My Realistic Adult Game
Chapter 90 - 48: The Strongest Man on Land

Chapter 90: Chapter 48: The Strongest Man on Land

WHAT?

A group of South Korean thugs looked at me in surprise.

The guy in front of them wearing a white shirt and black trousers was rolling up his sleeves, calmly looking at them with a defiant expression.

This is an order, not a request?

The thugs showed me angry expressions, widening their eyes, putting down the chopsticks, and each stood up.

There were eight guys in front of me, one of whom turned and walked into the private room behind the hall.

Seven thugs, the closest one to me walked up to me.

With a contemptuous attitude, he looked at me mockingly, a sneer on his face.

"Have you lived too long?"

"So what?" I stared at his cheek.

"So, you came here to commit suicide. Kid, I’m in a good mood now, I won’t kill you."

The thug reached out his hand to touch my left chest.

His fingers poked at my shirt, "I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life in a hospital."

Crack, I caught his finger, applied force to his wrist, pressing it down.

"Oh, GOD!"

His finger deformed, the thug’s face became agitated, and he screamed, "Aaaaaah!"

I extended my hand, inserted four fingers into his mouth, and pulled down forcefully.

Crack, the screaming stopped.

The thug knelt on the ground, holding his jaw with both hands, his cheeks torn apart, blood continuously flowing, staining his hands red.

Muffled groans came out of his mouth.

"Too cruel."

The other thugs turned pale with fear, looking at me with terror.

I had just ripped open their companion’s jaw directly.

I shook my wrist, "He was too noisy! Next one!"

WHAT?

Next one?

The thugs looked at their companions.

Two thugs came over, picking up chairs from the ground.

"Damn bastard, pay the price."

"Go to hell, idiot."

The two thugs rushed towards me.

I placed my foot under the chair beside me and kicked it out forcefully.

The chair flew towards the first guy.

BAM!

The chair hit him, stopping his movement.

His companion rushed towards me.

Using chairs as weapons is a way of thugs street fighting, but it has a deadly weakness: the chair is large and slow to swing.

When the opponent lifted the chair, I had already stepped forward, stomped on the ground, and grabbed the edge of the chair with my left hand, interrupting his swinging motion.

My smile entered his vision, and my fist touched his jaw.

BAM!

The collision of force was pure, a primitive physical contest.

My height was taller than that of an ordinary Asian, and with a Constitution of 85, I almost surpassed 90% of humanity.

The fist struck the jaw.

The thug’s head tilted, the impact dislocated his jaw, neural reflex paralyzed his brain, and the headbutt made him faint.

Bam, the thug lay on the ground.

The jaw is one of the more fragile areas of the human body.

Unlike the all-cartilage nose, which can be broken causing severe pain, an attack to the jaw can cause a shock to the mandible, with neural reflexes triggering unconsciousness.

The thug whose attack I had interrupted stared at me in astonishment as I walked up to him.

As I raised my right arm, my fist grew larger in his eyes.

BAM!

The fist struck his jaw again.

The thug’s body swung and fell to the ground.

Two people unconscious, one with a torn jaw, losing fighting ability.

The hall fell silent.

Four thugs looked at me in fear.

"Next one!" I moved my wrist and walked towards the four, passing by a thug.

The scene became quite interesting.

As I approached, the numerically superior side was retreating.

Like a lion approaching a pack of hyenas, even with superior numbers, they were trembling, in fear.

"Bastard!" Facing my approach, a thug felt the pressure, his nerves tightened, and he pounced on me.

I dodged his punch, moving just one step; his fist grazed past my neck. Sticking close to the thug, my right hook once again struck his jaw.

BAM!

One punch.

The same punch.

The thug leaned back and fell to the floor.

"Damn it!" Three thugs yelled, charging at me like death-defying soldiers into enemy fire.

With expressions of despair, the three launched an attack on me, as if facing death.

This was a terrifying guy.

I raised my left arm to block thug No. 1’s swinging punch, and he attacked my abdomen with a knee strike.

My body, as if having gone through countless training sessions, stepped back, and my right hand pressed down on the thug’s knee.

My left hand grabbed his throat.

With five fingers forcefully, his throat was tightly locked.

The suffocating, painful, and pressing feeling on the throat prevented the thug’s body from gathering strength.

Thug No. 2 saw his companion in crisis, came around behind me, and locked my body with his arms.

"Hit him!" No. 2 warned his companion.

I lifted my right foot and stomped hard.

This was a rarely used technique in mixed martial arts, stepping on toes.

At the moment pressure hit, thug No. 2 released his grip, his toes were broken by my stomp, and the severe pain made him loosen his hold on me.

"Fack! My foot!"

No. 3 pulled out a short knife from behind, a vicious expression on his face.

"Die, bastard!"

He charged at me with the knife, aiming for my abdomen, reverse-gripping the knife, this attack was from bottom to top.

Stabbing, not slashing.

Facing a cold weapon, a knife, a dagger, people’s reactions are all fear.

I was the same, but I remained calm, my eyes watching the thug’s movements, calculating the attack distance.