Black Dragon
“Aaaargh!”
Exactly two days after the hellish lower-body workout ended, I was letting out another pathetic scream on the mat in the iron-scented underground gymnasium of the Imperial Palace.
“One more! More! More!”
“Hah/ hah/ hah/ ugh!”
“Hey, that last one was with your arms, not your chest! Doesn’t count! Push with your chest! Tear your pecs and shove! Feel the tear!”
The 2nd Imperial Prince, Arthur, standing behind my bench press was merciless as ever today.
After legs, now it was chest—he was torturing me, squeezing out every last drop until I hit my absolute limit.
I’d tried a bit of personal training in my past life, but my trainer back then was more obsessed with her Instagram selfies than actual workouts, so it hadn’t done much.
I’d never experienced this kind of Spartan hell forced on me by a wild bear of a man.
“Raaargh—!”
With a beastly scream born of pure agony, the final barbell finally clanged onto the rack and collapsed.
“Excellent! I can hear your pecs screaming in joy as they shatter their limits! Good, very good!”
I didn’t even have the strength to reply, sprawling limp on the bench, gasping ragged breaths.
My lungs burned like fire, my chest was swollen tight, and my arms trembled uncontrollably like aspen leaves, ignoring my will entirely.
I’d tried slipping in some cheeky rests midway, but this massive grizzly of a man saw right through my shallow tricks.
He’d counted reps mercilessly right up to the brink of me getting crushed under the barbell.
“Hah… hah… hah…”
As I caught my breath and barely turned my head, I saw the 2nd Prince—shirt flung off—wiping sweat from his brow.
He’d helped with my sets while knocking out more than double the weight himself, so no wonder he looked beat.
Post-heavy training, his already massive pecs were pumped up like they might burst any second.
And atop those swollen giant slabs of chest muscle… two nipples stood out with uncanny presence.
…Huh?
No, just my imagination?
Every twitch of his muscles made those dark, hefty nipples gleam like eyes, seemingly locking gazes with me.
Especially when his right pec rippled just now—the right nipple even seemed to wink at me in some grotesque illusion.
It was violent visual terrorism.
Chills raced up my spine; I yanked my eyes upward in a hurry.
Better to face those savage purple eyes unique to the imperial family head-on than confront those burdensome chest “eyes”—fuck, what do you even call them, nip-eyes? Anyway, anything but that. A hundred times more comfortable.
“Your Highness. Hah… hah… are we done now?”
“Mm, that’s enough for today. Not bad for your first chest day. Great mental fortitude for such a frail body.”
“Th-th-thank you.”
“Though I didn’t love the sneaky cheats when it got tough midway…”
“…!”
I hauled my trembling body upright, mind racing.
If I didn’t lock in this muscle-obsessed mad prince’s favor now, these every-other-day sessions would kill me with overtraining.
Desperately brainstorming ways to win him over, one idea flashed in my head, and I decided to run with it.
“But Your Highness… hah… you’re just gonna glance at those perfectly pumped muscles in the mirror and call it?”
“Mm? That’s it, isn’t it? Lift heavy, work the muscles—done.”
His thick brows twitched.
Expected reaction from a guy who’d leap out of bed for muscle talk.
Feeling half like a con artist, I put force into my voice.
This world was from my ex’s women’s romance fantasy novel.
Women knew all the tropes, but men’s secrets—like modern bodybuilding’s pinnacle, posing culture—were total blanks.
“Ever heard of the technique to contract honed muscles most perfectly and beautifully… to show them off?”
“…No clue. Something like that exists?”
“Yes, it does. In Sterling, we call it posing. Come to the mirror.”
I guided the 2nd Prince to the full-wall mirror on one side of the gym.
“First, spread your legs shoulder-width for lower-body stability.”
Dredging up faint PT memories from my past life, I mobilized my meager gym knowledge.
“Now raise both arms out to the sides and bend them. Clench your fists hard—squeeze your bis and tris till they burn! Chest up high, spread your lats wide like wings…!”
“Nngh—!”
The 2nd Prince inhaled deeply per my instructions and shot his arms up.
In that instant, an unbelievable transformation hit his reflection.
Even standing normally, his muscles were imposing—but contracted in pose, they writhed like a living monster, revealing grotesquely sharp definition.
“Ooh…!”
His purple eyes widened in awe at his perfectly controlled physique in the mirror.
“Wh-what is this! Just flexing and posing doubles—no, triples—the clarity and size! Quads to bicep peaks, perfectly separated!”
He exhaled roughly, genuinely awestruck.
This lifelong iron-lifter had never learned to artistically flaunt his “beautiful” (his words) body—his eyes sparkled as he cheered.
“Incredible technique! Sterling’s prince, what’s this great, overwhelming pose called?!”
His deadly serious, gleaming gaze nearly made me burst out laughing.
But I held it in, feigning solemnity.
“This pose… its majesty and power evoke the legendary demon dragon—”
“And?”
“It’s called the Black Dragon.”
Dunno if anyone here knows it, but it was the historic Black Dragon pose.
From some fun webnovel I’d read—the muscle monk grand army guy struck it there, called Black Dragon something? Close enough.
Honestly, I didn’t really know it; just tossed it as a joke.
But to this muscle zealot, the name rang holier and cooler than any imperial title.
“Black… Dragon…!”
His lips quivered.
He glared at the mirror again, veins bulging as he squeezed with a guttural groan.
“Raaargh! Behold the black dragon awakening within me! This is the Empire’s black dragon!”
For a moment, amid the huge, ecstatic grizzly posing with arms high, I swear I saw a real black dragon.
At that absurd, majestic, sweaty, muscle-obsessed spectacle, I quietly backed away from the bench and clasped my hands behind me.
“Hoo! Hngh! Hnngh!”
“…”
“Kuhuhuhu…! Beautiful… so beautiful!”
After admiring himself forever, the 2nd Prince caught his breath and whipped around to me.
“Sterling’s Ian. You’ve got some excellent knowledge, you.”
“You flatter me, Your Highness.”
“Lifting heavy isn’t all. To flaunt sweat-carved muscles so perfectly…! You’ve broadened my narrow view.”
He lumbered over and clapped my shoulder with his meaty paw—bones creaking like they’d shatter, but I forced a smile.
“Love this Black Dragon pose. Gonna assemble the Imperial Guard knights in the training yard tomorrow and teach ’em this greatness en masse!”
“…Are there muscle enthusiasts in the Imperial Guard?”
“Why not? Not my sword-fiend sister’s demon crew—pure muscle warriors like me exist. Gonna spread the word!”
“Haha, fine fellows indeed…”
Internally questioning those unnamed knights’ sanity, I bowed deeply.
“Anyway, thanks! I’m off!”
“…Understood.”
The 2nd Prince bolted for the gym door, then zipped back, shoving his face in mine.
“See you in two days! Arms next!”
“…”