The gym was in the industrial district, a converted warehouse with concrete floors and minimal amenities.
No fancy equipment. No mirrors. Just space, heavy bags, and people who took fighting seriously.
Barry walked in at 6:52 PM. The place smelled like sweat and rubber mats. A few guys were sparring in one corner. Someone was working a speed bag in another. Most of the floor was empty though. This wasn't peak hours.
Marcus stood near the cage in the center of the space, wrapping his hands with athletic tape. He looked up when Barry approached and nodded.
"You're early. Good." Marcus gestured at a bench. "Get changed. We're starting with basics."
Barry dropped his gym bag and pulled out workout clothes. Simple shorts and a compression shirt.
He changed quickly, hyperaware of how unimpressive his body looked compared to the other men in the gym. Lean but not muscular. Athletic but not powerful.
Yet. Not powerful yet.
"You ever train before?" Marcus asked when Barry returned.
"No formal training. Just been working out at home for a few weeks."
Marcus circled Barry slowly, assessing. "Why do you want to learn?"
"I want to be able to protect myself."
"From what?"
Barry met his eyes. "From whatever comes."
Marcus stopped circling. His expression was unreadable. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. Let's see what you can do. Hit me."
Barry blinked. "What?"
"Hit me." Marcus spread his arms slightly, leaving himself open. "Best shot you've got. Don't hold back."
This was a test. Barry recognized it immediately. Marcus wanted to see how he moved. How he thought. Whether he had any natural instincts or was completely untrained.
Barry didn't overthink it. He stepped forward and threw a straight right punch at Marcus's face.
Whiff.
Marcus moved. Not fast. Not dramatically. Just a small shift of his head and Barry's fist sailed past empty air. Off balance.
Overextended. Completely vulnerable.
Marcus could have destroyed him in that moment. Counterpunched. Taken him down. Ended the fight before it started.
Instead, he just nodded. "Again."
Barry reset and threw a left jab. Marcus slipped it easily.
Right hook. Dodged.
Left uppercut. Stepped back, making Barry miss by inches.
Every punch Barry threw, Marcus avoided with minimal effort. It was like fighting smoke. Or trying to hit water. No matter how hard Barry tried, his fists found nothing but air.
After fifteen failed attempts, Barry stopped, breathing hard. "You're fast."
"No." Marcus shook his head. "You're predictable. You telegraph every punch before you throw it. Shoulder twitches. Weight shifts. Everything about your body language says exactly what you're about to do."
Barry frowned. "So how do I fix that?"
"Training. Lots of it." Marcus gestured toward the heavy bags. "But first I need to teach you how to actually throw a punch. What you were doing just now? That's how you break your hand."
"Uh..."
For the next hour, Marcus broke down the fundamental mechanics of striking. Proper fist formation. Hip rotation. Weight transfer. Breathing. All the tiny details that separated effective punching from flailing.
Barry absorbed it like a sponge. His enhanced intellect made learning physical techniques faster than normal. After Marcus demonstrated something once, Barry's body could approximate the movement. After three repetitions, he had it down. After ten, it felt natural.
Marcus noticed. "You're a fast learner."
"I pay attention."
"Most people do. You actually retain it." Marcus threw a jab at the heavy bag, demonstrating proper form again.
"That's rare. Usually takes months to get basics down solid. You're getting them in minutes."
Because Barry's brain was processing information many times faster than normal. Connecting neural pathways.
Building muscle memory through accelerated pattern recognition. But he couldn't explain that.
"I just want to be good at this," Barry said instead.
"Why?" Marcus stopped working the bag and turned to face him. "Most people who train here are either trying to compete or they got jumped once and want to avoid it happening again. You don't look like either. So what's driving this?"
Barry considered how much truth to give. Finally, he said, "I've spent my whole life being weak. Being someone who needed protecting. I'm done with that. I want to be the one who can protect others."
Marcus studied him for a long moment. Then he smiled slightly. "That's a good reason. Better than most."
They went back to training. Barry worked the heavy bag until his knuckles ached and sweat soaked through his shirt.
Marcus corrected his form constantly, adjusting angles and stances and breathing patterns.
By 8:00 PM, Barry's arms felt like lead. But he'd thrown over five hundred punches. And the last hundred had actually felt right. Powerful. Connected.
Progress.
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