MASTER OF MANY TOURNAMENT ARCS

“What are you doing here… Garp?” I asked, my voice shaking between irritation and lingering fear. “This has… nothing… to do with you… Just… leave.”

Garp raised an eyebrow, his casual grin never wavering. “What are you talking about? Of course, it’s my business.”

I glared at him. “No… it’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” he shot back, crossing his arms. “You haven’t shown up to the club even once since you joined. If this keeps up, the school will dissolve it. And I can’t let that happen.”

“The… club?” My voice rose incredulously. “Are you… serious… right now?”

“Dead serious,” he replied. “My precious ‘Cooking Club’ isn’t going down because one of its members decided to ghost it.”

Before I could retort, one of the thugs growled, stepping forward. “Enough with this nonsense,” he barked, his cybernetic arm twitching ominously. “You’re really getting on my nerves, kid. Get lost before I make you regret ever being born.”

Garp turned his head slowly, his expression darkening. Then, in a sudden, exaggerated motion, he spat on the ground. “Piss off,” he said, his tone was as casual as it could get.

The group of men froze for a moment, their expressions were contorting with fury. Then Scarface stepped closer, pulling out a sleek, futuristic baton that crackled with bright blue energy. “Wrong move, smartass,” he sneered. “We’re gonna gut you like a zombie and sell your parts piece by piece. Your organs will fetch a fortune.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Garp muttered, rolling his neck. “I’ve heard worse. Let’s get this over with.”

The first thug lunged at Garp, swinging the baton with wild energy. Garp ducked under the arc, his movements were fluid yet deliberate, and delivered a quick jab to the man’s ribs. The guy staggered back, his weapon clattering to the ground.

Before the others could react, Garp grabbed the baton mid-fall, spun it in his hand, and smashed it against the second thug’s shin. The man immediately collapsed into the ground.

“Two down,” Garp said with a grin. “You guys aren’t making this fun.”

The third thug, a wiry man with augmented eyes that glowed pink, pulled out what looked like a laser whip. The weapon cracked in the air, sending sparks flying. “Let’s see how cocky you are now, punk.”

Garp raised an eyebrow. “A whip? Seriously? But sadly I don’t have a kink for whips”

The thug lashed out, the whip cutting through the air with terrifying speed. Garp dodged, narrowly missing the strike, and closed the gap between them. With one swift motion, he grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it, forcing him to drop the whip.

“Old school street fighting, my man,” Garp said as he head-butted the guy, sending him crumpling to the ground. “Beats flashy gadgets any day.”

That left only one. The fourth guy stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. He wasn’t holding any weapons, but his movements were precise and deliberate. A glint in his eye showed he wasn’t just any thug. “You’re good,” the man said. “But let’s see how you handle someone who actually knows how to fight.”

“Oh, finally,” Garp said, shaking out his hands. “I was starting to get bored.”

The man moved fast, delivering a flurry of kicks and punches that forced Garp to stay on the defensive. The alley echoed with the sound of their strikes as they exchanged blows. Garp blocked and countered with a raw, unpolished style, mixing jabs, elbows, and grapples.

“You’ve got skills,” Garp admitted, dodging a spinning kick. “Let me guess, you downloaded some martial arts chip, right?”

The man smirked. “Better than your sloppy street brawling.”

Garp laughed, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. “Maybe. But skill means nothing without experience. And besides, there is no way I would lose to someone who relies on chips to fight.”

With that, Garp feinted to the left, baiting the man into overextending. He took the opening to sweep his opponent’s legs out from under him, then delivered a brutal punch to his stomach as he fell.

The man gasped for air. Garp stood over him, cracking his knuckles. “Told you. I’ve been through enough tournament arcs in middle school to know how to handle guys like you.”

I stared, dumbfounded, as Garp casually dusted off his hands and turned to me. “Now, where were we?”

“...How… did you even… find me?” I asked, still reeling from what I’d just witnessed.

Garp shrugged. “Simple. Remember the club’s terms and conditions? You agreed to share your location data with club members for ‘team coordination purposes.’ It’s all perfectly legal and approved by the school. I just followed the tracker.”

“You… what?” My jaw dropped. “That’s… invasive!”

He grinned. “And yet, it saved your life.”

[The scene shifted to a sterile, brightly lit room in the local police station. Or, more specifically, the holding cell where the four thugs now sat, looking battered and defeated. A sleek, spherical drone hovered in front of them, its glowing lens trained on Scarface.]

The drone’s voice was calm yet commanding. “Explain your operation.”

Scarface hesitated, then sighed. “We set up e-stores with deliberately weak security. When someone hacks into them, our system flags their neural port’s unique signature and tracks their location.”

“And this system?” the drone prompted.

“It’s an AI program,” Scarface admitted. “Once it detects unauthorized access, it sends out a signal to the nearest device connected to the hacker. From there, it creates a triangulation point to pinpoint their location. We use that to track them down.”

The drone tilted slightly, as if nodding. “And your victims?”

Scarface’s eyes darted to his comrades, then back to the drone. “If it’s a guy, we extort them for money. If it’s a woman…” He trailed off, his face darkening.

“Continue,” the drone demanded.

“We… use them for whatever we want,” Scarface muttered. “Sometimes we sell them off. Other times…”

“Enough,” the drone said, its tone icy. “Your confessions have been recorded and will be submitted to the appropriate authorities.”

The drone floated over to Garp, who was leaning casually against the wall. “Thank you for your assistance, Master Garp.”

“Master?” I blurted, staring at him in disbelief.

Garp waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t get too excited. My mom runs this station. The drone just calls me that out of habit.”

I blinked. “Your mom?”

“Yep,” he said, smirking. “She’s the head of this place. Why do you think I knew exactly where to bring these losers?”

Before I could respond, the drone chimed in. “Your help has been invaluable, Master Garp. The suspects will be detained, and their operation dismantled.”

Garp grinned, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “See? Told you joining the club would be worth it.”

I groaned, too exhausted to argue.

CHAPTER 12 END