(Neon-lit coral reef arena pulses with bioluminescent jellyfish, their glow painting the water in electric blues and pinks. The pufferfish, bulbous and covered in neon-green spines, hovers in the center, fins fluttering like a tiny helicopter. Opposite him, the tiger shark—scarred, eyes like black marbles—circles, teeth glinting under a spotlight. The crowd, a mix of manta rays and anglerfish, holds up signs: "PUFF THE MAGIC FISH" and "SHARK BITES BACK." A crustacean referee in a tiny referee shirt blows a conch shell.)

"Let’s dance, big guy," the pufferfish squeaks, inflating to twice his size. His spines shoot out, each tipped with a glowing toxin. The shark lunges, but the pufferfish darts sideways, releasing a cloud of ink that smells like burnt popcorn. The shark thrashes, blind. The pufferfish uses his fins to surf the ink wave, slamming into the shark’s gills. "You ever tried a pufferfish sandwich?" he cackles. "Tastes like regret." The shark recovers, snapping at the pufferfish—but the little guy deflates, slipping through the shark’s teeth and inflating again inside its mouth. The shark’s eyes bulge.