The players for the tug of war were overflowing with anger—an unfiltered, uncontrollable kind of rage—thanks entirely to their very special guest referee, who somehow managed to piss off both the enemy and his own team at the exact same time.
It was honestly impressive. If annoying people were an Olympic sport, Sam would've taken gold, silver, and still found a way to disqualify everyone else.
At this point, the participants knew one thing for certelse this anger had to be released somewhere.
And the best—no, the only—place where they could release it was through the rope.
William stood there, his entire body aching. He was still in pain from the earlier Level 5 hurricane attack delivered personally by Jangla and Tsunami, while simultaneously feeling a deep, simmering rage toward Sam for tricking him earlier—and for still trash-talking absolutely everyone like his life depended on it.
However, beneath all that pain and fury,
William felt something else.
Something… unexpected.
A strange sense of understanding.
He began to realize that maybe—just maybe—Sam's relentless trash talk wasn't meaningless chaos. Maybe it was intentional. Maybe Sam had been trying to rage and hype everyone up, pushing them past frustration so they could channel all that bottled-up anger straight into the rope and give it everything they had.
William thought to himself, If what I'm thinking is true… then Sam is just trying to motivate everyone in his own twisted way.
A way that didn't involve sugar-coated encouragement.
A way that relied entirely on spicy-bitter roasting.
If this is how Sam motivates people, William decided, then so be it. I'll give my best—and I'll prove that despite the pain, we, the White Tigers, can still win.
Then, the long-awaited moment finally arrived.
Everyone tightened their grip on the rope. Hands clenched hard. Legs dug firmly into the ground. Cheeks squeezed inward with tension. Muscles trembled.
The only thing stopping them from pulling with everything they had… was the whistle.
The sound they were all waiting for began to grow loud across the field.
"BBBBRRRRRAAAAAPPPP!!"…
That wasn't the whistle.
His butt had betrayed them all.
A deadly silence followed.
Time itself seemed to pause.
A nearby crow fell mid-flight.
Roslin blinked, staring in disbelief.
"Did the whistle just… backfire?"
Jangla, gazing blankly into the void, replied grimly, "No. That wasn't the whistle. That was him. He backfired. Literally. Back. Fired."
Sam casually removed the whistle from his mouth and patted his belly like a chef who had just served an all-you-can-eat buffet.
"Sorry," he said, completely unbothered. "That was… lunch from earlier."
Both teams stared at him.
Then, as if their souls were perfectly synchronized, they muttered in unison,
"I want to kill this guy." First he trash-talk to everyone and now he is being unserious. Does he think this is funny.
Sam brushed it off like nothing had happened and placed the whistle back to his lips.
He took another deep breath.
The players braced themselves—again.
This time they all thought to themselves, it doesn't matter if it's the whistle or his fart the moment he makes any sounds we will start pulling no matter.
Their hands clutched the rope harder than you hold onto a relationship with your ex.
Sam inhaled—but just before blowing, he paused.
"Oh, by the way," he said casually, "I forgot something."
The bloodlust of the players paused awkwardly mid-simmer. Sam waved at a JCB that rolled in like it had a signed contract. Without warning, it began digging and filling the center of the field with thick, muddy sludge. In like literally 30 seconds.
Sam smiled evilly.
"New rule. The losers fall in the mud pool."
The teams stared in horror.
This wasn't a game anymore.
This was war.
It was TUG of WAR.
FWEEEET!!
Sam blew the whistle with zero warning, countdown, or basic human decency.
Both teams flinched, tangled In the rope like noodles in a bowl of chaos, and—
SPLAAASH!!
Straight into the mud.
Sam, still clean and smug, nodded.
"Perfect execution."
Both teams failed.
No winner.
Only victims.
Again.
William covered in mud all over realised sam is just a psychopath and he wasn't trying to motivate everyone in his own twisted way but was trying to make everyone equally suffer while him being the sole victor.
Match results.
The white tigers- 0 pts
The red beans-0 pts
Total score
The white tigers- 185points
The red beans-205points
Everyone crawled out of the pool like a horde of zombies from a detergent commercial gone wrong and tried to ambush Sam for the absurt last moment rule change and intentionally tricking them into the mud.
But Sam had high ground privileges, held up by the JCB's claw, far above their slippy reach.
He simply stood their Aura farming like it's no ones business. The horde of muddy warriors tried to climb, slip, curse, and groan their way up the JCB Or A.k.A. John Cena Body—but alas, the mud was mightier. They slid down like buttered spaghetti on a glass slide.
Although to his surprise but not ours liabilities was just tall of a guy and he simply opened the door to the JCB and operated the JCB standing from the ground and he directly dumped Sam into the pool.
I guess we can all say Sam literally digged his own grave, or well—his own mud pool in this case.
Next Match: Scavenger Hunt
Participants:
White Tigers:
Arola
Toshi
Villy
Hops
Red Beans:
Along
Cherry
Zen
Ako
Since the previous match yeeted everyone into the mud, most of the usual players were out of commission.
But don't be fooled by these new names. They may sound like NPCs, but they're actually VIPs from another universe—specifically from my other novel: Along the Drive.
Perfect crossover opportunity? You bet.
To know more about these hidden gems or polished charcoal and what chaos they'll unleash in the scavenger hunt...
Stay tuned for the next chapter.
(Spoiler:chaos obviously!)