Two weeks left.
The gym had become his second home. Early afternoons, quiet hours. Just him and the weights.
Ashan wasn't there to mess around. No mirror selfies, no small talk.
His training was basic and brutal.
Pull days. Push days. Leg days.
Deadlifts. Squats. Rows. Presses.
Weighted pull-ups that left his forearms burning.
Each session pushed him further. The numbers climbed.
His grip got tighter.
His breath slower.
His mind sharper.
Every meal was fuel: rice by the cup, beef by the pound.
Greek yogurt.
Organic whole milk.
No junk. No cheat days.
He felt it in his body, denser now, heavier in a good way.
Muscle sitting over bone like armor being built layer by layer.
He didn't track progress with photos. He tracked it in the mirror under flickering fluorescent light in the gym bathroom.
140.2 pounds.
5'8.
No more the skinny kid from Queens.
His shoulders looked wider. His traps finally had shape.
When he walked, he felt it. The new weight, the new presence.
Still lean. Still quick. But no longer soft.
[A/N: Ashan's physique at the moment is very reminiscient of Bruce Lee's physique in the mid-late 1960's, but with maybe 1-2 percent extra bodyfat]
He'd earned every pound.
No distractions. No parties. No girls.
No school to worry about anymore.
Just meals, lifts, sleep, repeat.
And the ticket was waiting.
Two weeks left.
Japan was getting closer.
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