A jingle–
Not just any jingle—the jingle I had rigged the door with years ago to alert me when someone enters the gym.
A jingle I haven't heard in nearly five years.
"A stranger has found the gym", the only thought ringing through my head, my eyes widening as I began to pull myself together. Maybe it was a member of the personnel staff?
I jumped to my feet, hastily closing the profile creation window on my AulWris as I rushed out of my office. As I ran, every hair on my body stood on end, my heart pounding.
"Why?" I muttered under my breath. It's been so long since a base-wide check was carried out. I hid in a corner and observed the intruder to discern the purpose of his visit. Looking closer as he walked towards the locker room, I discovered that the intruder was a cadet, a tall one with broad shoulders and jet black hair.
Thoughts of today being the end of my peaceful life crossed my mind as I slowly moved to change my hiding spot to one where I could get a better look into the locker room. Thankfully, it didn't have a door. I threw the horrible thoughts out as I got to my new spot. He may just be like the other cadets before him.
5:49 p.m. – The intruder is taking off his cadet uniform in the locker room. As he stood there with just his shorts on, his physique began to shimmer, all the bumps on his body catching the shades at just the right angles. Was it the intentionally dim lights and grey walls of the locker room doing their job and enhancing his proportions with lighting? Something that had been nudging at me since he entered the gym started to surface again, then it hit me…I remember a research paper I came across years ago while browsing gym-related articles. The title was "Gym Heads and What Their Physiques Can Tell Us." And if I can remember accurately, the term used for people with that physique was Mesomorphic Archetype.
5:55 p.m. – After flexing at the mirrors lined on the end of the locker room, he left the locker room and headed for the gym equipment. I rush in to look for an identifier but find nothing. Then I remember—identifiers are on the cadets' AulWrises, not just a tag. I'd have to get close enough to him to scan it. But how? I started racking my brain for a solution to my plight until I was brought back by the cadet's voice,
"Now for some warm-up," he said, casually gripping the bar.
I looked a bit closer since the width of the weights looked a bit weird for a new cadet.
"Two hundred… and fifty… on both sides", I questioned silently, squinting my already squinted eyes to be sure.
A five-hundred-kilogram barbell.
For warm-up curls?
Did he just say warm-up?
Something many cadets his age take as a challenge to surpass, he just called that… a warm-up?
I stood frozen behind the lockers, my mouth hanging like it could fall at any moment, my heart sinking with every rep. Each curl looked like a crane hoisting steel, yet his face was calm, like he was just stretching before a jog.
It kept dawning on me, repeatedly, like waves crashing on a fragile dock—my peaceful life was over.
Two decades of solitude.
Two decades of naps.
Two decades of barely mopping a floor.
Gone.
Just how did he even find this place!?
I watched for two whole minutes as he kept doing rep after rep.
"Phew, finally, my blood's pumping. Now it's time to start my workout," he said, and as if out of reflex dropped the barbell with a heavy thud echoing around the gym the noise seemed to jolt him back to reality as he looked at the place where he had dropped the barbell as if he was scared he might have caused damage to the flooring; The flooring of the gym was made from reinforced concrete, and it seemed the kid was shocked when his drop didn't cause a dent in the ground.
He moved on to the weight rack, occasionally looking back at the barbell, pleasantly surprised. I could see the smirk on his face, and soon after, he could be seen casually picking up one hundred after one hundred kilograms of weight and stacking them onto the shaft, adding to the existing five hundred kilograms like he was assembling furniture. Now and then, he gave the bar a small lift, testing, calculating—as if trying to confirm the exact weight of the monstrous creation he was building.
Then, with a slight grimace, he shook his head, removed all the plates, and replaced them with four clean two-hundred and fifty-kilogram ones.
The average service-ready man is said to be able to lift around one ton, and then there's this random, most likely 15-year-old, who is about to lift a ton and a half. I can already imagine the look on the faces of the other personnel. I'm not sure anybody would believe it unless they were here to witness this madness.
He worked out in a trance-like state, standing while doing barbell overhead presses, not a single wasted movement, no grunts, not even a pause to stretch or wipe sweat. Just a machine. A flesh-wearing and blood-pumping machine. Every motion was clean and full of intent. Shifting his stance slightly with each rep, adjusting his grip like he was tuned to some silent rhythm only he could hear, as if he had tuned out the rest of the world.
His arms moved like pistons, the bar rising and falling with perfect control. The veins along his forearms bulged as if trying to show me that they were also working hard even from beneath his skin, all I saw as I looked at the boy was 'EFFORT'—a word that sent shivers through my spine as I reminisced my life and how the only thing I had put any 'effort' into for so long was getting a wife, so much to the extent I might have lost myself in the process. Nah, I'm good. I quickly snap myself out of my useless delusion of 'effort', I'm still too scared to do any actual work around here.
I looked at the boy before me as I noticed something about him while searching for a weakness to use against him and force him out of the gym; he wasn't working out for anything from the look of things. Not for strength, not to impress, not even to train. It was like watching someone breathe. As if this was just… his natural state of being, the worst kind of Gym head my drained luck bank could manage.
I just stood there behind the locker room wall, watching my entire job security evaporate with every clean rep the kid didn't even rest much when it seemed like he was resting, it lasted just 20- 30 seconds. Nothing more, not even resting while he was meant to be resting, he was just jogging in place and then going back to do reps of the same exercise, absolute madness.
7:00 p.m. –
"Kid, it's cool to see you're having fun with our equipment, but this is closing hours," I said as I walked up to him, my voice betraying me—frustration leaking into every word. This freak of nature had managed to touch everything the gym had to offer. I can still hear the groans coming from the treadmill when he ran for almost an hour straight— no rest, just heavy, rhythmic breathing as he stepped off like it was nothing, running for close to an hour.
This guy was simply impossible to wrap my head around. Honestly, I don't even think he would've left if I hadn't walked up to hi—
"Nah, I'm good. You can drop the water there. I still have a few reps to get through," he said, his panting, cutting off my train of thought like it was background noise.
Did he just say he still had more reps???
That was it. That line. That was the one that threw me for a real loop. I had to fix this misunderstanding—fast.
"Kid! I'm not bringing you any water! I said—"
Huff... heave... hoo... he panted right through me.
The buffed little shrimp wasn't even listening. That's when I noticed the earbuds in his ears. Of course. Probably had them in since I was crying about my job security back in the locker room. I stopped trying to talk, stopped even trying to think for a moment.
I waved at him, exaggerated and annoyed, and finally—finally—he noticed me and took out the earbuds.
"Ah, yes, now I have your attention," I said, ecstatic, "it is already closing hours, I need to close the gym." I continued, almost glad as he set down his earbuds on a small stool next to him.
"Closing hours already?" he replied, his voice almost shaky as discontent washed across his face, almost making me feel pity for the walking job insecurity before me.
On closer look, his body proportions were as perfect as the article had described people of the Mesomorphic Archetype to be. I was barely able to force my eyes away from his perfect form, the only thought in my head was to question his age.
This guy is fifteen? Fifteen? Like, fifteen? I don't even remember myself being anything close to that level at twenty. He has to be a part of one of those noble houses. I just do not see any other explanation.
But which of them? Most noble families are known by their hair colour, and this kid has jet black hair and eyes. Though there are only two houses known for their natural black hair and eyes, the blessed family and the Ashkhens. Though it's less likely he's from the blessed family, the Ashkhens are no joke.
If he's from them, then it means this boy might just be my ticket to eternal happiness or ruin.
Wait a minute! I can just birth a solution in the moment!
"Sir?" the boy called out, breaking me out of my thoughts.
"Yes, boy?" I replied, my tensed face relaxing, noticing his voice had suddenly become more elegant and soothing to my ears, washing away my former sadness of him finding MY gym. My mind was giddy at my luck for probably meeting a very influential person.
"Please, by what time does the gym open ?" he asked. His accent sounded a bit western, probably a branch of a family located in the West?
"Oh, the gym opens even before you cadets are done with your drills—Why ask? Do you plan to become a regular?" I asked, now warmed up to the idea of having a friend around the place, an influential friend at that.