Jump to content


Recommended Posts

I step off the bus and feel my stomach drop as I see Jake leaning against the wall, waiting for me. He’s wearing a stained wife-beater and grins when he spots me. My heart starts to race. I feel like I can't catch my breath. I keep my head down and walk past him, trying to pretend he doesn't exist, as if that’ll save me. I know what's coming. There's nothing I can do to stop it. I try to look away, to pretend that I don't see him, but he calls out my name in a sing-song voice.

"Oh Tiny Todd?”

I feel a large hand close around my shoulder. His breath is thick and sour. “How's it going, little guy?" He grabs my arm and spins me around to face him. He's huge, easily twice my size, and his friends are behind him, snickering. Both slightly smaller, slightly dumber, but tyrannical bastards in their own right.

"Where you going, Tiny? Don't you want to hang out with us?" I shake my head, trying to pull my arm free, but he holds on tight.

"Please, let me go," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I did your homework like you asked.”

Jake just laughs and shoves me, sending me crashing into the wall. "Why should I, Tiny Todd? You're such a loser."

I feel the tears starting to sting my eyes and I know that I need to get out of here, to get away from him. But Jake just laughs harder and shoves me again. My books go flying and I feel like everyone is laughing at me, like they're all in on the joke.

I pick myself up and run, my tears blurring my vision. I run all the way home, to the safety of my room. I lock the door behind me and curl up in a ball, crying until I fall asleep.

That's how it always goes. Every day, the same thing. Jake and his friends make fun of me, push me around, and I just take it. I'm just Tiny Todd, the ugly nerd who can't stand up for himself. And I hate myself for it.


I sit down at the dinner table and try to ignore the way my dad is glaring at me. He's been in a bad mood all day and I can tell that this is going to be another one of those nights. I pick at my food, trying to conjure up the willpower to eat, but it's not long before he starts in on me.

"What the hell happened to you, boy?" he says, pointing to the bruises on my arms.

I shrug, trying to act like it's no big deal, but he's not having it.

"Don't you know how to defend yourself?" he says, his voice rising. "You're a disappointment, a runt. Your brother would never let himself be bullied like this."

He motions over at Dan, who is sitting across the table, looking smug. Dan is the star of the baseball team, the popular one, the one who gets all the attention. And he loves it.

"You need to man up, Todd," my dad continues. "Start fighting back, or you're going to end up a nobody. A weakling."

The tears start to prick at my eyes and I can feel my face getting hot. I don't want to cry, not in front of them, but I can't help it. I push back from the table and run from the room, slamming the door behind me.

How often do I end up curled up in a ball on my bed, crying myself to sleep? Feels like it happens at least once a week nowadays. Sometimes I feel like the most helpless and lonely person in the world. I hate myself for being so weak, for not being able to stand up to Jake, for not being able to make my dad proud.

I hate that I'm not like Dan, who never seems to struggle with anything. He's always the one getting all the attention, always the one who seems to have it all together. And I hate that my dad always compares us, always holds Dan up as the standard that I can never live up to.

There’s no one in the world who understands me. I'm so weak, I can't even fight back. I just want to matter, but it seems like no matter what I do, it’ll never be enough. It’s not as if I can just… sprout up a few inches. Pile on a few hundred pounds. Get big. Get strong. Weakness isn’t something you can escape.


I'm sitting in my small, cluttered bedroom, surrounded by piles of books and comics, scrolling through the dark, seedy corners of the internet. My heart is racing, my palms are sweaty, and my mind is a jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions. I've been feeling so lost and hopeless lately, like I'll never amount to anything, and I just want to find a way to make a change.

I've been on the dark web before, searching for answers, searching for some kind of solution to my problems. I know it's dangerous, but I also know that there's information here that can't be found anywhere else. It's a place of secrets and hidden knowledge, a place where anything is possible.

I'm scrolling through forums and chat rooms, reading stories and testimonials from other people just like me, people who are searching for something more. And then, suddenly, a chat window pops up.

"You look like you could use a little help," says the stranger.

I hesitate for a moment, trying to decide whether I should respond. I've heard about scams and hackers on the dark web, and I don't want to get involved with anything illegal. But I'm also curious, so I take a deep breath and type a response.

"What kind of help?" I ask.

"Something special, just for you," the stranger says. "A drug. It'll fix all your problems."

My heart is pounding in my chest as I read those words. This all sounds too good to be true. I hesitate for a moment, trying to think of a polite way to decline.

"Why are you offering this to me for free?" I ask. "What's the catch?"

A pause.

"I stole it from a military lab," the stranger says. "And I need a test subject to examine the effects."

I feel a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. This is dangerous, illegal, and probably a bad idea. But I can't help thinking about the bruises on my arms and the way Jake treated me at school. I remember how helpless and alone I felt, and suddenly, I know what I have to do.

"Okay," I say, typing my address into the chat window. "I'll do it."

The stranger gives me a few more instructions, and then the chat window disappears. I sit there for a few minutes, staring at the screen, trying to decide if I've just made a huge mistake. But then I shake my head and close my laptop and try to steady my breathing.

I don't know what the future holds, but I know I have to take this chance. I have to do something. Even if it’s futile. Even if it’s pointless. I close my eyes and try to get some sleep, the pale glow of my monitor reflecting in my eyes.


I wake up, gasping for air, sweat soaking my bed sheets. My pulse beats like a drum, resounding in my ears, my chest heaving. Another nightmare. I swing my legs over the bed and walk to the door. I’m not sure if I need a drink, or if I just want to get some air. Maybe I need to get away. I step onto the landing, and it's then I hear the knock.

My heart skips a beat. I freeze, listening, but there's no sound. Was it just my imagination? I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs, and then I hear it again. A soft, insistent knock. It's coming from the front door. I'm not used to visitors at this time of night.

I'm scared. My mind races with all the things that could be waiting for me on the other side of that door. It could be a murderer. A robber. Or worse, a cop. But curiosity wins out in the end. I tiptoe down the stairs, the boards creaking beneath my feet, and I peer through the peephole. It's too dark to see anything. I creep towards the door, trying to be as quiet as possible, and peer through the translucent window. All I can see is a dark silhouette, and my first instinct is to hide.

But he makes no attempt to come inside. I hesitate for a moment, my hand hovering over the lock. Then I turn it and pull the door open. Cold air rushes in. There's no one there. Then I see it, lying on the step. A small, brown parcel. My name is written on the front in bold black letters.

I pick it up, a sense of unease settling in my stomach. I tear off the wrapping, and a glass bottle rolls into my hand. I turn it over, reading the label. "Classified". "Top Secret". I hold it to the light to get a better look. What is this? Who would send me something like this? I unscrew the cap, and a few small, white pills spill into my palm. They could be painkillers. They don’t look special, at any rate.

Am I really going to down a random pill? I look at my reflection in the brown glass. My eyes are bloodshot. I look like a mess.

Sure, why the fuck not?

I take one, downing it with a gulp of tap water, and wait. And wait. And nothing happens. I thought that maybe, just maybe, this was the answer I'd been searching for. The solution to all my problems. But no, nothing has changed. I climb back into bed, lying there wide-eyed, listening to the sounds of the night, waiting for something to happen. But nothing does. I eventually drift off to sleep, the bottle of pills still in my hand.

  • Like 27
Link to comment
Share on other sites

As I step outside of the school, the cool breeze brushes against my skin. I take a deep breath, feeling the fresh air fill my lungs. I look around and see that the bus has already left, and I missed it. Damn. The five-mile journey home is mostly uphill. That means I’ll have to call Dad to come pick me up, or worse, Dan, in his shiny new Mercedes.

I pause a moment, look down at my legs, and the exhilaration hits me like a brick. This could be a pretty good test. Sure, I might get spotted, but what the hell. I take off, my feet pounding the pavement with each step, first a jog, then a run, then a sprint. I blast through the school gates with the kind of speed most Olympians would dream of.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive as I do in this moment. The wind rushes past me, whipping my blond hair into my face, but I don't slow down. If anything, I run faster, my legs moving effortlessly beneath me. I see the scenery blur past me in a kaleidoscope of colors, and I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I am in a state of pure bliss, feeling the raw power of my body as it propels me forward. I am a machine.

The air is filled with the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers, and I can taste the sweet tang of summer on my tongue. The world around me is alive with the sounds of nature, and I am a part of it. I run through a field of tall grass, the stalks brushing against my legs, and I can feel the strength in my muscles as I push through them.

I reach the top of the hill and look out over the landscape. The world spreads out before me, a tapestry of greens and blues, and I feel small and insignificant, but also powerful and unstoppable. I continue to run, and my pace quickens, my legs carrying me faster and faster.

When I finally reach my house, I am panting and sweating, but I feel invigorated. I examine my shoes and see that I have worn through the soles. This realization fills me with wonder. I have never been able to run like that before, and the thought of what else I might be capable of is both exciting and terrifying. I make the mental note that I’ll have to get some new shoes. A couple sizes up.

The school bus rolls past. I beat it back, and it wasn’t close.

I slip into my room and shut the door, locking out the world. I sit down at my computer, eager to find the stranger who gave me the pills. I need answers, clarity, something. I scan the dark web, searching for any information that might lead me to him, but I come up empty. I guess he’ll decide the terms of our arrangement, not me.

The pill bottle is hidden under my pillow. I run my fingers over the glass, feeling its cold weight in my hand. I wonder if I should take another one now, or if I should wait. I consider eating something first, to see if it will enhance my growth, but I quickly dismiss the idea. I want it to be subtle, not noticeable. I can feel my body tingling with anticipation, and the temptation becomes too strong to resist. I take another pill and climb into bed. But I can't sleep. I'm too excited to try. My mind is racing with thoughts and ideas. I lay there, feeling the power coursing through my veins, and I know that I have made the right choice.

The world is my playground, and I am ready to explore it. This is where the scene ends, with me lying in bed, wide-eyed and full of wonder, eagerly anticipating what the future holds.


As I wake up and open my eyes, I'm immediately hit with the realization that I am now a completely different person. I don’t even have to move. It’s just there, in my mind. A fact. A new reality. My entire body feels different. I can feel the change in my bones, my muscles, and my skin.

I rush over to my mirror to take in the new me. My body is now sporting a beach-ready physique. I look like the kind of high-schooler who peddles supplements on instagram – bulkier than a runner, and solid as a rock. Every muscle has grown bigger, denser, harder, and leaner. More like an MMA fighter. My arms are now corded with veins, my chest and abs are rock-solid, and my legs are powerful and muscular. I went to bed a boy and woke up a god damned man. I flex my arms, feeling the solid bulk of my newfound muscles, and I know that things are about to be different. My arms are brick-hard. Every part of me is laced with veins.

I can't help but smile as I clench and unclench my hands, feeling the power in them. I shoot myself some intimidating faces in the mirror and I'm surprised to see that I actually look kind of dangerous. But it's not just the muscles that have changed, my acne has almost completely cleared up, and my jaw has broadened, giving me a more mature and defined look. I almost look attractive, in a nerdy kind of way. And to top it all off, I've grown slightly taller again. Any more and people are really going to start to notice. But I’m starting to like the idea.

I spend a good amount of time admiring my new body, flexing, and exploring every vein, striation, and muscle group. I'm filled with excitement and joy at my newfound strength and power. I can hardly contain myself.

It's then that I realize I need to take a shower and get ready for the day. I might be one of the fastest runners in the state, but I’ll still be late if I stand around staring at myself for the next hour. My fingers leave prints in the bathroom door handle, but I'm able to control my strength enough not to snap it off. I step under the water, letting it roll down the hard mounds of my back. As soon as I close my hand around the shampoo bottle, the cap bursts off and squirts halfway across the room. I take hold of the ceramic showerhead and a piece comes away. As I reach for my toothbrush, I snap it in half. After towelling off, I pick up my phone to take a selfie and the screen spontaneously cracks down the middle from my grip. This is going to be a big adjustment for me. I'll need to learn how to control my strength.

I try to pull on a shirt and then a hoodie. My face falls. I look like an athlete. The cloth bunches between my biceps and shoulders, gathering under my pecs. Through my joggers, I can make out the teardrops of my quads. I can’t go to school looking like this.

I step out of my room and feel a rush of excitement and nerves. I can’t be seen like this. With cautious anticipation, I make my way to the mall, sticking to the backstreets and making sure I don’t run too fast. I'm not sure how I'll be received now that I've transformed into such a formidable guy, but I'm determined to take it all in stride.

The mall is quiet, and I stand out. I notice people staring at me. My new physique commands attention, and I can see the looks of awe and envy on the faces of those around me. Maybe they’re thinking about how I should be in school. I catch myself in a glass storefront and give myself a wink. Nah, they don’t think I’m a kid.

But it's not all positive. I also see fear and distrust in the eyes of some of the older people, and I can tell that they're not comfortable.

I head to the clothing section, eager to find something that will fit. I start with a medium size, but it's not baggy enough. A large will have to do. I pick up a few hoodies and tracksuits, trying to choose items that will conceal my physique. While I’m there, I buy the same shit in XL, XXL and XXXL. Maybe I’m being too optimistic. But if growing feels this good, I won’t want to stay the way I am for long.

As I'm walking out of the store, I bump into a girl. She falls back, and would hit her head on the tiles if I hadn’t darted forward and pulled her into my arms. I never knew I could react that fast. I can tell she’s intimidated, but also… is that a blush running down her neck? She introduces herself as Emma, and my eyes go wide. This is Jake's girlfriend. I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“We’ve met a few times. I think your man was giving me a swirlie in the girls’ toilet.”

She squints at me, and then recognition flickers in her eyes. “Todd? Tiny Todd?”

“It’s… just Todd now.” I say.

“Yeah.” A nod. She looks me up and down. I knew I should have changed into my bigger clothes in the store.  “No bet. I’m guessing he’s not still at it?”

Despite myself, I cross my brawny arms over my chest. “Not for long.”

“Do you want me to see if I can get him to stop?”

I almost laugh. “No.”

“I see. Just don’t…” A pause. “Actually, you know what? I’m not gonna’ be his bodyguard. He can be a dick sometimes. If something happens between you two, if it doesn’t go his way, that’s his fault. He brings this stuff on himself.” She reconsiders. “Just send him back to me in one piece, okay?”

I shrug. I try not to flex my shoulders in the process, but they seem to do it on their own. “No promises.”

We walk the mall together. I should be on my way home, but she's surprisingly easy to talk to, and I find myself opening up to her in a way that I never have before. We talk about school, our interests, and even our hopes and dreams. Emma balks at the idea of me as a hermetic nerd. "You'd be more at home on a football field or in a fighting pit... or starring in an action movie."

"Hah. You really think so?"

She tilts her head, reaches up and gently takes the glasses from my nose. "Oh yeah. Real heartstopper smile you got there." Another blush. I think I'm blushing too.

For the first time, the goal of hiding my physique drifts to the back of my mind. I don’t mind giving Emma a hint of it. A taste. I actually like the idea. I can't believe it - I never thought I’d be interested in her, and I sure as hell never thought she’d look my way with such undisguised hunger. But there's something captivating about it. About her. It that draws me in, and I find myself wanting to stick around all day.

Before I know it, it's time to say goodbye. Emma gives me a warm smile and a friendly wave, and I feel a rush of excitement as I walk away. If Jake could see the thoughts running through my mind, he’d kick my ass.

He can try.

  • Like 26
Link to comment
Share on other sites

I walk into the Brazilian Jiu Jitsu dojo, brimming with excitement and nervousness. The place is almost empty and there's only one light left on, illuminating a fighting ring in the corner of the room. I can hear the soft sound of a broom sweeping the floor, and I see an old man with weathered skin, moving slowly across the mat. I approach him, eager to begin my training.

He stops what he's doing and looks up at me, his weathered face stern. "You're too late," the old man says, barely lifting his head to look at me. "Come back tomorrow."

I can feel his eyes sizing me up, taking in my powerful physique and rugged features. I meet his gaze with a steady one of my own. I'm not discouraged. I've come here to learn, and I'm not going to let a closed door stop me. I strip off my shirt, revealing the rippling, powerful physique that I've been building up for the past few months. The old man's eyebrows rise in surprise. He pauses, his broom frozen in midair, and takes a step closer. But he says nothing as I stand before him, baring my chest, heavy with strength and webbed with veins. He finally breaks the silence

"What do you want?" he asks, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"I want to learn how to fight," I reply confidently.

The old man looks me up and down, taking in the sight of my well-defined muscles. "You probably don't need any help," he chuckles and shakes his head

"I know," I admit. "But I want to learn anyway. I promise you, if you take me on as an apprentice, I'll be the strongest, fastest, most naturally gifted student you've ever had. You’ve ever seen."

“There are plenty of strong young guys.”

“None like me.”

He looks for an instant like he’s going to crack up, but then something stops him. He nods thoughtfully. "Alright," he says, and leads me over to a bag hanging in the corner of the room. "Throw your best punch."

I step up, balling up my fist and feeling the adrenaline pump through my veins.. Should I go for an uppercut? A haymaker? A jab? What’s the best angle? Do I lean forward or back, twist or stand tall? What’s the right way to face? I’m overthinking this. I know it, and he knows it too. I need to clear my mind. Stop worrying on the details and let me body show exactly what I’m capable of. And with a fierce determination, I throw my punch. The bag splits open as I hit it, sending sand and debris flying in all directions. I have to pry my hand from its crunchy innards and shake it off. The old man watches as his once-spotless floor is befouled, and I can see a hint of admiration in his eyes. He’s impressed.

"Your form and technique were terrible," he notes.

“But…?” I feel a smile coming on.

He sighs. “But if you hit a man like that, you’d break every rib he has. Your raw power is undeniable. I guessed you were strong, but not quite at this level.”

“So is that a yes? You’ll train me?”

He throws his hands in the air. “Sure, man. Just come by tomorrow and I'll introduce you to the others.”

“No. Nights only. Just the two of us. No one else sees me or knows I’m here. You don't talk about me, you don't mention me. No pictures.”

His eyes narrow to slits. "What's all this about? Usually kids like you are desperate for attention."

I slip my shirt back on. "It's like I said, chief. There are none like me."

But he's not dropping it. "You on the run from the law or something?"

“No. Not that."

"Then what?"

"It’s complicated.”

Another beat. The silence is suffocating. He's looking for a reason to say no. His better judgement is battling the stars in his eyes.

He holds out the broom. “Your first job is to clean up all this sand."

I almost bounce with joy. “Yes sir.”

“And I want exactly what you promised. Best student I’ve ever seen, or the deal’s off. If you’re not keeping up, you’re gone.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m nowhere near my potential.”


  • Like 24
Link to comment
Share on other sites

It began with a broom, and so does every night that follows. My first job is always to clean the dojo after everyone else leaves. Put away the gloves and the pads. Dust for cobwebs and wipe up sweat. 

My new teacher, who I later learn is named Miguel, watches me carefully. He's assessing my every move, examining my form, my posture, my grip. "It's amazing." He says while I roll away the crash matts. "Every inch of you radiates with power, and yet you hold yourself like a timid little child."

"Some habits die hard." I say, pulling off the broom head and tossing the handle to him. He gives me an uncertain look, and then falls seamlessly into a combat stance. We circle each other, him taking in every atom of my being. Me looking for a chance to unload. 

He swings. I know that he's fast, but it's like he's moving through treacle. I dodge, and the air moves with me. Another swing, and another dodge. But I don't get the third. It hits my shoulder hard. He pauses a moment, as if he expects me to cry out, but I just smile and bare my teeth. It'll take more than that to put a dent in me. I slam a fist into my left pec so hard that it echoes. I'm solid. I can take it. 

Miguel stops holding back. In his hand, that broom handle is a deadly weapon, and he wields it with astonishing grace. It whirls up, but I block it with my forearm, a beam of concrete, and slink around him. He spins and catches me with a hand on his shoulder. I could have squeezed. Who knows what that would have done? Miguel doesn't give me time to think about it. He jabs twice, hitting me once, and brings the pole around at top speed. It smashes across my face. He grimaces. Anyone else would have been knocked out cold. But not me. I bring my face back into line with his and stick out my tongue.

He moves to strike again, but not fast enough. I send out a hand, faster than I knew hands could move, and grab hold of the handle. He pulls, but it's no use. I clamp down harder than I've ever done in my life. The wood cracks and splinters. I let go, and the two halves clatter to the ground, along with a handful of wood chips. Miguel is sweating, panting, heaving in and out. "You win, kid." He rests his hands on his knees. I offer to help him up.

He puts a finger to my neck and counts. "Thirty beats per minute. What the hell are you made of?"

"Uh..." I scratch the back of my neck.

"I don't think I've ever seen that kind of strength. And you can take one hell of a beating. Do you run, kid?"

"Every day?"

"How much does it take to tire you out?"

"I'll let you know when it happens."

When I'm finished cleaning up the wood, he sets it aside and gestures for me to step into the ring, and I do. This is what I've wanted since I was a child - to learn how to fight, to defend myself. But I never thought I'd actually do it.

Miguel starts by teaching me the basics of grappling. With any other guy, he'd demonstrate the hold on them and ask them to try to break free, then get them to do the same to him. But I can break any hold he tries, even if they're perfect, and he can't break any of mine, even if they're terrible. He shows me how to move my body, how to take someone down, how to pin them to the ground. It's all new to me, and it's a challenge to do it right. Sure, I could rely on my strength for everything, but that's not the point.

I'm not used to having to think so hard about my body, to be so precise and intentional with my movements. But I'm determined, and I pick it up quickly. Miguel nods in approval, and we move on to throws. Miguel is a wiry man, he's quick and nimble, but I never struggle to keep up. It's not long before I start to understand, and I begin to hit my stride. I'm not just lifting Miguel off the ground, I'm launching him. I'm slamming him into the mat, hearing the satisfying thud of his body hitting the canvas. I'm feeling the burn in my muscles, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. He shifts from bringing out my strength to containing it - otherwise he'd be too battered to continue. 

After a while, we move on to strikes. He shows me how to punch, how to kick, how to use my body to generate power. He's relentless, pushing me to my limits, and I'm grateful. I'm learning so much, so fast. I'm feeling like a superhero, like I could take on the world. And then, just when I'm starting to feel confident, Miguel tells me that I've got a long way to go. That I need to work on my speed, my agility, my flexibility. He tells me that I might be able to hit like a freight train and dodge like a hummingbird, but I'm still just a novice. I nod, taking it all in, knowing that he's right. I'm ready to put in the work.


A week passes. Every day has been a blur of sweat and progress. I've learned so much in just a short time. I'm growing, too. Not the way I did when I took the pills - this is a more abstract kind of growth. My strength and techniques are becoming more refined with each passing hour.

Miguel is a tough taskmaster, pushing me to my limits and beyond, but he's also a kind and patient teacher. He sees the raw potential in me, and he's determined to shape it into something extraordinary. He's been doing this for over 30 years, and he knows what it takes to become a true master of the art. I know he's blown away by what we've achieved, even if he doesn't say it. He doesn't want me getting a big head.

Every night we start with warm-ups, running through drills that focus on balance, speed, and precision. Then we move on to sparring, where I put what I've learned into practice. After a few days, he convinces me to try myself against other guys. I agree, but they have to be out of state, and I won't use my real name. My master matches me up against guys who are far bigger and stronger than me, real giants, or experts who have years of experience, but I'm holding my own. Well... Holding my own doesn't cut it. I'm demolishing them. It's easy. Their kicks are slow and predictable and easy to dodge. Their punches land softly, if they land at all. At least these guys know how to throw a hit without breaking themselves on my body. Unless I flex, of course. On the other hand, there are no counters for the things I do. My moves are too fierce to block, too quick to outmanoeuvre. They can try grappling with me, but they don't usually try it twice. I'm learning how to anticipate their moves, how to react quickly, and how to use my own strengths to overcome their weaknesses. And I have a hell of a lot of strengths.

Today, my master decides to test me in a new way. He tells me to close my eyes and try to take him down. I hesitate for just a moment, wondering if this is some kind of trick, but then I focus and let my instincts take over. I move in close, feeling his body, sensing his weight and momentum, and then I strike. To my surprise, I catch him off guard, and I take him down with ease. He rolls and pops back up, a broad grin spreading across his face.

"Well done, Todd. You're a natural. You're going to be a force to be reckoned with, my boy."

I feel a surge of pride, a sense of purpose, and I know that I'm on the right path. I'm going to become the strongest, the fastest, and the best fighter in the world. And I'm going to do it with my master's guidance, his wisdom, and his unwavering support.


Another week passes by in the blink of an eye, and I find myself standing in the dojo once again. It's always dark when I arrive. I like it that way. I like how the one buzzing light dances over my muscles as I work. My master greets me with a nod. He knew I was quick to pick things up, but he didn't expect me to make this much progress in such a short amount of time. I've always been a fast learner, but this isn't like reading books or watching documentaries. This is a hunt. 

We start the training with a warm-up, and I can feel the power in my muscles as I move through the exercises like they were made just for me. Miguel doesn't bother praising me when I do them right - I always do them right. I do them perfectly. But he doesn't criticise, so I know I'm on the right track. I'm starting to understand the the balance of power and technique, and how to use my newfound strength to my advantage.

Even with my endurance, by the end of each session, I'm drenched in sweat. I love it. I feel a sense of satisfaction I've never experienced before. Miguel claps me on the back, and I can see the pride in his eyes. He's never had a student with such talent, and I can tell that he's just as invested in my success as I am.

I walk out of the dojo with a spring in my step, and I know that I've only just scratched the surface. With each passing day, I'm becoming more powerful, more skilled, and more confident in my abilities. I'm on a journey to becoming the best, and I won't stop until I get there.

  • Like 29
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

  • Create New...

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Guidelines, Terms of Use, & Privacy Policy.
We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue..