Master Chow sat cross-legged on the worn wooden floor, his long white beard touching the ground. In his hands, he held a single, dented can of spinach. On the label, a muscular sailor with a crooked jaw and a squinty eye glared at nothing.
Master Chow smiled. “No, Tião. Popey did. You were just the dublado . Now go deliver these egg rolls. The Extra Quality is not a power you keep. It is a power you borrow.”
The dojo was quiet. Too quiet.
Bluto froze. “No… it can’t be…”
The Spinach Fist Returns
Suddenly, the wall exploded. Bluto stomped in, his metal fists crackling with electricity.
And so, Tião returned to his bicycle, a little wiser, a little squintier, and forever wondering why, every time he passed a vegetable stand, he heard dramatic orchestral music and a whisper in Portuguese: