Early morning, the sun rises enough to show it's light.
Left, right, left, right. This distinct sound of rhythmic footsteps could be heard stepping through dirt.
A man wearing a jogging attire can be seen doing his morning exercises.
Dynamic stretching, Warm up, Jogging, push ups and other basic form of methods to exercise.
An hour passed.
He seemed satisfied.
And then he pushed harder.
What came before had only been a preparation, a warm up.
At a nearby park, the routine then turned grotesque, heavy and absurd.
He's now doing a one arm and one finger hand stand push ups, full sit ups, turning his upper body from head to feet, absurd exercises being performed with precision, almost habitual, mechanical even.
Another hour burned away.
At the pull-up bars, he leapt and flipped backward with casual ease, landing smoothly without a sound. The man can now be seen dirty, sweat pouring heavily, soaking his clothes, dripping into the dirt.
Only then did he slow down, breaking his heavy routine into a light jog to cool down.
Just another morning.
Or it was supposed to be.
Partway from the jog, shouting could be heard from under the bridge he's currently on.
"Hahaha! Come on, pig. Oink for us or the beating won't stop!"
"Tch, just do it already. My feet are getting tired hitting you!"
Bullying huh, it's a common occurence in this world, rare to see outside schools though.
"Hup!" I vaulted over the bridge railing, dropping two floors into the dirt below.
I saw 4 teenagers, one down at the dirt shielding his face with a bag and two people kicking and stomping at him, the last one holding a standard phone recording the whole thing.
Though I jumped down from a considerable height, it didn't make a sound.
"Hey! This is getting boring!" one of them laughed. "If you don't wanna oink, bark instead! The chat's gonna get bored, pig. Dog. Trash. Whatever you want to be, just make it quick!"
"Huh?" My arm slid around the neck of the one holding the phone.
"Having fun?"
The boy with the phone froze.
My forearm tightened just enough to let him feel suffocated.
"Drop it." I said.
The phone slipped from his fingers and hit the dirt with a dull thud.
The other two stopped mid-kick.
For a second, no one moved.
Paused in shock, the two people just stared at me, feet hanging in the air. The curled-up boy on the ground also saw me and started to breathe sharply in panicked bursts.
"What the hell, man?!" one of them barked.
"You some kind of wannabe hero?" He pauses and Looked at my dirty tracksuit and blindfold. "You bum-fuck hobo!"
After saying all that, they raised their fist hight to punch me.
I released the kid in my grip and gave him a light shove forward. He stumbled onto them, making the two catch him in surprise.
They backed away fast and put a guard up.
I simply stepped past them, walking toward the one on the ground.
"Get up," I said, not unkindly.
He flinched, shoulders tightening, then slowly lowered the bag from his face.
Bruises were already blooming on his face and dirt smeared on his cheek. His eyes darted between me and them, unsure which one was worse.
"C-can't." he muttered.
I sighed.
Someone rushed behind me.
I didn't turn.
A hand swung from behind. Feeling the wind rush, I stepped aside and hooked my arm under his elbow, twisting my body, momentum carrying him over, and then throw him into the ground. A classic shoulder throw.
He hit the dirt hard, air leaving from his lungs.
Another charged. This time I simply kicked him in the gut, throwing out saliva at the heavy impact.
The last one hesitated, bravado leaking out of him.
"Y-you're crazy!" he said. "This isn't worth it, man."
"It never was," I replied.
They ran. Footsteps scrambled away, fading fast, leaving only the quiet hum of the city waking up.
I crouched beside the boy again.
"Can you stand?"
He nodded this time, timidly. I offered a hand and after a moment's hesitation, he took it.
His grip was weak and trembling. Feeling the callouses from his hand, I couldn't help but ask.
"Do you work?"
Surprised, he didn't heard properly. "W-what?"
"I said. Do you work? a part-time job."
Now understanding, he stuttered out an answer. "N-no?"
"Hmm." Looking up his figure for a moment before I finally pulled him up.
"Why didn't you fight back?" I asked.
He swallowed and looked away. "…I'm not strong."
I glanced at his hands.
"I don't think so." I said. "Remembered that I ask a question?"
"Yes." He nodded
"Because when I was about to pull you up, I feel the callous of your hands. People don't get that from nothing. So how did you get that?"
"I-uh, I usually helped out my mother's fishing boat business."
"So you lift the heavy stuff didn't you? That means you're strong enough."
The boy looked up at me, eyes widening, something stirring behind the timidity in his eyes.
"Listen, Strength or being strong is not what dictates a person, it's about the process and the results. More importantly-
The process matters more than results.
You're basically built from your routine. The results are nothing more than byproduct."
I turned toward the path leading out from under the bridge.
"Come on." I said. "Follow me."
He nodded quickly and followed.
The sun climbed higher.
And somewhere in the quiet, something small but stubborn began to move forward.
==========
Standing in front of a two story gym with a billboard sign that says [Heavenly Sunrise] the teen couldn't help but be in awe.
"How is it, amazing isn't it?!" I spread my arms wide and introduced my gym.
"Anyways." After unlocking the main entrance, I gestured for him to come inside.
The inside of the gym is a standard martial arts gym. It was spacious and well-used. Thick black mats covered most of the floor, scuffed from years of training.
Heavy bags lined one wall, some leather, some canvas, and some synthetic, some of them worn out. A steel MMA cage sat at the center, mesh slightly bent and padding faded.
Mirrors ran along the side. Free weights were stacked neatly in a corner. No fancy machines, just racks, barbells, and dumbbells. The air smelled of rubber, sweat, and disinfectant.
"This is the first floor, second floor is more for martial art practices. Nevermind that for a bit, you must be confused on why I brought you here."
He nodded. "Yes, I don't think I'm worth all that effort you're putting right now."
"Oh, come on Makunouchi-kun, everyone deserves a chance."
Makunouchi Ippo, the protagonist of Hajime no Ippo. The moment he said his name, it surprised me because he's one of the og's back in the day of my first life.
Even when anime aren't mainstream, it somehow popped up on our TV and I watched the show as a kid, not completely but you can say it's my first anime.
"Here. Try punching this bag." I waved at him and patted a standard leather bag beside me.
"Huh? O-okay, I'll try." His eyes widened but he took the task seriously.
Exhaling and calming himself Ippo took a stance. "Here goes."
He punched it with full force but the bag only swayed slightly.
"Uh, is that good?"
"No." After saying that, the expectations in his eyes died down.
"But, I want you to try again, this time I'll fix you stance and teach you how."
A moment passed and after understanding things properly, Ippo took a proper form this time.
Looking at the bag with intensity, he started by twisting his body then punching as heavy as he could.
Boom.
The bag went flying upwards.
===========
AN:I decided to not censor the curse words, cause I think it doesn't matter anyways. It's getting harder to write because my inexperience is showing and I'm starting to lose momentum.
Like I know what the Big moments I want but to get there is still up to debate. It's also hard to make the world feel alive and not ruin the personality of the characters much. I'll change it of course, not much but yes.
Leave your suggestions and Criticisms here, Even opinions matter. Have a nice day.
Word Count: 1,404