The Forbidden Pose
Dave’s body had changed.
Not just stronger—but weirder. His flexibility had reached freak-show levels.
He could stretch his arms and legs several meters long, twist his spine like taffy, and whip his toes around like leather belts. Even turning his head 180 degrees backward? That was nothing. Child’s play.
The other students had stopped reacting a long time ago. They’d all accepted that Dave had become… something else. A yoga mutant.
One time, he bent forward while standing—slowly, gracefully—until his mouth wrapped clean around his own big toe. He held that pose for ten full seconds. Just to prove a point.
No one clapped. No one said a word. The room was dead silent, like they’d just watched a crime.
Then one day, during class, something felt off.
Eason was smiling way more than usual. Like, glowing. Beaming. Almost humming. It was weird.
Dave squinted suspiciously. Then—without even thinking—he casually stretched his neck out a full meter and leaned his head right next to Eason’s cheek.
“Hey. Why do you look so damn happy today? Something happen?”
Eason grinned with all five of his mouths.
“I got a good friend. A classmate, actually. He hasn’t been coming to class for a month or two—but tomorrow, he’s coming back. We’re real close. And I think you’ll get along with him great. He’s just like me.”
“You mean…?”
“Yeah. He’s a perv too.”
Eason gave a goofy wink.
Dave blinked. Then slowly retracted his neck like a tape measure going back into its case.
“I see… Well, I hope I get to know him, then.”
He returned to his mat, took a deep breath, and twisted himself into a ridiculous, high-difficulty position. His entire body looped into a tight human knot—arms wrapped around ankles, thighs around shoulders, spine bent in ways no chiropractor could fix.
Then he froze.
He was stuck.
A flicker of panic crossed his face.
“Ugh…”
It hurt.
Like, a lot.
His tendons squealed. His spine begged for help. But he couldn’t move.
The instructor suddenly sprinted over, shouting—
“OH SHIT, DAVE—NO! That’s one of the forbidden yoga poses! We’re not allowed to do that one!”
“What?”
“Best case? You’re going to the hospital. Worst case? You die.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He whipped out his phone and immediately dialed for an ambulance.
Sirens wailed in the distance. The entire class turned to look.
And just like that—Dave was stretchered out mid-pose. Still tangled. Still twitching. Still whispering faintly…
“I’ll… master… flexibility…”
Leaf Girl’s Trauma
The next day, class was back to normal.
Well—normal for this place.
Dave didn’t dare try that forbidden pose again. Yesterday had nearly killed him. Turns out, once a human body locks itself into a cosmic pretzel, it doesn’t just unlock on its own.
He was lucky to still be walking.
Today, he played it safe. Just basic stretches. Touching toes. Twisting hips. Staying alive.
Meanwhile, right next to him, Eason wasn’t doing jack.
He just sat there bouncing with excitement, hands fidgeting, muttering under his breath like a kid waiting for Santa.
“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’s coming back… He’s a legend. A total perv.”
Dave blinked and slowly tilted his head. He didn’t even stretch his neck this time. Just normal curiosity.
Before he could ask, Leaf Girl cut in with disgust.
“Oh no. That loser? He’s coming back?”
She clutched her stomach and made a gagging noise.
“Ugh. I swear, just hearing his name makes me wanna puke up yesterday’s tofu.”
Dave leaned a little closer. Not for drama—just to hear better.
Leaf Girl crossed her arms. Her tone dropped into trauma mode.
“Last time he was here… I was showering after class. You know, post-workout rinse. And that creep—and Pineapple Hair—were both peeking through the goddamn window.”
Dave blinked again. Processing.
It suddenly occurred to him—he’d never actually taken a good look at Leaf Girl before.
Now that he did… she was wearing a lime green thong, and two literal leaves taped to her nipples. That was it.
Not leaf patterns. Not leaf print.
Real. Damn. Leaves.
Dave stared blankly for a second. Then shrugged.
“I mean… not much difference between now and shower time, right? You’re basically naked either way. I don’t get why they’d need to peep.”
Leaf Girl’s eyes twitched.
She looked like she just got slapped by invisible hands.
The air went cold.
Three other girls walked over. No one said a word—but their faces said everything.
Dave didn’t argue.
He just turned away, lowered himself into a crab-twist-lotus fold, and started training again.
His body extended, spine stretched, limbs looped.
Within seconds, he had coiled himself into a massive, wriggling noodle on the ground—long, thin, and silent like a python napping on a warm rock.
The girls just stared at him.
He didn’t care.
He didn’t need gossip. He didn’t need drama.
All he needed… was growth.
The Pervert Returns
Class was in session. Stretching mats, soft music, ceiling fans spinning lazily.
And then—he appeared.
A chubby, medium-built guy slowly stepped into the room. Not fat, not fit. Just… doughy.
His expression was blank. Calm. Innocent, even.
The yoga instructor glanced over, didn’t even flinch.
“Just another student,” he thought.
No one clapped. No one welcomed him back.
But Eason—Eason lit up like a puppy who just found his long-lost littermate.
He jumped up, literally wagging.
“OH MY GOD—he’s back!! HE’S BACK!!”
His voice cracked with excitement. He was practically bouncing off the walls, almost foaming at the mouth.
Meanwhile, all the girls froze.
Every single one of them.
Their faces turned pale. Jaws clenched. Their eyes narrowed with disgust, anxiety… and fear.
That guy?
That damn guy?
He’s back?
Dave was doing a bridge pose at the time, arched up like a sturdy rainbow. When he spotted the newcomer, his entire body seized up.
He slipped.
Flipped.
And landed flat on his back with a brutal thud.
“HOLY FUCK!”
Everyone turned.
Dave sat up slowly, eyes wide, trembling.
That outfit…
A full Zhongshan suit. Buttoned all the way to the neck. Belly poking out like a baby watermelon. Hair neatly parted down the middle. And that face—
That damn innocent looking face.
It was Marvel.
A name Dave hadn’t heard in a while. A person he tried so hard to forget.
But now—he was right here.
And suddenly… the floodgates opened.
Memories he’d buried long ago flashed through his head like a movie projector set to trauma mode:
The two of them sitting on a bench together, laughing like idiots.
Meeting the jogging girl after training. She was bright. Outgoing. Gorgeous in a natural way.
She confessed to Dave.
His heart soared.
Then… darkness.
Marvel, transformed into a monster.
Dave, beaten senseless—flung into a tree like a sack of meat.
And beneath that tree…
Marvel raped the jogging girl.
Dave couldn’t even scream. He could only watch—paralyzed in body and soul.
That day never left him.
His first love… ended before it began.
A scar that never healed.
And now the demon was back. Smiling. Calm. Acting like it never happened.
Dave’s fists clenched.
He stood up.
Walked over.
He was taller—by half a brow. Not much, but enough to look down.
Marvel kept his gaze low. Then slowly shifted his eyes to the side. He didn’t dare make eye contact.
His body shrank inward just slightly. But enough for Dave to notice.
And just when the tension reached its peak—
Marvel’s eyes drifted.
They slid—almost accidentally—across the room… and landed squarely on Leaf Girl.
And just like that…
A tiny bulge twitched in his pants.
Rage of the Rotten First Love
Leaf Girl froze.
She wasn’t just uncomfortable anymore—she was straight-up alarmed.
Her eyes locked on Marvel’s crotch. Something was… happening. Like a slow-motion car crash.
His pants were bulging. And not just a little.
It rose. It tilted. It pushed.
Nearly twenty centimeters of cursed flesh fought its way upward, like it was trying to punch through his waistband.
Leaf Girl backed up a step, horrified.
“GO TO HELL, YOU CREEP!”
She screamed like she’d seen a demon crawling out of the mirror.
“BEAT HIS ASS, DAVE! KILL HIM FOR US! BEAT HIM AND FUCK HIM GOOD!”
The whole class went quiet for half a second.
Then—
An explosion of chaos.
Girls stood up, fists in the air.
“DO IT, DAVE!”
“KILL THE PERV!”
“MAKE HIM PAY!”
And right in the center of it all—
Dave.
His arm flexed like it was sculpted from steel. He grabbed Marvel by the collar and yanked him clean off the ground.
Marvel’s feet left the floor.
He kicked the air like he was stuck in a treadmill glitch. His hands clawed at Dave’s wrist, trying to escape. But Dave didn’t budge.
Marvel just hung there—dangling, flailing, helpless.
The yoga instructor looked up from across the room. Blank stare. Not even surprised.
“Hey hey hey, easy, guys… No need to get physical,” he said calmly, like he was talking about who gets to use the squat rack next.
He stretched his arms, yawned, and walked out.
“I’m gonna go take a piss. When I get back… I hope this little beef is already handled.”
He even hummed a tune on the way to the restroom.
The chaos didn’t stop.
The girls were still chanting. Some were stomping on the mats like it was a cage fight. One even threw a yoga block across the room like a judge slamming her gavel.
And right then—Eason finally caught on.
He ran up, arms out, trying to calm things down.
“Hey—hey guys, maybe we don’t need to do this. We could just sit down somewhere, have a little boba tea… You know? Talk it out like adults.”
Dave didn’t even blink.
His voice was low. Guttural. Sharp.
“You don’t know what this bastard did…”
His teeth clenched.
“He RAPED my first love.”
Everything stopped.
The girls froze mid-chant. The yoga blocks stopped flying. Even the humming from the restroom kept going—blissfully unaware.
Dave kept going—his voice trembling with rage.
“He raped her. She died afterward. She was left like a pile of broken meat under that tree.”
He stared up at Marvel like he was staring at a corpse that forgot to die.
Eason slowly turned to look at Marvel.
This shy, awkward, innocent-faced guy…
He did that?
Eason didn’t know what to feel.
A part of him was shocked. Another part… wasn’t.
Because deep down, Eason had always had those dark urges too.
He just never acted on them.
He didn’t have the guts. Or the madness.
He lowered his eyes and whispered—
“OIC…”
And stepped back quietly.
Dave raised his other hand.
Fist clenched.
His voice dropped to a whisper of judgment:
“Everything you’ve done… You must pay. In full. Today.”
Marvel didn’t even try to speak.
He just dangled there, eyes wide, breath shallow, like he knew he’d walked straight into hell.
And class wasn’t over yet.
Fists of Unforgiveness
Marvel stopped struggling.
His arms went limp. His feet dangled lifelessly in the air like a soaked marionette. He closed his eyes—accepting it.
“I’m sorry… for what I did,”
“I truly am.”
“I’ve been living in the shadows ever since. So go ahead… hit me. I won’t fight back this time.”
For a second, the room held its breath.
And then Dave punched him.
No hesitation. No warm-up. Just raw, unfiltered rage.
His fist rocketed straight into Marvel’s stomach—deep.
It wasn’t a punch. It was an excavation.
Marvel’s body lurched with the impact. His mouth opened wide like a cartoon character taking a cannonball to the gut.
“OH PLEASE STOP!” he screamed, voice cracking like shattered glass.
“I didn’t think it’d hurt this bad! I thought—”
“—I thought it’d be more poetic or something!”
He doubled over in pain.
So much for acting cool.
Dave didn’t care. He flung Marvel across the room like dirty laundry. His body smacked into the wall with a dull thunk, then crumpled onto the mat.
Marvel curled up on the floor, clutching his stomach, sobbing.
“Please… spare me… spare my life… I’m a scumbag… I admit it… please…”
Everyone in the class just stood there, dumbstruck.
Even the girls—who had been cheering a moment ago—fell silent. Like they were watching a deer get run over in slow motion.
Dave walked forward.
Slow. Steady.
Like a hunter approaching the kill.
He wasn’t even breathing hard. He just looked… disappointed.
“Why is he so weak?” Dave muttered.
“Where’s that beast from the park?”
He didn’t realize it yet—but this wasn’t the same Marvel.
This was the real one.
No adrenaline. No rage. No beast-mode.
Just a pathetic, spineless loser in his natural form.
Marvel opened one eye, coughing.
“Before I die,” he wheezed, “can I say one last thing?”
Dave didn’t answer.
He just stopped walking.
Which was enough.
Marvel lifted his head, eyes glistening with tears. But he wasn’t looking at Dave.
He was staring at Leaf Girl.
Or more precisely… her chest.
“Your outfit,” he said softly, “is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“So mysterious… so barely there… like a whisper of heaven.”
“And your breasts… those proud, eloquent peaks…”
“They make me drool every day.”
As if to prove it, a line of spit slid out of the corner of his mouth.
Leaf Girl gagged.
Then snapped.
She marched straight up and slapped him.
Hard.
Then again.
And again.
A flurry of palms smacking his face like a drum solo from hell.
“YOU DISGUSTING PIG!”
“YOU CREEP! YOU GARBAGE!”
“YOU SHOULD’VE BEEN NEUTERED AT BIRTH!”
Marvel just sat there, head snapping side to side, too stunned to resist.
Then Dave gently pushed her aside.
Didn’t say a word.
He just raised his fist again.
One final time.
The air grew still. Heavy.
Marvel knew what was coming.
A Teacher’s Duty
Marvel dropped down on all fours like a broken beast. No fight left. No pride. Just fear.
He crawled forward—knees scraping the yoga mat, forehead banging the ground over and over until it bled.
“Please… spare my life…”
His voice trembled. Broken.
“I can be your slave. Your servant. I can be your dog. You want me to bark? I’ll bark. Just… just don’t kill me. Please. Don’t kill me…”
Dave’s breath slowed. But in his mind… the memory stayed.
His first love. Under that tree. Turned into nothing but rotten soil.
His jaw locked. His whole body tensed up. He raised his fist. All the power in his body surged into that one punch. It roared through the air like a whip crack. The wind screamed.
But—
It didn’t land.
Instead, Dave’s knuckles slammed into something… weird.
It was soft… but solid. Like a rubber tire wrapped around steel.
The force rebounded. His arm shook.
Standing in front of him—was their yoga instructor.
His face calm.
His abs… ruined.
Blood poured from his nose. He coughed once, then again—a fine mist of blood sprayed from his lips, trailing down his chin and soaking into his tank top.
He bent forward, clutching his gut with one hand.
“Ohhh shiiit…”
He wheezed.
“That punch… was at least ten times stronger than I expected…”
“Yeah… I think I’m done for, guys.”
His knees buckled. His eyes rolled back.
The whole class froze.
Then someone started crying. Then another. Then everyone.
Girls covered their mouths. Eason held his head in his hands. Even Dave—rage fading—looked horrified.
He stepped forward to catch the teacher before he fell—
But the man suddenly snapped back upright.
CLAP. CLAP.
He dusted his hands off and smiled like he just finished a light jog.
“Just kidding, guys.”
“All right, everyone. Let’s get back to class.”
“In this classroom—nobody dies. No violence. Got it?”
The entire room stood there in stunned silence. Dave was speechless. Everyone else looked like they just saw a ghost.
The instructor turned his head just slightly. Eyes still bloodshot. Smile still calm.
He looked down at Marvel, who was still cowering like a wounded animal.
“Flee. Now.”
“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to protect you again.”
“And don’t ever come back to my class.”
He didn’t say it with hate. Not with judgment. Just cold, matter-of-fact reality.
Because deep down, he knew—
Marvel wouldn’t survive another session.
Marvel didn’t wait.
He scrambled to his feet and bolted—out the door, down the hall, limbs flailing like a terrified stray dog.
And then—
CLAP. CLAP.
“Okay. Let’s continue. Next pose—I want everyone in Downward Dog. Dave, you especially.”
Slowly… almost magically… the class returned to normal. One by one, they got back on their mats.
Like nothing ever happened.
Because in that room… in the strange world of yoga and secrets and bottled-up rage—
The teacher did his duty.