Chapter 4: The Director's Cut (Continued)
---
The Rock-Paper-Scissors Showdown
The examination hall fell into an expectant hush as Rocky and Bolas faced each other in the cleared space. The crowd pressed in—phones raised, eyes wide, breaths held. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead like anxious spectators.
Boy 1 stepped forward, positioning himself between them like a referee. He raised both arms dramatically.
Boy 1: "Ready... SET..."
The crowd leaned in.
Boy 1: "GO!"
Two hands shot out simultaneously.
Bolas's hand opened flat—✋ Paper.
Rocky's hand clenched into a fist—✊ Rock.
Boy 1 exploded with energy, jumping in place and pointing at Bolas's hand.
Boy 1: "PAPER COVERS ROCK! FIRST ROUND GOES TO BOLAS! THE PAPER HAND! LET'S GOOOOO!"
The crowd erupted—some cheering, some laughing, some already recording with their phones angled for maximum drama. Bolas's two boys high-fived each other with excessive enthusiasm, spinning in a small circle like they'd just won a championship.
Boy 2: "BOSS! BOSS! BOSS! YOU'RE UP FIRST! DESTROY HIM! MAKE HIM REGRET EVER WALKING INTO THIS HALL!"
Rocky simply shrugged, that infuriatingly calm smile still playing on his lips. He stepped back gracefully, his mountain of gear shifting silently—no jingle, no clank, no sound at all despite the arsenal strapped to his body.
Rocky (gesturing with an open hand): "Fair is fair. After you, Paper Hand."
He tilted his head, platinum blonde hair catching the light like spun gold.
Rocky: "The floor is yours. Impress me. Entertain them."
His eyes glittered with something dangerous—amusement, yes, but also calculation. He tapped the 360-degree camera on his tactical backpack. Its red light blinked steadily.
Rocky: "And remember—the camera is still rolling. Every angle. Every word. Every micro-expression."
Bolas's confident smirk flickered for just a moment as he glanced at the spherical device. Then he straightened his shoulders, cleared his throat, and stepped into the spotlight the crowd had created.
---
Bolas's First Strike
Bolas planted his feet wide, adopting what he clearly believed was an imposing stance. His Master Swordsman class gave him natural presence—compact muscle, coiled readiness, the posture of someone used to being taken seriously.
He pointed directly at Rocky, finger jabbing the air like a blade.
Bolas (voice loud, projecting to the crowd): "Hey! Makeup boy! Cosplay boy! Playboy!"
Each label came with an accompanying gesture—a sweep of the hand, a mocking tilt of the head.
Bolas: "The way you combine your style is amazing! You look like a superhero from your neighborhood!"
He paused for laughter. A few people chuckled nervously.
Bolas: "Did you come here to sell your toys—or are you just a scam artist from the streets?"
He spread his arms, addressing the crowd now.
Bolas: "Because your lines aren't even human! You've definitely memorized your scripts just to fool some MILF brandy drinkers!"
He jabbed his finger at Rocky again, triumphant.
Bolas: "So if I were you—don't try to fool any top-notch baddies in our neighborhood!"
---
The Crowd Reacts to Bolas
The boys in the crowd ate it up.
Boy 3 (pumping a fist): "Wow! That's intense! Where are you placing your bet, boy—RED or BLUE?!"
Boy 4 (waving his phone): "Idiot, I'm not betting on colors! I'm betting on JEALOUS SWORD MAN!"
Boy 5 (nodding sagely): "Me, I'll bet—after the fight!"
Boy 3 (eyes lighting up): "Right! You're a genius!"
Boy 4 (striking a thinking pose): "Is that mindset?"
They high-fived each other, completely caught up in the spectacle.
---
Rocky's Response
Rocky waited. Let the noise build. Let the moment stretch.
Then he stepped forward—just one step, but it was enough. The crowd's energy shifted, drawn to him like iron filings to a magnet. At 6'6" with that impossible Adonis physique, he didn't need to shout. He just existed in space, and space paid attention.
Rocky's voice came out relaxed, almost lazy—but every word landed like a dart.
Rocky: "Chit-chat. You're so noisy."
He tilted his head, studying Bolas like a scientist examining a particularly unimpressive specimen.
Rocky: "You know so much—like you're selling your saliva that keeps spraying in front of me."
A ripple of laughter from the crowd.
Rocky: "Are you an—orphan? Asking for a single peso?"
He held up one finger, then shook his head slowly.
Rocky: "But if I were you, sell that to the police—you might even get a promotion."
He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
Rocky: "Oh, wait. That's wrong. You shouldn't sell that to the police—they might mistake you for NOT being an orphan."
His smile sharpened.
Rocky: "Because you're a THIEF—who got free attention from my FANS right here!"
He gestured at the crowd with both hands, inviting them into the joke.
Rocky: "And wait wait wait—I think I said something wrong to your brain."
He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone.
Rocky: "It's like you only came here in front of me—to listen to the NEWS that you're such a BIG FAN?"
---
The Audience Reacts to Rocky
The crowd erupted.
Participant N (slapping his knee): "WOW! BURN! Like Boy Abonda from 1972 to 2008!"
Girl 4 (clutching her chest, eyes wide): "Sis! Wow! He's such a bad boy! I have a crush on him now!"
Girl 5 (nodding vigorously, phone still recording): "Me too! Same! I have a crush on him too!"
Girl 6 (fanning herself): "His delivery is so smooth! He doesn't seem stressed at all!"
---
Bolas Fires Back
Bolas's jaw tightened. He could feel the momentum slipping. He stepped forward, matching Rocky's energy with aggression.
Bolas (pointing, voice rising): "Hey! Boy—like a STRAY DOG—a PIG!"
He emphasized each word, letting them land hard.
Bolas: "Begging for food in front of me—asking for a PESO!"
He spread his hands, addressing the crowd again.
Bolas: "Or maybe—you want a DIFFERENT kind of PESO?"
He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Bolas: "The kind that's a PAN—like a FRYING PAN?"
He mimed swinging a frying pan, getting a few laughs.
Bolas: "Because you're like an ELECTRIC FAN—trying to show off to your FANS right in front of me!"
He pointed at the crowd, then back at Rocky.
Bolas: "And wait wait wait—you're just one of my FANS—who only knows how to JUDGE!"
He crossed his arms triumphantly.
Bolas: "Because you're a FAN—whose BRAIN is—NOT A FAN—in front of me!"
---
The X Suck Group Arrives
Behind the crowd, unnoticed by most, five figures pushed through the press of bodies.
Stacy led the way—the leader of the infamous X Suck Group, her presence parting the crowd like a hot knife through butter. Behind her came Mira, Sara, and Nikki, each one a top-notch beauty with the kind of faces and bodies that made people stop and stare.
Stacy's eyes narrowed as she spotted the commotion ahead.
Stacy: "Oh wow—there's a riot over there, huh?"
She glanced at her group, a slow smile spreading across her perfect features.
Stacy: "Guys, let's go there. I want to join the CHAOS-MIS."
Mira's eyes lit up. Sara cracked her knuckles playfully. Nikki adjusted her stance, ready for anything.
Girls (in unison): "YES, LET'S GO!"
Stacy raised one hand dramatically, striking a pose that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else but somehow worked on her.
Stacy: "TRANSFORMERS! THE HATERS OF TRANSGENDERS—ASSEMBLE!"
The girls behind her struck matching poses.
Girls (in unison, grinning): "OH YEAH, MOMMY!"
They pushed forward, cutting through the crowd like a knife.
---
Back to Rocky and Bolas
Neither noticed the new arrivals yet. They were locked in, circling each other like duelists measuring distance.
Rocky's smile widened as Bolas finished his verse. He clapped slowly—just three times—the sound cutting through the noise.
Rocky: "Wow, wow—WELL WOW."
He tilted his head, golden-brown eyes glittering with amusement.
Rocky: "Your MIND is so INTENSE."
He took a step closer, his 6'6" frame looming.
Rocky: "You're like a CLOWN—saying all sorts of things—just to have FANS?"
He tapped his temple knowingly.
Rocky: "You get it? FAN that's FANNY?"
He spread his hands, inviting the crowd to follow his logic.
Rocky: "Because your FACE—is so FANNY!"
He snapped his fingers, as if just realizing something.
Rocky: "Like—NANNY?"
He squinted at Bolas, tilting his head the other way.
Rocky: "Ah—yes! You look like NANNY THE GRANNY!"
---
Stacy's Internal Reaction
Stacy had just broken through the crowd's front edge when Rocky's line hit. She stopped dead, eyes widening.
Stacy (internal thought): "What?! Red Flag Boy and Bolas? This is going to be—fun."
Mira appeared at her shoulder, peering at the scene.
Mira: "Sis—are they debating or rapping?"
Nikki slipped in on Stacy's other side, evaluating the situation with practiced eyes.
Nikki: "Both—I think."
Sara, bringing up the rear, let her gaze roam over Rocky's form. Her voice came out slightly dreamy.
Sara: "Mr. Handsome is cute. Damn."
---
Bolas Responds to "Nanny the Granny"
Bolas's eye twitched. The crowd's laughter was getting louder. He could see phones recording from every angle. But he was a Master Swordsman—he didn't back down.
Bolas (pointing aggressively): "TOMTOMTOM—SA'OR!"
He took a breath, composing himself.
Bolas: "You dragged GRANNY into this—that MOLTO—who carries a BASEBALL BAT!"
He mimed swinging a bat, then pointed at Rocky.
Bolas: "Or a BAT—that's like a BASEBALL BAT!"
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a mocking whisper.
Bolas: "And maybe you think—you're BATMAN?"
He laughed—a sharp, dismissive sound.
Bolas: "Because your BRAIN—is EMPTY—unlike BATMAN!"
He straightened, spreading his arms.
Bolas: "And if you want to be BATMAN—hit your BRAIN—with BATMAN'S BASEBALL BAT—complete with a BAT—right in front of me!"
He paused for effect.
Bolas: "So—BATMAN—can be HAPPY!"
---
Stacy Reacts
Stacy couldn't help herself. A laugh escaped—sharp and genuine.
Stacy (out loud): "OH WEE DAMN! Wow—plot twist!"
She clapped her hands together, eyes bright.
Stacy: "I was right—this IS fun! Hahaha!"
The girls behind her exchanged glances, then joined in.
Girls (in unison): "OH MY GOODNESS!"
---
Rocky's Counter
Rocky waited for the laughter to settle. Then he stepped forward, his movements silent despite the mountain of gear. His voice came out smooth as silk.
Rocky: "Wow—your SPEAKING STYLE is something else."
He gestured at Bolas with an open hand.
Rocky: "You're like a BOSS—of a big BUSINESS—in the STREETS!"
A ripple of laughter.
Rocky: "Selling broken BOSSES—imitating your mouth that shoots TOY GUNS—with broken BOSSES!"
He mimed firing a toy gun, then shook his head sadly.
Rocky: "Because your BULLET'S GUNPOWDER stinks so BAD!"
---
Stacy's Internal Reaction Deepens
Stacy's eyes narrowed—but not with suspicion anymore. Something else flickered there.
Stacy (internal thought): "Oh my goodness—is this TOP NOTCH DRAMA? Or top notch nonsense here?"
Beside her, Mira was already losing it.
Mira: "Oh my goodness—BOSS with BOSSES—and now BULLETS? Wow—BRAIN CELLS—TOP NOTCH!"
---
Bolas Pushes Back
Bolas's face was reddening. He could feel the crowd's energy tilting away from him. He pushed forward, voice louder.
Bolas: "Hey—BRAIN ROT! You've gone TOO FAR!"
He jabbed a finger at Rocky.
Bolas: "Because you're TARGETING my BREATH!"
He took an exaggerated breath, playing to the crowd.
Bolas: "Is it that—your BRAIN—has INHALED—my BREATH?"
He leaned forward, voice dropping.
Bolas: "Or maybe—you're getting HIGH—on my CHILDISH words?"
---
Audience Commentary
From somewhere in the crowd, a voice rang out.
Participant O: "Wow—is this a Netflix movie or CINEMATIC MOCKING?"
Another voice answered.
Participant P: "You know what, bro—both? Netflix movie x cinematic mocking?"
They high-fived, proud of their analysis.
---
Rocky's Devastating Reply
Rocky's smile never wavered. If anything, it grew warmer—more dangerous.
Rocky: "Hahaha."
He let the laugh hang in the air.
Rocky: "So—my words HURT you?"
He tilted his head, golden eyes pitying.
Rocky: "Like REAL NEWS—delivering CORRECT and DETAILED WORDS—to your—CHIN—MOUTH—that's so SHAMEFUL—or are you really SHAMELESS?"
He shook his head slowly.
Rocky: "Because you're PROUD—of your really BAD BREATH?"
He took a step closer, voice dropping to a sympathetic whisper that somehow carried to the back of the crowd.
Rocky: "Because I'm getting HIGH—on your CHILDISH lines."
He straightened, spreading his arms.
Rocky: "And if I were you—you should STOP now."
His voice hardened just slightly.
Rocky: "Because I'm EMBARRASSED—for your BREATH that's so PITIFUL—like a DOG—barking at PEOPLE—just to speak?"
He paused, letting the image land.
Rocky: "Or like a REAL BROKEN RADIO—that suddenly TURNS ON—to make noise with your CHILDISH news."
---
Stacy's Realization
Stacy's eyes went wide. Her lips parted slightly.
Stacy (internal thought): "Ah—that HURTS. Emotional damage."
She glanced at Bolas, whose face had gone from red to something approaching purple.
---
Bolas Snaps
Bolas's composure cracked. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. His voice came out low and dangerous.
Bolas (through gritted teeth): "You're so ARROGANT—Makeup Boy."
He took a step forward—not a performance step, but a real one. Aggressive. Threatening.
Bolas: "You want me to—REARRANGE that MOUTH of yours?"
He raised one fist, knuckles whitening.
Bolas: "Don't worry—my FIST—is a LICENSED PLASTIC SURGEON!"
---
The Boys Intervene
Boy 1 lunged forward, grabbing Bolas's raised arm.
Boy 1 (hissing): "Boss! BOSS! Calm down—there are a lot of people! And a lot are recording!"
Boy 2 appeared on Bolas's other side, gripping his shoulder.
Boy 2: "Yeah, boss! Control YOURSELF!"
Bolas stood there, chest heaving, fists still clenched—but he didn't move forward.
---
Audience Whispers
The crowd's energy shifted. The laughter died down, replaced by nervous murmurs.
Participant Q (whispering to neighbor): "That's Bolas—the champion from the Sword Tournament last year?"
Participant R (nodding, eyes wide): "Yes—that's him. The undefeated—25 wins, no losses."
Participant Q (glancing at Rocky with pity): "Poor Porter Boy. His face is definitely getting smashed later. Hahaha."
Participant R: "GG."
---
Stacy's Observation
Stacy watched the exchange with sharp eyes. Her internal voice was calm—analytical.
Stacy (internal thought): "You're dead—Red Flag Boy. Bolas is your opponent now."
A small smile played on her lips.
Stacy (internal thought): "This is going to be—fun. I'll finally see your STRENGTH."
---
Bolas Pulls Back
Bolas took a deep breath. Then another. His fists unclenched. He stepped back, allowing his boys to guide him away from the edge.
Bolas (voice controlled, but trembling slightly): "Be thankful—my PETS held me back."
He pointed at Rocky, finger shaking.
Bolas: "Because if they hadn't—I might have PUNCHED you."
Boy 1 nodded vigorously, patting Bolas's shoulder.
Boy 1: "Boss—that's enough. There's already a winner in the debating x rap."
Boy 2: "Yeah, boss. That's enough."
---
Rocky Presses
Rocky's smile didn't waver. If anything, it grew sharper.
Rocky: "Hahaha."
He shook his head slowly.
Rocky: "You're still interrupting—didn't your SIBLING teach you PROPER MANNERS?"
---
Bolas's Weak Point
Bolas froze. His face went pale, then red, then pale again.
Bolas (voice cracking): "I don't have a SIBLING."
He stepped forward again, fists re-clenching.
Bolas: "And you don't have the right—to JUDGE me!"
---
Rocky's Calculated Strike
Rocky didn't back up. Didn't flinch. He simply tilted his head, voice calm and reasonable.
Rocky: "But—you?"
He spread his hands.
Rocky: "You—it's only okay for YOU to JUDGE my face?"
He touched his own face lightly.
Rocky: "I'm not trying to brag—"
He met Bolas's eyes directly.
Rocky: "If you want—your FACE to change—use your HAND."
He nodded toward Bolas's still-clenched fist.
Rocky: "Because—you said so yourself—your FIST is a PLASTIC SURGEON."
---
Audience Analysis
The crowd murmured.
Participant S (stroking chin thoughtfully): "Wow—I feel like I'm watching PREMIUM DRAMA. Because—neither of them is a hero. They're both VILLAINS."
Participant T (nodding sagely): "You're wrong. They both have a DISEASE—called MAIN CHARACTER SYNDROME."
Participant S (eyes lighting up): "Okay—noted. Thanks for the knowledge, bro."
Participant T (bowing slightly): "You're welcome."
---
Stacy's Growing Interest
Stacy's eyes hadn't left Rocky since the exchange began. Her internal voice was different now—warmer.
Stacy (internal thought): "Wow—he's so GOOD at debate x rap."
She watched him move—that impossible physique, those golden eyes, that infuriating smile.
Stacy (internal thought): "Definitely a red flag. Super bad boy."
A pause.
Stacy (internal thought): "...but still."
---
Rocky's Final Push
Rocky stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His voice dropped—not aggressive, but intimate. Like he was sharing a secret with Bolas that everyone could hear.
Rocky: "Well—come on now."
He gestured at Bolas's fist.
Rocky: "Use your HAND now—so the shape of your FACE can CHANGE."
He tilted his head, almost sympathetic.
Rocky: "If not—at least have some pity for YOURSELF."
He paused, letting that land.
Rocky: "And I know—you think—I'm PERFECT."
He shook his head slowly.
Rocky: "But—you're WRONG. I make mistakes too. Because—I'm HUMAN."
His voice hardened just slightly.
Rocky: "Not like you—who's a DOG."
He held up a hand.
Rocky: "Oh—did you hear that—I called you a DOG—even though it's not TRUE?"
He shrugged elegantly.
Rocky: "And earlier—I also said something—that WASN'T ACCURATE in life. Like—you ADMITTED—you don't have a SIBLING."
He laughed—not mockingly, but with genuine amusement.
Rocky: "Hahaha. At least I—ADMIT my humanity. And my EVIDENCE—is on VIDEO—from all these people here."
He gestured at the sea of phones surrounding them.
Rocky: "Not like you—who JUDGES—BUT—has no EVIDENCE. Or RECEIPT."
---
The Silence
The crowd fell silent. Even the phones seemed to hold their breath.
People looked at Bolas with something approaching pity. His face was a mask of barely controlled rage—face red, jaw clenched, fists trembling at his sides.
---
Stacy's Analysis
Stacy watched Rocky with new eyes. Her internal voice was clinical—but impressed.
Stacy (internal thought): "It's like—his sickness isn't MAIN HERO SYNDROME."
She studied his posture, his expression, the way he held the crowd without effort.
Stacy (internal thought): "But rather—MAIN ANTAGONIST SYNDROME."
A slow smile spread across her perfect features.
Stacy (internal thought): "Top notch villain vibe—this guy. Interesting. Hahaha."
---
Bolas's Internal Fury
Bolas stood frozen, his internal voice a scream that no one could hear.
Bolas (internal thought): "Wow—he's HUMILIATING me."
His vision tunneled on Rocky's smiling face.
Bolas (internal thought): "I'm ANGRY now—I want to KILL this guy."
His hand twitched toward the sword at his hip.
Bolas (internal thought): "Be thankful—there are many people recording. Many people watching."
He forced himself to breathe.
Bolas (internal thought): "If not—I would have SKINNED you alive by now."
---
Rocky Notices the Silence
Rocky waited. Let the quiet stretch. Then he tilted his head, voice light and curious.
Rocky: "What—nothing else to say?"
He took a slow step forward.
Rocky: "And is THAT the only line you know? SCAMMER—MAKEUP—PLASTIC SURGEON FIST?"
He shook his head, almost sadly.
Rocky: "You're a beginner—and you still act like that?"
He spread his hands, inviting the crowd to share his amusement.
Rocky: "But that's okay—for your BRAIN that's—EMPTY."
He nodded, as if conceding a point.
Rocky: "But your SCRIPTS are okay too. CLASSIC STYLE. For STREET DETECTIVES."
He paused, letting the insult land.
Rocky: "The kind that's a SCAM—because there's no RECEIPT. Hahaha."
He looked Bolas up and down slowly.
Rocky: "Bro—are you only good at the INTRO? Just TALKING?"
---
Stacy's Internal Shift
Stacy felt something shift in her chest. Something warm and dangerous.
Stacy (internal thought): "Damn—I think I have a CRUSH on this guy."
She watched him stand there—6'6" of perfect proportions, platinum hair catching the light, that devastating smile.
Stacy (internal thought): "I'm so turned on. Baby—please—bully me too."
---
Rocky Keeps Going
Rocky gestured at Bolas's face.
Rocky: "Here—HANDSOME—right or wrong?"
He squinted, studying.
Rocky: "Ahhh—yes. You ARE handsome—and you really have PIMPLES on your FACE."
He laughed lightly.
Rocky: "You're so ARROGANT—are you showing off—because you're HANDSOME?"
He tilted his head.
Rocky: "Because you know—that when you DON'T have PIMPLES on your face—people will NOTICE you?"
His voice dripped with mock sympathy.
Rocky: "So—you're so ARROGANT—huh? No skin care routine—IDIOT."
---
Bolas Sees an Opening
Bolas seized on this. His voice came out stronger—relieved to have something to grab onto.
Bolas: "Hahaha! Yes—it's TRUE! You're right!"
He puffed out his chest.
Bolas: "I don't do SKIN CARE ROUTINE—because I'm PURE!"
He jabbed a finger at Rocky.
Bolas: "Not like you—whose only CONTRIBUTION to the world is MAKEUP!"
---
Rocky's Final Move
Rocky sighed—a long, theatrical exhale.
Rocky: "Okay—fine—MAKEUP—repeating the same thing."
He stepped forward, closing the distance until they were just a few feet apart.
Rocky: "Here—I have ADVICE—from everything you've said."
He met Bolas's eyes directly.
Rocky: "You know—you're HANDSOME. And you'll become EVEN MORE handsome—when you USE your PLASTIC SURGEON FIST."
He gestured at Bolas's still-clenched fist.
Rocky: "And not just that—when you use it here—in front of all these people—maybe you'll get NOTICED by everyone here."
He spread his arms wide, taking in the crowd.
Rocky: "Final words—just think—that I'm GIVING UP now."
The crowd murmured. What?
Rocky: "Because—I feel PITY—for the SALIVA I've wasted—talking to you."
He stepped back, creating distance.
Rocky: "So—this is the FINAL LINE—for your HEART."
He held up three fingers.
Rocky: "3..."
Two fingers.
Rocky: "2..."
One finger.
Rocky: "1..."
He pointed at an invisible camera.
Rocky: "GO! LIGHTS! CAMERA! ACTION!"
---
The Dramatic Turn
In one fluid motion, Rocky spun away from Bolas and strode toward the edge of the crowd—specifically, toward the spot where Stacy stood with her group.
The crowd parted before him like the Red Sea.
Rocky dropped to one knee in front of Stacy, his mountain of gear somehow not hindering the movement. He reached out and gently took her hand—the one not currently recording on her phone.
His voice, when it came, was pure theater—dramatic, earnest, packed with enough emotion to power a telenovela.
Rocky: "Oh—please—BEAUTIFUL LADY!"
He looked up at her, golden-brown eyes wide and pleading.
Rocky: "Have pity on me—I'm just an ORDINARY PERSON!"
He gestured vaguely toward Bolas with his free hand.
Rocky: "And I have this RARE LIGHT—that that guy wants to DESTROY!"
He squeezed her hand gently.
Rocky: "So—MISS—please help me."
His voice dropped to something softer—more intimate.
Rocky: "I'll do ANYTHING—just help me—ESCAPE—from this DARKNESS surrounding me."
---
The Crowd Reacts to the Move
The audience lost their collective minds.
Participant U (facepalming): "IDIOT! Is he trying to get himself killed?! Doesn't he KNOW who he's talking to?!"
Participant V (nodding vigorously): "Yeah! That's STACY—leader of the X SUCK GROUP! You're dead—Playboy! GG!"
Participant W (already recording from three angles): "This is going VIRAL. I can feel it."
---
Stacy's Internal Jackpot
Stacy's eyes went wide. Her heart rate spiked. Her internal voice was a chaotic mess of calculation and something else—something warmer.
Stacy (internal thought): "OH MY GOODNESS."
She looked down at Rocky—kneeling before her, holding her hand, those golden eyes staring up like she was the only person in the world.
Stacy (internal thought): "JACKPOT."
Her mind raced through possibilities.
Stacy (internal thought): "If I HELP him here—he'll do EVERYTHING I WANT."
She glanced around—phones everywhere, recording everything.
Stacy (internal thought): "Good thing—there are lots of videos here. And if he DOESN'T follow through with what I want—"
A slow, predatory smile crossed her perfect features.
Stacy (internal thought): "—I'll FILE CHARGES against him. Hehehehaha."
---
The Group's Whispered Advice
Sara leaned in close to Stacy's ear, her voice a low whisper.
Sara: "Sis—let's make him—our SLAVE."
Mira appeared on Stacy's other side, nodding eagerly.
Mira: "SLAVE—SLAVE—SLAVE."
Nikki completed the triangle, her voice firm.
Nikki: "SLAVE."
Stacy's smile widened.
---
Stacy's Response
Stacy looked down at Rocky, still kneeling, still holding her hand. Her voice came out cool and controlled—but there was a tremor underneath.
Stacy: "Oh—my—BAD BOY PLAYBOY."
She leaned down slightly, meeting his eyes.
Stacy: "Is it TRUE—you'll do ANYTHING—whatever I WANT?"
She emphasized each word carefully.
Stacy: "Or—whatever I COMMAND you to do—you'll OBEY?"
She straightened, looking down at him.
Stacy: "I'll help you here. IF—"
She let the word hang.
Stacy: "—that's TRUE."
---
Rocky Activates a Hidden Skill
Rocky's expression didn't change—but internally, alarms were blaring.
Rocky (internal thought): "Damn—I'M SCREWED."
He had activated one of his hidden class skills without thinking—the moment he'd touched Stacy's hand, Death of Happy Please had switched on.
Rocky (internal thought—skill info flashing):
---
DEATH OF HAPPY PLEASE
Forbidden Skill — Class: Hidden — Origin: 24k Shoes
Effect: When activated through physical touch (minimum 10 seconds), the target experiences levels of happiness never before felt by humans. The sensation is addictive—literally. After the initial 10 seconds, the skill remains active indefinitely.
Duration (current): 90 days until automatic deactivation.
Warning: Targets will seek out the user's touch obsessively. Prolonged exposure can lead to harassment charges. Use with extreme caution—or not at all.
Reason this skill is Forbidden: Because it turns people into addicts. Of you.
---
Rocky's internal voice was panicked.
Rocky (internal thought): "I was only going to use this—for the MILF in front of me—BUT—"
He glanced at Stacy, at the way her expression had shifted—the way her eyes kept dropping to where their hands touched.
Rocky (internal thought): "DEAD. I'M SCREWED. This won't turn off for a long time—90 DAYS!"
He looked at the crowd—at all the women watching.
Rocky (internal thought): "And she said—HUGGED for 10 seconds?!"
His internal voice became a scream.
Rocky (internal thought): "For sure—all the WOMEN here—will become ADDICTED to my BODY! AHH—ROCKY—YOU'RE SO STUPID!"
---
The Betting Begins
Nikki stepped forward, raising her voice to address the crowd.
Nikki: "OKAY—here! Hey—BOYS and GIRLS—TIME TO BET!"
She spread her arms wide.
Nikki: "Who's BETTING—that his FACE is REAL—or that it's FAKE?"
She pointed at the crowd.
Nikki: "Raise your HAND—if you BELIEVE that his FACE ISN'T REAL!"
She paused, then added with a wicked grin.
Nikki: "And if you BELIEVE—you get to HUG the HANDSOME GUY—for 10 SECONDS!"
---
The Women Bet
The female participants erupted.
Girl 7 (waving a credit card): "Me—I'm BETTING my 24K gold! I BELIEVE his FACE is REAL—and NOT FAKE!"
Girl 8 (jumping up and down): "We're BETTING too!"
Girl 9 (already moving toward Rocky): "TEN SECONDS—THAT'S ENOUGH!"
Within moments, every female participant in view had joined the bet—all of them believing Rocky's face was real.
---
The Men Bet
The male participants were equally enthusiastic—but on the opposite side.
Boy 6 (holding up car keys): "Me—I'm BETTING! I'm betting my F1 CAR!"
He pointed at Rocky triumphantly.
Boy 6: "And I BELIEVE—that his FACE is FAKE! That's PLASTIC X MAKEUP!"
Boy 7 (nodding vigorously): "Yeah! Us too—BRO—BETTING—his FACE ISN'T REAL!"
Boy 8 (counting cash): "TEN THOUSAND—on the PLASTIC SIDE!"
Within moments, every male participant had placed their bets—all of them convinced Rocky's face was manufactured.
---
Bolas's Internal Victory
Bolas watched the betting frenzy with growing satisfaction. His internal voice was triumphant.
Bolas (internal thought): "FINALLY—I'll finally see your REAL FACE—Cosplay Boy! Hahaha!"
He crossed his arms, waiting for the reveal.
---
Rocky's Panic
Rocky raised his free hand—the one not still holding Stacy's.
Rocky: "Wait—WAIT—HOLD ON!"
He looked at the advancing women with barely concealed horror.
Rocky: "Why—HUGGING is the prize for the girls? I'm PASS on that—because—"
---
The Women Interrupt
The women weren't having it.
Girl 7 (hands on hips): "Because—WHAT? Pretty Boy—are you SCARED of us?"
She gestured at the group of women around her—all top-notch beauties, all grinning with predatory intent.
Girl 7: "All of us here—are TOP Gs—hehehe."
Girl 8 (stepping closer): "Yeah—maybe you're—GAY?"
She shrugged elegantly.
Girl 8: "But that's OKAY with us—JUST—don't CUT OFF your DAGGER down there."
Girl 9 (cackling): "Yeah—maybe HANDSOME is GAY!"
She addressed the crowd.
Girl 9: "If we WIN against you—we get ALL the BETTING PRIZES—hahaha—right GIRLS?"
All the women answered in unison: "YES—MOMMY!"
---
Except Stacy
Stacy watched her fellow women with narrowed eyes. Her internal voice was cold.
Stacy (internal thought): "These BAD GIRLS—"
She could feel something—an instinct, a warning.
Stacy (internal thought): "But—I can sense your EXTINCTION. Hahaha."
Her smile was sharp.
Stacy (internal thought): "Because—I'm also a WOMAN—you VULGAR BITCHES."
---
The Spell Begins
Stacy raised her free hand—the one Rocky wasn't holding. Her eyes glowed faintly as she began to cast.
Stacy (chanting softly): "Water Flash."
Water materialized from nowhere—a gentle stream that curved through the air like a living thing.
Stacy's internal thought was practical:
Stacy (internal thought): "To make the BETTING FAIR—let's check the MAKEUP first—whether Rocky really used MAKEUP on his FACE."
The water stream aimed directly at Rocky's face.
---
The Women Hold Him Down
Before Rocky could react, the women were on him.
Girl 7: "DON'T—LET HIM—ESCAPE!"
Girl 8: "HOLD HIM DOWN!"
Girl 9: "WE WON'T—LET HIM—GET AWAY—!"
A dozen hands grabbed Rocky's arms, his shoulders, his gear-laden back. He was strong—impossibly strong—but these were top-tier examinees, and there were a lot of them. And he couldn't exactly fight back without revealing just how dangerous he really was.
Rocky (strained): "GUYS—THIS ISN'T—NECESSARY—"
But the water was already hitting his face.
---
The Reveal
The water cascaded over Rocky's perfect features—platinum hair plastering to his forehead, golden-brown eyes blinking against the stream, porcelain skin gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
And then the water cleared.
And the sun—simulated though it was by the hall's lighting panels—caught his face at exactly the right angle.
The women gasped.
Girl 7 (voice breaking): "WOW—"
Girl 8 (clutching her chest): "HE'S—EVEN—MORE—HANDSOME—"
Girl 9 (fanning herself frantically): "THE—GLOW—OF—HIS—FACE—"
The water had done nothing. No makeup ran. No foundation streaked. No concealer washed away.
Because there was nothing to wash away.
Rocky's face was real.
---
The Men's Reaction
The male participants stared in horror.
Boy 6 (dropping his F1 car keys): "DAMN—I BET—I WASTED my F1 CAR—AHHH!"
Boy 7 (laughing hysterically): "Hahaha—IDIOT! Good thing—what I BET—was only 1 DOLLAR! So I only LOST 1 DOLLAR—IDIOT!"
Boy 8 (pale as a ghost): "Me—50 MILLION DOLLARS—"
He swallowed hard.
Boy 8: "I'm—dead—when—my—DAD—finds out."
---
Bolas Refuses to Accept
Bolas stepped forward, pointing at Rocky with barely controlled fury.
Bolas: "GUYS—don't lose HOPE!"
He looked at Stacy.
Bolas: "That was just ROUND 1! There's still the FINAL CHECK UP!"
He pointed at Stacy dramatically.
Bolas: "Hey—BIG THEORY—use your FORBIDDEN SKILL now! THE—LAST AND FINAL CHECK UP! THE—PLASTIC SURGERY FACE!"
---
Stacy Shuts Him Down
Stacy didn't even look at him. Her eyes were still on Rocky—on where her hand still touched his.
Stacy (coolly): "Quiet—OILY BOY."
She waved her free hand dismissively.
Stacy: "The others aren't READY yet—so WAIT."
---
Bolas's Internal Joy
Despite the dismissal, Bolas felt a thrill run through him.
Bolas (internal thought): "AH—WOW—I'm so LUCKY!"
He watched Stacy—top-tier beauty, leader of the X Suck Group—actually acknowledge his existence.
Bolas (internal thought): "A TOP NOTCH BIG THEORY—noticed me! Oh yeah—hahaha!"
---
The Men's Hope
The male participants exchanged glances.
Boy 6 (quietly): "Guys—there's still HOPE."
Boy 7 (nodding): "Yes—still HOPE."
Boy 8 (clutching his remaining cash): "HOPE—HOPE—HOPE."
---
The Final Spell
Minutes passed. The crowd buzzed with anticipation. Phones recorded from every angle.
Finally, Stacy nodded to herself.
Stacy: "EVERYONE—is READY now."
She raised her free hand—the one not still holding Rocky's—and began to chant.
Stacy: "FORBIDDEN SKILL—ACTIVATE!"
Her eyes blazed with dark energy.
Stacy: "THE TRUTH OF LIES!"
The air around them shimmered. Cracks of purple-black energy spiderwebbed outward from her hand.
Stacy: "For this to WORK—the TARGET must be touched—for 10 SECONDS—before TRUTH OR LIES activates!"
She glanced down at where her hand still gripped Rocky's.
Stacy (internal thought): "Good thing—I've been HOLDING him since EARLIER."
---
The Countdown
Stacy began to count—her voice echoing strangely, as if multiple versions of her were speaking at once.
Stacy: "ONE..."
The crowd held its breath.
Stacy: "TWO..."
The purple-black energy intensified.
Stacy: "THREE..."
Rocky's internal voice was screaming.
Rocky (internal thought): "SCREWED—SCREWED—SCREWED—"
Stacy: "FOUR... FIVE... SIX... SEVEN... EIGHT... NINE..."
The energy was everywhere now—wrapping around them both, filling the hall with an oppressive weight.
Stacy: "TEN!"
She threw her head back.
Stacy (voice thundering): "REVEAL the TRUTH! SHOW the LIES!"
The energy exploded outward.
Stacy: "Is your FACE REAL—or is it MADE by LIES?!"
---
BOOM
A massive magic screen materialized in the air above them—twenty feet wide, shimmering with impossible clarity.
And on it—
Images began to play.
---
The Vision Begins
The screen showed Rocky—but not the Rocky standing before them now.
This Rocky was younger. Softer. But still unmistakably him.
He stood in a bathroom—a small one, modest, clearly not wealthy. A towel hung around his waist, revealing that impossible physique even at a younger age.
And on the screen—
Rocky was doing skincare.
Not heavy makeup. Not foundation or concealer or any of the things the boys had accused him of.
Just... skincare. Cleanser. Toner. Moisturizer. The kind of basic routine that anyone—man or woman—might do.
And as he moved, the camera caught every angle—every perfect angle—of a face that was clearly, obviously, undeniably real.
---
The Crowd's Reaction
The women screamed.
Girl 7: "AAAAHHHH—REAL—REAL—REAL!"
Girl 8: "HIS—EYEBROWS—ARE—SO—SOFT!"
Girl 9: "MUSCLES—MUSCLES—MUSCLES!"
The men groaned.
Boy 6: "DAMN—I WASTED—MY—F1—CAR!"
Boy 7: "Good thing—only 1 DOLLAR—FOR—ME!"
Boy 8 (already on his phone): "Dad—can you—LOAN—ME 50 MILLION—?"
---
Stacy's Moment
Stacy stared at the screen—at the image of Rocky, towel-clad, doing skincare like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her hand tightened on his.
Stacy (internal thought): "Oh—my—goodness."
Something warm spread through her chest.
Stacy (internal thought): "JACKPOT—JACKPOT—JACKPOT."
---
The Screen Continues
But the vision wasn't done.
The image shifted—showed Rocky in other moments. Training. Laughing. Sleeping. Waking.
Each frame, each angle, each moment—all of it showed the same face. The same features. The same impossible bone structure.
No makeup. No plastic surgery. No fakery of any kind.
Just Rocky.
Completely, terrifyingly, breathtakingly real.
---
Bolas's Face
Bolas stood frozen, his expression cycling through emotions too fast to track—rage, disbelief, denial, acceptance, more rage.
His fists clenched at his sides.
His jaw tightened until his teeth creaked.
His internal voice was a scream.
Bolas (internal thought): "NO—NO—THIS CAN'T BE—"
But the screen didn't lie.
Forbidden skills couldn't lie.
---
The Screen Flickers
Just as the vision began to fade, the image shifted one last time—
Rocky, alone in what looked like a recording studio. Headphones on. Eyes closed. Microphone before him.
And he began to sing.
The screen flickered—
And went dark.
---
Silence
The hall was absolutely silent.
Everyone stared at the space where the screen had been.
Everyone stared at Rocky.
Rocky, who still knelt before Stacy.
Rocky, who still held her hand.
Rocky, whose face—real, impossibly real—was now slightly flushed from the water and the attention.
Rocky (quietly, to Stacy): "...so. About that help?"
---
[END OF CHAPTER 4]