Smoke wound up a punch, his massive fist pulling back, his face twisted with rage. "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU TELLING TO STOP, YOU BRAT?!?"
The punch came forward—
Tòumíng weaved. Not cleanly, not with perfect technique, but enough. The fist sailed past his head by inches.
Then Tòumíng's hand shot out and slapped Smoke across the face. Not a punch. A slap. The kind you'd give a misbehaving child. The sound echoed through the restaurant—a sharp, humiliating crack.
"Watch your tone when you're talking to me."
NAKED GUN ACTIVATED
One-liner quality: EXCELLENT (Perfect timing, appropriate context, delivered with conviction)
Strength boost: 2x (200%)
Speed boost: 80%
Duration: 90 seconds
Tòumíng wasn't cocky.
Wasn't grinning.
Wasn't performing for an audience.
He was angry.
Pure, distilled rage that had been building for three years.
And that was so much worse than cocky confidence.
Smoke was a big guy. Had to be at least six-foot-four, built like a barrel, probably weighing somewhere between 250 and 300 pounds based on his frame. Fat and muscle combined into a mass that had intimidated Tòumíng for years.
And since Tòumíng was five-foot-nine and 126 pounds, Smoke easily cleared the requirements for the David title: 50+ pounds heavier and 6+ inches taller.
DAVID TITLE ACTIVATED
Strength boost: +80% when fighting larger opponents**
Combined with Naked Gun: Total strength multiplier 2.8x
As Tòumíng was processing these calculations, Smoke recovered from the shock of being slapped and WHACKED Tòumíng across the face with a haymaker that had his full body weight behind it.
The impact was devastating. Tòumíng's jaw shattered? he could feel the bone fracture, his teeth grinding against each other wrong, pain exploding through his skull.
The other gang members erupted in cheers, grabbing Tòumíng and tossing him between them like a rag doll. Fists came from all directions.
stomach, ribs, face, back.
Brutal, coordinated violence from multiple attackers.
Tòumíng ate the punches. Took them all. His body jerked with each impact, blood filling his mouth from his broken jaw, his vision swimming.
Cupid was screaming at him. "FIGHT BACK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! USE YOUR ABILITIES! DEFEND YOURSELF!"
But Tòumíng was eating the punches because he knew something they didn't.
In this specific situation, with both Naked Gun and David active simultaneously, his strength wasn't just doubled. It was increased by 180%.
Even his sloppy haymakers that normally barely cracked 800 newtons of force now rivaled professional boxers, delivering over 2,240 newtons of impact.
And in that moment, as fists rained down on him from all sides, all the pain, all the anguish, all the three years of being treated like garbage, all of it evaporated.
What remained was pure, concentrated AURA.
Tòumíng's fist came up from a low angle, cutting through the chaos of punches, and connected with Smoke's temple.
The impact was catastrophic. Smoke's head snapped to the side with whiplash force. His eyes rolled back. His massive body went completely limp, dropping to the floor like someone had cut his strings.
Instantly unconscious. One punch.
The laughter stopped. The restaurant went silent except for Smoke's body hitting the floor with a meaty thud.
Scarface's expression shifted from amused to genuinely pissed off.
"You want to die?! Is that it?! You got a death wish, Brother Tou?!"
Tòumíng grinned through his broken jaw, blood dripping from his mouth, and touched the floor.
"STONE CRUSHER!"
The skill activated. The floor beneath Scarface's feet suddenly wasn't there anymore—a perfect one-meter cube of concrete and tile just disintegrated into manageable chunks, creating a hole that Scarface fell directly into with a yelp of surprise.
Before Scarface could recover, Tòumíng kicked him in the face, his enhanced strength making the impact sound like a gunshot.
"HOW DOES IT FEEL NOW, SCARFACE?!" Tòumíng's voice was raw, savage, three years of suppressed rage pouring out. "OR SHOULD I SAY, HOW DOES IT FEEL, CHAN YUAN?!"
Using Scarface's real name, the one he'd tried to leave behind when he joined the gang, was the ultimate insult.
Personal.
Intimate.
Stripping away the tough-guy persona.
The other gang members rushed forward. Five of them grabbed Tòumíng simultaneously, overwhelming him through sheer numbers. They wrenched his arms behind his back, forced him to the ground, pinning him face-first against the concrete.
"IT TOOK ALL OF YOU TO FIGHT ME?!" Tòumíng screamed into the floor, his voice muffled but still carrying fury.
"HUH?! FUCK YOU! FUCK ALL OF YOU! I SWEAR TO GOD, I'LL KILL YOU, HǓTĀN! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL FUCKING KI—"
A metal pipe came rushing downward.
The last thing Tòumíng saw was the dull gleam of metal, the last thing he heard was Cupid screaming a warning—
Then impact. The pipe connected with the back of his skull with devastating force.
Everything went black.