The Strongest Muscles

Section 1: The Last Roll

The supermarket lights buzzed softly above the nearly empty hygiene aisle. On the shelf sat one solitary roll of toilet paper—lavender-scented, extra-soft, ultra-absorbent. A limited-edition masterpiece of modern toilet paper engineering.

PhD spotted it from the left end of the aisle, holding his bubble tea in one hand and pushing his shopping cart with the other. Michael approached from the right, carrying only a small basket—mostly empty except for a carton of milk and a bag of rice.

Their eyes met at the shelf. Their arms extended, and their fingers touched the packaging at exactly the same moment.

They both froze.

Michael looked up, calm and steady. PhD blinked, then smiled politely.

“Oh. You’re going for this one too?”

Michael replied, “Yes.”

Neither of them let go. They weren’t tugging or fighting—just standing there with their fingers still resting on the roll.

PhD gave a friendly chuckle. “Funny thing. This is actually the only brand I use.”

Michael nodded. “Same.”

PhD raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yes. I’ve tried other brands. They don’t… work for me.”

PhD tilted his head. “Work?”

Michael lowered his voice slightly. “They interfere with my bowel movements. If I use anything else, I get blocked up. Like, dangerously. This brand’s softness and scent help relax the lower abdominal pressure.”

PhD blinked, then gave a thoughtful nod. “Huh. Well, I respect that. For me, it’s more spiritual. This is the only brand that feels aligned with my lifestyle philosophy. I meditate with it in the room.”

Michael gave a small nod. “That’s… nice.”

PhD continued, “The lavender. The softness. It resets the soul.”

Michael didn’t react. Neither man moved, and neither let go of the roll.

PhD eventually broke the silence. “Look, if there were another one, I’d let you have this.”

“Same,” Michael replied.

They both glanced along the shelf.

Empty.

A toddler passed by in a shopping cart, pointed at them, and asked, “Mommy, why are those men touching toilet paper for so long?”

Neither of them moved.

PhD looked back down at the roll and let out a quiet sigh. “You know… even with your situation, I just can’t let this go. I barely have time to go shopping these days, and this is the one thing I absolutely have to get today. No matter what.”

Michael didn’t flinch. His voice stayed flat, though there was a quiet urgency behind it. “I get it. But I really can’t hold it much longer. It’s been building up for three days. If I don’t use this roll today… things might get messy.”

Silence settled between them as their grips tightened—not aggressively, just protectively.

The lavender-scented prize sat there between them, wrapped in foil and destiny, while two grown men stood frozen in complete, mutual, absurd sincerity.

It was still only about toilet paper, but that didn’t make it any less serious.

Section 2: Five Hand Chops

Michael moved first.

Without a word, he tightened his grip on the lavender-scented roll and slid it slightly toward his basket.

But before he could lift it—

Thwack!

A clean downward hand chop landed squarely on Michael’s wrist. His fingers opened reflexively, and the toilet paper slipped from his grasp, rolling gently back into its original spot on the shelf.

PhD immediately reached for it, but just as his fingers got close—

Clack.

Michael’s hand latched onto PhD’s wrist like a bear trap, locking it in midair.

PhD narrowed his eyes. With a subtle twist of his forearm and a small pivot of the wrist, he slipped free from Michael’s grip.

Then, suddenly—

Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop.

The two men exchanged five hand chops at lightning speed. Their palms and knuckles struck each other in sharp, controlled bursts—clean and direct, almost like a schoolyard slap game. To a casual bystander, it might have looked like two grown men pretending to karate-chop each other like kids.

But the intensity was real. Each strike was dead-on, calculated, and so precise that even the toilet paper inches away vibrated under the invisible shockwaves in the air.

After the fifth exchange, both men paused, breathing steady, eyes locked.

PhD tilted his head, impressed. “We could keep going like this all day. But I’ll admit—it’s been a while since someone matched me like this.”

Michael gave a subtle nod. “Same to you.”

Michael added matter-of-factly, “If we fight in here, we could easily kill a few bystanders by accident.”

PhD glanced around the aisle. Kids. Old folks. Couples. “Too many people,” he agreed. “I’d rather not make a mess of this place.”

Michael kept his gaze fixed on him. “The parking lot out back?”

PhD gave a calm smile. “Lead the way.”

They stepped back at the same time, quietly letting go of the precious roll. Just as they turned away, a frail old lady shuffled past, snatched the toilet paper off the shelf, and walked away as if nothing had happened.

Neither man noticed. They were already heading outside.

Section 3: Fruit Ninja

They walked toward the supermarket parking lot, Michael leading the way with PhD following a few steps behind. When they reached the center of the lot, PhD suddenly spoke.

“Oh, I never asked your name.”

“Michael,” he replied flatly. “You?”

PhD grinned. “Stiffen Hawking. Most people just call me—”

He never got to finish.

Michael spun around mid-step and launched a straight kick, driving the sole of his foot hard into PhD’s chest.

PhD shot backward nearly five meters and slammed into a steel billboard frame with a loud metallic boom. He coughed up blood, yet still managed a faint smile. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he said, “Nice ambush. That one hit hard.”

Michael had never cared much for fair fights. Strategy, deception, surprise—whatever worked. Victory was all that mattered.

He walked over to a nearby fruit stall, grabbed a full basket of durians, and without warning began hurling them one after another at high speed.

PhD raised both arms and shaped his hands into blades. With surgical precision, he sliced the flying durians apart in midair like a real-life Fruit Ninja. Within ten seconds, more than thirty had been cut to pieces.

Even so, the barrage was taking a toll. Small cuts began opening across his fingers from the repeated impacts.

PhD slipped behind the tall billboard for cover, but Michael had already anticipated where he would move. He drove a punch straight through the metal sheet, tearing through it and landing flush on PhD’s face.

PhD spun twice through the air and crashed several meters away.

PhD slowly got back to his feet. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his right cheek was visibly swollen.

Michael approached with a faint smile. “Way too easy,” he said. “I thought you were supposed to be strong.”

It was clear he had begun to underestimate PhD.

Michael lunged forward again with a fast straight-leg kick, but this time his form was sloppy—too casual, too arrogant.

PhD caught his leg instantly and locked it in place. “You’re overconfident,” he said. “That’ll be your undoing. Don’t think a sneak attack means you’ve already won.”

Michael realized it too late.

PhD twisted his waist, lifted Michael completely off the ground, spun him through the air several times, and hurled him straight into the billboard structure.

Michael smashed through it like a cannonball. The entire metal frame burst apart, sending twisted pieces of steel flying everywhere.

Bruised and battered, Michael slowly got back to his feet—still smiling.

The two men locked eyes.

Now, for real this time, the fight had officially begun.

Section 4: An Even Match

In the distance, a church bell rang.

Without a word, Michael and PhD suddenly accelerated, charging straight at each other and crashing into a close-range exchange of fists and kicks.

They were still dead even, neither giving an inch. Clean hits landed on faces, chests, and limbs as bruises spread across their bodies and their clothes began to tear from the force of the impacts.

Still, neither backed down. They remained rooted to the same ground, trading faster and faster attacks until, before anyone realized it, they had already been fighting for hours—two, maybe three.

To anyone watching from a distance, it almost looked ordinary: just two men punching and kicking like some low-budget street fight. There were no flashy explosions or cinematic shockwaves, only fists, sweat, and raw endurance. But the force behind every strike was monstrous.

A parking lot security guard had been watching the fight for a while and finally couldn’t take it anymore. He stormed over, shouting at them to stop. When neither man responded, he boldly stepped between them and tried to break up the fight.

It was a fatal mistake.

The moment he got too close, one stray punch—no one knew whose—slammed straight into his chest. His torso exploded on the spot.

Blood and flesh flew in every direction as his body came apart like a firework. One arm crashed through the window of a high-rise office. The other landed inside the church across the street. One foot spun through the air and dropped into a nearby elementary school, while the other flew straight into a police station.

His head shot directly into a crematory furnace inside a funeral home down the block. The flames were already roaring, and his skull vaporized instantly.

Michael and PhD didn’t even flinch. Their fight simply continued—fast, ruthless, and relentless, with neither showing any sign of stopping.

Fists kept flying. Kicks kept landing.

Section 5: A Natural Relief

By the time the sky turned dark, another three hours had passed. Both men had slowed considerably, their strength fading as exhaustion set in, yet neither was willing to give up. They kept trading blows through sheer willpower.

PhD landed a hard kick to Michael’s stomach. Michael answered with a heavy punch to PhD’s jaw, sending both men stumbling back several meters.

Then a strange sound came from Michael’s gut.

A deep, wet gurgle.

Michael’s eyes widened, his face freezing as a low, shameful moan escaped his throat. Then came the unmistakable sound—long, slushy, and horrifically audible.

Michael had lost control.

For nearly twenty seconds, the parking lot echoed with the sound of poop forcing its way out of him.

And then… silence.

PhD slowly covered his nose. “Did you… soil your pants?”

Michael forced a weak smile. “I’m afraid I did.”

As it turned out, PhD’s kick to the stomach had knocked loose three days’ worth of backed-up waste. Michael had completely shit himself right there in the parking lot.

Strangely, though, the accident brought instant relief. The pressure in his gut vanished, and after three miserable days of constipation, Michael suddenly felt… free. It was disgusting, but somehow miraculous.

PhD blinked. “Remind me… why are we even fighting?”

Michael looked down at the ground and shook his head. They had been fighting for so long that neither of them could even remember what had started it.

Without another word, the two men turned and walked off in opposite directions, leaving the parking lot behind.

Their faces were swollen and their bodies covered in bruises. Michael’s upper-body clothing had been completely shredded, leaving his muscular chest and abs exposed to the night air.

PhD’s lower-body clothing, meanwhile, had been obliterated, revealing his toned thighs and his… disproportionately large cock.

And so, the two of them casually walked down the street—battered, filthy, and utterly silent—as they headed home in opposite directions.

Section 6: The Golden Dick

The next day, Michael returned to the office.

When Colin saw his swollen face, he raised an eyebrow. “Who the hell managed to beat up our so-called formidable Michael like this? That guy must be a real monster.”

Michael nodded. “Yeah… he was really strong. I realized we were evenly matched—same level of power. We fought so hard our clothes got shredded. My upper half was completely torn apart… and his lower half was completely gone. That’s when I noticed… he had a giant cock.”

Colin paused, his expression shifting slightly. “Did you catch his name?”

“He said it was Stiffen Hawking,” Michael replied. “Honestly… kind of a funny name. Stiffen—as in, stiffen like a cock?”

Colin didn’t laugh. His expression turned completely serious. “You’re saying his lower clothes were torn off… and you saw a giant cock?”

Michael straightened slightly. “Yes, sir.”

Colin’s eyes narrowed.

“Good thing he didn’t use his ultimate move… the Golden Dick.”

Michael blinked. “The what?”

Colin continued, his voice low and tense. “It’s one of the forbidden Golden Techniques. Most people think it’s just a dirty joke, but it’s real. And he’s the user—the rumored one… the man with the Golden Dick.”

Michael looked stunned. “So… what does it do? Is it powerful?”

Colin leaned back, his expression turning grim. “Anyone who sees the Golden Dick falls hopelessly in love with him. No resistance. No escape.”

Michael frowned. “But I’m a guy. I don’t like guys.”

Colin slowly shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. That’s the true terror of the Golden Dick. Even straight men can be bent.”

A chill ran through Michael.

Colin added quietly, “I used to be his friend, you know. That’s why he now has a ninety-nine percent success rate when it comes to seducing women… all thanks to that terrifying Golden Dick.”