Mike stayed in Hong Kong for one night. The next day, the Golden Tiger Gang hesitated for a moment, and before Zheng Xian grew impatient, they agreed to Mike's terms.
Mike and Zheng Xian shook hands again.
Goodbye.
Shi Wenyan asked Mike what move he had been defeated by.
Mike thought for a moment and replied, "Using mental power to condense killing intent into needles, then piercing them into the brain."
After thinking for a moment, Shi Wenyan lowered his head and said, "Thank you for showing mercy."
Yes, if Mike had not shown mercy, Shi Wenyan would have either died or become an imbecile.
Before boarding the plane, Mike even joked with Shi Wenyan, "I have a move here called 'Bagua Palm: Reversal of Heaven.' Do you want to learn it?"
After Mike boarded the plane, Fury made a call to Zheng Xian and conducted a negotiation "from the position of strength."
Zheng Xian's heart was completely unmoved.
Who are you trying to fool?
As a result, S.H.I.E.L.D. gained the right to host Mike in Japan.
Zheng Xian really wanted to laugh.
Disembarking.
Mike was prepared to fight his way through, leaving a trail of blood.
After all, in the movies, don't the Japanese love to die gloriously? A group of tattooed Yakuza, holding katanas, yelling "Baka" and "Maru Yaro" as they charged, that was the scene Mike imagined.
However, there was none of that.
Greeting Mike were the Japanese-American S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Tanaka Takashi, and a stretched limousine prepared by the Yamakuchi-gumi.
Inside the car were two Yamato Nadeshiko, presenting themselves as available.
Mike: "What's going on?"
"My deepest apologies," Tanaka Takashi thought these two didn't suit Mike's taste, bowing deeply. "This is a small token of goodwill from the Yamakuchi-gumi. We are very sorry for not asking for your permission beforehand. If you don't like them, they can get out of the car immediately."
"It's not that I don't like them."
One looked like Matsushita Saeko, and the other like Ohashi Miku; there was no reason not to like them... it was just a bit sudden.
Mike: "I mean, what does the Yamakuchi-gumi want?"
Tanaka Takashi explained, "The Japanese worship the strong. You not only showed great power in the U.S., but also earned the respect of the Chinese Grandpa. As sons and grandsons, they naturally want to show filial piety."
The implication was to please enjoy the Japanese specialty—Yamato Nadeshiko, which was consistent with Japan's usual behavior.
In short, Mike, upon arriving in Japan, was too busy to go sightseeing.
It was hard to refuse their hospitality.
It made Mike even want to go to the Great Universe Nation to experience girl groups. Unfortunately, despite being the center of the Universe, the Great Universe Nation failed to secure a seat at the High Table.
The next stop was Russia.
Siberia.
Death Training Camp.
Greeting Mike was Aslan Ivankov, the "Disciplinary Thug" of the Giant Elephant Gang. A Disciplinary Thug is similar to a Chinese sect Elder; he may not control specific affairs, but he has status and seniority within the gang, and a voting right in major events.
Ivankov proposed that as long as Mike fought a match with a warrior from the Death Training Camp, win or lose, they would fully accept Mike's terms.
Mike readily agreed.
Ivankov led Mike to an underground fighting arena, to a VIP room on the second floor. Through the one-way glass, one could see that a fight in the spiked octagon cage had already been decided.
Spectators who had bet incorrectly and lost money cursed wildly, extending their hands with thumbs down.
The winner knelt on the loser's back, one hand fixing the chin, the other fixing the crown of the head, and twisted.
Crack.
The loser died.
So, what thumbs down meant was self-evident.
"Are we fighting here?" Mike asked.
"Yes."
"Can the audience bet?"
"Of course."
Mike's eyes lit up: "Can I, too?"
Ivankov shook his head: "Sorry, fighters cannot bet. It's a rule to prevent cheating."
"Alright." Mike was a little disappointed.
Soon, someone came to the stage to carry away the body and clean the bloodstains. Ivankov found a waiter and whispered a few words.
The waiter spoke to the host who was responsible for stirring up the audience's emotions.
The host came on stage: "We've received breaking news, an impromptu match will be added..."
He deliberately paused.
As he expected, the audience on stage cursed and expressed their dissatisfaction.
Then the host continued: "One of the fighters is the 'Death Meat Grinder' from the Death Training Camp!"
The Death Meat Grinder was the ace of this underground fighting arena, undefeated for two years, and few people dared to challenge him anymore.
The yelling audience suddenly fell silent.
The effect was very good.
The host continued: "The challenger is a mysterious brave man from the U.S. Let us give a warm welcome to this You-Know-Who, hoping he can last two more seconds under the Death Meat Grinder, allowing us two more seconds of fun."
The audience burst into laughter.
Russians and Americans disliking each other was just a normal operation.
The Death Meat Grinder entered first.
Three meters tall.
Muscles bulging, like grayish-white steel.
Clearly not a normal human.
Mike looked at Ivankov.
Ivankov smiled faintly, "Mr. Tang wouldn't be scared, would he?"
Originally, he wanted to say, it must have cost a lot to cultivate such a "meat grinder," it would be a shame if he died... now, a smile was enough.
Mike walked to the corner of the cage, and the iron door slammed shut.
The cage was filled with the smell of blood.
Mike, who was over 1.8 meters tall, looked tiny in front of the three-meter-tall Death Meat Grinder.
The host outside the cage announced the start.
Previously, the host was inside the cage, also acting as a referee, but after a few hosts were accidentally killed by enraged or berserk fighters, the rule changed.
Then they realized, who needs a referee anyway?
Ivankov stood in front of the one-way glass on the second floor.
Looking down.
He was a Russian gangster, so of course, he couldn't have the same strong intelligence capabilities as S.H.I.E.L.D. He did get some intelligence from the Americans, but he thought it was worth doubting.
Russians, how could they completely trust Americans?
But the movements of Italy, China, and Japan made them feel that the Americans' intelligence was not groundless, but rather beautified and exaggerated.
So, they had to personally test Mike's level.
The Death Meat Grinder was a warrior from the Death Training Camp, the first generation product after genetic modification.
Product... without a shred of humanity.
As the first generation product, the Death Meat Grinder had the strongest combat power, but his body was too large to participate in regular combat, and he easily lost his mind once he started fighting. Therefore, he was thrown into the Death fighting arena to create profit for the training camp.
"Heh heh~ Let the Death Meat Grinder expose the Americans' lies..."
Before he could finish speaking, the Death Meat Grinder reached out, trying to grab Mike's head.
His hands were very large, and his strength was also very great.
Crushing people's heads like squeezing persimmons was the Death Meat Grinder's specialty.
However, Mike squatted down, moved forward, and with one hand... the Death Meat Grinder's ankle was too thick, so he couldn't grab it with one hand, so he grabbed it with both hands.
Slam!
Slamming him onto the spikes of the cage.
Slamming him onto the ground.
The "bang bang bang" sounds made the audience's hearts pound along.
Mike casually threw the disproportionate Death Meat Grinder to the ground and looked up at the second floor.
Ivankov was biting his cigar.
Dumbfounded.
The Death Meat Grinder struggled to get up.
Mike stomped down hard.
Wow!
The Death Meat Grinder spewed blood mixed with internal organs.
Plop!
With that stomp, the cigar in Ivankov's mouth fell to the ground.
Is there still a need to continue developing this series of products?