Nearly everyone in the village square had stopped what they were doing to witness the duel. The small farming town of Toyotathon was an unlikely stage for a contest between a famous champion and an unknown challenger, and all jostled one another for a better view. The crowd murmured and gasped as the Great Dragon Himamoto glided through an ornate series of spinning kicks and punches.
"I never thought I'd see the iron dragon style in person," said a man in dirt streaked, ragged clothes.
"Amazing," said a woman in a awed whisper. A basket of food rested atop her head.
With regal stoicism the muscular martial arts hero ignored the crowd. After all, it was perfectly normal for these rubes to be astounded by his skill. It would likely be the highlight of their pitiful lives. A young woman fainted as Himamoto sliced the air with a perfectly executed dragons tail roundhouse kick. The strain of the kick would have ruined the leg of a lesser man.
He smirked and finished his flurry with an immaculate serpent's flight pose, his arms spread wide, fingers wigling rapidly. Light applause tinkled the air.
Across from him a man sat cross legged in the dirt, pushing his knees down in a lazy stretch. He was quite fat, and his wrinkled white robe was stained with splotches of various colors. He gazed absently at the slowly passing clouds overhead. A few of the gathered crowd watched him with puzzlement, though most ignored him.
"Shall you not demonstrate your skill before we begin our combat," asked Himamoto, his palm upturned in invitation.
The fat man's eyes seem to come alive, as though he were just waking up, and he stood hastily. He glanced self consciously around at the amassed villagers and threw a half hearted punch. The sheer force of it could possibly have torn a paper wall several inches.
When no one reacted he yelled, "Kya!"
He raised his eyebrows expectantly.
A storm swept onto Himomoto's great brow. "Mock me now if you wish," he said, stabbing a finger like dragon's claw, "but you will not be so amused when my heel rests upon your neck. I represent the great iron dragon style of the West, fat man. What style do you claim."
"Bullshitzu," said the man.
Some in the crowd chuckled. Himomoto's face brightened. "A style of your own creation, eh?"
The grand master assumed the skyward scales opening posture, his hands laced behind his head as his crotch thrusted forward and up. The fat man weakly held his delicate looking fists under his chin, like a child holding fruit to his mouth.
Himamoto grinned savagely, "I will not hold back because you lack real training. You will learn the consequences of challenging a true master."
The fat man threw another pitiful punch and yelled Kya! Though this time his voice trailed off slowly, like air gradually escaping a bladder.
The master struck with blinding speed. A foot blurred from the ground toward the round, pink face of his stunned opponent. So ferocious was the attack that a swirl of dust rose up from the ground and shrouded the duel. A loud crack reverberated across the town square, like the snapping of a large tree trunk during a storm. The villagers strained to see through the haze of the dust cloud, each wanting to be the first to observe whatever horrible damage had been done to the fat fool who had challenged the great master of the West. None of them had seen brains outside of a skull before.
A young woman screamed as the dust settled. The fat man stood over the prostrate Himamoto, sucking air though his teeth as he looked at the master's ruined leg. Himomoto's calf jutted from his knee at an almost right angle. Tears rolled slowly down the beat red face of the great dragon as he tried not to look at the injury.
"You should have stretched," said the fat man.