Brewing Jealousy
The next day, inside a bustling shopping mall, Marvel walked with his head down, wandering aimlessly.
He didn’t have anything to do today. And when boredom struck, he’d often drift into crowded places just to sneak glances at women’s cleavage.
At that moment, three people walked toward him.
Marvel looked up briefly.
In the middle was a tall, lean young man in a black tank top and Nike athletic shorts—Brian.
He had his arms around two women, casually slinging an arm over each of their shoulders as they walked alongside him.
Marvel’s face tensed.
Jealousy surged through his chest—fast and sharp.
But then, it slowed. Leveled off.
He thought to himself, Well… he is pretty good-looking. I guess it’s understandable.
Just as Marvel lowered his gaze again, ready to mind his own business, the handsome guy beside him—Brian—suddenly said loudly to the girls:
“You two have been with me for a whole week now… I’m getting bored.
I think next week, we should break up. I kinda wanna look for new girlfriends.”
In truth, the two women were hired actresses—temporary companions Brian had recruited from a massage parlor, both of whom worked there as prostitutes.
He wasn’t dating them at all.
This was a setup.
Brian’s goal was simple: to provoke Marvel.
He wanted to ignite that jealousy.
To trigger the hormonal storm—an explosive spike in adrenaline.
And sure enough, it worked.
Marvel stood frozen on the side.
His fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white.
He muttered to himself, teeth gritted:
“This bastard…
He’s the type who breaks hearts without a shred of guilt.
I can’t forgive him. He’s living the dream life I’ve always wanted—surrounded by women, flaunting it all without remorse.
I won’t allow someone like that to stand before me.”
And in that moment—
From within the crowd—
A beast began to emerge.
It’s Over 9000!
Brian sensed the storm brewing.
He quickly patted the shoulders of the two prostitutes beside him. “Flee now. Quickly.”
The two women took one glance at Marvel—whose body was beginning to tremble with raw tension—and ran off, disappearing into the crowd without a word.
Brian’s eyes began to glow faintly gold.
He stared at Marvel, analyzing him.
Ten times… twenty times… thirty…
Brian’s jaw dropped. “It’s over 9000,” he muttered in disbelief.
He had severely underestimated this beast.
The Marvel standing before him today wasn’t even close to the one from yesterday. His power had skyrocketed—like he’d evolved into a completely different creature, something several levels beyond.
Brian instantly realized it must’ve been his earlier show-off moment that triggered this. Flaunting two girlfriends in front of Marvel—especially when Marvel was already emotionally unstable—had pushed the man’s jealousy over the edge. And with that, the adrenaline followed.
But there was no time for regret.
Marvel roared, his voice primal. “Face Destruction Punch!”
He launched a brutal, explosive punch directly toward Brian.
Brian dove out of the way just in time—rolling across the floor in a rough tumble.
The punch missed—but it didn’t matter.
The shockwave alone ripped through the mall like a cannon blast. Storefronts cracked, shelves toppled, products went flying. Even people standing ten meters away from the punch were blown off their feet—collapsing where they stood or slamming backward a meter or more.
Brian climbed to his feet, teeth clenched.
He looked at Marvel—now fully transformed, a beast in human clothes.
Brian exhaled sharply.
“Oh… shit.”
Machine Gun Punch
Brian dashed forward and launched a flurry of attacks. He and Marvel immediately clashed in a fierce close-quarters brawl.
Within moments, Brian realized something strange—this beast had overwhelming strength, far beyond his own. But… his movements were wild, clumsy even. His rhythm? Totally untrained.
He doesn’t know any real fighting techniques, Brian thought.
Still, Marvel’s raw power kept the pressure high. Blow after blow rained down. But thanks to his Golden Eyes, Brian was able to read every motion. After ten… maybe twenty exchanges, he finally started to gain the upper hand.
Brian slammed a series of solid punches into Marvel’s thick belly. Each hit echoed with force, knocking Marvel back a few steps—but oddly, he didn’t seem hurt at all.
Then—
Marvel shouted, “Machine Gun Punch!”
At first, Brian thought he was just being ridiculous.
Until the punches came.
Like a real machine gun—Marvel’s fists flew in a blur, alternating at lightning speed. Brian could see every detail, every motion… but there were just too many. Too fast.
In less than half a second, five punches smashed into Brian’s chest.
His body was sent flying—slamming into the wall, then crashing back down to the floor.
He coughed up a thick mouthful of blood.
He’s too strong, Brian thought, dizzy. I can’t win this… should I retreat?
Just then, someone landed in front of him.
A calm figure. With one hand, the man gently adjusted his golden-rimmed glasses.
Then he looked at Brian and said softly,
“Apologies. I’m late.”
The Fight Gets Real
The man who had just arrived was Michael.
Without saying a word, Michael swung his right arm and flung his leather briefcase to the ground.
Brian, still crouched on the floor, looked up and asked, “Colin sent you?”
He wiped blood from his lip and added with a weak grin, “Guess our boss already predicted this monster would be stronger than expected.”
Michael shook his head. “No. I was just passing through—wanted to shop for a shirt. Saw you two fighting and figured I should jump in.”
He adjusted his golden-rimmed glasses and narrowed his eyes. “Anyway… we need to focus. He’s tough.”
Then, Michael pointed straight at Marvel and shouted,
“Hey! Look behind you. There’s a super hot girl back there. All naked.”
Marvel’s jaw dropped. Drool spilled from the corner of his mouth as he spun around in a daze.
There was nothing behind him.
That second of distraction was all Michael needed.
He dashed forward and slammed a powerful punch into Marvel’s cheek, followed instantly by a devastating side kick to the chest.
Marvel flew ten meters, crashed into a wall, and hit the floor hard, coughing up a mouthful of blood.
The damage was real—but so was the rage.
Now injured, the beast snapped.
Marvel dropped to all fours and charged like a wild animal, hands and feet pounding against the ground with terrifying speed and force.
Michael yelled, “Brace yourself!”
The two of them rushed forward at the same time, meeting Marvel head-on.
A violent exchange of punches and kicks followed—less than twenty rounds—and both Michael and Brian were struck by Marvel.
Each was sent flying.
Brian hit the floor hard and didn’t get back up. He’d already vomited blood several times and was clearly too weak to continue.
Michael landed farther away, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, but he remained on his feet. His physique was clearly much stronger than Brian’s.
Still, Michael could feel it too—this wasn’t going to end well if it dragged on.
Across from them, the beast let out a feral roar into the sky.
Michael clenched every muscle in his body, preparing for the worst.
Innocence at the Edge
Marvel’s beastly roar faded into silence.
Kneeling on the floor, Brian’s eyes held a faint golden glimmer. Despite the bruises on his face and the blood at the corner of his lips, he smiled softly to himself—as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment.
He whispered, “It’s about time.”
Marvel’s adrenaline had finally run out.
The wild energy vanished. The animalistic presence dissolved. What remained was just a regular young man, breathless and drained, his limbs limp with fatigue.
Michael, still tensed like a spring, noticed it immediately—the vulnerability.
He stepped forward.
His right hand rose, forming a knife-hand shape. His left foot slid back slightly, steadying his stance. His whole body leaned forward, ready to launch.
Marvel looked up.
His eyes widened. His pupils shrank.
Michael was already in motion—charging in fast. One clean slash.
Marvel’s neck twisted.
His head flew into the air, spinning as blood sprayed in a high arc. His headless body dropped to its knees, then flopped face-first onto the tile floor. Blood pooled rapidly beneath him, spreading in a wide, glossy puddle.
And then—
None of that happened.
It was just Marvel’s imagination.
Because before Michael even took a full step, Brian darted forward and grabbed his wrist.
“That’s enough,” Brian said firmly. “We’re here to test his limits—not to punish him. Not to collect any debts.”
Michael stopped, completely unfazed.
“Oh,” he muttered casually. “Almost killed such an innocent little kid. Good thing you jumped in just in time.”
Marvel sat there frozen, too dazed to speak. His entire body trembled, and from the edges of his pants… a slow, yellowish stream began to seep onto the tile.
He’d wet himself.
Michael didn’t react. He simply walked over and gently draped Brian’s arm over his own shoulder.
With calm, steady steps, the two men turned and walked away—leaving the wreckage and the broken beast behind.
The Adrenaline Experiment
The next day, Brian and Michael were both back at the office.
Colin walked in, leading a very short, extremely skinny man wearing a white doctor’s coat that looked two sizes too big. His face was pale, and his arms looked like sticks barely holding up his sleeves.
“This is Mildy,” Colin announced casually. “An old classmate of mine from elementary school.”
He gave the strange little man a pat on the shoulder.
“He’s an uncertified back-alley doctor,” Colin said casually. “No license, no diploma, no medical background whatsoever—just started patching people up on the street one day and somehow turned it into a career.”
Mildy said nothing. He just nodded once, then popped open his worn-out medical box and pulled out two syringes—both already filled with a transparent liquid.
Adrenaline.
Brian and Michael exchanged a doubtful glance—did this short dude actually know anything about medicine? Seriously?
But before either of them could say a word, they each got a shot in the arm.
“Now,” Colin said cheerfully, “head over to the gym and test your power output.”
The Humble Organization’s private gym was quiet that day. They stepped up to the heavy-duty punching machine, the kind usually used for internal ranking evaluations.
One by one, they delivered their strongest punches.
Then again.
And again.
After several rounds of testing, the results came in.
Their power levels had increased… but just barely.
Less than 1%.
And once they accounted for experimental error, it was basically no improvement at all.
Mildy spoke in a calm, reedy voice.
“Seems like adrenaline only works for certain individuals. Maybe there’s a genetic factor.”
Brian gave a small smile.
“Guess becoming a beast isn’t as easy as it sounds.”
Michael shrugged and pushed his golden-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah… honestly, golden-rimmed glasses don’t exactly fit the ‘beast’ look.”
The four of them—Colin, Michael, Brian, and the calm, confidently composed Mildy—sat around the office afterward, sipping tea and trading sarcastic remarks.
Just another calm, slightly bizarre afternoon in the Humble Organization.