The Innocent Perv — Part 1

Section 1: Tonight’s Special Guest

It was just another regular night.

The screen lit up with a live TV program—one of those late-night current affairs shows trying to appear serious and socially aware. The set was dimly lit, with three men seated around a round glass table.

One of them, dressed in a navy blazer and holding a cue card, was the show’s host. Beside him sat a visiting sociology professor in a floral shirt, white blazer, and wireframe glasses.

Between them sat Marvel, tonight’s guest.

Marvel had short-to-medium-length hair parted neatly down the middle. He wore a traditional Zhongshan suit buttoned all the way to the top, with a pair of round glasses resting on his face. A small belly bulged slightly beneath the suit.

Marvel sat perfectly upright, his hands folded neatly on the table in front of him. He looked like a model student waiting patiently for the teacher to call on him—serious, attentive, and ready for the interview to begin.

The host cleared his throat and looked into the camera.

“Good evening, everyone. Tonight’s topic has been making the rounds online, drawing a mix of outrage and fascination. You may have already seen the footage. Three days ago, our guest here—Marvel—was caught on a security camera at a local café, walking up to a college student and snapping his arm.”

The professor chuckled under his breath. The host gave a faint smile before adding, “No shouting. No fight. Just a clean, quiet snap—like a chopstick.”

They both turned to Marvel, waiting for his response.

Marvel returned a small, polite smile. He spoke slowly and calmly, as if what had happened were nothing out of the ordinary.

“That… that boy was… pathetic,” he said. “Trying to… to act cool. Thin… thin little arms. Hair dyed like some… some fashion magazine model. One of those… those soft, no-good types girls… girls seem to go for these days.”

“A girl… a girl walked over and… and asked for his number. I… I couldn’t take it. He’s the type who’d… who’d scream before ever… ever throwing a punch. Someone like that… shouldn’t… shouldn’t be treated like a man.”

The professor raised an eyebrow, intrigued. The host gave a slow nod, almost impressed.

“Well then,” the host said casually. “That’s one way to open a discussion on modern masculinity.”

He adjusted his blazer and turned toward Marvel. “Before we get into the incident, Mr. Marvel, would you mind introducing yourself to the audience?”

Marvel gave a small nod. His expression remained perfectly calm, as if they were discussing nothing more serious than the weather.

“My name… my name is Marvel. I am a… a junior accountant working in… in Flushing City. I… I graduated from Harvard…”

“Whoa, Harvard?!” the host cut in, his eyes lighting up. “No way! A top graduate! Folks, we’ve got ourselves a real intellectual here tonight.”

Marvel blinked and opened his mouth slightly, as if he wanted to clarify, but the host had already moved on, turning toward the man beside him.

Marvel had actually been about to say “Harvard Avenue Community College.” But the moment had passed. No one asked again.

Section 2: Watch Your Language!

“We’re also honored to be joined tonight by Professor Stiffen Hawking,” the host continued. “He’s from St. John University and is a leading expert in behavioral sociology and modern dating. It’s a real privilege to have him here tonight.”

The professor gave a lazy nod, still scrolling through his iPad. Then he leaned forward and addressed Marvel directly.

“Mr. Marvel, from what I saw in the footage, you were sitting in a café, studying on your laptop. Could you walk us through what happened that day?”

The professor narrowed his eyes at the screen and took a closer look.

“Hmm… hold on… maybe I’m wrong, but it looked like you were watching porn, weren’t you?”

SLAP!

The host slammed his hand against the table.

“What the dickhead did you just say?!”

The host’s voice echoed across the studio as he jabbed a finger at the professor. “Watch your language! There are children and minors watching this program!”

Professor Hawking looked visibly annoyed. He said nothing. At that point, he seemed to have lost all interest in the program and was simply waiting for it to be over.

He leaned back into the couch, stretched out one arm, and casually began picking his nose.

A heavy silence followed. Five long seconds passed.

Then, as if nothing had happened, the host turned back to Marvel with a rehearsed smile. “So, Mr. Marvel, can you tell us what really happened that day?”

Marvel gave a calm nod. “Yes… yes… I… I remember it clearly.”

The timeline shifted to three days earlier…

Section 3: The Wrong Kind of Man

It was a bright, sunny afternoon. The air was fresh and filled with youthful energy. Birds chirped outside, and a gentle breeze drifted through the streets. For a moment, the whole world seemed peaceful.

Inside the café, Marvel sat alone at a corner table, sipping from a King Size, Extra Large cup of bubble milk tea. As he drank, he casually rubbed his small round belly with one hand.

His laptop glowed in front of him. Marvel was watching his favorite genre of film: romantic action cinema.

More specifically… porn.

A few tables ahead, directly in Marvel’s line of sight, sat a college-aged boy.

He was tall, very slim, and strikingly handsome, with golden-blonde hair and refined features. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, he quietly flipped through a paperback novel, every movement calm and elegant. There was something gentle and scholarly about him—the kind of young man who seemed effortlessly attractive without even trying.

Marvel stared at his thin frame, his eyes narrowing.

Too skinny. Too delicate. Too feminine. No masculinity at all.

There’s no way a guy like that could ever get a girlfriend, Marvel thought.

Marvel took another long sip of his milk tea, almost pitying the boy.

Sure, he was good-looking. But what good was that? He was too soft, too weak. A weakling like that could barely protect himself, let alone a woman. No wonder he was still single.

Then, like a drop of ink falling into water, something disrupted the stillness.

A pretty college girl approached the boy’s table. She had long black hair and wore a white blouse with a black skirt, giving her a cute, youthful look. As she came closer, she slowed her steps, nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then briefly looked away before gathering the courage to face him again.

“Um… excuse me,” she said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “By any chance… are you single?”

The boy looked up from his book, surprised. He hesitated for a couple of seconds before answering.

“Oh… yeah. I am.” He gave her a small, puzzled smile. “Why do you ask?”

The girl’s cheeks turned slightly red. She glanced down at her shoes, hesitated, then gathered the courage to continue.

“I was just wondering if… maybe I could have your number? Or maybe we could see a movie or have dinner sometime… if you don’t mind.”

Marvel froze. His lips stopped halfway around the straw, and his eyes widened.

He was jealous. So jealous that it triggered a violent rush of adrenaline. The surge raced through his body, transforming almost instantly into raw muscle energy.

Within seconds, Marvel’s entire body was flooded with a wild, beast-like power he could barely control. His muscles tightened beneath his skin as the force continued to build, as if something animal inside him were beginning to wake.

His fingers curled involuntarily.

Crack.

Without realizing it, he had crushed the wireless mouse in his hand. Plastic shards scattered across the table beside his milk tea.

Marvel stared down at the broken shell. His breathing grew heavier. His body was heating up from the inside, the beast power still rising.

But at the front of the café, the boy and the girl were still talking. Still smiling. Still unaware.

They had no idea what was coming.

Section 4: A Quiet Snap

Marvel rose from his seat.

He said nothing—no shouting, no threats, no warning. He simply walked toward the young couple’s table at an unhurried pace, his face strangely calm, as if he were a waiter coming over to deliver the check.

The boy noticed him approaching and looked up, confused. “Excuse me… can I help—”

Marvel moved before he could finish. His right hand shot out and locked around the boy’s wrist. The boy flinched in surprise, but before he could pull away, Marvel’s other hand clamped firmly around his forearm, trapping the entire arm between his hands.

For a brief second, nothing happened.

Then Marvel twisted.

The boy’s thin arm bent sharply in the wrong direction.

CRACK!

The sound cut through the café. Every conversation stopped.

The boy’s forearm bent at an unnatural angle, dangling helplessly from the break.

For a moment, he looked completely confused, almost unable to understand what had just happened. Then the pain hit.

“Wh-what’s wrong with you?!”

He collapsed to the floor, screaming in pain as he rolled back and forth, clutching his broken arm.

Section 5: Machine Gun Slap

Marvel stepped forward, grabbed him by the collar with one hand, and hauled him back to his feet.

Strangely, the rush of adrenaline had completely erased his usual stutter. He now spoke with perfect fluency.

“I can tell just by looking at you,” Marvel said coldly. “You’re exactly the kind of scumbag who plays with women’s hearts. Hell, you’re probably already married. You go around seducing young girls, breaking their hearts, and you don’t even feel guilty about it.”

He tightened his grip on the boy’s collar.

“You disgust me.”

The boy, pale and trembling, cried out, “I’m just a college student! I’m not even married!”

Not a single word seemed to register with Marvel. Still gripping the boy by the collar, he raised his free hand and unleashed one of his signature moves:

MACHINE GUN SLAP.

PAK PAK PAK PAK PAK PAK PAK PAK PAK PAK!

Ten slaps hammered across the boy’s face in just two seconds, snapping his head from side to side so fast that he barely had time to scream between them.

By the time Marvel stopped, the boy was completely disoriented. His face was swollen, tears streamed down his cheeks, and a dark stain was spreading across the front of his pants. He had pissed himself.

“Please… please stop!” he sobbed. “I don’t even know what I did wrong! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please… just let me go!”

Again, not a single word reached Marvel.

“Unforgivable,” he said as he pulled back his fist.

FACE DESTRUCTION PUNCH.

Marvel’s fist, hard as a steel hammer, slammed straight into the boy’s face.

The impact sent him flying across the café and crashing into the wall with a violent thud. He dropped to the floor unconscious, his once-handsome face now swollen and deformed into a complete pig face. Possibly dead. Definitely no longer pretty.

The café erupted into panic. People screamed and scrambled for the exit, knocking over chairs as they rushed outside.

The girl, however, remained frozen beside the table, too terrified to move.

Section 6: A Hero’s Kiss

Marvel immediately walked over to her. He placed both hands firmly on her shoulders and looked directly at her.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m the good guy. I already saved you.”

The girl’s face immediately went pale. She twisted her body and struggled against Marvel’s grip, trying desperately to pull away.

“Let go of me!”

Marvel remained completely serious, his expression almost righteous.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he said. “That scumbag is down. He can’t hurt you now.”

The girl looked past Marvel’s shoulder at the boy lying motionless on the floor. Then she screamed.

“Help! Somebody help me!”

Marvel looked genuinely confused. Why was she fighting him? For a moment, he wondered if the scumbag had somehow poisoned her mind, leaving her completely under his spell.

The girl kept twisting against his grip, trying desperately to break free.

“Get off me! You complete lunatic!”

Marvel paused. There was only one explanation. The girl had been deeply brainwashed by that man. And perhaps there was only one way to bring her back—to win her over with his love.

Behind him, several men from the café were already approaching.

“Hey! Let her go!”

Marvel didn’t even turn around.

A few large men, along with the café owner, rushed toward him. Marvel was still riding the full force of his beast power. Without even looking back, he released the girl and swung both arms outward in a violent arc.

The men were blasted backward, crashing across the café like bowling pins.

Marvel turned back to the girl.

Before she could run, he stormed forward, grabbed both of her shoulders, and shoved her hard against the wall, pinning her there.

Marvel held the girl firmly against the wall. There was only one way to break the spell.

A kiss.

Not just any kiss—a passionate kiss, powerful enough to awaken her true feelings and free her from the spell.

Marvel slowly leaned closer.

The girl stared at him in horror as she realized what he was about to do.

“No… no, wait—”

Before she could finish, Marvel pressed his mouth against hers.

The girl immediately tried to turn her head away, but Marvel held her firmly in place. She clenched her lips shut and struggled desperately against him. Marvel’s tongue moved like a little snake, wriggling stubbornly against her tightly sealed lips.

But within seconds, something changed.

Marvel’s adrenaline began to fade. The beast power that had flooded his body rapidly drained away, and his muscles suddenly weakened.

The girl felt his grip loosen. The moment his strength disappeared, she shoved him away with both hands and broke free.

Without looking back, she ran out of the café.

Section 7: A Hero’s Regret

The scene cut back to the studio.

Marvel sat exactly as before—back perfectly straight, hands folded neatly on the table, his expression calm and serious. Nothing about him suggested that he had just finished describing how he broke a man’s arm, slapped him ten times, punched him across a café, and tried to save a girl from an imaginary spell.

The host stared at Marvel for a few seconds, seemingly at a loss for words.

Professor Hawking, meanwhile, was still leaning back on the couch, casually picking his nose. He dug around for a moment, pulled out a booger, and casually flicked it into the air.

The host finally broke the silence.

“That was… breathtaking,” he said, visibly moved. “A man risking everything to save an innocent girl from a dangerous predator. Truly heartbreaking.”

He wiped the corner of his eye. “I think we can all learn something from Mr. Marvel tonight.”

Professor Hawking stopped picking his nose and casually glanced at the host, then at Marvel.

The host turned to him. “Professor Hawking, as an expert in behavioral sociology, what do you make of Marvel’s actions?”

Hawking stared at him for a moment, clearly having no interest in answering the question. “I’m here only for the paycheck.”

The host smiled warmly. “Always so witty, Professor. Always so philosophical.”

Marvel lowered his head.

“I still… still couldn’t save her,” he said quietly. “I… I failed her.”

The host leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “No, no, Mr. Marvel. Don’t blame yourself. You did everything you could. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, we simply can’t save everyone.”

Marvel’s eyes began to water.

The host turned back toward the camera.

“Well, folks, we’re going to take a short commercial break. But don’t go anywhere. When we come back, we’ll be taking questions from our viewers. If you have a question for Mr. Marvel, send it in. We want to hear from you.”

The screen faded to black, and a commercial began.

A middle-aged man in a white doctor’s coat appeared on screen with a warm smile.

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