Ryan stepped onto the treadmill, the digital screen blinking 60:00 in big red numbers.
Arthur's voice was flat. "One hour, don't slow down or else you have to repeat it again."
Ryan's eye twitched. 'One hour of this shit? I'm gonna die....'
Still, he pressed the start button, the belt whirring beneath his feet.
He started the jog as the first few minutes felt way too easy, but the hum of the machine seemed to grow louder, like it was trying to mock him.
His breath got heavier, sweat dampening his shirt until it clung to him. Every inhale burned; every exhale came out like steam from a broken pipe.
Arthur stood just a few steps back, looking at Ryan. Arms crossed, watching him like a hawk. His gaze wasn't casual — it was sharp, weighing Ryan's each and every movement.
His posture, his breathing, every single thing.
'This kid got guts,' Arthur thought, narrowing his eyes a bit. 'Most people in his shoes would've given up already. But this kid, he showed up. He's willing to bleed for a way to get out of this pathetic life of his.'
The corner of Arthur's mouth lifted into a faint smirk, without another word he slowly walked over to his gym bag, pulling out two black resistive bands.
He tied them tightly around his fists as the loud snap of the rubber echoed faintly in the empty gym hall.
Then, Arthur moved.
His fists flickered through the air, not wild swings but razor-sharp jabs, hooks, and uppercuts, each snapping back to guard with perfect form.
He'd weave under invisible punches, pivot on a dime, then fire a counter like a bullet through glass.
The sound of his punches sliced through the air, it was different—clean, crisp and terrifying in its precision.
Ryan caught a glimpse of his moves between the labored breaths and pounding of his shoes against the treadmill.
'And I fucking sparred with this guy? Jesus... He's a monster. You blue ass shit, I'd punch you in the face if you were real... you wanted me to die, huh? That's why you told me to fight him?'
[Host, that was all in the past. If you keep repeating that thought in your mind, how'll you grow?]
[I'd suggest that you should focus on the current task which Arthur gave you or else you already know what he's capable of ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧]
Ryan sighed as his breathing sound grew louder and louder. The clock ticked down, seconds dragging like hours.
By the time it hit the mark of zero, Ryan's legs felt like they'd been dipped in concrete.
He stumbled off the treadmill, collapsing onto the floor, chest heaving like he'd just run from death itself.
His hands pressed against the cold floor tiles, trying to catch his breath. "Haaah... haaahhh.... holy shit..."
Arthur's voice cut through his gasps like a blade. "No time to rest."
Before Ryan could even take a few minutes' rest, something smacked his chest—a pair of bands, the same kind which Arthur had been wearing.
"Put them on," Arthur ordered, his tone left no space to negotiate. "Punching bag, now. It will train your strength and accuracy."
Ryan's head snapped up. "Wha—"
Arthur looked low at Ryan who was looking at him with a look which was trying to demand mercy. "I don't repeat myself," Arthur muttered, voice deep.
Ryan's shoulders slumped a bit. "Tch... fine!"
As he dragged himself towards the punching bag, the system echoed in his head.
[DING! New Quest: Practice your two boxing skills until you pass out.
Reward: +2 Strength, +1 Endurance, Boxing Jab Proficiency +20%]
Ryan stared at the prompt, his lips twitched as a small tired smile appeared on his face.
'Yeah, of course... how can you not make fun of me. Until I pass out, huh? My life's just a comedy at this point.'
Still, he tied the bands around his wrists, feeling the faint pressure biting into his skin.
He squared up in front of the bag, his breathing slow, his fists loose but ready.
The first jab landed with a dull thud, his whole arm trembling from fatigue. His second one was a bit faster, a little cleaner than before.
By the fifth, his knuckles screamed as they turned red because of the impact and his shoulders screamed in pain.
Every punch became less about training and more about... something else?
It was laughter from those bullies. The cold, dismissive eyes of Sophia, how the way people and those crew members looked at him throughout his whole life.
His breathing turned even more ragged, but his eyes sharpened.
The bag swung slightly with each strike and Ryan followed its movement like it was alive.
His fists slammed into it again and again—clumsy, imperfect, but each carrying just a little more weight, a little more resolve.
Arthur watched him silently from the side, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as ever.
The empty gym echoed with the rhythm of imperfect punches.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Ryan didn't know when his vision started to blur out or when his arms started to feel like they'd stop any moment.
All he knew was that he wasn't done. Not yet.
Not until his body itself gave up.