by: darkersssPosted on: October 17, 2024October 18, 2024 | Chapter 8

The Humble Office Man with Golden-Flamed Glasses

Michael walks casually out of the bakery with a cup of hot black coffee in hand, looking calm and approachable. Standing 172 cm tall and 140 pounds, he looks like your typical office worker. His golden-framed glasses shine in the sunlight, giving him a professional vibe. He’s dressed in a simple white button-up shirt and well-fitted office pants, carrying a briefcase. But don’t judge the book by its cover—despite his humble appearance, he’s actually a Class-A fighter. Beneath his attire, his muscles are well-defined, capable of unleashing devastating power if the moment calls for it.

As Michael walks down the sidewalk, his demeanor remains calm and composed. He belongs to the Humble Organization, a mysterious non-profit association led by an unseen figure who never makes an appearance in public. Michael is one of the higher-ups, known as Captain Lam, leading a team of underlings. Despite his formidable strength, he is an intelligent type of fighter. He studied The Art of War and believes that “all’s fair in war.” Hence, he rarely fights fairly, favoring cunning over brute force. With his deceptive appearance, he launches surprise attacks that catch opponents off guard, giving him a strategic lead before the battle even starts. His special move is called the Sock Attack; he stuffs his stinky sock into his opponent’s mouth, quickly rendering them incapacitated in a matter of seconds to end the fight efficiently.

Meanwhile, Dave steps out of the gym, admiring his newly trained muscles and feeling ready to challenge another worthy opponent to test his newfound strength. As he passes by the bakery, excitement lights up his face—he recognizes the iconic look of golden-framed glasses. It’s Michael, Captain Lam, a Class-A fighter. He’s the perfect opponent for Dave, now a freshly promoted Class-B fighter.

“Hey, Captain Lam!” Dave calls out, his eyes burning with determination as he puffs out his chest, showing off his broad, defined physique. “I challenge you—to a fight!”

Michael pauses, staring at Dave with a serious look as he adjusts his glasses with composed ease. But then, his eyes are irresistibly drawn to something unexpected—the absurdly tight triangle woman’s underwear Dave is wearing. Its bright pinkish color stands out even more in the broad daylight. Michael tries hard to hide his chuckle. “Really, Dave? Bold choice… I’ve seen many creative… outfits, but I doubt any can top this one.”

“Please leave my underwear alone,” he presses on with determination, “Let’s have some little friendly sport—right here, right now!”

“Fighters don’t engage in battle for mere sport or entertainment,” he says, his voice steady yet firm. He meets Dave’s gaze head-on, intensity burning within him. “As a humble warrior, I must respectfully decline your challenge. I train not just to fight, but to stand for something greater. My battles must always have purpose and meaning.”

Dave smirks, fascinated by Michael’s intriguing demeanor. “So you long for something meaningful, huh? Don’t you?” he exclaims, his fist clenched and raised high in defiance. “Very well! I shall forge one for you!” With that, he directs his fist at the bakery’s glass wall right beside him, ready to make his statement.

Michael, his heart racing with concern, reaches out in desperation, shouting, “Wait! Please, don’t! This is a terrible idea—” But it’s too late; Dave swings a powerful punch to the side, shattering the glass window in a violent explosion. Shards erupt like a hailstorm, crystal fragments scattering chaotically across the pavement, shimmering ominously in the sunlight. Dave’s smirk widens, “Tell me! Have I made my point crystal clear?”

“Will this misfortune ever end?” the store owner cries out, clutching his head in despair as he stares, tearfully, at the scattered debris of his bakery’s glass window for the third time. Chaos erupts; customers rush to evacuate, stepping over one another in a frenzy.

Michael eases up a bit, relief washing over him. “Actually… I was trying to warn you that breaking glass up close can be very dangerous; you could’ve gotten seriously injured. But look at you now—totally unscathed.” He sighs, grateful to see Dave alright. However, he’s completely blind to Dave’s intentions. In a sudden burst of frustration, Dave grabs an escaping customer’s collar arbitrarily, lifting him into the air like a rag doll. “Empty your pockets!” he commands, creating a chaotic scene of mock robbery before Michael. He turns to Michael with a wicked grin, “So, the righteous Captain Lam, what will you do when faced with a villain like me?”

Justice? Righteousness? Michael couldn’t care less about either. Watching the mock robbery unfold right before him, he simply strolls away, humming as though nothing happened. Yet again, Dave is ignored, and the neglect cuts deeper than any insult. Infuriated, Dave tosses the customer aside, the unfortunate man stumbling back in horror as he wets his pants. Without missing a beat, Dave lunges in front of Michael, his body blocking the way.

“You can’t just walk away!” Dave snaps, his voice laced with frustration. “Aren’t you supposed to rescue him?”

Faced with Dave’s relentless persistence, Michael reevaluates the situation and concludes that a confrontation is inevitable. He cups his hand around his ear and leans slightly forward. “Pardon me, but I must have missed your words,” he says, his tone pretending to convey false innocence. Then, he turns his palm upward, curling his fingers inward repeatedly, beckoning Dave to step closer.

As Dave steps closer, ready to speak again, Michael reacts with lightning speed. In one fluid motion, he spills his hot coffee on Dave as a decoy while simultaneously delivering a swift, decisive kick to Dave’s crotch, a sharp cracking sound echoing through the tense air. Pain surges through Dave, and he collapses to the floor, howling in agony, his face twisted in sheer horror. The bystanders gasped, feeling the weight of his suffering as if it were their own. This has completely caught everyone off guard—flawless strategic execution by Michael.

Michael’s objective is clear: ending the fight before it even begins. He believes his plan has succeeded, but Dave soon struggles to his feet, his thighs pinched tightly together and his legs trembling uncontrollably. “What trickery was that?” he rages, fury boiling beneath the surface of his pain.

Out of nowhere, a teenager on a skateboard rocketed toward Dave, leaving no time to stop. Instinctively, Dave twists his body, barely dodging as the kid shoots past him in a blur. But before Dave can regain his balance, Michael seizes the split-second opening, unleashing a savage straight kick to Dave’s gut with bone-crushing power. The impact feels like it’s tearing through flesh, and the sheer force launches Dave into the air at a sharp 45-degree angle. His body slams against the concrete wall with a sickening smash before plummeting like dead weight, crashing hard onto the pavement below.

“I never imagined you’d sink this low,” Dave spits out blood, fighting to stay upright, one hand gripping the wall for support. “All you do is fight dirty—too much of a coward to face me head-on, huh?” His voice fades into a bitter murmur, soaked in disdain. “You’re no warrior… you’re a disgrace… a pitiful fraud, hiding behind cheap tricks… a circus clown in a fighter’s mask…”

This taunting speech has little to no effect on Michael, a level-headed strategic fighter. He remains eerily calm, his eyes cold and calculating as he assesses the situation. Dave’s energy has dwindled to a mere 20%, and a single head-on clash would all but guarantee Michael a 200% win rate. Yet, to ensure this pathetic fighter never dares to cross his path again, he resolves to obliterate Dave completely, dragging his confidence down to the darkest depths of despair.

With a composed smile, he states, “I rarely engage in head-on battles, but today, I’ll make an exception. Just one clash.” Clenching his fist firmly, he steps forward with calm determination. “Come, let’s trade a single straight punch. When it’s over, you’ll finally understand just how outclassed you truly are.”

The long-awaited moment has arrived. A fierce determination reignites in Dave’s eyes as he stands tall, clenching his fist tightly. A gust of wind sweeps up the fallen leaves, and they unleash their punches simultaneously, sparking a head-on clash that sends shockwaves through the air. Michael stands firm and unyielding, while Dave’s fist shatters upon impact, his forearm twisted into an ill-looking distorted shape. Stumbling backward, Dave’s last remnant of composure slips away, shattering like fragile glass against the unforgiving reality of defeat.

“Had enough yet?” Michael asks calmly, wiping the bloodstains from his fist casually. “Let’s bring this futile fight to an end, shall we?”

But Dave, his defiance unyielding, rises from the ground with his hands clutching his head, his eyes clouded with insanity. “Not yet! I still have fight left in me!” he roars in desperation, unleashing a flurry of punches and kicks at the empty air like a cornered beast. Channeling every fragment of energy into his left arm, he prepares to unleash his special technique: the Mega Legacy Punch.

Recognizing that Dave has gone berserk, Michael decides to cease this madness once and for all. In a fluid, decisive motion, he yanks off his leather shoe and pulls off the sock beneath. “This ends now,” he proclaims, his voice unwavering and firm, as he readies himself to unleash his signature maneuver: the Sock Attack.

As Dave yells aloud, “I will show you what true power looks like—” his mouth opens wide. In that instant, Michael lunges forward, closing the distance with an impressive burst of energy. In a single, fluid motion, he shoves the stinky sock into Dave’s mouth, the foul odor overwhelming his senses like a mixture of rotten eggs and moldy feces—suffocating and inescapable.

Dave’s eyes widen in disgust and nausea as he struggles against the suffocating fabric, his efforts proven utterly futile. “No!” he tries to protest, but Michael’s grip remains unyielding, silencing him completely.

One… two… and before he can even count to three, Dave’s consciousness fades away, his hands falling limply from his mouth, which had been wrestling fiercely against Michael’s just moments ago.

The battle has dragged on much longer than he had anticipated, all due to the miscalculation of Dave’s unwavering determination. He wipes the sweat from his brow and adjusts his golden-framed glasses, leaving Dave’s unconscious body behind as he continues on his way home.