Tokyo: Rabbit Officer and Her Evil Partner
Chapter 362 - 267 Slap Contest_3

Chapter 362: Chapter 267 Slap Contest_3

Watanabe Shun raised his right hand, gestured twice at the monk, and murmured softly: "Sorry, buddy, blame it on you guys for kidnapping the police..."

The monk didn’t make a sound, just glanced up at him. The cold light in his downcast pupils and his indifferent gaze said everything.

Evidently, he didn’t take Watanabe Shun seriously.

"What’s with that expression? Looking down on me?" Watanabe Shun was a bit annoyed. He raised his right hand high, began gathering strength: "Then don’t blame me for not respecting my elders!"

He took a deep breath, gathered his strength, swirled his arm in a wide arc, putting in all his might as if determined to smash that contemptuous face to smithereens!

Smack!

A burst of white mist exploded on the monk’s left cheek. The giant screen replayed in 0.25x slow motion, showing his face gradually contorting and deforming, as if flattened by a toilet plunger.

After the magnesium powder dissipated, a handprint appeared on the monk’s face. His skin neither swelled nor reddened, with the handprint outlined, a thin layer of magnesium powder covered the edges.

He didn’t show any painful expression, his eyes remained as calm as a still well, not even a grunt escaped his lips, as if he had just been bitten by a mosquito—insignificant.

Watanabe Shun shook his tingling hand, a bad premonition rising in his heart.

"My turn." The monk said in a hoarse voice.

Sweat began to form on Watanabe Shun’s forehead. He had originally thought he could knock this guy down with a slap, but now it seemed things were not that simple...

But as the boss’s capable subordinate, the senior whom the juniors rely on, the officer in whom his superiors place high hopes, how could he back down? Even if it meant dying, he’d endure!

The monk didn’t pat magnesium powder nor make any gestures. He slowly raised his right hand, veins bulging on his forearm, aimed at Watanabe Shun’s left cheek, swung down violently—

—Bang!!

Watanabe Shun just felt a blackout, his brain spinning, a sour sensation rising in his nose, followed by waves of searing pain...

The giant screen replayed in 0.25x slow motion. Starting from the chin, Watanabe Shun’s face twisted, the nose bent into a U-shape, facial skin rippling like waves—even without magnesium, the visual impact was full force.

Moriyama Yasurou stood up from the chair, genuinely surprised at the vast disparity in strength between the two.

No wonder Yakou Shichi had such a confident look on his face.

Initially, they thought that avoiding trials and intelligence games would allow them to face these people head-on. Now it seemed that brains and brawn might go hand in hand for some.

Watanabe Shun staggered a couple of steps, barely steadying himself. He shook his head, his left cheek slightly numb, like being pricked by countless needles. Most troubling was a vague pain in his neck.

Sorry situation.

Watanabe Shun licked the side of his mouth with his tongue, tasting blood, his teeth slightly loose. He took a moment to catch his breath and requested a mouthguard from the arbitrator.

The arbitrator didn’t immediately agree but instead sought approval from Yakou Shichi and Master Hueshikiyakumi. The former had no objection, feeling victory was assured and that a mouthguard made little difference; the latter was indifferent, letting Watanabe Shun do whatever he liked, needing no such thing himself.

Both sides agreed, and the arbitrator then issued the mouthguard. Watanabe Shun bit down on it, holding it in his mouth, constantly swallowing blood from his nasal cavity and saliva from his mouth.

All in!

His eyes turned fierce, rubbing his right hand, and once the arbitrator announced the rotation, he raised his arm again, letting out a roar from his chest, and swung down fiercely—

—Bang!

The monk only slightly tilted his head, some of the magnesium powder on his face dispersed, capillaries finally ruptured, revealing a handprint.

The giant screen didn’t even replay, perhaps thinking this hit from Watanabe Shun was not worth watching, thus skipping that round of slow-motion.

Seeing that he still hadn’t fallen, Watanabe Shun felt a chill down his spine, gripping his fist, speechless.

Yakou Shichi cupped his hands around his mouth, timely shouting: "Stop holding on! Surrender! After all, it’s not like you’re gambling yourself!"

Moriyama Yasurou also wanted to shout something to encourage Watanabe Shun, but seeing his half-swollen face resembling a pig’s head, she really didn’t know what to say.

"Continue."

Watanabe Shun squeezed these two words out from between his teeth.

The arbitrator signaled for the exchange of turns, the monk slowly lifted his right hand, fingers closed, palm flushed, muscles engorged with blood. He aimed at Watanabe Shun’s left cheek and swung down violently—

—Bang!!

Watanabe Shun’s ears buzzed, his brain crashed, his eyes lost their visual, even his sense of touch vanished for a few seconds.

Not knowing how long it took, he slowly regained his senses, realizing he was lying on the ground, hearing the arbitrator counting down by his side:

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Three!"

...

Can’t... fall here...

The chief is watching me...

The boss’s life or death is unknown...

Minamoto Tamako and Sakurako, they are just girls...

There’s only me here, I’m the only man.

"Two!" The arbitrator continued counting.

Watanabe Shun propped himself up with his arms, arduously turning over, arching his back bit by bit. Having lost his sense of balance, he grabbed the arbitrator’s pants, standing up in extreme embarrassment.

Witnessing this, Yakou Shichi applauded in astonishment, saying: "Oh! You sure can take a beating! No wonder you chose him..."

"Shut up!" Moriyama Yasurou coldly interrupted.

Her eyes were bloodshot, glaring sideways at Yakou Shichi, her gaze seemingly murderous.

The arbitrator once again announced the rotation, this time it was Watanabe Shun’s turn to slap.

But he didn’t rush back to his position. Instead, he fully utilized the 30-second limit to catch his breath. As the 30 seconds were about to expire, he returned to his position, raising his arm, aiming back and forth, intending to use the 30-second strike period to continue resting.