The crowd gasped. Magnus the Magnificent, the five-time champion, was crying. Big, fat, silent tears rolled down his cheeks. His mustache drooped.
“Not even close,” she whispered. Then she closed her eyes, thought of every minor inconvenience she’d ever suffered, and let out the triple-crescendo: Rivals WAAA WAAAAA
Magnus staggered. His ears rang. But he was a professional. “Is that all you’ve got?” he snarled. The crowd gasped
Lil’ Squall walked over and offered him a tissue. “Good match,” she said. His mustache drooped
The rules were simple. Face your opponent. Scream your loudest, most pathetic, most reality-shredding until the other one cracks.
It wasn’t just loud. It was haunting . It sounded like a lost puppy, a canceled birthday party, and a dropped ice cream cone all at once.