Chapter 42: The Impossible Customer
Tuesday afternoon at the Urahara Shop had established itself as the unofficial day of the "Calm Before the Storm." No Apokolips invasions were scheduled. Amanda Waller was busy licking her bureaucratic wounds in Washington. The universe, for once, seemed content to leave the little candy store in Kyoto alone.
Inside the pocket dimension, in the living room that was now an eclectic mix of Zen aesthetics and superhero clutter, domestic peace reigned.
Urahara Kisuke and Scott Free were sitting on the floor, facing a low table. Between them was a Shogi board (Japanese chess).
"The Gold General advances," Urahara said, moving the pentagonal piece with a soft click on the wood. "And I'm afraid, Scott, that your King is in a... precarious position."
Scott adjusted his glasses, frowning. The Mother Box on his chest emitted a soft, questioning ping.
"Don't ask the machine for help," Urahara scolded him gently, taking a sip of tea. "Shogi is a game of patience, not quantum calculation. You have to read the flow, not the data."
"It's hard to read the flow when your opponent has three thousand years more experience," Scott muttered, moving a defensive pawn.
On the gray leather sofa (the one they had magically teleported), Kara was lying on her stomach, feet in the air, reading a Metropolis fashion magazine.
Krypto was sleeping on the rug beneath her, letting out sighs of canine satisfaction. In the corner, Big Barda was sitting on a sturdy stool, her armor partially disassembled on a tarp.
She was polishing her breastplate with a rag and a can of car wax she had found in the garage. The smell of wax and clean metal mixed with the aroma of tea. It was a scene of absolute tranquility.
A scene that was about to be violated in the loudest way possible. It started as a vibration. Not in the ground, but in the teeth.
A low, guttural, aggressive hum that caused Urahara's tea to ripple in his cup.
"Earthquake?" Kara asked, looking up from her magazine.
"No," Barda said, stopping her polishing. She stood up, her warrior instinct activated. "That is not coming from the earth. It is coming from the sky."
The hum turned into a roar. And then, into a thunderclap. It wasn't the clean sound of a jet engine or the whistle of a spaceship.
It was the sound of an internal combustion engine the size of a house, poorly tuned, fed with illegal rocket fuel and pure hatred. It sounded like a chainsaw was trying to mate with a thunderbolt.
And it came accompanied by music. Heavy metal. Distorted electric guitar, double bass drumming, and a voice screaming about gutting galaxies, all amplified to a volume that defied the municipal ordinances of three continents.
DA-DA-DA-DUM! I'M GONNA EAT YOUR BRAIN! DA-DA-DA-DUM!
"What the hell is that?" Scott shouted, covering his ears.
Urahara sighed. A long, deep sigh filled with infinite resignation. He set his teacup down carefully.
"Ah," he said. "That sound. That total lack of respect for acoustics and private property... I'm afraid we have visitors."
He stood up, smoothing his kimono.
"And it is not the kind of visitor that brings cake."
CRASH!
The sound of something landing—or rather, crashing—outside the physical shop shook the entire pocket dimension. There was the screech of metal against stone, the shattering of glass, and the howl of at least five different car alarms going off in unison in the Gion alley.
"Invasion!" Barda yelled, grabbing her Mega-Rod.
"I'm on it!" Kara said.
Her eyes glowed red. She flew out toward the connecting corridor, a trail of Kryptonian fury. Barda followed, putting her helmet on as she went. Scott sighed, looked at the Shogi board (where he was losing), and ran after them.
Urahara adjusted his hat. He picked up his fan.
"I hope he has insurance," he muttered, and walked out after them with the calm of someone going to collect the mail.
The Gion Alley. The scene outside the shop was a disaster zone. The quiet cobblestone alley was filled with thick black exhaust smoke.
The red paper lantern that hung over the shop entrance—the one Urahara had replaced just a week ago—was crushed, reduced to an accordion of burnt paper on the ground.
And parked on top of it, taking up almost the entire width of the alley, was a monstrosity. It was a bike. But calling that thing a "bike" was like calling Godzilla a "lizard."
It was a custom Spacehog. Three meters long of shining chrome, exhaust pipes that looked like organ cannons, handlebars made from the bones of some extinct cosmic beast, and an engine that glowed with a pulsating, radioactive red light.
The chassis was decorated with skulls. Lots of skulls. Some looked suspiciously recent. And sitting on the dragon-leather saddle, with one leg resting carelessly on the handlebar, was Him.
He stood over two meters tall. His skin was chalk white, almost bluish under the moonlight. His long black hair fell in a wild mane over his shoulders.
He wore a sleeveless black leather vest that revealed arms the thickness of tree trunks, leather pants, and steel-toed boots. He had a chain with a hook wrapped around his forearm. And he was smoking a cigar that smelled like burning tires and sulfur.
Lobo. The Main Man. The Last Czarnian. The most feared, effective, and annoying bounty hunter in the galaxy.
Kara landed in front of the shop, hovering a meter off the ground, fists clenched.
"You!" she shouted, recognizing the description from the League files. "Lobo!"
Barda stepped out of the shop, the Mega-Rod lit and humming.
"Czarnian!" the warrior roared. "Do you come for us? Did Darkseid send you? Take one more step and I will turn you into dust!"
Lobo didn't even look at them. He took a deep drag of his cigar, released a skull-shaped cloud of smoke, and scratched his chin with the hook of his chain.
"So noisy," he grunted. His voice sounded like he was gargling gravel.
He turned off the bike's engine. The silence that followed was almost painful. Then, he looked at Kara and Barda with his red eyes, bloodshot and bored.
"Relax, babes. The Main Man ain't on duty today. I ain't here for your heads. Although..." he looked Barda up and down, "...that armor makes you look fat."
"I'm going to kill him!" Barda growled, taking a step forward.
"Wait," Kara said, confused. "You're not here to fight? Then what are you doing here? You wrecked the entrance!"
Lobo got off the bike. The ground shook.
"I'm here to collect a debt," he said, spitting on the ground. "A debt of honor."
He looked toward the open door of the shop, ignoring the two most powerful women on the planet as if they were mosquitoes.
"HEY!" he roared, his voice shaking the neighbors' windows. "COME OUT, HAT MAN! I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! I CAN SMELL YOUR CHEAP CANDY FROM ORBIT!"
Kara prepared to fire her heat vision. No one spoke to Kisuke like that. But then, a gentle hand landed on her shoulder.
Urahara Kisuke stepped out of the shadows of the entrance. He wasn't carrying his sword. He was holding his fan, open, covering half his face. But his eyes... his eyes weren't cold or angry. They were... amused?
"My, my," Urahara said, his quiet voice cutting through the tension. "If it isn't Lobo-san. The terror of the star systems. The scourge of public libraries."
Urahara lowered the fan, revealing a crooked smile. He looked at the crushed lantern under the bike's front wheel.
"I see you still have trouble parallel parking, old friend. You owe me a new lantern. That was imported rice paper."
Lobo looked at Urahara. For a second, the tension was absolute. The immortal killer facing the mysterious shopkeeper. And then, Lobo smiled.
It was a smile full of sharp teeth, a shark's smile that just found a school of fat fish.
" The Hat Man!" Lobo shouted, spreading his arms. "You old bastard! You still got your head attached to your neck! I thought you'd have pissed off some death god and been turned into sushi centuries ago!"
"They tried," Urahara said with a shrug. "But I am very hard to digest."
Lobo walked over, his heavy boots echoing in the alley. Kara tensed, ready to intercept him. But Lobo didn't attack.
He slapped Urahara on the back. A slap that would have broken a normal man's spine and sent his lungs through his chest.
WHACK!
Urahara didn't even flinch. He absorbed the impact with a subtle adjustment of his Reiatsu, though the ground beneath his feet cracked slightly.
"Hahaha! Still tough as a ship's hull, skinny!" Lobo laughed.
"And you still smell like rocket fuel and bad decisions," Urahara replied, brushing dust off his shoulder.
Kara lowered herself to the ground, confused. Barda lowered her weapon, though she didn't turn it off.
"Do... do you know each other?" Kara asked, looking from one to the other.
"Unfortunately," Urahara sighed.
"We know each other!" Lobo roared, wrapping a heavy arm around Urahara's shoulders, crushing him a little. "This guy! This guy is a legend in the Outer Rim! We met at 'The Last Gulp' bar... how long ago? A hundred years?"
"One hundred and fifty," Urahara corrected. "And you still owe me the bill for the structural damages."
"Details!" Lobo dismissed with a wave of his giant hand.
He leaned toward Kara, ignoring her look of disgust.
"Listen, blondie. This guy... looks like a lost librarian, right? But he's got the hardest liver in the galaxy! I won a bet against him, but it almost cost me a kidney!"
"You didn't win that bet, Lobo-san," Urahara said softly. "You passed out before we finished the bottle. Technically, it was a technical draw because you fell on the table and broke it."
"I never pass out!" Lobo protested. "I was resting my eyes! Strategically!"
Lobo released Urahara and turned toward the shop.
"But that's ancient history. Today I come to collect."
He rubbed his hands together. "I've heard rumors, Hat. Word on the street... in the dirtiest holes from Thanagar to Rann... is that you have a new blend."
Lobo's eyes shone with thirsty greed.
"They say you have a sake that can knock out a New God. A liquor that makes ambrosia nectar look like mop water."
He pointed an accusing finger at Urahara.
"I'm here to taste it. And I ain't leaving until my blood is 90% alcohol or until you're under the table."
Urahara sighed again. He looked at his repaired shop. He looked at the peace of the night. He looked at the eight-foot monster parked at his door, demanding hospitality.
"Lobo-san," Urahara said. "It is eight in the evening. It is Tuesday. I have inventory tomorrow."
"I don't give a targ's crap!" Lobo said, pushing Urahara gently (for him) toward the door. "Open the bar, shopkeep! The Main Man is thirsty! And I brought my own music!"
He pulled a portable boombox from somewhere on his bike and hit play. More heavy metal began to blast. Urahara looked at Kara.
Kara looked at him, with an expression of "What do we do? Do I throw him into the sun?". Urahara shook his head imperceptibly.
'If we fight here, he will destroy Kyoto just for fun. He regenerates from a drop of blood. Violence is his love language. We cannot kick him out.'
'There is only one way to get rid of Lobo.'
Urahara smiled. A business smile.
"Very well, Lobo-san," he said, opening the shop door. "If you are thirsty... who am I to deny an old friend. Come in. The first round is on the house."
Lobo let out a howl of joy that started dogs barking all over the neighborhood.
"That's my boy! Maestro, music! Let's get drunk until the stars fall!"
He entered the shop, breaking the top frame of the door with his forehead because he didn't duck.
"Oops," he said, not stopping. "Put it on my tab."
Urahara looked at the splintered wood.
"This is going to be a very long night," he told Kara. "Kara, Barda... please hide everything fragile. And, for the love of everything... do not let him near the laboratory."
They went in after him. The invasion had begun. But it wasn't a war. It was a party. And that, sometimes, was much worse.
Lobo's entrance into the pocket dimension wasn't a step; it was a territorial invasion. The bounty hunter had to duck to pass through the backroom noren.
Even so, his shoulders, wide as a truck bumper, scraped the wooden frames, tearing off splinters with a sound of structural protest.
"Nice place!" he roared, his voice bouncing off the walls of the expanded living room. "A bit sissy for my taste. Too much wood, not enough metal. But it's got legroom."
Lobo walked to the center of the room, his steel-toed boots leaving footprints of mud, motor oil, and the blood of some unfortunate alien on the immaculate carpet.
His red eyes landed on the largest piece of furniture in the room: the gray sectional leather sofa, the pride and joy of Kara's recent move-in.
"Aha! The throne!" he exclaimed.
He dropped. He didn't sit. He collapsed. One hundred and fifty kilos of dense Czarnian muscle and bad attitude impacted the memory foam cushions.
CRUUUUNCH!
The sofa groaned. The wooden frame inside creaked dangerously, protesting under the weight of a being who had fought hand-to-hand with Superman. The leather stretched to the limit of its elastic endurance.
Kara, who had flown in behind him to keep watch, winced in physical pain, as if he had sat on her.
"Hey!" she shouted. "Watch the furniture! That's Italian leather!"
"Italian?" Lobo scoffed, putting his dirty boots directly up on the cypress wood coffee table. "I only use Dragon of Galtos leather. Now that can take a beating. This..." he slapped the armrest, "...is soft. Like you, Goldilocks."
He leaned back, taking up three seats by himself, and looked at Urahara, who was standing by the entrance, fanning himself gently to dissipate the smell of cheap tobacco and death the guest had brought with him.
"Well, shopkeep!" Lobo barked, slamming his fist on the table, making the coasters jump. "Less talk, more action! My throat's dry as the deserts of Thanagar! Bring out the poison! Bring out the strong stuff!"
"Patience, Lobo-san," Urahara said, moving toward the kitchen with a calm that exasperated Kara. "Preparation is key. You wouldn't want to drink hot sake in a dirty glass, would you?"
"I don't care if you serve it in a skull! Just bring it!"
At that moment, a sound was heard from the staircase. A low growl. Deep. Threatening. Lobo turned his head, a smile of interest curving his pale lips.
Krypto, the Superdog, was on the bottom step. His ears were pinned back against his skull. His white fur was bristling along his spine.
His eyes glowed with a red warning, and his teeth, capable of piercing titanium, were bared in a snarl of territorial defense. He had smelled the intruder. He had smelled the threat.
"Krypto, no..." Kara started to say, fearing for her dog's safety (or the house's, if they started fighting).
But Lobo lit up. His expression changed from that of a bored thug to that of a child who just saw a Christmas present.
"Well look at this killer!" Lobo cooed, his voice dropping to a tone that, in his mind, was affectionate, but still sounded like an industrial sander.
He leaned forward, completely ignoring the dog's threat.
"Look at those fangs! Look at that attack stance! You're a killing machine, eh, doggy!"
Krypto, confused by the lack of fear, barked furiously. WOOF! A sonic shockwave rattled the windows.
"Yeah! That's what I like! With lungs!" Lobo laughed.
He reached out his massive hand, covered in scars and metal rings, toward the dog.
"Come to Daddy Lobo. Come here, bloodthirsty beast."
"Don't touch him!" Kara screamed. "He'll rip your hand off!"
Krypto, seeing the hand approach, didn't hesitate. He defended his home. He lunged forward and clamped his jaws around Lobo's hand, right on the fleshy part of the thumb.
He bit with Kryptonian force. Force enough to crush a diamond.
CRACK!
Any other being in the universe would have screamed. Would have lost the hand. Would have bled to death. Lobo... laughed.
"HAHAHAHA!" he roared, lifting his hand with the dog still hanging from it, shaking him like a rag toy. "That's it! Bite hard! Bite to the bone! Damn, the mutt's got strength!"
Krypto growled, clamping down harder, confused because the white man didn't break. Lobo's skin was almost as hard as his own, and his regeneration factor healed the damage as fast as it occurred.
Lobo looked at the dog hanging from his hand with pure adoration.
"I like you, kid. You got guts. You remind me of my space dolphins, but with more hair and fewer fins."
With his other hand, Lobo rummaged in one of the many pockets of his leather vest. He pulled out a piece of dubious-looking dried meat, purple and black, that smelled of strong alien spices.
"Let go, killer!" he told the dog, waving the meat in front of his nose. "Grog Jerky! Best in Sector 9! Freshly ripped from a Grog that looked at me funny!"
Krypto smelled the meat. His dog instincts fought against his guardian instincts. The meat smelled... incredible.
He let go of Lobo's hand (which was already healing, leaving only white marks) and caught the jerky in the air. He swallowed it in one bite. And then, he wagged his tail.
"Good boy!" Lobo said, scratching aggressively behind his ears with his hook fingers. "You and me are gonna get along. Much better than with the stuck-up blonde."
Kara watched the scene with her mouth open, horrified.
"Betrayed..." she whispered. "My own dog. Bought by a piece of dried meat."
Barda, who had stayed near the door with the Mega-Rod ready, shook her head.
"Czarnians like animals," she murmured. "It's the only thing they don't kill for fun. He probably respects him because he tried to rip his finger off."
Lobo turned his attention back to the room, with Krypto now sitting at his feet, waiting for more jerky.
"Hey, Hat!" he shouted toward the kitchen. "The dog's already eaten! Now it's my turn! My tongue feels like sandpaper!"
Urahara appeared in the kitchen doorway, carrying a tray with a single dark glass bottle and two small cups.
"Coming, coming," Urahara said. "No need to shout. The acoustics in this room are excellent."
Lobo looked at the bottle. It was small.
"That's it?" he complained. "That won't even fill a molar! I said I wanted to get drunk, not moisten my lips!"
"It is a concentrate, Lobo-san," Urahara said, placing the tray on the table (taking care not to put it near Lobo's dirty boots). "Quality over quantity."
Lobo snorted. And then, he did something disgusting. He belched. It wasn't a normal belch. It was a tectonic release of accumulated stellar gases.
BURRRRRRRP!
And along with the sound, a flare of green fire came out. Lobo had been eating something spicy in some distant solar system, and his alien physiology converted indigestion into a flamethrower.
The fire hit the center of the cypress wood table. The wood didn't just burn; it charred instantly, leaving a black, smoking hole in the center of the precious table.
The smell of burnt varnish filled the room. Urahara stopped. He looked at his table. His favorite table. Kara saw the expression on Kisuke's face. It was a flicker of pain, quickly hidden.
That was the last straw for her.
"ENOUGH!" Kara shouted.
Her eyes glowed a deep, furious red. Her patience had snapped.
"You broke the door! You crushed the lantern! You dirtied the carpet! You bribed my dog! And now you've burned the table!"
She walked toward the sofa, radiating heat.
"Get out! Get out of my house! NOW!"
Lobo looked at her, raising a pierced eyebrow with disinterest.
"Make me, princess."
Kara didn't hesitate. She grabbed Lobo by the leather vest. She used her strength. The strength that could move moons. She pulled upward, intending to throw him through the roof, through the dimension, and straight into Jupiter's orbit.
She pulled.
And Lobo... didn't move. Not an inch. It was like trying to lift a mountain that had decided to take root.
Lobo leaned back on the sofa, smiling, while Kara pulled so hard the floor beneath her feet began to creak.
The Czarnian wasn't just strong. He was dense. And he had gravitational control over his own body that made him immovable when he wanted to be.
"You got guts, Goldilocks," Lobo said, giving a condescending pat on Kara's hand gripping his vest.
"But the Main Man don't move until he wants to move. And right now... the Main Man wants to drink."
With a casual movement of his arm, he shook off Kara's grip. The force of the movement sent Kara stumbling backward.
"Enough!" Big Barda roared.
The warrior activated her Mega-Rod. The weapon hummed with lethal energy.
"If you don't leave the easy way, you will leave in pieces!" Barda shouted, advancing. "I will pulverize you!"
Lobo jumped up, whipping out his chained hook with terrifying speed.
"LET'S DANCE, BIG GIRL! I'VE BEEN BORED ALL WEEK!"
The living room was about to become a crater. Two unstoppable forces, plus a furious Kryptonian, were about to collide in an enclosed space.
"Stop!" a voice said.
It wasn't a shout. It was a command spoken with the tone of someone tired of children breaking toys. Urahara stepped between Barda and Lobo. He held his closed fan against Lobo's massive chest.
"Lobo-san. Barda-san. Kara."
He looked at them all.
"If you fight here," Urahara said quietly, "you will not only destroy my shop. You will destroy the entire block of Kyoto. You will probably cause a dimensional rift. And, most importantly... you will spill the sake."
He pointed to the bottle on the burnt table. Lobo looked at the bottle. He lowered his hook.
"He's right," the bounty hunter grunted. "It'd be a waste of good booze."
"Besides," Urahara continued, looking at Kara and Barda with a warning glance. "Lobo-san is immortal. He regenerates from a drop of blood. Brute force does not work on him. It only amuses him. He is a masochist."
"Hey! I'm a hedonist of pain!" Lobo corrected.
"Exactly," Urahara said. "Fighting him is giving him what he wants."
"Then what do we do?" Kara hissed. "Let him stay here forever? Let him eat our food and burn our furniture?"
"No," Urahara said.
A slow, dangerous smile appeared on his face. The smile of the shopkeeper who knows he is about to scam someone.
"We use diplomacy," he said. "Liquid diplomacy."
He turned to Lobo.
"Lobo-san. You came to drink. You came to taste my legend."
"Damn right," Lobo said.
"Then, let's make it interesting," Urahara proposed. "I'm not going to give you the sake for free. It is too valuable."
He sat on the floor, facing the burnt table, and poured two cups.
"A duel," Urahara said.
Lobo's eyes gleamed. "What kind of duel? Arm wrestling? Knives? Who can spit the farthest?"
"Liver," Urahara said. "You versus me. Bottle after bottle. Shot after shot."
Urahara raised his glass.
"If you win... you take the entire stock of my cellar. And you can stay on the sofa as long as you want. I'll even let you use the remote control."
Lobo let out a triumphant laugh. "Paradise!"
"But..." Urahara said, his voice hardening. "If I win... you leave. Right now. You pay for the damage to the door, the lantern, and the table. And you do not show your ugly face in this sector of the galaxy for a hundred years."
Lobo looked at Urahara. He looked at the shopkeeper's slender frame. Then he looked at himself, the ultimate party machine.
"You? Against me?" Lobo scoffed. "I got the liver of a god, Hat! I've drunk neutron star fuel! I've drunk with demons of the eighth circle and drank them under the table!"
"Then you have nothing to fear," Urahara said, challenging.
Lobo sat down heavily, shaking the floor. He grabbed the glass.
"Deal, skinny! Prepare your will! The Main Man has never lost a drinking contest!"
Urahara smiled.
"Krypto-san," he said to the dog. "Please be the referee. If either of us dies, bark twice."
The duel had begun. The air in the pocket dimension living room had become thick, not with battle tension, but with the toxic fumes emanating from the unlabeled bottle resting in the center of the charred table.
Lobo and Urahara sat facing each other, like two gunslingers in an old west saloon, only their weapons were small ceramic cups.
Kara, Barda, and Scott Free formed a cautious and horrified audience at a safe distance. Krypto, the official referee, was sitting on a chair, watching with a seriousness only a dog bribed with alien jerky could maintain.
"Very well," Urahara said, uncorking the bottle.
There was no cork pop. There was a hiss. A dense purple smoke curled out of the bottle's neck, twisting in the air and forming shapes that looked like faces screaming in agony.
The smell hit the room. It didn't smell like alcohol. It smelled like a mixture of rocket fuel, ghost pepper, hell sulfur, and the regret of a thousand hangovers.
Scott coughed, covering his nose. "What the hell is that, Kisuke? Quantum drain cleaner?"
"Close," Urahara said cheerfully, pouring the liquid into the two cups.
The liquid was black, viscous, and bubbled ominously.
"Experimental Number 99," Urahara announced. "A high-pressure distillate of condensed Reishi, mixed with Hell Wasp venom and fermented in a barrel made from World Tree wood for a decade. I call it 'The Coma Awakening'."
Lobo looked at the black liquid. He brought his nose close and inhaled deeply. His nose hairs singed. His red eyes watered. And then, he grinned.
"Smells like death!" he roared, slamming the table. "I love it! Cheers, shopkeep!"
"Kampai," Urahara replied.
They raised their glasses. Lobo downed his in one gulp, without hesitation. Urahara did the same, with an elegant flick of his wrist.
The effect on Lobo was immediate and spectacular. The Czarnian's eyes went wide. The veins in his neck bulged like steel cables. His chalk-white skin turned, for a brief second, a bright red.
GULP!
He swallowed. Lobo shuddered violently, a spasm that ran through his entire massive body. Then, he belched. A small skull-shaped puff of smoke came out of his mouth and dissipated on the ceiling.
"Damn!" Lobo croaked, his voice sounding like he had swallowed broken glass. "That... that's got a kick! Tastes like car battery and rotten strawberries! It's disgusting!"
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slammed the glass onto the table.
"Another!"
Urahara, who hadn't shown any visible reaction other than a slight blink, smiled and poured again.
"Round two."
They drank.
Round three.
They drank.
Round four.
By the fifth round, Lobo's physiology, capable of surviving in the vacuum of space and regenerating from a drop of blood, was beginning to find its limit.
The spiritual "alcohol" didn't just attack the liver. It attacked the soul. And Lobo's soul, though black and hard, wasn't used to being marinated in pure Reiatsu.
Lobo began to change color. His skin went from white to pale green. Then to a soft shade of lavender.
"Hey, Hat..." Lobo slurred, pointing with a finger that seemed to have visual trails. "Why... why does your dog have two heads? And... why is one of them winking at me?"
Krypto barked once. WOOF!
"Shut up, two-head!" Lobo yelled at the dog. "Nobody asked your opinion!"
Urahara poured himself another glass with a steady hand.
"You look a bit dizzy, Lobo-san," he said with fake concern. "Do you want to quit? There is no shame in admitting defeat to a superior vintage."
"NEVER!" Lobo roared, grabbing the bottle directly, ignoring the glass. "The Main Man never quits! The Main Man drinks the universe!"
He brought the bottle to his mouth and took a long, gurgling swig.
Kara looked at Barda. "He's going to die. He's really going to die this time."
"He's immortal," Barda reminded her. "But I wish I wasn't tomorrow morning."
Lobo lowered the bottle, almost empty. He swayed in his seat. His eyes spun in opposite directions.
Suddenly, a beatific and completely out-of-place smile appeared on his brutal face. He looked at the ceiling.
"Dolphins..." he whispered in a dreamy voice. "Oh, look at them... space dolphins... swimming in the jelly..."
He raised a hand to pet an invisible dolphin.
"Come here, Flipper... come to daddy... bring the cosmic pizza..."
Urahara set his glass (still full) on the table.
"I believe," Urahara said, checking his watch, "we are reaching the terminal phase. Cetacean hallucinations. A classic."
Lobo tried to stand up to declare his victory.
"I... I AM THE KING!" he shouted, jumping to his feet.
The table tipped over. Lobo stayed upright for a second, swaying like a skyscraper in an earthquake.
"NOBODY KNOCKS OUT LOBO! NOBODY...!"
His knees gave way. His eyes rolled back in his head.
"Love you, doggy..." he mumbled.
And then, he fell.
THOOOOOOM!
One hundred and fifty kilos of unconscious Czarnian hit the wooden floor with the force of a meteorite. The whole house shook. A picture fell off the wall.
Krypto barked twice. WOOF! WOOF!
The referee had called the K.O. Silence returned to the living room, broken only by Lobo's seismic snores, which sounded like a choking diesel engine.
Kara let out the breath she had been holding.
"Is he...?" she asked.
Urahara walked over to the fallen body and tapped his cheek with his foot.
"Out cold," he confirmed. "He won't wake up until next Tuesday. And when he does, even his DNA will hurt."
"Good," Barda said, sheathing her Mega-Rod. "Now, how do we get rid of him? He weighs a ton and is indestructible. We can't just drag him to the street."
Urahara smiled.
"For that, Barda-san, there is the postal service."
He walked to the supply closet and returned with a roll of industrial packing tape, a thick black marker, and... a cardboard box. It wasn't a normal box. Urahara took a small folded cardboard box from his pocket. He threw it on the floor and applied a little expansion Kidō.
POOF!
The box grew to become a shipping container the size of a large coffin, reinforced with spiritual seals.
"Help me," Urahara said.
Between Kara (using her super strength), Barda (using her goddess strength), and Scott (using his wits not to get crushed), they lifted Lobo's inert body and stuffed him into the box. They had to bend his legs a bit, but he fit.
Urahara threw the rest of the poison bottle into the box with him. "A souvenir for the road."
They closed the cardboard flaps. Urahara sealed them with the adhesive tape, wrapping the box like a mummy. Then, with the black marker, he wrote in large letters on the lid:
SENDER: URAHARA SHOP, EARTH. RECIPIENT: WARDEN OF TAKRON-GALTOS MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON. CONTENTS: ONE (1) DRUNKEN CZARNIAN. CAUTION: BITES UPON WAKING. POSTAGE: DUE.
"Takron-Galtos," Scott read. "The prison planet. They have a force field designed to contain Daxamites. It should hold him... a couple of hours."
"Enough for him to sober up and forget where he parked the bike," Urahara said.
Urahara drew Benihime. He didn't cut the air vertically. He drew a circle on the floor, right under the box. The floor disappeared, replaced by the black void of a Garganta.
"Safe travels, Lobo-san!" Urahara said, giving the box a gentle kick.
The box fell through the hole. The Garganta closed. Lobo was gone.
The living room was wrecked. The table was burnt. The sofa was warped. There was mud and oil everywhere. But it was quiet.
Kara slumped to the floor, leaning her back against the sofa.
"I can't believe you won," she said, looking at Kisuke in awe. "You drank that stuff. Glass after glass. And you're not even dizzy."
Urahara sat on his cushion, fanning himself.
"Ah, Kara-san," he said with a sly smile. "The art of the duel is not strength. It is deception."
He picked up his glass from the table, the one he had been using.
"Want a taste?"
Kara looked at him suspiciously, but brought her nose to the glass. She sniffed. It didn't smell like poison. It didn't smell like death. It smelled like... lemon. And sugar.
"It's... iced tea?" she asked, incredulous.
"Oolong tea, very concentrated," Urahara corrected. "It has the same black color as the poison. A bit bitter, but very refreshing."
"You cheated?" Barda exclaimed, laughing.
"I did not cheat," Urahara said, offended. "I said we would drink bottle after bottle. I never said we would drink from the same bottle. I had my own stash under the table. Basic illusionism."
Kara shook her head, a grin stretching from ear to ear.
"You are impossible, Kisuke."
"I am a man of resources," he said, raising his glass of tea. "Now... who will help me get that horrible bike out of the alley before the police have a heart attack?"
Krypto barked, running toward the door, hoping to find more jerky in the bike's saddlebags.
"I guess the dog helps," Scott said.
Night returned to calm at the Urahara Shop. They had survived dark gods, perfect androids, and now, the rudest guest in the galaxy.
And all thanks to a little iced tea and a lot of duct tape.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
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