With Sub-Zero as my fighter, I tore through one so-called opponent after another: Liu Kangs, Sonya Blades, other Sub-Zeros, it didn’t even matter. I’d knock ’em sky-high with an uppercut, get them with a slide move before they could even hit the ground, then attack again before they had a chance to recover. I was fucking relentless. And I’d finish them off with spine rips that somehow felt more bloody, more violent, and more triumphant with every single fatality. With each kill a new ponytail went limp, another pudgy tummy quaked with fear, another grown man went crying back to his mommy—which was easy, because they all still lived with their parents.

And I? I grew a little taller with each win, my voice got a little deeper, my hair grew a little longer, my face became a little more chiseled. My stack of tickets grew bigger and bigger.

Finally it was over. Or at least that was what Sensei Billy thought.

“Well done, my young grasshopper,” he said. “You now have more prize tickets than anyone in history. You can finally buy a Sanyo Personal Compact Disc Player. Your victory is complete.”

I smiled. And damn, I looked good.

“But it’s not complete,” I said. “I still have one more opponent to destroy.” I pointed right at him. Just in case it still wasn’t clear, I whispered the word “You.”

“What!” he shouted. “You dare challenge me in my own dojo?”

“It’s your mother’s.”

“Nonetheless,” he said. “You dare?!”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m grateful for the training you gave me, especially once you stopped trying to make me mop the floor. But you and I both know there can only be one champion. We will fight not for prize tickets, and not even for honor, because I honestly don’t think you have any.”

“Fair.”

“No, we will fight for… your switchblade comb.”

The crowd gasped. My old crew was basically shitting themselves. Razor Frank said something in Zhuang and I thought, “I really need to learn some Zhuang one of these days.” Even Sensei Billy’s mom was all fired up—she started passing out free Cokes and Sunny D to everyone. She was sick of her son’s lazy ass.

“Fine,” Sensei Billy said. “Yet again, you talk too much. This time, it will be your undoing.”

“Nah,” I said. “Because I understand something you never will. Winning isn’t just about timing or speed or technique…”

I put in a quarter to start a new game, scrolled past Sub-Zero, and chose my fighter—Raiden.

“It’s about being really, really good at talking shit.”

His eyes flashed in anger, and just like that, I was in the dude’s head.