The Innocent Adrenaline — Part 2

The next day, Marvel wandered aimlessly through a bustling shopping mall. He had nothing to do, and whenever boredom struck, he often found himself drifting through crowded places just to sneak a few glances at women’s cleavage.

Before long, three people came walking toward him. Marvel glanced up.

In the middle was Brian, tall and lean in a black tank top and Nike athletic shorts, with one arm casually around each of the two women beside him.

Marvel’s expression tightened as a wave of jealousy hit him.

But after looking at Brian for another moment, the feeling gradually faded.

Well… he is pretty good-looking. I guess it’s understandable.

A faint golden shimmer passed through Brian’s eyes.

Through his Golden Eyes, he could see Marvel’s strength rise by roughly ten percent—then, almost as quickly, settle back down.

Not enough.

Brian had expected a much stronger reaction. If he wanted to see what Marvel was truly capable of, he would have to push harder.

The two women beside him, Coco and Amy, weren’t his girlfriends at all. Brian had brought them over from Sakura Spa, a massage parlor owned by the Humble Organization.

Just as Marvel lowered his gaze and was about to mind his own business, Brian deliberately raised his voice.

“You two? I’m already getting bored of you. Give me a couple more days and we’re done.”

He paused, then added casually,

“I’m gonna work my way through every chick in Flushing City. I won’t leave a single chick for the losers out there.”

And sure enough, it worked.

Marvel froze in place, his fists clenching until his knuckles turned white. Damn… no wonder I’ve been single for almost thirty years. His expression darkened as the thought sank in. It’s bastards like him. These damn players take every chick for themselves and leave nothing for guys like me.

His breathing grew heavier, resentment boiling inside him. Almost thirty years… and this is why? His teeth clenched. I won’t forgive this. Something inside him snapped, and from within the crowd, the beast began to emerge.

Brian watched Marvel carefully, still resting an arm casually across Coco’s and Amy’s shoulders. After what he had seen yesterday, he was still confident he could beat Marvel without much trouble.

A faint golden glow appeared in his eyes as Marvel’s power began to rise.

Fifty percent.

Then it surged.

Ten times… twenty times… thirty…

Brian’s eyes widened.

“IT’S OVER 9000!”

The words burst out of him. In that instant, his confidence vanished.

He immediately pulled his arms away from Coco and Amy. “Go. Don’t look back. He’s much stronger than I expected. I can’t guarantee your safety anymore.”

The two women hesitated.

“GO NOW!”

Coco and Amy immediately turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Marvel let out a feral roar and charged straight at Brian.

FACE DESTRUCTION PUNCH.

Brian threw himself aside just in time, rolling hard across the mall floor as Marvel’s fist tore past him.

The punch missed.

But the shockwave didn’t.

It blasted through the mall like a cannon shot. Storefront windows cracked, shelves toppled, and merchandise flew everywhere. Even people nearly ten meters away were knocked off their feet, some collapsing where they stood while others were thrown backward across the floor.

Brian pushed himself back up and stared at Marvel, now fully transformed into a beast in human form.

He exhaled sharply.

“Oh… shit.”

Brian rushed forward and closed the distance, trading blows with Marvel at close range.

It didn’t take long for him to notice something strange. Marvel’s raw strength was overwhelming—far beyond his own—but his movements were wild and clumsy, with almost no real technique behind them.

He doesn’t know how to fight, Brian realized.

Even so, Marvel’s sheer power kept the pressure on. Punch after punch came crashing toward him, but Brian’s Golden Eyes allowed him to read each movement before it fully developed. After ten, maybe twenty exchanges, Brian finally began to take control.

He drove several heavy punches into Marvel’s thick belly, each one forcing him back a step or two, but Marvel barely seemed to feel them. Then his arms suddenly began to move.

MACHINE GUN PUNCH.

At first, the move almost looked ridiculous. Then Marvel’s fists blurred through the air, alternating so quickly that even Brian’s Golden Eyes struggled to keep up. He could see every movement clearly—but there were simply too many of them.

In less than half a second, five punches slammed into Brian’s chest, sending him flying backward into the wall before he crashed hard onto the floor and coughed up a thick mouthful of blood.

Brian lay on the floor, dizzy and struggling to catch his breath.

He’s too strong, he thought. I can’t win this… Should I retreat?

Just then, someone landed directly in front of him.

A man in neat office clothes now stood between Brian and Marvel, a leather briefcase hanging from one hand. With the other, he calmly adjusted his golden-rimmed glasses.

Then he glanced back at Brian.

“Apologies. I’m late.”

The man was Michael.

Without saying a word, he swung his right arm and flung his leather briefcase aside.

Brian, still crouched nearby, looked up at him. “Colin sent you?”

He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and gave a weak grin. “Guess the boss already knew this monster would be stronger than expected.”

Michael shook his head.

“No. I was just passing by. Came here to buy a shirt, saw you two fighting, and figured I should step in.”

He adjusted his golden-rimmed glasses and turned his attention back to Marvel.

“Either way, stay focused. He’s tough.”

Michael pointed past Marvel.

“Hey! Look behind you. There’s a super hot girl back there. Completely naked.”

Marvel’s jaw dropped. A thin line of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth as he whipped around without hesitation.

There was nobody there.

That single second was all Michael needed.

He shot forward and drove a heavy punch into Marvel’s cheek, then followed immediately with a brutal side kick to the chest. Marvel flew nearly ten meters before crashing into a wall and dropping hard to the floor, coughing up a mouthful of blood.

The hit did real damage—but it also pushed Marvel even further over the edge.

The beast snapped.

Marvel dropped onto all fours and charged forward like a wild animal, his hands and feet pounding against the floor with terrifying speed.

Michael’s expression tightened.

“Brace yourself!”

He and Brian rushed forward together to meet Marvel head-on.

The three of them collided head-on.

A violent exchange of punches and kicks followed. In less than twenty exchanges, Marvel broke through both of their defenses.

Brian was hit first and sent crashing across the floor. He tried to get back up, but after coughing up blood several times, his strength finally gave out.

Michael was struck moments later and thrown farther back. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he remained standing.

He was clearly tougher than Brian.

Still, Michael could feel it too. If the fight dragged on, it wasn’t going to end well.

Across from them, Marvel threw his head back and let out a feral roar.

Michael clenched every muscle in his body and lowered his stance, preparing for the next attack. For a moment, neither side moved as Marvel’s roar gradually faded into silence.

Still on the floor, Brian’s eyes carried a faint golden glow. Despite the bruises on his face and the blood at the corner of his mouth, a small smile appeared.

“It’s about time.”

Marvel’s adrenaline had finally run out. The wild energy drained from his body, and the beast-like presence disappeared with it. What remained was an exhausted young man, breathing heavily with his arms and legs barely holding him up.

Michael noticed the change immediately. His body was still tense and ready to strike, but now Marvel was completely vulnerable.

Michael stepped forward.

He raised his right hand into a knife-hand position and slid one foot back, lowering his center of gravity. Marvel looked up—and the moment he saw Michael preparing to strike, his eyes widened.

Michael suddenly lunged forward.

One clean slash.

Marvel’s neck twisted violently. His head flew into the air, spinning as blood sprayed in a high arc, while his headless body dropped to its knees before collapsing face-first onto the tile floor. A dark pool of blood quickly spread beneath it.

And then—

None of that happened.

It had all taken place inside Marvel’s imagination.

Before Michael could even take a full step, Brian darted forward and grabbed his wrist.

“That’s enough,” Brian said firmly. “We’re here to test his limits—not punish him. And we’re definitely not here to collect a debt.”

Michael stopped without the slightest resistance.

“Oh,” he said casually. “Almost killed such an innocent little kid. Good thing you stopped me in time.”

Marvel sat frozen on the floor, too stunned to speak. His whole body trembled as a thin yellow stream slowly began to seep from the edge of his pants.

He had wet himself.

Michael showed no reaction. He simply walked over to Brian and draped Brian’s arm across his shoulders.

With slow, steady steps, the two of them turned and walked away.

Behind them, Marvel remained sitting on the floor, exhausted and trembling in a puddle of his own urine amid the wreckage of the mall.

The next day, Brian and Michael were back at the office.

Colin walked in with a very short, extremely skinny man wearing an oversized white doctor’s coat. His face was pale, and his arms were thin as sticks.

“This is Mildy,” Colin said casually. “An old classmate of mine from kindergarten.”

He gave Mildy a light pat on the shoulder.

“He’s an uncertified back-alley doctor. No license, no diploma, no medical background whatsoever. He just started patching people up on the street one day and somehow turned it into a career.”

Mildy said nothing. He simply nodded, opened his worn medical case, and pulled out two syringes already filled with a clear liquid.

Adrenaline.

Brian and Michael exchanged a doubtful glance.

Did this guy actually know what he was doing?

Before either of them could say a word, Mildy had already jabbed a syringe into each of their arms.

“Now,” Colin said cheerfully, “head over to the gym and test your power output.”

The Humble Organization’s private gym was quiet that day. Brian and Michael approached the heavy-duty punching machine used for internal ranking evaluations.

One by one, they threw their strongest punches.

Then they did it again.

And again.

After several rounds, the results were finally clear. Their power had increased—but by less than one percent. Once experimental error was taken into account, there was practically no improvement at all.

Mildy studied the numbers for a moment. “Looks like adrenaline only works on certain people. There might be a genetic factor.”