Gym
"Hello."
"Ah—ah, hello. Are you here for the first time?"
"Yes."
Strictly speaking, it was my first time coming to *this* place.
I drew in a deep breath, and the air carried a thick scent of rubber. Mixed with a dozen other odors, the atmosphere told me exactly where I stood.
So this was—
Fitness Gold
A gym. Or the source of all pain and groaning.
I stood at its entrance.
The person sitting at the counter couldn't hide their surprise at my appearance, yet they didn't lose their service spirit. They rose from their seat—stiffly, but with effort—and led me somewhere. It was impressive, in its own way.
I let my gaze drift, mapping the floor's layout. To the left of the entrance were the showers, shoe lockers, and locker room. The front opened up on both sides.
I stored the building's structure in my head like a snapshot, then followed the receptionist into what looked like a reception area.
Inside, a large man sat behind a table—the manager, judging by his bearing. When he spotted my tail looming behind me with an unsettling presence, he hastily swapped his chair for one with a backrest.
The problem was…
"…"
That chair looked fragile.
The door clicked shut behind the receptionist. The muscular man spoke first.
His voice was softer than I'd expected.
"Haha, welcome. I'm Kim In-ho, the manager of Fitness Gold. Are you here to register?"
"I think so, yes."
"Ah, please, have a seat."
It was a kind offer, but unfortunately, without knowing that chair's weight limit, sitting down carelessly could lead to a very unpleasant situation.
I'd already broken a chair or two. That's the trouble with compressed combat muscle.
"…Is that chair sturdy?"
"Well, it might look flimsy, but it holds up to 200 kilograms. Don't worry, you can sit."
"Ah, then that won't do."
…Murray, could you stop looking at me with that weird expression?
He seemed to reconsider my words for a moment, then stood and disappeared somewhere. Off to fetch something, presumably.
How long did I wait?
"It's not hollow-backed, but I got the sturdiest one I could find. Give it a try."
A chair that looked like it was built on a steel frame appeared before me. Only then did I feel safe enough to sit.
Chairs bolted to walls or built on iron frames you could sit on carefully—like at that restaurant earlier—but plastic ones like that were just too unreliable.
I adjusted my tail's position and gently lowered myself onto the seat.
Thank goodness this one's fine.
───Creeeak…
…Was that the chair screaming, or was I imagining it?
Probably imagining it.
Anyway, once I was seated with the desk in front of me, a clipboard slid toward me. A slightly worn sheet of paper was tucked inside.
I gave him a look that said *roughly, what's this about*, and he explained.
"We used to run a promotion offering a 40% discount for people who came with a Manifested individual, but so many people faked it that we ended up stashing this form on a shelf. That's what this is."
"People really did that?"
"Someone tried video-calling us wearing animal-ear headgear to prove they were with a Manifested person… It was chaos."
I'd have lost my mind.
After he looked up my identity certificate, I asked whether the discount was still valid.
He gave a positive answer.
"I can't take back a promise I've already made. But if you don't mind, would you be willing to let us take some photos for gym promotion purposes later on?"
"Hmm…"
"If you'd like, we can draw up a formal contract and have a lawyer confirm everything. We're the ones who'd end up in jail if we played tricks on Manifested individuals, so you don't need to worry much."
A brutal joke.
Anyway, this part was as natural as it gets—we'd decide later after more discussion.
I signed the contract neatly with a pen. A thin yellow slip detached from beneath the paper. One copy for me, one for him. And so, money left my pocket.
Somehow, I got goosebumps on my back.
"Shall we start with a body composition scan?"
I nodded, thinking roughly along those lines.
The machine was mounted on the wall near the private rooms, so it didn't take long to reach it. I stepped onto the platform and gripped the switches on both sides.
And up to that point, everything seemed fine.
Excessive weight detected. Placing heavy objects on the device may cause damage.
…If I just shifted my weight around a little, it spat out that message immediately. What a piece of junk scrap metal.
The gym manager fumbled with the machine, his massive body moving this way and that, muttering something like *why isn't this working?* with a look of utter bewilderment.
But fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—while everyone else was flustered, the body composition results came through quickly after a bit of machine adjustment.
Click.
"…I'm sorry, something seems wrong. I mean, how long has it been since we got this thing and it's already having problems…"
"Maybe my body fat went up a little since I haven't moved much in a few days… Other than that, not much different from before."
"Huh?"
"Do you happen to have any weight vests here?"
Checking the friction of the gym shoes—apparently never worn before, which was precisely why they'd been auctioned off to me—I began warming up lightly.
I used to bench 2,200 pounds, back in the day.
"Whoa…"
"Crazy, is that even a person?"
"No way, what the—"
Clank.
A heavy but manageable weight pressed down on my entire body. The bar from the catch weight pressed against my trapezius, and I could feel the bar bending ever so slightly under the weight of the plates on either side.
After stretching, I did a few sets of bodyweight squats, then decided to try a wide range of exercises—not focusing on any particular muscle group, but doing a general check of everything.
The first exercise I chose was the squat.
I felt a bit bad about it, but I loaded up the plates as much as I could within reasonable limits. Roughly a few dozen of the 25-kilogram plates.
I had a painful memory of starting with heavy weight back in the day and ending up in a terrible situation, so I began with something lighter.
After doing about two sets of ten reps at a moderate weight—roughly 210 kilograms—I felt my body wasn't in bad shape.
"…What, what the—"
I started with one set of seven reps at 270 kilograms.
A sensation like fire igniting in my body. Heavy load pressed on my lower body, and an amount of muscle fibers far beyond human limits contracted and relaxed in unison. Once I hit the target of seven reps and gently set the bar back on the catch weight, the manager who'd been waiting behind me stared at me with a *what the hell is this* expression.
But this was only 1.25 times my body weight.
Still a long way to go.
I unclipped the safety pins and loaded plates onto both sides with gusto. The weight surged, pushing me into powerlifting territory. Every sound in the room—except the upbeat music playing from the wall speakers—turned into stares directed at me, and the bar's total weight climbed past 400 kilograms.
How much did I squat alone when I was training hard back in the day, wearing a suit? I remember the first digit was a 7… but I can't recall exactly. All I remember is shooting guns all the time.
If there was any other memory related to the gym… maybe spending some pleasant time with a Private First Class who'd joined us late in America? Something like that.
I don't know how that Caracal friend of ours would take the memory of what we did together.
With a clank, 450 kilograms—more than twice my body weight—was loaded onto the bar. The manager, who'd silently become my spotter, was giving me subtle assistance from behind.
Given the weight, I wondered if it would be okay, but whatever. A partner's role is always important. After about two sets of three reps, I was already burning up and sweating.
I leaned slightly against the partition bar while drinking water, and heard him speak.
"…I've heard a few times that Manifested individuals have muscle density incomparable to humans, but it seems to be true after all."
"Is that so?"
"I know a powerlifter who's an E2-grade Manifested individual, so I have some idea. But… EM is definitely different."
…Why are you telling me things only you people know?
Seeing my expression, he paused, then added an explanation.
"Ah, do they use different notation overseas? I didn't know. It's the Korean grading system, but E stands for how obvious the features are externally, and 2 stands for the number of physical traits."
"So…"
"That guy is a White Tiger. He has both ears and a tail, and both are clearly visible—Evident/2, so E2. His hair is white too. And he has stripes…"
Oh, I see.
Sometimes I'd see weird English abbreviations online and wonder what they meant. So that's what it was. I'd roughly figured out what the EM in EM/IPN on my identity certificate stood for.
…Let's ignore the fact that everyone thinks I'm someone who just returned from abroad.
Anyway, I was running out of space to load plates.
That was the muscle's divine revelation telling me to stop around here.
"Excuse me, what's the maximum you can squat?"
"It's not an official record, and I don't remember the last time I measured, but the first digit was a 9."
"No way, you can actually do that?"
"The first time I did it, the elastic bar crumpled from the plate weight and I almost got hurt."
That was during a squat, too. I still remember it vividly. I almost had the skin on the back of my neck torn off. Eventually, the people I trained with searched all corners of New York and brought back a new-material elastic bar that could hold 900 kilograms.
Anyway, it was fortunate that this place had a couple of bars that could handle up to 700 kilograms.
I removed the plates as I spoke.
"I'm not prepared for lifting, so I can't show you 700 kilograms."
"Ah, no, no. No, it's fine. You don't need to push yourself."
After promising not to drop weights on the floor, I did deadlifts. Again, I stopped around 600 kilograms, considering the bar's weight limit, its lifespan, and my body's condition.
That said…
"…Phew. Everyone's watching so intently."
"It's impossible to look away from a sight like this."
Everyone who'd been working out before me had their eyes wide open, staring this way.
I could sort of understand the feeling. You come to work out, and some random person is doing a 1-rep max of 500—not even a 3-rep max of 500, but a single rep—and of course you'd be incredibly curious.
But here's one unfortunate fact:
"I can't do bench press."
"Is something wrong?"
Whack.
I poked the gym manager's arm with my tail.
This was the problem.
Through countless trials and training, my tail had become almost like a third arm, but that didn't mean this massive appendage didn't interfere with my movements.
I'd probably need a bench with a big hole cut in it, like the bed at home, to lie back comfortably. When I used to stay at Central Park HQ, the Strategy Division people came and modified one for me. That's a bit of a shame.
"Ah…"
"These kinds of inconveniences are inevitable."
Similarly, I couldn't do leg press or leg extension either. In short, any exercise that required my back and hips to be pressed against something at the same time was completely off-limits.
It was a pretty troublesome situation, but if you'd gained this level of physicality and had been using it effectively all this time, there was nothing you could do about it.
Anyway, I tried several other exercises. I did quite a bit of this and that, so there wasn't much to single out, but a few things I remember:
"Still, you can't hide all your muscle. Looking at your back, it's definitely…"
"That's… true!"
Pull-ups while wearing a 50-kilogram weight vest—nearly broke the pull-up bar.
"No, aren't you running a little too hard?"
"T-there's a, reason, for it…!"
Similarly, burpees while wearing the weight vest. About that level.
I did add that if any machines broke during my workout, I'd pay for them later.
Anyway, the workout was over—
"Haaah, it feels great to sweat after so long. Thank you for even helping as a spotter."
"…I suppose it was worth it just to see such a rare sight…"
My entire body and clothes were soaked in sweat.
Thankfully, this place provided workout attire for its members, so I avoided the situation of my clothes getting soaked.
Upper body, at least.
The pants wouldn't go up because the back got caught on my tail.
"I'll shower at home. Thank you so much today."
"Take care on your way out."
Leaving behind a dozen stunned faces, I went to the locker room and tossed my sweat-soaked shirt into the laundry collection bin.
Putting on my shirt again while it was still damp felt terrible, but what could I do.
Anyway,
───.
My stomach was already signaling that it wanted food again, just because I'd burned a few calories.
I'd better find a way to make money soon.
…I need to recover my payment information from that other world as soon as possible.