Meat Bun Massacre and Iron Challenge
A moment later, a mountain of meat buns had piled up in front of me.
Steam rose in lazy curls, carrying a savory aroma that assaulted my nostrils. I was already starving. I snuck one into my mouth for a taste—and my eyes shot wide open.
What the fuck?!
It was insanely good! The umami explosion danced across my tongue, ravaging every corner of my mouth like a storm. Suddenly, I felt this surge of injustice.
Why the hell did I have to survive in a world full of gourmet shit like this by gnawing on monster corpses—
Remembering those months of scraping by on monster chow had my eyes burning red. Cron, misreading it as something else, started needling me.
"What's wrong? Having second thoughts now?"
"As if."
"Hah hah ha! Recognizing defeat takes 'courage' too!"
"Seeing it for real pisses me off..."
"What? Speak up! Chest out! That's the 'thick skin' of a warrior surviving this brutal battlefield!"
"Captain, it's 'thick-skinned'."
His vice-captain had to whisper the correction from the side—Cron was yelling with pointless bravado. Whatever. I slammed both hands down on the table piled high with those hot dog-lookalikes, ready to inhale.
The stage was set.
And thus...
The hell?! Nadia?
Aw yeah!
No, fuck! Sub in? I told you to sit this out!
"I... can... eat... too?"
You already look stuffed?
"No... pe."
Fine. Whatever.
Nadia patted her slightly protruding belly with one hand, her eyes trembling and lips twitching as she tried to play it cool. The meat and bread she'd crammed down with milk earlier were starting to make their presence known in her gut. But Nadia wasn't the type to back down just because you told her to.
The baker—now judge and referee—stood in the center with us, bellowing to grab the crowd's attention.
"Alright! Our late-joining challenger here will eat an extra pile to make up for it! Any objections?!"
"None!"
"Hurry it up!"
"Get on with it!"
"Can't you see we're all waiting?!"
"I'm dying to watch!"
With eager grins, rubbing his hands, he eyed us one by one.
"Ready... GO!!!"
His fist pumped the air amid roaring cheers, and our contest kicked off.
It was over in a flash.
Swoosh. Hands darted across the tables, and the mountains of meat buns started vanishing at breakneck speed.
"Mmm!"
"Mmph!"
"Woooaaah!"
"Grah!"
"Woof!"
"Woooaaah!"
"Chomp chomp chomp!"
"Smack smack smack!"
"Woooaaah!"
"Gulp guuuurk!"
"Mmmph! Mmm mmmph!"
"Woooaaah!"
We chewed and swallowed like madmen. The smacking sounds from both sides faded into the background as I tuned everything out, senses locked on the meat buns. Crunch crunch—the dizzying flavor feast sliding down smooth as silk.
Ah... so fucking good...!
At some point, I stopped chewing altogether and just swallowed whole. I was in the zone, focused purely on speed.
One reason: to draw that psycho's eyes off Nadia—who was showing insane grit—and back to me, the one who'd lit this fire...
...?!?!?
What the fuck, that guy! Red alert on my plan.
While I was laser-focused on swallowing, a glance at Cron showed his pile—once tall enough to hide his face—already more than half gone!
That brute.
Instinct hit me: this wasn't about raw power. Sure, my gut size edged out Nadia's thanks to muscle and build... but for a beast like him, the real factors were speed, grit, and technique.
This guy, who bet his life on petty contests, was pouring everything into it—instinct or whatever.
...No choice.
I glanced at Cron demolishing buns at a suicidal pace and admitted it: I'd been too complacent.
So, I went all out.
Crackle.
......
"...H-Hans wins!"
"Wooo!"
Predictably, my victory in the eating contest. The baker hoisted my arm like a champ, beaming as he whipped up the crowd's applause.
Clap clap clap—
The masses murmured in dazed awe, but only Cron looked like a lost soul, muttering to himself.
"I... lost?!"
"Yes, Captain. An overwhelming 'defeat.' The continent's a vast place."
Not sure if his vice-captain was consoling or taunting. I turned from him and headed to Nadia.
"Nadia, you okay?"
"Hooouu..."
"Told you not to push it."
"Paaah... huu..."
"Nadia? Hey!"
"Phewww."
Even in her half-dazed state, she chomped down the last meat bun chunk. Then exhaustion hit; her head bobbed, and she finally collapsed face-first onto the table. She'd crossed her limit ages ago, forcing down scraps on willpower alone. Now that it was over, the tension snapped.
"Snore."
Food coma on top. Sleepy in this mess? Kinda envy that peace of mind—but good timing, really.
I was slinging her over my shoulder to carry her back to the dorm when—
"...Impressive."
Cron approached, face grim.
"Truly moved."
"Nah, that 'moved' bit was never about m—"
"But the match isn't over."
At least I'd pulled his focus off Nadia.
"Sorry, gotta get this lady to bed."
"Why?!"
"Can't you see her sleeping?"
"Drop her off and come back."
"Why bother...?"
"That was just luck! Not my specialty!"
"Pass."
"You jumped in so cocky—must be your main event. So how about this? We duel in my specialty!"
"Fight's off the table."
"I got more than one I'm ace at! Something more direct, pure test of manly strength!"
"Whatever it is, later—"
"Weightlifting."
"?!"
"What do you say? Drop the lady off, then we clash like real men."
My head snapped around before I knew it. His next words made my eyes sparkle.
"At the palace's training grounds."
A short while later, Karina stepped out from the VIP quarters, strolling the palace's vast gardens.
Sweet scents wafted from vibrant blooms of yellow, blue, red. But even nicer was the sight of cozy couples wandering arm-in-arm.
Under the fiery sunset glow. Already lovers from the ball? Or love at first sight on day one? Their chatting strolls stirred envy in Karina.
Ivan... why the hell do I even like that guy?
Turning away, she trudged on, finally dissecting her crush.
Using the ring's glow as her guide, she wandered the grounds slowly.
Twinkle. The gem pulsed brighter. She veered from the garden into a bustling avenue.
This way?
Then—far left, a familiar face.
Simona?
Simona Kuhn. The freak even the academy shunned, always tagging with Ivan Hellenger. Karina never bothered with her—total opposite vibe.
Not scared, of course. Karina was tough everywhere but around her crush; no way she'd wilt to that bitch.
She after Ivan too? Crazy slut.
Thinking back, it irked her enough to ignore and pivot away.
Twinkle. The ring glowed stronger that way anyway.
As she headed down the avenue, a flushed group approached from the opposite direction.
"You see that? Still can't believe it."
"How does a guy eat that much?"
"Look at his build. Doesn't scream big eater."
"Build doesn't explain it. Blink and the buns were gone!"
"Magic?"
"Please. Against Cron? Top merc captain can't spot cheap tricks?"
"Opponent's name? Hans... something?"
"Hans. Hans."
"Man, his size shocked me more. Bigger than Cron?!"
Karina perked up. Coming from the ring's intensifying direction.
Harmless chatter, but...
"Cron looked pretty stung."
"Yeah. Talking rematch."
"Rematch? Where?"
"Wanna watch."
"Forget it. Off-limits for us."
"How's Cron get in?"
Her instincts pinged. Maybe that "someone" tied to the ring's energy.
And so...
Still...
Guided by the ring's steady glow, Karina froze at one point.
Huh?
Palace training grounds? That's... not open to guests!
"I have special access."
"Ooh."
Cron was a classic brawler barbarian. As head of the continent's top merc band, his killer physique had carried him far.
To forge it, he'd endured lonely training anywhere— even hauling mobile setups with his crew.
It paid off.
"Beat the knight captain in a bet. Earned lifetime access."
"Ooooh!"
"For me and two companions!"
"Oooooh!"
Inflicted a crushing loss on Golden Knights' Fabian for this palace gym privilege!
Surveying the iron-scented gear, Cron boasted.
"These aren't your average weights. Custom-made with magic to amp the load insanely."
"Oooooh!"
"So, here—we settle this for real—"
"Ooooooh!!!"
Cron cut off. Not the gasp timing.
He whipped around and saw it.
"Ooooooh!!! Insane quality!"
Hans, already prowling the equipment, belting pure awe.
"Oh, built like this? Feels off but efficient... Farmer's walk? Nah... Ooh, Hercules hold vibe?"
"What're you on about?"
"Ah."
Cron scowled; Hans scratched his head, chuckling.
"Sorry. So, contest rules?"
"Simple. See these? Who lifts the heaviest wins."
"Easy."
"Not easy."
Cron boomed a laugh.
"But straight like this?"
"Hm?"
"I already won once. No gain repeating."
"Fair point."
"Bet then?"
"What kind?"
"Anything."
Cron's confidence? Simple: never seen a warrior lift more. Even with Hans bigger, no threat. True might came from enduring hellish training—a bitter life's prize.
"Like, one free Black Horse Knights pass."
"Black Horse? You can bet that?"
"Hah hah ha!"
Thus.
"I'm the captain! No issue. None!"
Facing Hans's sly high-roller grin, he nodded firmly...