(The arena’s a glass dome flooded with saltwater, neon coral glowing like shattered stained glass. The pufferfish—spotted, with fins rippling like silk—hover in the center, his body a tight ball of spikes. Opposite him, the tiger shark circles, teeth bared, scales glinting like polished steel. The crowd—dolphins in leather jackets, seahorses on tiny motorcycles—bangs on the dome, their cheers muffled but thunderous.)

"Y’think yer big, eh?" the pufferfish squawks, his voice distorted by water. He inflates a little, spikes twitching. "Ever tried eatin’ a cactus? Same principle—only I’ve got more attitude." The shark lunges, jaws wide, but the pufferfish darts sideways, releasing a cloud of neon-blue ink. The shark swerves, shaking its head. "Blind as a bat in a hurricane, ain’tcha?" the pufferfish jeers. He inflates fully, spikes now glowing with bioluminescent venom. "Let’s see how ya handle a porcupine with a death wish."

The shark charges again, but the pufferfish waits—until the last second, he deflates, shooting forward like a bullet, spikes first. They pierce the shark’s snout. The shark roars, thrashing, but the venom’s already spreading. Its movements slow.