"I do not want troub- eh?"
Misuji Mishima winced, trying to swat away the hand that reached for his ear, to no avail. The sound of a resounding smack rang through the empty street. A piercing pain ran up the boy's fingers and past his wrist, straining the entirety of his hand. Instead of dealing any form of damage, the lad's own palm stung after the slap, a red tint marking his bare flesh.
The wrestler's non-verbal warning didn't just ring hollow, it fired back outright. It was like striking at solid steel with nothing but wrapped hands. The fact that his first were bare did little to help matters.
He had never met a man this strong before.
Misuji found himself powerless to resist, as he was dragged into the alleyway. He tried to put up a front, to keep himself anchored onto the ground, but he struggled to find a foot-hold. His heels dug into the gravel, yet he continued to be pulled away from the open-air with nary a hint of slowing down. He squatted and he stomp, but his efforts were for naught. The evidence of his defiance clearly trailed the ground, cracked concrete lined the sidewalk, with the occasional foot-shaped fracture alongside the continuous crevice.
He wasn't sure who this tailed figure was, but the boy was certain of one thing. Only trouble lay ahead. Most animals could sense danger, but dogs had a particular knack for honing in on incoming disasters. Almost instinct in Misuji's body cried out, begged for him to flee while he could, but he knew that it just wasn't feasible. This gap in destructive potential was obvious, even to one as unfamiliar with the ways of sensing Ki as Misuji. He at least knew that this difference in power couldn't be made up by sheer muscle, not on a day as unlucky as this.
Misuji Mishima should have been losing his bladder control. In fact, he was hyperventilating at this point, but for all the wrong reasons.
It was another incoming loss, he realized as much, as the Saiyan(?
) so assuredly kicked a knife away from their general direction. Despite this epiphany, the young wrestler could only respond to the one urge in his system that didn't cry out for retreat: that flame blazing about in his chest. The rational part of his mind explained it away, put it down as a desire to learn something from a loss. The more honest regions of his brain told a different tale, of a lad living on the edge, and making the most out of his potential demise.
Whatever the answer was, Misuji Mishima was certain of something. Within the complex mix of emotions welling within his frame, two stood out the most. The first was familiar, it was the demented excitement that came with gaining strength and facing challenges. He had experienced that far too much to be anything but encouraged by it. It was the second chemical imbalance that bothered him. He had never felt it so strongly before, not during his passionate digressions while training or during his intense maneuvers within the squared circle, but it further flared the flailing fire in his heart. It was triggered by the lie, that was told so blatantly and confidently. It made him sick to his stomach, worse than when he'd been forced to face down foes that dared use firearms. It wasn't plain disgust, but unabashedly toxic loathing.
Misuji didn't know who or what this cocky figure was, but he was sure of one thing.
One day soon, he would get his revenge.
) struck a blow at Misuji's nether regions, one too fast to properly defend. The boy crumpled immediately, falling to his knees with a gasp. He had worn a protective cup since that faithful match a year prior, when the same move had floored him as well.
The cup did little to help.
His entire figure roared in pain, the burning sensation spreading all around him.
For nearly a minute, he lay down in agony, simply sputtering out a pained growl. It was almost a whine, given how high-pitched it was. That was the magic of being struck in the genitals with a heavy, metal object.
"Bah! This power overwhelming. I cannot compete." A single tear twisted down his cheek, as the rest of his expression was channeled into a scorn-filled scowl. A single blow made everything hurt. What the Duke had to say only added to his resentment.
"Lies and slander. To hide behind such falsehoods, you are truly a coward." He hissed, his rough tone losing any sense of its usual cheer, in favor of vile, virulent disgust. It seemed like whatever the situation was, one could always count on the hyperactive loud-mouth to not hold his tongue in the slightest. "It is shameful, that one with so much strength is but a pussy cat." He groaned, patting away at his bruised groin. That did not help him in the slightest, but it did fuel his frustration. He would need to remember this feeling. After all, he had already resolved to return the receipt one day. Drunk or not, the man had managed to thoroughly piss off the Mini Mastiff.
"I care not for this Fleet, nor for its Agents." Misuji spat, not on the floor, but on the man's boot. The loogie was as thick as it was green. His voice boomed even louder than usual. Was he trying to make a scene? Or was he just that revolted? "You know what you do, Kitty-Cat. I cannot win, but I will be man! The same can never be said for you."
A big gulp, to swallow down the rest of his phlegm.
"Enjoy this while it is possible, caitliff." A fist balled, but was let go. He could not face victory. So instead he would bleed all over defeat, in hopes of finding its scent in the future, and rectifying this forlorn situation.
"Next time, I will break you!"
That didn't mean he would go down without a fight. He would simply eat dirt without having given into the temptation of closed fist punches. He may not have been in the ring, but his style eschewed those attacks. The boy pushed himself up, and shot his frame at the taller figure's general direction. All five feet of flab and muscle launched like a torpedo, aimed at the Saiyan's torso.
The shock stung even further, just from him trying to move about.
Misuji's mind was awash with hate, but he wasn't so daft as to not know the foolishness of this plan.
This couldn't work. Not with his current strength.
So why did he enact such a stupid idea?
Because Misuji Mishima would hate himself more if nothing else was attempted.