Ph.D. in Seduction

It was a strange sight for a weekday afternoon.

Inside a downtown bookstore, a long line of young men stretched from the checkout counter, out through the entrance, and down the block until it wrapped around the corner.

Most of them shared a certain look—not ugly, not poor, just… invisible. Quiet, geeky, polite, and painfully single.

They were all there for one thing.

A newly released book titled The Seduction Equation: Unlocking the Female Mind, written by Professor Stiffen Hawking, a leading expert in behavioral sociology and modern dating.

Hawking did hold a real PhD in sociology, but that wasn’t why people called him PhD. The nickname came from his years of “research” into seduction, female psychology, and what he liked to call erotic power dynamics in modern dating.

His words, not anyone else’s.

The book cover was just as dramatic. It showed a muscular man standing with his arms spread wide before a glowing crowd of women. The image had clearly been photoshopped—or possibly AI-generated—and not very well. One hand had six fingers, and his neck looked unnaturally long.

Still, the book was selling.

Beneath the title was a bold slogan: “The final equation is sincerity.”

Posters around the store were covered with quotes from the book, including “Seduction begins with attraction, but it succeeds with sincerity,” “A woman may notice your looks, but she remembers your sincerity,” and “The strongest seduction is making her believe your sincerity is real.”

Near the front, staff members could barely keep up with demand, with every new stack disappearing within minutes. One young man hugged his copy to his chest like a sacred artifact.

“He’s not just a theorist,” he whispered. “He’s a practitioner. A field agent. He’s living proof.”

Another man nodded seriously. “He documented more than a hundred women he’s slept with—details, techniques, even timestamps. It’s basically dating science.”

Across the street, inside a small bubble tea shop, PhD sat alone by the window.

He wore the same dark floral shirt and charcoal blazer from the TV interview, paired with neatly pressed slacks. His build was lean and athletic, with curly hair, pale skin, and thin wireframe glasses.

PhD slowly sipped a red bean bubble tea through a thick straw, watching the crowd outside through the glass with that same lazy half-smile.

He looked completely at ease.

Marvel stepped out of the bookstore hugging the book tightly against his chest, looking as though he had just discovered the answer to every problem in his life.

He stopped on the sidewalk and opened it at random, letting fate choose the page.

Page 127.

Case Study: Crimson Bloom at Union Square — Field Record #39

“Let me start with this: looks and money are illusions. At best, they’re shortcuts. At worst, they’re traps. Sincerity is what truly matters. Most men spend their entire lives chasing everything else without ever understanding that.”

The case study told the story of how Hawking once approached a complete stranger in Union Square with ninety-nine roses and told her, with complete sincerity, that he felt they were meant to meet.

The woman was touched. They spent the afternoon together, talked for hours, and ended up sleeping together that same night.

Hawking admitted that some of the things he told her weren’t entirely true, but according to him, that didn’t matter. What mattered was sincerity.

Marvel slowly closed the book, his fingers lingering on the cover as the same message echoed in his mind: sincerity. That was the answer.

For the first time, Marvel felt like he finally understood what he had been missing all these years. He might not have the looks, the money, or the charm—but sincerity was something he could give.

Then Marvel remembered the ninety-nine roses from the case study and casually reached into his pocket. Fifteen dollars and a MetroCard—that was all he had. He stared at the money for a moment and sighed. “It… it sucks. It’s not even the end of the month, and I’m already almost out… out of money.”

But before he could dwell on it any longer, a familiar figure across the street caught his eye.

Inside a bubble tea shop, someone was sitting by the window.

Marvel narrowed his eyes and looked across the street. Floral shirt, curly hair, wireframe glasses—there was something unmistakably familiar about the man sitting by the window.

Then it clicked. He was the other guest from Marvel’s TV interview—the one whose name Marvel had barely remembered at the time.

Professor Stiffen Hawking.

Marvel glanced down at the book in his hands, then back across the street.

Wait… he wrote this?

Marvel crossed the street, pushed open the door of the bubble tea shop, and headed straight toward Hawking’s table.

“You!” he blurted out. “You’re Professor Hawking! You wrote this book—and you were on that TV interview with me!”

Hawking looked up from his drink and blinked once behind his wireframe glasses.

“Yes,” he said. “But most people just call me PhD. I prefer that.”

“Oh… right, PhD.” Marvel nodded quickly. “I was the guest sitting next to you on that show.”

PhD thought for a moment, then shook his head slightly. “Hmm… I don’t really remember.”

Marvel smiled awkwardly. “During… during the commercial break, you… you flicked a booger into the air. Somehow it landed right on my Zhongshan suit… and then I… I ate it.”

PhD stared at the odd-looking young man in front of him, then processed the strange thing he had just said. He still didn’t remember Marvel at all, but he had no interest in dragging the conversation out any longer.

“Ah, I see,” he said with a small nod. “Right. That was you.”

Marvel pulled out a stool beside PhD and sat down next to him by the window.

“I… I bought your book today,” he said, placing it on the table. “I’m a big fan. Your techniques… your way of thinking… all of it is amazing.”

PhD glanced at the book, then back at Marvel. “Glad you like it.”

Marvel leaned forward slightly. “I… I actually have a lot of questions. About women. About love. About… about how all of this works.”

PhD checked the time and took another sip of his bubble tea. He had no intention of spending the rest of the afternoon talking to this strange young man, but sending a fanboy away immediately seemed a little too harsh. “Well… I suppose I have a little time,” he said, glancing at the clock once more. “I’ve got five minutes.”

Marvel asked eagerly, “Okay, PhD… I… I’ve always wanted to ask. What’s the real secret of love?”

“The secret of love,” PhD said, “is sincerity.”

Marvel blinked. “Sincerity?”

PhD paused for a few seconds, trying to come up with something that sounded cool and profound.

“Attraction may open the door, but sincerity is what makes someone stay. When two people stop performing for each other and allow themselves to be seen as they truly are—that’s when love begins.”

Marvel stared at him in awe. “Wow… that’s deep.”

PhD gave a faint smile and took another sip of his bubble tea.

That actually sounded pretty good, he thought. I should put that in my next book. Maybe a podcast.

Marvel hesitated for a moment. “PhD… can I… can I ask something a little more personal?”

PhD shrugged. “Sure.”

Marvel lowered his voice. “How many girls have you… slept with?”

PhD barely reacted. “Oh, that? Too many. I stopped counting years ago.” He thought for a moment. “But if you want a rough estimate… excluding massage parlors, I’d say I’ve probably grabbed around a thousand boobs.”

Marvel nearly jumped off his stool, his eyes bulging in disbelief. “A… a thousand girls?!”

PhD barely reacted. “Just think about it. One woman has two boobs. A thousand divided by two…” He held up two fingers, as if demonstrating a serious mathematical formula. “Roughly five hundred women.”

Marvel stared at him as if he had just heard an impossible number. “Five… five hundred…”

“And that’s only a rough estimate,” PhD added casually. “That doesn’t include repeat visits.”

Marvel slowly looked down at PhD’s hand, then back up at him. “PhD… can I… can I shake your hand?”

PhD looked at Marvel’s outstretched hand. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea, but the strange, innocent young man looked so genuinely excited that he didn’t want to disappoint his fanboy.

After a brief hesitation, PhD reached out and gave his hand a light shake.

PhD released Marvel’s hand, stood up, crumpled his empty plastic cup, and tossed it into a nearby trash bin.

“Well, I should get going,” he said. “Be good. Be sincere.”

Marvel watched in admiration as PhD walked out of the shop and headed down the street, his floral shirt visible beneath the charcoal blazer. To Marvel, he looked almost like some kind of prophet who had just handed him the secret to life.

But PhD had barely made it down the block when a young man suddenly stepped into his path. His face was pale, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

“You bastard,” the man growled. “How dare you sleep with my wife?!”

PhD stopped and looked at him with mild confusion.

“Your wife?” he asked. “Which one?”

The man’s face tightened. “Julie! You know damn well which one!”

PhD blinked once. “I know a lot of Julies. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“The one with the ponytail. Pink blouse. Works at an insurance company. Gets drunk after half a beer.”

“Oh.” PhD nodded. “That Julie.”

The man stepped closer, his voice beginning to shake. “We’d only been married for three months. We were supposed to have kids, grow old together… build a whole life together. And now she barely talks to me. We sleep in different rooms. She looks at me like I’m a stranger.”

His fists tightened.

“There are so many women in this world. Why did it have to be her?”

PhD was silent for a moment, then gave a small shrug. “Why her? I don’t know. I’ve been with so many women that I barely remember their names, what they do, or where they came from. None of that really matters to me.”

His tone remained calm, almost businesslike. “I have fun. I add to the count. That’s about it.”

Then the description finally triggered something in his memory.

“Ah… that one,” PhD murmured, almost thinking out loud. “I really liked her slim waist… and those long legs.”

The moment the husband heard PhD mention Julie’s slim waist and long legs, something inside him finally snapped.

His whole body began to tremble.

“YOU BASTARD!!!”

Veins bulged across his arms and neck as he threw his head back and roared. His hair shot upward, turning bright gold as he transformed into a Super Saiyan. A violent burst of energy exploded around him, rattling windows and shaking nearby lampposts as pedestrians screamed and scattered.

Without warning, the Super Saiyan grabbed a nearby blue Toyota sedan with both hands, ripped it off the ground, and hurled it straight at PhD like a giant metal discus.

Marvel shot to his feet behind the bubble tea shop window.

The car spun through the air toward PhD—but he barely moved. He simply raised one hand and caught the entire sedan in midair, stopping it dead.

The metal groaned against his palm.

PhD glanced at the car, then carefully lowered it back onto the street.

“Are you done?” he asked. “Be careful with other people’s property.”

The Super Saiyan suddenly exploded forward at full speed, charging straight at PhD without the slightest hesitation.

His first punch came in hard and fast. PhD leaned aside and let it miss by inches. A second hook followed, then a third, fourth, and fifth—each strike carrying enough force to do serious damage.

PhD slipped past every attack with barely any movement.

Then he stepped in and drove a single punch into the man’s ribs.

The impact landed with a heavy thud.

The Super Saiyan staggered backward, coughing blood, but quickly steadied himself and roared again.

The Super Saiyan roared and launched himself high into the air, raising both fists above his head before crashing down toward PhD with all his strength.

PhD stepped aside at the last second.

The Super Saiyan slammed into the pavement, cracking the sidewalk beneath him. Before he could fully recover, PhD calmly adjusted one sleeve and stepped forward.

Then he drove another punch straight into the man’s chest.

The impact launched the Super Saiyan backward like a missile. He smashed into a nearby lamppost, bounced off, and crashed onto the pavement.

His golden hair slowly faded back to black as he lay unconscious on the pavement.

Silence fell.

PhD adjusted his blazer, then noticed something on the ground near his feet—a used condom wrapper that must have fallen from his pocket during the fight.

He bent down, picked it up, brushed off a speck of dirt, and casually tossed it into a nearby trash bin.

Then he turned and walked away as if nothing had happened.

Inside the bubble tea shop, Marvel stood by the window with his eyes sparkling.

“Wow… PhD… PhD… you’re truly godlike.”