The Innocent Confession

Ever since Marvel read PhD’s book, he had been itching to try out the techniques it taught. There was just one problem—he had no money. Not even enough to buy the ninety-nine roses required for the first romantic gesture described in the book.

So he decided to “borrow” some cash first.

He wandered into a narrow alley and spotted a short boy with a watermelon-shaped haircut, dressed in pajamas and walking with his head down as he scrolled through his phone.

It was Benson.

Marvel hurried over and blocked his path. “Hey… hey, you little pissant,” he said. “Mind… mind lending me some money?”

Benson looked up at him, and his expression changed instantly. “W-what? Are you trying to rob me?” he stammered in panic.

Marvel put on his most innocent expression. “Just… just a little cash. I… I’ll pay you back,” he said softly.

Benson sized him up from head to toe. Marvel was dressed in his usual Zhongshan suit, buttoned all the way up to the collar—stiff, formal, and completely harmless-looking.

Just like that, Benson’s fear disappeared.

With a sharp slap, he smacked Marvel across the face.

Then Benson broke into an almost deranged, squealing grin. As it turned out, he was exactly the kind of person who bullied the weak but feared the strong.

Marvel wasn’t angry. He knew exactly what he was here for. Without wasting another second, he lunged straight for Benson’s pockets.

The two immediately started struggling, but it was hardly a kung fu fight. It looked more like two weaklings caught in a messy catfight.

After nearly ten minutes of chaotic grappling, Marvel finally managed to pin Benson to the ground, grabbing him tightly by the hair.

Tears streamed down Benson’s face. “Please don’t hurt me! My money’s in my pocket!” he sobbed.

Marvel reached into Benson’s pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill. He stared at it for a moment, clearly unimpressed. “This… this is all you got?”

Benson nodded pitifully. “Yes…”

Marvel glanced down at the ground right beside them, where a steaming pile of dog shit sat.

He looked at the five-dollar bill in his hand, then at the dog shit, his disappointment growing.

Without hesitation, he picked it up and shoved it straight into Benson’s mouth.

Then he stood up, wiped his hand on Benson’s pajamas, pocketed the five dollars, and walked away without saying a word.

Marvel continued down the street, feeling much more confident after defeating Benson.

He muttered to himself, “That… that watermelon-head was a formidable opponent. But I… I still managed to take him down.”

The thought gave him a strange boost of confidence. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a faint criminal impulse began to stir.

Maybe… he could rob someone else.

As he passed a nearby Chase Bank, Marvel’s eyes drifted toward the entrance.

Two armed security guards stood outside in tactical gear.

Marvel gulped. Almost immediately, the thought of robbing the bank disappeared.

No… no. That’s wrong. Completely immoral. And… and illegal too. I can’t cross that line.

He shook his head and kept walking.

Before long, Marvel wandered into the red-light district. Neon signs buzzed above rows of massage parlors.

He looked around with obvious disgust.

These people are all just making fast money… It’s shameful, he thought. Someone should really do something about this kind of behavior.

Then another thought quietly slipped into his mind.

And if I happen to make a quick hundred or two while I’m at it… well, that’s only fair, right?

As he turned the next corner, Marvel noticed a massage parlor called Sakura Spa, its glowing sign hanging above the entrance.

Then he suddenly froze.

Sitting casually near the entrance, on top of a headless corpse, was a man in a white dress shirt. His gold-rimmed glasses glinted under the streetlight. One hand held a Red Bull, while the other rested lazily on a briefcase placed over the dead body.

Marvel’s eyes widened as he immediately recognized the man—it was Michael, a high-ranking enforcer of the Humble Organization.

Michael sat there calmly, sipping his Red Bull as if it were a glass of wine. The sight sent a chill down Marvel’s spine.

Michael looked up and immediately recognized Marvel—the same beast of a man he had fought dozens of rounds with before.

But now, there wasn’t even a trace of that wildness in Marvel’s eyes. No adrenaline. No beastly aura. Nothing.

Michael narrowed his eyes. “What are you staring at, beast guy?” he asked. “Never seen someone get beaten to death in public before?”

Marvel quickly shook his head. “N-no… no. N-not at all.”

Michael took another long sip of his Red Bull and said casually, “This guy tried to steal twenty bucks from our store just now, so I cut off his head.”

Marvel’s stomach dropped. His legs nearly went weak.

“Y-yeah… yeah! R-right!” he stammered, nodding quickly. “That… that kind of person totally deserves it!”

Then he turned around and walked away, the thought of robbing anyone vanishing from his mind completely.

Marvel walked into a nearby flower shop. After adding Benson’s five dollars to the fifteen he already had, he now had exactly twenty dollars to his name.

Behind the counter stood a stunning woman in a frilly apron. She had a generous figure, especially around the chest.

Marvel approached the counter. “Excuse me… how… how much is a bouquet of ninety-nine roses?”

The shop owner smiled. “About a hundred dollars.”

Marvel frowned slightly. “A… a hundred? Isn’t that a little expensive? I… I only have twenty.”

The woman looked him up and down. Zhongshan suit, collar buttoned all the way to the top. He looked innocent and honest… almost painfully gullible.

She smiled gently. “Well, actually, you could get thirteen roses instead. Thirteen means ‘forever love.’ Normally they’re fifteen dollars, but just for you, I can give them to you for twenty dollars as a discount.”

Marvel thought about it for a moment. Thirteen roses. Forever love. It sounded pretty meaningful.

He smiled and handed her the twenty dollars. “Thank… thank you… thank you very much… for… for the discount.”

Of course, Marvel didn’t realize she had actually charged him more, not less.

The shop owner carefully trimmed the roses, arranged them neatly, and wrapped the bouquet with a soft silk ribbon. When she was finished, it looked surprisingly beautiful and romantic.

Marvel took the bouquet with a wide smile. As he looked back at the woman, his eyes drifted down almost unconsciously, briefly sweeping over her figure before lingering around her chest.

Then, instead of leaving, he held the bouquet out toward her.

“Actually… I… I love you. Will… will you be my girlfriend?”

The shop owner froze for a moment, then gave him an awkward smile. “Thank you… but I’m sorry. I’m already married.”

Marvel barely hesitated. “That’s… that’s okay. True love doesn’t care if someone is married… or single.”

The woman gently pushed the bouquet back into his hands. “You’re handsome. You deserve someone better. Why don’t you walk around Union Square? There are plenty of pretty girls there.”

Marvel glanced at himself in a nearby mirror.

He studied his reflection for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Yeah… yeah. She might be right.”

Still holding the bouquet tightly, he left the flower shop and headed toward Union Square.

Marvel arrived at Union Square with the bouquet in his hands and found a bench to sit on.

He quietly watched the women passing by, trying to choose the perfect person to receive his roses and confession—just like PhD’s book had taught him.

A tall, long-legged woman walked past in a tank top. Marvel studied her for a moment, then muttered to himself, “Too… too skinny. Looks like an airport runway.”

A short, chubby middle-aged woman passed by next. Marvel immediately looked away and made a slight gagging motion. “Yeah… definitely not her.”

Then, a few moments later, he saw someone who caught his attention.

A young woman came jogging through the square, wearing a pink sports bra and tight athletic shorts. Her skin was a healthy, sun-kissed brown, glowing with vitality. With every step, the “two little rabbits” on her chest bounced rhythmically with her movement.

Marvel couldn’t help imagining what might happen if they bounced hard enough to pop right out of her clothes. The thought alone nearly overwhelmed him.

His body reacted before his brain did. An erection pressed firmly against his pants, throbbing with excitement.

For the first time in his life, Marvel felt certain he understood what love at first sight was.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the bouquet, rushed forward, and jumped directly into her path.

The jogger slowed to a stop, looking confused. “Sir? Can I help you?”

Marvel didn’t answer.

Instead, he suddenly dropped to both knees with dramatic force and raised the bouquet high above his head.

People nearby immediately began turning to watch.

A young girl in the crowd gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh my God… so romantic. He’s confessing to the girl he loves right here in the park. He’s so brave.”

Marvel looked up at her and spoke with the most sincere voice he could manage.

“From… from the moment I first saw you, I… I fell in love. Deeply. Truly. You’re like a goddess, lighting up the path ahead of me. From this day forward, I’ll… I’ll never sleep again, because every night I’ll be thinking about you. I… I can’t live without you. You’re everything to me.”

The jogger stood there frozen. She had never seen this man before in her life, and everything about him felt deeply creepy.

Without saying a word, she stepped around him and started jogging again, completely ignoring his grand confession.

But Marvel wasn’t finished. He quickly turned around, reached out, and grabbed her wrist.

“I… I want to hold your hand. I want to hug you. I want to kiss you. I… I want to make love to you.”

Then he suddenly raised his voice.

“Would… would you have… have a baby with me?”

And that really was what Marvel honestly felt. Every word had come straight from his heart—the raw, unfiltered truth, exactly as he understood PhD’s teachings on sincerity.

Just then, a man walking nearby happened to notice what was going on.

He wore a white sleeveless crop top. The moment his eyes landed on Marvel, however, his expression changed.

For some reason, Marvel reminded him of someone he hated more than anyone else in the world—PhD.

His anger erupted instantly. Energy began gathering around his body. His hair slowly rose, sparks crackled through the air, and a golden aura burst outward.

He transformed into a Super Saiyan.

His appearance changed instantly. Golden hair shot upward, glowing with power. A blue aura erupted around his body, crackling with energy, while his eyes turned turquoise and his muscles swelled beneath his clothes.

Then he moved.

In one explosive dash, the Super Saiyan shot straight toward Marvel.

BOOM!

A vicious uppercut slammed into Marvel’s chin, launching his entire body nearly two meters into the air.

Before Marvel could even react, the Super Saiyan leapt after him, caught up with him midair, and planted both palms against his stomach at point-blank range.

With a furious shout, he unleashed an energy blast directly into Marvel’s gut.

The glowing blast carried Marvel high into the sky like a human firework.

A split second later, it detonated.

A blinding white flash lit up the sky, so bright that everything else seemed to darken around it.

For a brief moment, the entire park fell silent.

Everyone looked up.

Then Marvel’s charred body came spiraling back down from the sky.

He crashed straight through the open window of a nearby museum.

Marvel’s body, still smoking from the blast, tore through the museum window and crashed into a metal display frame.

The explosion had shredded almost all of his clothing. Somehow, only the very top button of his Zhongshan suit had survived, with a tiny strip of fabric still wrapped tightly around his neck like a collar.

That last scrap of cloth caught on the edge of the display frame.

And so Marvel ended up dangling in midair, his mostly naked body hanging awkwardly from the rack by that one tiny piece of fabric.

From a distance, he almost looked like a piece of modern art.

Within minutes, a crowd gathered around him.

Some people tilted their heads in confusion. Others frowned.

“This piece is kind of vulgar,” one woman whispered.

“He’s got a little belly,” someone else muttered.

Then another person suddenly pointed upward. “Wait… look at that. His dick is humongous.”

The murmuring around the exhibit immediately grew louder.

Then an old man with a goatee stepped forward from the crowd. He was dressed from head to toe in traditional Qing dynasty robes.

He suddenly clapped his hands.

“BRAVO!”

The old man raised both hands dramatically. “This—this—is the pinnacle of human art!”

He pointed toward Marvel’s dangling body with growing excitement. “That sagging belly. That awkward muscle distribution. That completely unintentional exposure. And look at that face—so innocent, so sincere, and so unbelievably dumb.”

His voice rose even higher.

“The imperfection of this obscene body somehow reveals perfection. It reminds me of the Venus de Milo. This… this is post-human art at its finest!”

For a moment, the entire crowd fell silent.

Then, almost all at once, people began nodding in agreement as though they had just witnessed something profound. Several of them pulled out their phones and started taking pictures.

A group of young girls soon approached the display, giggling among themselves.

They gathered beside Marvel’s dangling, mostly naked body and began posing for selfies.

Peace signs. Tongues out. Finger hearts. Duck lips.

Camera flashes lit up the bizarre scene again and again as Marvel remained hanging there, completely unconscious, while the girls smiled brightly beside him as if he were just another museum exhibit.