text: You run and fake a punch, side-stepping and preparing to counter his attack, but he merely pivots and stares at you. Both of you stand there, waiting for the other. Minutes pass. Why isn't he making a move? This is obnoxious, now. Ten minutes pass.
  
  Finally, you decide to go in for a true assault. Plaid belt or not, you can take him. You go in for the punch, but his knee comes up in front of you, giving you pause. It's enough that he grabs your extended arm, flinging you to the ground. As you try to get up, he drills an elbow into your spine. You're down for the count, and the tournament is lost.
  
  Gengshi approaches you after the tournament. "You fought well and nobly," he says. "You have still lost. I cannot disrespect my word by giving you passage, as much as I would like to. I'm afraid you'll have to try another time."
  
  > train even harder
  You know you're not on the same level as Benchi yet, but you also haven't exhausted two years of your life at the dojo, either. You begin to train in the more extreme ways, standing on the pole at night as you've seen Gengshi do. During the day, you punch a non-native plant called "bamboo", known for its resiliency. The issue you've had the whole time is becoming clear: you focused on your technique to avoid working on the body.
  
  An entire year rolls by. Your muscles when you're not flexing look like they did when you flexed last year. You've taken to sparring with Gengshi himself more often, and as you enter the tournament ground this time, a plaid belt decorates your waist.
  
  Once again, you find yourself facing off against Benchi. You rival or surpass him in muscle, and probably technique now as well. He begins with a punch.
  
  You block, side-swiping him with your other first, which he blocks. You spar like this for minutes, neither side gaining the advantage. Eventually, he makes a mistake that he would never know. Extending his leg entirely out for a kick, you punch the side of his ankle at a pressure point. Benchi winces as he retracts his leg, no longer able to stand on it normally.
  
  Hobbling, he's much slower to pivot and counter. You catch him with an elbow strike to the chest, planting him firmly on the floor. He has lost.
  
  "What was that move you did to my foot?" he asks, hoarse of voice.
  
  "It was the art of Kung Pao," you say solemnly, bowing respectfully as you walk away. The fact he's going to waste hours trying to find this technique makes you feel warm inside. As you enter the hallway to find a chair, Gengshi approaches.
  
  "Well done, well done. You've earned my respect, and passage to Lant Manifu." He beams at you. "That was a most impressive display of learned arts. Benchi is very close to being as skilled as us teachers. If he hadn't fallen flat in progress, he could be counted among us now. The question is, do you still want to travel to Lant, knowing these doors are open to you as well?"
  
  > Travel to Lant Manifu
  "Actually, yes," you say. Gengshi seems a little shocked, but he recovers.
  
  "Hmm, alright then. It'll be by train. I'll send you the information in a moment." He bows, shuffling off to scratch his head and look everything up.
  
  It makes sense to move on. What you've accomplished has taken a long time, but the respect you'll get for your belt position makes the whole job much, much easier. The online gamblers were never here, in the traditional side of the world. Besides, you don't really want to train a lot of newbies over and over. It seems you've got everything in place to make a lot of cash.
  
  The train station is a sterile jungle of cords sweeping through the air over a metal deck, where you wait. It arrives, a shiny white vessel to take you away from this overly-involved world of martial arts. You scan in with the ticket ID, taking a window seat. Just watching the buildings and structures fall away is mentally relieving. You've spent far too long in exactly one place.
  
  The train arrives about noon next day. You step out into a pouring rain, jogging to the nearest roof. Across the street, you see vendors with booths set up for a variety of delicious foods. People chance the rain just to try some. A few stay outdoors the entire time, letting the water run off their jackets. This is definitely the kind of place to find online gamblers.
  
  A few days pass, but you have some leads, many of them from around gambling tables. You've spread the word to them about the midget fights, lied a little by saying you're not involved, and overall swindled them into taking you at face value. Time to get a word with Raoul.
  
  "Hello, who is this?" he answers with suspicion.
  
  "Matchstick."
  
  "...oh, right, I sent you on a little mission a few years ago. You've certainly taken your time!"
  
  "I had to actually win a tournament just to get here," you exclaim. "I've got eleven leads on the gambling now, and they all seem like they've got money."
  
  "Excellent," he says. "Do you need me to drag you all the way back here, or are you fine working abroad? You'll get your half of the earnings off your leads sent to you through dummy accounts."
  
  You hesitate in thought. "I think I'll stick with working abroad."
  
  "Perfect," he replies. "Send a message if you have anything else."
  
  Click. The call ends, and you're feeling good. You didn't really love living on Nipthm so much you'd move back, where you'd have to be surrounded by the fighters and their antics again. Probably the only reason you were interested enough to stay around that at all, was boredom.
  
  You continue to make leads around the massive region of Lant, moving from place to place in the process. Your yearly payout is enough to make you rich, so you slow down after a while. With all the extra time to spare, you find a sushi bar you really like to hang out at.
  
  Eventually, you settle down with someone, a blonde named Beyana. You end up having a few kids, one named Gerald and one named Margaret. They go on to live pretty successful lives, and you get to see Margaret's teaching at a pre-school one day. Gerald works in a chemistry lab producing formulas for specialized fuel applications.
  
  Time trudges ever onwards. You're leaned back in a rocking chair, chuckling as you remember a funny incident with the grandkids. You dig around in your pocket, pulling out a small fortune cookie and cracking it open to read your fortune.
  
  You start to munch on the pieces from your hand, but you accidentally picked up a few more when you figured you had one. The extra pieces fall directly in your throat, causing you to choke. Unfortunately, you can't cough them out in time, and you die.