The ultra-photorealistic version of Fuji came crashing down toward Zhang Ze like a comet hitting the earth, but Zhang Ze couldn't even be bothered to dodge. He just stood there without moving an inch.
He let out a long yawn, his mouth open wide, looking a bit like he was provoking that huge blue ball covered in thousands of mouths.
Then, at the instant they were about to make contact, time seemed to shift into bullet-time for Zhang Ze. He first fixed the hairstyle that had been blown messy by the wind, combing his waist-length middle-part into a handsome ancient-style long ponytail, then stepped to the side and forward, executing an Iron Mountain Lean to slam Fuji back.
"Yah! Great chance! Fuji flying kick!"
But Fuji was still rotten at heart. Just as Zhang Ze unleashed Iron Mountain Lean, a small lump of Fuji drilled out from the ground, and a single Fuji Flying Kick landed squarely on Zhang Ze's chin, booting him far, far away.
