AAOOOSC! Universe!

Back with the Pro 12, their training session has already ended. Toews groups his team back into the main room to have another meeting with them.

"So, how do you guys feel about your powers and fighting skills after your training?" the ruler of the NHL asks them with his fingers interlaced on top of the table.

Sidney is the first one to answer: "I feel happy and happy and happy and happy and happy and happy...!"

"Oh no, dude, no...," Patrick cries lowly, placing his hands over his ears.

All the others exchange odd looks, wondering if the leader of the Pro 12 knew what he is doing.

"Is he saying his speech from that meeting?" Buster asks Patrick.

"He does this all the time and it's not radical, man," the Blackhawk mutters while looking at the baseball player.

"Your mom is happy!" Brady shouts out, cutting into Sid's repeating ramble.

The Penguin turns to look at the Patriot. "Yes, my mommy is veeeery happy!" He shoots him a huge, closed grin.

"Guys," Toews starts off, "I just asked if you guys are good with your skills after the training, not the status of your mothers' feelings!" He has his hand in his hair.

"I surmise that I am well implemented with the tutelage we have procured," John tells him straightforwardly. "With the tutelage, we disclosed our deficiencies and tenacity when fighting amongst one other."

"Okay..." The ruler nods his head. "Anyone else has feedback with the training? Do we need more training? Are we ready to fight against Luis Suárez?"

"We need your mom," Brady remarks matter-of-factly.

Toews ignores what the quarterback said with a sigh.

"Everyone needs a mommy!" Tony exclaims happily; he hugs himself tightly.

Jay just shoots him the death stare with a frown.

"Tal vez la próxima vez con el entrenamiento, podemos poner en música mexicana," Guillermo points out. (Maybe next time with training, we can put on Mexican music).

"Whaaaa?" Chris asks with an over-exaggerated confused look while chewing.

"Guillermo here is saying that we should put on Mexican music next time we train," Toews translates.

"Deutsch Musik," Thomas suggests sternly. (German music).

"What about music from the goalie that can save everything!" Tim shouts, pointing his finger into the air with triumph.

"No, Disney song-a-long songs!" Sidney cries out, banging his hands on the edge of his seat.

"One Direction, hands down," Bryce suggests proudly, fixing his hair once against with his hand-held mirror.

"I can schlepp my phonograph hereabouts to render languid music from the twenties," John tells them placidly.

"Cowboy music!" Tony exclaims, lassoing a rope in the air. "Yee-haw!"

"Your mom's music," Brady says in a deep, mockingly voice.

"No music," Jay grumbles with his arms crossed across his chest.

"Baseball music! Now that's awesome stuff right there!" Buster declares with a grin.

"We can put on some gnarly surf music, yos," Patrick suggests, making the 'hang loose' sign with his right hand and waving it into the air.

Before you knew it, all the Pro 12 are bickering about which music should be played during training next time they have it. Meanwhile, Toews has his head leaned back against the top edge of the chair, gazing up at the ceiling in distress.

"How can we work as a team if we can't even decide which music to play next time we train?" he groans to himself.

"I got music for all of ya guys to enjoy!" a voice suddenly bellows from the entrance of the room.
Everyone immediately halts their talking and faces the entrance of the room.

Walking into the room is the star of the Golden State Warriors and Master of the Good Basketball Players' Society, Stephan Curry. Between his arm and side is a boom box while his other hand is carrying two cassette tapes.

"Stephen Curry Sauce, is that you?" Buster asks with his eyes wide open.

"Yup, it's me." The basketball player places the music equipment on the corner of the table between Toews and Sidney.

"You're the Master of the GBBP, right?" Toews questions him with inquiring eyes.

Stephen turns to look him. "That's right. I just came here to apologize for not making it to the meeting of the League of Powers." He faces the rest of the team. "Me an' a buddy of mine from the society, James Harden, were having a huge, heated debate about which song was better: his or mine."

He picks up the tapes and holds them up into the air to show them to the athletes. "These tapes have our songs recorded, one song for each tape. I give these to you guys so that you can listen to them and enjoy them...and maybe even use them for training."

He places them back onto the table. "This is a gift to you guys for not being able to be part of your group. I'm sorry guys; will you forgive me and my group?"

"Sure thing!" Toews tells him with a smile.

"Thanks! I wish you guys good luck on your mission against Suárez!" Stephen shutters a bit.
"Ugh, that name just gives me the chills!" He turns around and walks over to the doorway where he first entered through.

But before he exits, he turns back around to the see the room and says, "And remember, my song is the best." He then exits out of view.

The Pro 12 end up staring at the boom box and cassette tapes in silence.

"So, are we gonna listen to them or what, man?" Patrick asks, breaking the silence.

"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt." Toews turns on the boom box, places the tape into it, and presses play.

The first song is sung by James Harden, a basketball player who plays for the Houston Rockets.

After the song is over, everyone had ghastly looks on their faces with wide eyes, raised eyebrows, and lines as mouths.

"That was the most abhorrent intoning I have auscultated in my integrated life," John says under his breath with horror.

"Who said he could sing?" Bryce asks with a disgusted look on his face.

"Your mom said he could sing," Brady pipes in.

"Deutscher Musik ist besser," Thomas mutters with his fist stuffed into his cheek, which was holding up his head; he has a frown on his face. (German music is better).

"Taking my shirt off, taking my shirt off, taking my shirt off, giiiirl!" Chris sings quietly to himself with an enormous smile on his face.

"Bubby sings better than that!" Sidney exclaims with his nose wrinkled; he clutched Bubby closer to him.

"And that's why he's a basketball player, not a music artist," Toews sing-songs as he removes the tape from the boom box.

He places the other tape into the boom box and presses play.

This song, sung by Stephen Curry, wasn't any better.

After the song ends, Toews nearly loses it.

"Okay, that's it, these songs need to go! Need to go!" Hastily, the ruler of the NHL swipes his hand through the air, in front of the boom box and tape recorder. In a streak of yellow energy, the two objects disappear from sight.

"What did you do with them?" Chris cries with his hands on his cheeks. "That was epic music!"

"I placed them somewhere...somewhere far, far away," Toews explains with relief, looking back at his group.

"In Star Wars?" Buster guesses excitedly.

"In your mom!" Brady blurts out.

"Some sorry gift," Jay mutters with a roll of his eyes. He then does a favour for all the guys by punching the quarterback of the Patriots out from his chair.

"Okay, guys!" Toews shouts, waving his hands frantically in the air, trying to grab their attention. "Now that we had our little break..." He places his hands back on the table. "...we shall discuss about our plan to take down Luis Suárez.

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