On the Ice, There's Only One Bet We Can Make
"On the ice, there's only one bet we can make."
We sat S-man down on a tire, then each grabbed a wide, smooth stone and something resembling a broom made of woven straw.
"Time to show off my curling skills from back in school, when I'd polish the classroom floor all by myself."
Meaningless.
I gave one stone a light kick with my foot, then swept furiously at the ice ahead with the broom as it glided forward. The smooth stone slid without a hitch across the polished ice, inching closer and closer to the tire where S-man sat. Just a little more, a little more, a little... more!
Thud. The stone stopped dead right in front of the tire. I thrust both arms high, thumbs plunging down like daggers, utterly humiliating the water ghost.
"See that?! Bitch!"
Below standard.
The water ghost spat on her broom, then wrapped her whip-like hair around it. With a flick, she swept the path ahead clear, and her stone barreled forward, shoving mine aside to claim the spot closest to the tire. This time, she waved her elongated neck like a taunt.
"What the fuck! Using non-standard gear is cheating, bitch!"
Objection denied.
Like she was showing off that her neck wasn't the only freakish part, the water ghost stuck out her tongue like a frog and wagged it right in my face. This unbearable humiliation woke the anger issues buried deep inside me. In over twenty years of Han Daeri's life, nothing had been this degrading—not even that time at eight, during our first classroom seat swap, when that fat girl openly flipped me off and refused to sit next to me.
People need a heart to show empathy. I won't forgive gutless worms who carve out others' humanity!
I finally slipped on my knuckle duster and charged into a full bench-clearing brawl.
As if she'd anticipated it, the water ghost spread her legs wide like a wrestler, waving her hands in blatant provocation: Come at me first.
"You fucking bitch!"
I kicked off the ice cockily, soaring like a butterfly before slamming down a bee-sting punch—but she scattered her hair wide, deploying a black curtain that blinded me in an instant. Swinging at empty air, I realized too late I'd been flanked. Slick skin and bone-chilling cold pressed against my back, and my body was already caught in her arms, flipped upside down.
Crack!
With her grip on my waist, she suplexed me headfirst into the ice. For a split second, I understood the plight of every sledgehammer. All those hammers endure this endless misery and pain, not by choice. We must grant tools voting rights, populist policies to prevent rust—hell, suffrage for hammers too.
"Urk!"
This time she grabbed my legs, spinning me like Kim Yuna nailing a triple axel on the ice. The acceleration built viciously; I fought nausea under crushing G-forces.
Whoosh!
She released, and I hurtled like a cannonball across the ice. When I finally flopped limp, my head scraped the surface, braking with my whole body. Good thing I didn't resort to the prostate brake as a last resort.
I hauled myself up through the chilly mist, twisting my mangled arms and legs back into place, and trudged back to the lake's center. The round had just begun; the bell was still far off.
"Scatter, Thousand Feather Ice!"
I flung handfuls of ice powder, blinding her in reverse. My turn now. As expected, drunk on her advantage, she didn't see the ambush coming.
Native pirate!
"The hell? Fuck off! My family's been independence fighters for generations!"
To school this nativist ghost trying to slander a patriot's kid as a collaborator, I grabbed her hair and face-planted her into the ice.
I lack formal martial arts training, but schoolyard brawls? Plenty. Rule one: first punch takes half the win. Rule two: grab the hair first, that's the other half.
Mount secured, my knuckled fist felt twice as strong. Victory sealed the moment I mounted, right?
"Pounding? Can't hold back~ One! Two! Huh? Blocking? Ground and pound!"
Fists, elbows—if that failed, I leaped and slammed my weight with a hip drop. That's hip-bagging, ghost. Remember it.
Repulsive!
"You cheat first, then blame me? That's why you've stalked for over twenty years, hiding your creepy self! If you were a guy, it'd be life in prison under some law, admit it?"
I clamped her neck and legs, hurled her sky-high, then thrust out my knee midway through her fall.
Snap!
Her waist buckled into an S-shape with a sickening crunch. But her rubbery body let her scuttle upright like a bug.
I figured that was the first bell. Time to end the dirty body talk and return to gentlemanly sports.
Slash!
Her talon-like nails whipped up—seemed like cheating at first, but my knuckle duster evened it, so I let it slide. Stooping to her filth would make me no better. The line between beast and man is flexible thinking. Think, Han Daeri! THINK!!
"S-man never forgot you for a second. But he didn't twist like you. Born into a good family, a bit of an asshole maybe, but pure at heart."
Whoosh! Whip!
Her frostbitten nails, heavy with grudge deeper than midwinter rime, tore the air toward me. I didn't dodge—I took them head-on. Chunks of flesh sloughed off, guts spilled from my sliced belly like steak, but I pointed at S-man, slumped powerless on the tire.
"You trampled this guy's pure heart! Yeah, he didn't come looking for twenty years, but he showed up to apologize and keep his promise late. And you spat on that!"
In this cutthroat world, where's another romantic like him? But twisted by possessive jealousy and family grudges, she'd monstered herself—kicking away even a boy's innocent kindness. That day on the lake, he'd played with her without calculation, no prejudice or hate.
"Feel shame before the Lord Jesus and the Father!"
I scooped my spilling guts with one hand, guard down, charging straight in. Dodging her brow-stab by a hair, I burrowed deep. The nail grazed my forehead, carving a gash that shaved bone, but I never blinked.
The knuckle duster from that nosy priest—ex-gangster who protected merchants from thugs, converted late in life—grows stronger with 'self-defense' justification. As long as it ends in 'justice,' any violence or killing counts. Pure conviction, now on my hand.
Crunch!!!!!
My counter punch sank deep into her swollen, bluish face. Rotting skin and maggot-filled innards squelched disgustingly up my arm. But I wouldn't stop. Deeper, harder, surer—to force true repentance.
"Raaaaagh!"
I slammed her staggering face-first onto the ice, mounted, and pressed faith into her by force. Holy as hell from any angle.
"Accept Jesus and repent, you bitchaaaaaaah!"
I'll jab, poke, and pound your precious spots mercilessly! Perfect day for repentance—one injection of faith, straight to heaven! Jesus, hold on! Another soul's ascending now!