Chapter 124: Open A Can Of Whoop-ass, No That’s Beer!

Chapter 124: Open A Can Of Whoop-ass, No That's Beer!

That Colt won't be firing any real bullets for quite a while! The execution was just pure, unadulterated brutality. To think that he technically won the match on paper, but he sadly won't even be physically able to stand up and fight in the next round.

I would bet good money that by next year, the official tournament rules are absolutely gonna change because of this.

Tina casually walked right by me and, right in front of everyone watching, just kissed my lips with a thoroughly happy face. She then sexily turned on her heel and went back to sit down with Kim, Jennifer, Mercy, and James.

I walked straight back to my designated ring with a massive grin plastered on my face. Yup, that's my woman right there, the Blood Demon in all her terrifying glory.

I cast a glance over at the next ring adjacent to mine, and I could see that Logan Chen had been watching that entire match with deep interest. He has also been actively trying to study my precise fighting form during my bouts. The guy is a fresh Master level martial artist, and he has only been one for probably less than a single year.

For the general skill levels of various professions, I would estimate the breakdown, using standard Martial Arts as a true baseline for the average person, to look something like this:

Amateur Skill Level: A complete noob or an old dog who can try anything once.

Basic Skill Level: Achieved around 18 years of age.

Advanced Skill Level: Achieved around 22 to 25 years of age.

Master Skill Level: Achieved around 30 to 35 years of age.

Grandmaster Skill Level: Achieved around 45+ years of age.

Now, mind you, this generic timeline does not take into account unique anomalies. It doesn't account for being rigorously trained as a very small child like Ashley, if you are a literal genius like Hana, or if you are just aggressively stupid like Sam.

So, being a Master at the exact age of 30 for Logan Chen is actually slightly better than the average person. He may have even reached the Master tier around 28, showcasing his genuine potential.

Now, when I previously said that I had three entire lifetimes of absolute shit violently shoved into my brain when I awakened six months ago, one can clearly see that I was not exaggerating in the slightest.

Frankly, I am a total freak of nature with the sheer volume of combat skill packed into my brain. This is precisely why the past version of me only had so many finite points to spend on attributes and skills. It takes an exceptionally larger amount of raw life experience to go from say Basic, to Advanced, to Master, and finally to Grandmaster. Because of that, the doubling of point costs was not a true waste of resources at all.

In the last half a year, the specific utility skills I have obtained that are currently nearing the Advanced level from Basic are: Acting: Basic, Cat Burglar: Basic, Cooking: Basic, Stealth: Basic, and Thief: Basic.

I don't have one of those flashy digital status screens or anything tangible to prove this to anyone, but my complete Basic knowledge treats me exactly like a person with the absolute highest potential. I have zero fundamental gaps in my knowledge within those specific fields.

Now, to take any of these skills from Advanced to a true Master level would normally require years of grueling, hard work due to the fact that my new knowledge naturally has gaps in real-world application.

How long will it actually take me to advance my current skill level in my Advanced Skills and make them Master level? It will probably take around 2 to 4 years, but this timeline is super-fast if you look closely at the age standard section I mentioned. Meanwhile, my singular Grandmaster skill can never truly become any higher, due to the literal fact that I have already learned everything that has ever existed in the past and current eras.

So yes, Logan Chen is absolutely going to be a formidable opponent in a strictly regulated sport fight. He is definitely not a man I can super easily defeat in this environment. I won't lose the match for sure, that is a statistical certainty, but he might actually manage to get a point or two on me because the specific rules give him a massive advantage by severely limiting my lethal options. If it was a true life-and-death fight in an alleyway, I would completely curb-stomp him into the pavement.

Logan Chen caught me actively watching him, and his dark eyes squinted into thin slits. He can tell I see right through him, and this makes him alert. His fight is starting right now, so I can see him move again.

It is Logan versus Ashley!

Sadly, I completely forgot to tell Ashley a proper heads-up about this guy's specific background, but there is no available medicine to cure regret. I watched closely as the two fighters prepared themselves.

Logan instantly recognized her signature fighting style from the now-gone Mountain Temple. Because of that recognition, he immediately started to fight her aggressively.

After Logan successfully scored his very first point with a painful knife-hand strike directly to her neck, Ashley recognized his style in return. He belongs to the Sea Temple.

However, the raw mathematical difference of her 18 years of age versus his 30 years told her right away that she was completely outmatched. This guy is about as skilled as the elite assassins her former temple used to regularly send out for high-profile hits.

On the very next go, Logan moved like a striking sea snake. He slithered completely behind her form, putting her into a tight chokehold. He easily avoided her backward elbows and strikes to earn a clean point. I can tell by his posture that he is not trying to win the match with points. He is deliberately trying to embarrass and humiliate the rival, fallen temple.

Finally, Ashley managed to score a lucky elbow directly into his ribs, forcing him to let her go so she could breathe. Logan merely offered her a mocking smile seeing her gasp heavily for air. He looked exactly like a predator watching its prey hopelessly struggle in a trap.

On the third start, he swiftly shot to her side and grabbed her exposed left arm. With a brutal grab-and-twist motion, he pulled with immense leverage and instantly dislocated her arm right out of the shoulder socket.

"AHHH!"

Ashley had her arm look a bit visibly off-angle. She grit her teeth hard against her bite guard to fight the blinding pain. Logan quickly tapped his hand against her torso to make the point before the referee could officially step in to stop the chance.

While the referee was busy looking at Ashley, her eyes frantically searched and saw mine. I slowly shook my head at her, giving her the signal. She nodded subtly and said something directly to the referee. He immediately called a forfeit on her behalf, ending Logan's sadistic fun right there.

Ashley headed straight over to where I was standing. I took a quick look at her drooping shoulder. It was a simple, standard dislocation that I could easily pop back into place myself.

"Ashley, I will pop it back in right now," I told her calmly. "Use your bite guard, because it will hurt a bit."

She offered a weak smile and shook her head. "No need, this has happened a few times in my past during training. Thanks."

So without a shred of hesitation, I firmly grabbed the precise points on her upper arm and shoulder. I delivered just the right amount of targeted force to pop it back cleanly into place. She only let out a low grunt through her teeth, and I could see the team coach already coming over to us.

I looked over my handiwork and nodded to a job done well. Then I told her instructions. "Have Jim hold a big ice pack for you to help keep him calm and make him feel useful. Then go straight to Hana for a professional followup since I have to fight."

"Thanks, Rick," Ashley breathed, testing the joint. "Also, we are considered family now, right? Only the actual family looks out for each other like that, and not because of Jimbo."

I let out a smile because I can easily tell she has fully figured her aunt out. So I grinned and only said a joke. "Well, if you ever marry Jim, I will be a Monkey's Uncle."

Ashley smiled warmly and said playfully, showing me she has a genuine sense of humor. "Then I will call him Monkey instead of Jimbo from now on. See you later and good luck fighting him."

Then Ashley walked off with the coach to get her ice pack. I turned my head slowly toward Logan's position. My heart has absolutely zero sympathy for a man like him.

When Logan saw my cold, completely expressionless eyes, his posture turned incredibly serious. He looked exactly like he saw one of his strict teachers that had brutally scolded him in the past.

Up in the VIP room, Lucy had completely zoomed the security camera in on my face. A beautiful smile graced her lips the moment she saw the look in my eyes.

Victoria, having just seen her niece get defeated like that, was visibly worried. She turned to ask the one person actively watching the situation, who was Lucy. "What is happening down there, Lucy? Why did she forfeit the match? Was it serious?"

"Calm down, Boss," Lucy replied smoothly, not taking her eyes off the feed. "Rick gave her a signal to quit. That guy on the mat was from a rival temple to your niece's faction. Rick will deal with him for her to pay him back, so just be calm if she comes up here."

Victoria blinked, shifting her gaze back to the monitor. "Will Rick be fine?"

Lucy pointed a finger directly to the high-definition screen showing my expressionless face. She then smiled broadly. "That is the look Rick gets when he is going to 'open a can of whoop-ass' on someone, fufu. Just watch the show when they fight."

So I cleanly won my own match. I admittedly wasn't in the best mood, but I made sure not to take it out on the poor university students who happened to be in my path up the rank to fight Logan.

After my fourth match that officially determined the final contestants were me and Logan, a short 10-minute break was called over the loudspeaker.

The staff needed the time so they could move the surrounding rings and just have one single ring positioned in the middle of the stadium.

As I sat down on the bench with Tina, Mercy, Kim, and Jennifer, I looked at them intently and asked. "Did you bring it?"

Jennifer smiled beautifully and opened her plastic bag from the restaurant. She picked up and handed me a 6-pack of canned Miller Lite beer with a smile. I took it from her hand and thanked her. Then I asked my next question. "Thanks, Jen. And did someone get the copy of the rules from Lucy?"

Jennifer, hearing me call her Jen for the very first time, just instantly became completely dazed as her cheeks flushed.

Tina pulled a sheet of paper out from her pocket and handed it over to me. "Lucy told me to tell you, she may have changed the tournament's past rules a bit to show this 'old' provision for your style."

I took the crisp piece of paper from her and quickly scanned the text.

A grin spread across my face as I realized she had gone back a full hundred years past their current tournament rulebooks. She managed to dig up an ancient, obscure Drunken-Style tidbit stating that alcohol consumption explicitly did not break any active regulations. Because the modern committee had never technically overwritten this old policy, it remained 100% legal on a technicality.

In reality, there was no actual rule against contestants drinking in the modern book anyway. This was just added insurance to guarantee the officials couldn't legally stop me. Having another high-level hacker on my side is incredibly convenient. I guess I am definitely going to have to keep her around long-term.

Flick, pop!

I instantly cracked open my first beer and started downing it without hesitation. I only have about five minutes left before my name is officially called, and I have a full six-pack to get through.

My plan is simple. I will continuously drink until the exact moment I physically step into the ring, turning the entire process into part of the show.

Downing six beers back-to-back will not cause me to lose an ounce of my actual fighting ability when utilizing my Grandmaster Kung-Fu. In fact, the alcohol will actively aid me, allowing me to naturally enter the loose, unpredictable mindset required for proper Drunken-Style execution.

Just as it was finally time to get the match underway, Tracy Hong yelled across the staging area to call my name. The exact moment she turned her head to look at me, her eyes stretched wide in absolute shock.

"Rick, you are up! Good l—" She cut herself off, her jaw dropping to the floor. "What in blazes... are you completely drunk right now?!"

I pushed myself up from the bench, immediately letting my body sway heavily from side to side. Combining my Basic Acting with my Grandmaster Kung-Fu, I perfectly executed a loose, stumbling cadence, nodding my head in a classic drunken manner. To anyone in the stadium who didn't know me personally, I looked exactly like a highly intoxicated young man who couldn't even walk in a straight line, staggering blindly toward the championship ring.

I held a single, unopened beer tightly in my left hand, while actively chugging down my fifth can with my right. I completely ignored the stupefied, frozen expressions of my team coaches and classmates as I stumbled past them.

Tina stood up from her seat in the stands, comically pointing her finger toward the center mat to play along with my gag. I had purposefully started walking at an off-angle, completely missing the designated path to the ring.

"Rick dear, good luck!" Tina yelled out, her voice dripping with playful amusement. "Oh, and the actual fighting ring is that way, dear! Ufufu."

I paused, heavily waving my half-empty beer can toward a random, highly attractive woman sitting in the general direction she pointed. "Thaaaaaanks, dear! Hic! I totally knew that! Hic!"

"HA HA HA HA!"

A massive wave of laughter instantly erupted from the surrounding audience. Many people in the stands weren't entirely sure if I was being dead serious or if I was just an idiotic drunk student completely making a fool of myself. But ultimately, they didn't care about the details; they were thoroughly entertained by the sheer absurdity of my performance.

Little did I know at the time, this massive public stunt didn't just rapidly level up my Acting skill in front of a live audience. It would eventually become the primary reason I got relentlessly pressured into entering showbiz later down the line.

Halfway to the center ring, I finished the last drop of my fifth beer and casually tossed the empty aluminum can over my shoulder. I held the final, unopened can tightly in my palm, ensuring the official rule note from Lucy was securely tucked beneath my fingers.

Beeeeeeeelch!

The referee moved forward, his arms raised to intercept me before I could step onto the mat. Before he could utter a single word, I let out an exceptionally loud, echoing belch, sending the potent smell of a fresh brewery directly into his face. I casually slammed the printed letter into his chest for him to read.

"Theorems... the rules... fool! Read 'em and weep! Hic!" I slurred out, swaying on my feet.

Logan Chen was already standing in the center of the ring, his brow furrowed in utter confusion as he stared down at me. "What the hell is that? And are you seriously drunk right now?"

I pointed a trembling finger toward the remaining can in my left hand, letting my torso tilt dangerously backward. "Dis... hic... dis is a Can Of Whoop-ass!"

"No," Logan retorted flatly, crossing his arms. "That is clearly a can of beer."

Flick, pop!

I instantly cracked the tab and started to rapidly down the sixth can. The referee looked on completely helplessly, frantically flipping through his paperwork only to realize there was absolutely no written rule forbidding a contestant from drinking right before entering the ring. Left with no other choice, the referee cleared his throat and made a formal announcement over the stadium microphone to the confused crowd and the judges' panel.

[Due to a highly specific rule loophole, there is no active regulation preventing contestants from consuming alcohol before or after a match. Intoxication is not covered in the safety guidelines, and since the contestant's martial arts style explicitly relies on his state of intoxication, the final fight will officially continue.]

Beeeeeeeelch!

Tink, tink, tink, roll!

After letting out another deeply satisfying belch, I tossed the empty sixth can back over my shoulder. It bounced cleanly off the concrete floor before rolling to a stop.

A bewildered stadium staff member quickly walked out, systematically picking up the fresh aluminum can along with the trail of empty ones I had carelessly left behind. This only caused the audience to laugh even harder. I staggered directly into the ring, swaying violently left, right, forward, and backward.

In my heart, I felt a tiny bit bad for the poor referee I was thoroughly trolling, but the theatrical act absolutely had to continue. Surprisingly, the minor beer buzz I had going right now was actively enhancing my performance, serving as the perfect method acting prop.

As I staggered forward to take my place on the white starting line, my feet 'accidentally' planted about two inches over the boundary. The referee stepped in, gesturing with his hand. "Back up please, Mr. Tang."

"Stop yelling!" I barked back, dramatically wincing as if his normal speaking voice was deafening. "I can literally hear a fly fart from across the room! I am moving back!"

I executed a fake stumble, deliberately falling flat backward onto my spine as if I had just tripped over an invisible object. I lay there on the mat, staring blankly up at the ceiling lights. I raised a finger, pointing it aggressively across the ring at a stunned Logan Chen.

"Ref, my buddy, you saw that right?!" I yelled out at the top of my lungs. "He just completely sneak-attacked me! Hic! That is exactly the kind of dirty move a snake would pull! I automatically win this thing, right?"

I could see the veins bulging on the referee's forehead. He clearly wanted to slap me across the face as hard as humanly possible. He took a deep, centering breath to calm himself down before speaking. "Both of you bow to each other immediately so we can finally begin."

Instead of standing up to perform a traditional, respectful martial arts bow, I rolled over and executed a full, face-down prostrating bow directly from the floor, entirely avoiding the effort of standing up. This elicited another roaring round of laughter from the stands. The referee decided he didn't even have the energy to correct my posture anymore. He simply raised his hand and dropped it sharply.

"Let the Final Round match... START!"

The instant his hand dropped, I fell completely backward onto my spine again, spreading my arms and legs out like I was making a snow angel. I oriented my feet directly toward Logan, who had already dropped into his precise Sea Temple Snake Stance.

By lying flat on the ground like this, he couldn't easily strike my torso or limbs to score clean tournament points, and I could easily launch counter-kicks from the floor. I was explicitly baiting him into committing to a heavy kick or attempting to dive in for a grapple.

Determined to evade my potential retaliation with raw speed, Logan rushed forward to strike my exposed torso, his movements incredibly fast and decisive.

In an almost lazy, fluid motion, I raised my right leg at a bizarre, unnatural angle. I swiftly extended my foot, planting my other leg firmly against the mat for leverage, using the solid ground beneath me exactly how I had utilized the tree trunk during my fight in the forest. I channeled the sudden burst of kinetic energy, delivering the kick-based version of Bruce Lee's famous One-Inch Punch technique.

Crack!

The distinct crunch of cartilage echoed clearly through the sole of my soft-soled martial arts shoe. It was a perfectly clean, direct hit. He had gotten entirely too careless in his approach.

"Ah! Fuuuck!" Logan roared, stumbling backward.

"Point!" the referee called out.

As Logan clutched his rapidly bleeding nose with both hands, I sat up on the mat, putting on a thoroughly confused expression as I looked up at him.

"Snake Man, what just happened? Who hit you? Where did he or she go? Hic!"

The referee completely ignored my rambling, dropping his hand again immediately because he clearly just wanted this agonizing fight to end as fast as possible.

Seeing me sitting casually on my ass, Logan completely threw his disciplined snake act right out the window. Fueled by pure rage, he launched himself through the air, executing a flying jump kick aimed directly at my chest.

Foreseeing his exact trajectory, I merely rolled sideways across the mat like a lazy log tumbling down a steep hill, narrowly avoiding the lethal force of his descending boot.

As he rapidly reset his stance to face me after the near miss, I stumbled back up to my feet in a bizarre, jerky fashion, looking exactly like a marionette doll being pulled upward by invisible overhead wires.

Logan, witnessing my unnatural posture, decided to end the match once and for all. He thrust his hand forward in a lethal knife strike aimed directly at my throat. I could actually feel a genuine trace of real killing intent behind the blow now that he had been completely humiliated.

Avoiding the deadly trajectory of his spear-hand thrust, I let my upper body stumble backward. His fingertips missed my windpipe by a mere fraction of an inch, but due to my dramatic movements, every single person in the audience could clearly see exactly where he had been aiming.

With his right arm heavily overextended from the missed thrust, I pretended to lose my balance entirely. I acted as if I accidentally grabbed his wrist purely to keep myself from falling over.

I sank my fingers with extreme, crushing force directly into his wrist joint, yanking it at a crazy, diagonal angle while dropping my entire body weight toward the floor, letting gravity assist me in the violent tug.

Thud!

I made an exaggerated, theatrical groaning sound as my back hit the mat. Just as Logan opened his mouth to scream in agony from the sudden joint leverage, my right foot flew straight up into the air as if the impact of my fall had comically launched it, slamming my heel squarely into his jaw.

"Point!"

I released my grip on his right arm, which was now hanging loosely at a completely unnatural angle. Logan grimaced, forcefully snapping his own shoulder joint back into the socket with a loud pop. Normal people certainly couldn't execute a self-reduction that easily, but a seasoned Master martial artist absolutely could.

Capitalizing on the crowd's focused attention, I yelled out a question to both men, ensuring the stadium microphones picked up my voice. "Did either of you two happen to see my underwear?! I think I completely lost it, or someone stole it out of my locker! Oh, wait, I am supposed to be standing on the line, right? Hic!"

I stumbled back toward the white starting line, and the referee dropped his hand yet again, silently praying that this entire disaster would be over soon.

I started to sway heavily back and forth, but Logan was no longer blinded by anger. His expression had turned incredibly cautious. He had finally figured out, entirely too late, that my actual skill level was vastly superior to what he had originally anticipated.

Returning to his disciplined Sea Temple style, he launched a quick spear-hand thrust to test my reflexes. As his hand drew near, I stumbled loosely to the side.

Logan immediately retracted his arm, refusing to overextend and give me the exact same leverage opportunity I had used before. But to his absolute, disbelieving eyes, I suddenly collapsed face-down onto the mat, leaving my entire back completely exposed to him. It was a perfect invitation for a heavy stomp.

"Zzz... zzz... zzz..."

Both Logan and the referee completely froze in their tracks as the distinct, audible sound of heavy snoring echoed through the ring. Did this Rick Lee seriously just fall asleep in the dead center of a championship match?!

The referee blinked in disbelief before starting the formal ten-second countdown for a knockout victory.

"10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4..."

"Fuck, just five more minutes, mom! Hic!" I slurred loudly.

I suddenly sat straight up on the mat, which instantly forced the referee to halt the countdown to his immense annoyance. Seeing me sitting up defensively, Logan immediately lunged forward, reaching out with both hands to grab me. And that was the exact, desperate opening I had been waiting for the entire time.

I grabbed both of his arms and pulled him down hard, forcing him to fall face-first onto the mat.

I instantly climbed onto his back and shoulders, sliding my knees directly over his pinned arms to trap them underneath my weight. My ass was sitting squarely on the back of his head, completely obstructing his vision. All he could possibly do was frantically swing his feet up at me in a desperate bid to score a tournament point and force me off him.

"Hic! Fuck, you really did steal my underwear, you thief!" I slurred at the top of my lungs.

Logan, the referee, and the entire crowd had absolutely no idea what the fuck I was slurring about, until the punchline dropped.

I reached deep into the top of his pants, firmly grasping the elastic waistband of his sport-cup underwear, and yanked with absolute, crushing force.

"AAAAAHHHHHH!"

Yes, right there on live television, Logan Chen was given a brutal, two-handed super wedgie.

I only stopped the upward pull when I heard the distinct sound of fabric tearing apart and caught a visible spec of brown and red. I then immediately finished him off with a loud declaration.

"Hic! Sorry, those are definitely not mine! Mine are only white, yours have way too much color!"

I raised my right hand exceptionally high up into the air, keeping my palm perfectly flat. I swung it down hard, delivering a massive slap to his lower back that left a bright, perfect red handprint against his skin.

"Point! Winner #74 and new champion of this year's University State Cup!" the referee announced loudly.

I quickly scrambled off of this completely angry train wreck of a man. I turned and delivered a quick, respectful bow to the referee.

I then instantly executed a clean backflip right there on the mat, showing the entire stunned crowd that I was not actually a stumbling drunk. I smiled directly at the referee and extended my hand out for a proper shake. He just now fully realized that I had been masterfully acting this entire time.

"Thanks for being a great sport," I told him, dropping the slurred speech completely. "I will go now. And um, he might actually need some immediate medical attention. Cough. Hic!"

Okay, I admit I still have a tiny bit of a physical beer buzz going on inside my system.

And that is how I Opened a Can of Whoop-ass on this guy!