddenly lunged, aiming a kick at me.
I sidestepped and drove my foot into his stomach, sending him flying.
“X-Xia Tian! This will start a war! The Japanese instructors will retaliate!” he gasped, struggling to rise.
Ignoring him, I turned to Yang Fan. “Fan! Come here.”
“Me?” He hobbled over, Yang Xue supporting him.
Slap!
I hit Miyagi again. “Your turn. Beat him until you’re satisfied.”
“Hell yeah!” Grinning, Yang Fan landed a slap—then winced. “Ow…”
I shook my head. “You’re doing it wrong.”
“Then how?”
“Watch.” I demonstrated.
Yang Fan nodded. “Got it!” He swung again—too hard. His injured hand flared in pain. “Agh…!”
“You’re still hurting my man?!” I shoved Miyagi aside. “Rest, Fan. I’ll handle this.”
Then began a relentless barrage of slaps—each louder than the last.
“Baka! Baka!” Miyagi suddenly woke, spitting curses.
“Speak Chinese!” I punched his face, knocking him out cold again.
By now, Miyagi was a swollen, broken mess—arms and legs useless.
I hauled him up and addressed the crowd: “Listen up, karate club! ‘Strongest martial art’? Bullshit! If you’re still Chinese, join the Martial Arts Society!” With that, I hurled Miyagi aside.
Done, I helped Yang Fan toward the exit.
Lin Youchen struggled to his feet, shouting, “Xia Tian! You’ll regret this!”
I scoffed, picked up a shattered door fragment, and hurled it.
Whoosh—THUNK!
It embedded itself between his legs, inches from his crotch. He paled, sweat pouring.
“I hate threats. Want revenge? Come find me at the Martial Arts Club.”
And with that, I left with Yang Fan and Yang Xue.