Chapter 8: Changing the Rules? Can't Handle the Game, Is That It?

How should one spend ten minutes locked in a cage with a madman built like a raging bull? Su Ye pondered for a while and finally decided to read comics.

At this point in time, smartphones hadn’t yet become widespread; otherwise, killing time by scrolling through short videos or reading novels on your phone would have been much quicker.

In the ring, the behemoth McGregor clumsily hopped up and down, as if that would somehow get him close to Su Ye, who was hanging upside down from the top of the cage.

Of course, he was only making a fool of himself.

The cage was ten meters high—even if Captain America showed up, he wouldn’t be able to jump that high from a standstill.

“Get down here! You bastard, get down here!”
“You cowardly wretch, only daring to hide up there and play the victim? If you have any guts, come down and let me rip your head off and kick it around like a ball!”
“Stupid monkey! Sooner or later you’ll have to come down, and when you do, it’ll be the end for you!”

Unable to reach Su Ye, McGregor could only pace below, hurling curses into the air.

The organizers were at a loss as well. They had never anticipated anyone could climb up to the ten-meter-high ceiling of the cage, so they lacked any contingency plan for such a scenario and could only scramble to discuss what to do.

It was actually the audience who reacted first.

They were here to watch a fight, to see brawls, to witness blood and maybe even death—not to see a monkey dangling above while a gorilla jumped below.

Though the audience couldn’t reach Su Ye either, they did have things in their hands—popcorn, soda cans, beer bottles, even bra pads. Earlier, they hadn’t managed to hit Su Ye because he’d been too far from the aisles, but now they could throw whatever they wanted with abandon.

After all, pelting Su Ye with objects at this point was what everyone wanted; it wasn’t considered interfering with the fairness of the match.

In an instant, a storm of trash rained down, all aimed at Su Ye clinging to the top of the cage.

But ten meters was simply too high. The spectators struggled to throw anything that far; most of it either bounced off the cage bars and fell back down or traced an arc and landed in the ring.

Bang! Crack! Crash!

The cage rattled under the onslaught, and soon the ring was littered with garbage, broken bottles everywhere.

As for the mighty McGregor, who had been so invincible just moments before, he now had a sanitary pad stuck to his head, and his body was covered in popcorn, burger lettuce, and other debris.

He looked just like a vagrant who’d just crawled out of a dumpster.

At this point, barely two minutes had passed since the match began, with eight more to go before the ten-minute mark.

Seeing this, the organizers realized they couldn’t just let the fighters and the crowd keep making a spectacle of things. After some hurried discussion, the referee stepped forward with a new rule.

“If neither fighter makes any physical contact for over two minutes, they will both be deemed to be stalling, the match result will be voided, and neither will receive any prize money!”

Looking at the clock, there were less than ten seconds before two minutes had passed. The intent behind this rule was clear.

So, Ironhead, you want to mess around? Fine. I’ll just void your match.

The audience was satisfied, but Su Ye was not. Adding rules on the fly? So you can’t play fair after all!

With a flick of his leg, Su Ye dropped from the ceiling, landed with a light touch on McGregor’s head, did a back handspring to disengage, then used the cage bars for leverage to launch himself back up to the top, hanging upside down once more as he pulled out his comic.

If you’re going to play dirty, then so can I. After all, dropping down once every minute or so isn’t much trouble.

McGregor was livid, but there was nothing he could do except pound the floor and howl in helpless rage.

The organizers scrambled together for another emergency conference, determined to craft yet another rule specifically aimed at Su Ye. Before the referee could announce this new addendum, however, Su Ye decided he’d had enough fun.

He had only entered for the three-minute, $3,000 reward—perfect for a date with Gwen. Extending it to ten minutes was just a spur-of-the-moment idea to make a little extra cash.

He hadn’t expected these foreigners to be such sore losers, constantly changing the rules. It was no longer any fun.

Before the referee could speak, Su Ye dropped from above again, this time landing behind McGregor. Before the giant could react, Su Ye struck his neck with a precise karate chop.

The powerful blow sent a spasm through McGregor’s thick neck muscles, and the hulking man collapsed to the floor like a dead dog, crashing down with a thunderous thud.

The referee swallowed his words in shock at this sudden turn of events.

At that moment, exactly three minutes had passed.

“All right, enough with your pathetic add-on rules. Three minutes are up—open the door, pay the prize.”

The crowd erupted in chaos.

What the hell! Was that a rigged fight? That massive McGregor felled by a mere chop? Who do you think you are—Captain America or Iron Man?

“Fix!”
“Refund!”
“Try to fix a match and I’ll report you, you mother—!”

Nearly everyone had bet on McGregor to win; of course, they couldn’t accept this outcome.

The audience was in an uproar, and the referee was even more flustered. What about the new rules I was about to announce?

Seeing the referee standing there in a daze, Su Ye didn’t bother waiting. He grabbed the cage bars in front of him, gave them a mighty pull, and wrenched open a gap wide enough for a person to pass through.

He stepped out and patted the stunned referee on the shoulder.

“Where’s the office? Where do I collect my winnings?”

The referee, at a complete loss for words, dumbly pointed in a direction. Only after Su Ye had left did he realize his back was drenched in cold sweat.

This Ironhead with the Iron Man helmet—could he actually be Iron Man? How could a normal person have that kind of strength?

Su Ye ignored the reactions of the officials and the crowd, heading straight toward the office.

Along the way, the disgruntled bettors hurled what was left of their popcorn and beer bottles at him, completely disregarding his earlier miraculous display.

This time, Su Ye didn’t bother blocking with his head. Instead, guided by his spider sense, he anticipated every strike and swatted down each projectile with his comic book.

The stylish display earned him a few new fans, but the majority, still consumed by the pain of their losses, paid him no mind.

In the midst of the crowd, a woman in casual clothes and a baseball cap snapped a photo of Su Ye with her phone, then nonchalantly looked down at her screen.

“Sir, I’ve spotted a man who appears to possess extraordinary strength. Continuing surveillance.”

Message sent. Recipient: Mr. Coulson.