"Hey—"
Shiro jumped off his seat and spun around, furious, ready to fight whoever had the audacity to touch his food. Ready to defend it with his life.
But moment he turned His face was pressed against something hard. And smelly. Not a bad smell, exactly—just aggressively manly. Like sweat, leather, and the concept of testosterone had fused into one person.
"Hey. Who put a wall here?"
He took a step back. Tilted his head back.
And kept tilting.
And kept tilting.
"Give me back my food."
It came out as a squeak.
The beast glanced down, meeting his eyes as he continued to chew, and this time his hissing probably wasn't going to work.
The brute was built like someone had stacked three regular people on top of each other, compressed them into pure muscle, and called it a day.
He watched the man take a massive bite of his giant stake.
His precious, hard-earned, paid-for-by-someone-else's-monthly-allowance meat.
The first real food he'd had in years.
"That's mine," Shiro snapped, reaching for it.
The man's hand came up—massive, hairy, roughly the size of Shiro's entire face—and pressed against his forehead, holding him at arm's length.
His legs kept moving. His arms kept swinging. And he grabbed at nothing but air.
The entire tavern burst out laughing.
Every single person. The bartender. The waitress. The drunk guy in the corner who hadn't moved in three hours.
Even Nora—who'd been fighting tears thirty seconds ago—was doubled over, cackling like she'd never seen anything funnier in her life.
"This isn't funny!" Shiro protested, arms still swinging at nothing.
More laughter.
Louder, somehow.
The man took another bite. Deliberately slow. Making eye contact the entire time. Dramatically chewing like he had all the time in the world.
And he was able to get a good look at him while he enjoyed his stake in slow motion.
Over-the-top huge. Tall. Beard so thick it could house a family of birds and nobody would know.
Arms like tree trunks, covered in thick black hair. Chest hair peeking out from his shirt like it was trying to escape. Hairy hands. Hairy knuckles.
The man was basically a bear that had figured out how to wear clothes.
Well—except his head.
Which was perfectly, completely, almost impressively bald.
The lantern light bounced off it like a mirror. A smooth, golden dome that practically glowed in the dim tavern.
'Is that natural, or does he wax?'
He watched the brute devour his meat in three massive bites.
Three.
Not ten. Not five. Three.
And when he was done, the bastard had the audacity to kindly hand the bone back to him. Like he was doing him a favor.
Completely clean. Not a shred of meat left.
For a brief, violent moment, he considered bashing the bone over the man's shiny head. But one look at that skull and he knew the bone would shatter before it even made a dent.
He sniffed. Looked at the clean bone. Turned it over in his hands like maybe—just maybe—there was a scrap of meat hiding somewhere.
There wasn't.
His knees buckled like his soul had packed its bags and walked out.
'That was for her.'
'And this bald bastard just—'
He stood up, gritting his teeth.
"Damn you, you giant, overgrown—"
"Hm? Who said that?"
The man glanced up. Then left. Then right. Squinting into the distance like he was genuinely searching for whoever had spoken.
Then he glanced down.
"Oh. Hey there, little guy."
That smirk. That slow, deliberate, soul-crushing smirk.
Shiro's eye twitched.
"We're fighting!" He pointed at him, finger shaking with pure rage. "One on one! Man to man!"
The brute looked around the tavern. Slowly. Scanning every corner like he was genuinely trying to locate this second man he had mentioned.
Then he looked back at Shiro.
"Where is other man?"
A vein throbbed in his temple.
Then another one.
He was pretty sure a third one was forming just for the occasion.
'That's it.'
'This bastard is dying today.'
He took a deep breath.
Calm.
He walked to the nearest table, sat down, and planted his elbow on the surface. Raised his arm.
"Arm wrestling. You. Me. Right now."
He pointed at Nora.
"If you win, she pays for your dinner."
"WHAT?!" Nora's voice cracked. "I didn't agree to this!"
Shiro waved her off.
"If I win, you pay for everything we ate. Plus whatever else I want."
"I DIDN'T AGREE TO THIS!" She slammed her hands on the table.
The brute sat down across from Shiro, grinning. The crowd swarmed immediately, pressing in from all sides.
Whispers filled the tavern like wildfire.
"That crazy kid."
"Look at the size difference."
"Not again…"
"This is gonna be good."
"Look at the pipsqueak go—"
Shiro's head snapped toward the crowd.
"I heard that. Whoever said it, show yourself."
He cracked his knuckles.
"So I can kill you."
Nora leaned in close, hissing.
"You absolute idiot. You can't beat him."
"Relax, Nora." He said her name casually, like they were old friends.
She peeked into her pouch.
Nearly empty.
She looked like she might cry.
"Just trust me," Shiro muttered.
She sighed, defeated, and turned to the brute.
"Go easy on him, okay? He still needs working arms. To carry supplies."
"No mana," Shiro said. "Just raw strength."
That widened the man's smile.
Like Shiro had just said exactly what he wanted to hear.
Their wrists crossed.
Compared to the man's arm, Shiro's looked like a twig.
"You ready?" the man asked, the smirk never leaving his face.
"Oh yeah." Shiro grinned. "I'm ordering so much food when I win. For me—"
He looked around at the crowd.
"—and everyone who bet on me."
Someone in the crowd spoke up.
"We can bet?"
"Hell yeah, you can bet."
They waited while everyone placed their bets.
Coins clinked.
Voices rose in excitement.
When the betting closed:
Ten people for the brute.
One miserable person for Shiro.
And that one miserable person was Nora.
He turned to her, eyes shining like she'd just handed him a medal of honor on the battlefield.
"You… you believe in me."
Nora let out a laugh so loud it startled the bartender.
"Pfft—not even close."
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.
"I just have a gambling problem."
She smiled sweetly.
"And if you lose, it's coming out of your pay."
The light left Shiro's eyes.
"…What."
And with that feeling of betrayal hanging in the air—
The match began.