On-screen was the old man from his apartment building—wrinkled face, worn-out shirt, smiling like he'd just discovered the universal truth.
"Yeah… Caleb's kinda weird," the old man's voice came through. "Sometimes I'd see him watching porn in the apartment hallway while walking home from work. Volume low, so I just pretended not to notice… for his own peace of mind, y'know?"
Caleb froze.
His eyes went wide, teeth grinding.
This wasn't just gossip.
This was humiliation.
And what made his blood boil even more—
He knew exactly who the man in the video was.
That pathetic old bastard.
The one ignored by his own daughter, dismissed by his son, and barely acknowledged by his wife.
A man who lived every day like a disgusting relic, thinking age alone made him wise.
Caleb clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.
"Piece of shit… disgusting old fossil," he hissed.
His face burned—not just from embarrassment, but because he knew exactly where this came from.
His mind shot back to one moment in the past—
When that same old man had tried to deliver one of his usual self-righteous "lectures."
Caleb, freshly moved into the apartment and finally earning decent money at the time, had shot back coldly:
"Our lives are different, sir. Times have changed. Words without proof can be replaced by AI now."
He'd said it out of sheer disgust—because ever since he'd moved into that place, the old man kept trying to be seen as some "moral pillar" in a community that barely even interacted.
Everyone else humored him.
They just nodded along out of politeness.
But Caleb wasn't like that.
He hated advice coming from someone whose only credential was being old. And he thought, if everything you say is so wise, why are you still living such a miserable life?
Even if the advice was right, Caleb refused to hear it.
If he ever wanted "wise words," at least AI could provide them based on data and studies—though still imperfect, it was at least machine logic, not ego wrapped in wrinkles skin.
And now, that same old man was getting his petty revenge with this cheap clout-chasing interview.
Caleb stared at his phone, breathing heavily. He gripped it so hard he didn't even realize the sound was leaking out for others nearby to hear.
But no one cared.
They'd already heard about it before Caleb even watched the video himself.
And then, as the old man's words hit the 3-minute mark, Caleb's anger finally reached the limit. A new grudge burned deep in his chest.
The man said:
"Well, it's actually understandable he acts perverted like that… because, ahem… I…" The old man made a somber face. "I've known this for a long time, Caleb…" He slowly shook his head like he was talking about something unforgivable—even though Caleb had never done any of it.
"Know what, you senile idiot?" Caleb muttered, seething.
And the man dropped the line:
"His mother died two years ago. Maybe he just… couldn't, uh… release his urges."
The interviewer in the video gasped.
"What… So?"
The old man nodded gravely.
"Yeah, he does very sinful things. I get why he's into butts… oops… sorry…" he added, covering his mouth dramatically.
The interviewer leaned in, curious.
"Why?"
"Because his mother had a big ass. Maybe that fetish formed a long time ago because of some disgusting sin," the old man bowed his head slightly, acting like he was the wise one protecting Caleb's "dignity" by holding back worse details.
Caleb stared at his phone screen, his breath ragged.
His face was flushed red, the veins on his temples bulging.
And then… the old man kept talking.
"I… I know it's a grave sin to speak ill of the dead," the old man's voice trembled softly in the video.
"But maybe the world really needs to know… Caleb's mother… she wasn't much different."
Caleb froze.
What?!
"She would… she would often tease me," the old man continued.
He let out a long, dramatic sigh, as if he were carrying the moral weight of the entire universe.
"One time… she… she rubbed her ass against… against my thing…"
Caleb nearly hurled his phone to the floor.
The old bastard even pretended to cry.
"She… she told me to stay quiet. Said if I ever told anyone, she'd accuse me of assault… I could go to jail!"
"God knows I didn't dare fight back… I just… just wanted to protect my family…"
Click.
That was the sound Caleb heard in his head.
Like a switch being thrown.
The Picky Beater had finally decided.
There was one person who absolutely needed to be beaten… to death.
His hands shook—but not from fear.
It was the sheer, volcanic rage boiling inside him.
The old man hadn't just slandered his mother.
He'd dragged a dead woman's name through the mud, trampling on his family's dignity just for a cheap hit of attention.
Caleb brought the phone closer to his face, glaring at the image of the old man "crying with regret."
"You rotten… bastard…" he whispered.
"You think I'll let you get away with this?"
The Picky Beater had locked onto its target.
"Just wait, Joe fucking loser!"
Unknowingly, the video had been playing the entire time Caleb sat there waiting.
And just as those words slipped past his lips—
[Ding!]