A Surefire Bet

The gym is actually a very different place from its popular image.

Or perhaps I should say I had only heard of its notoriety.

The gym I had imagined was practically a kingdom of beasts. I pictured hot-blooded men looking down on the weak, and people of all genders hunting for partners—a symbol of pure debauchery.

To be honest, I was deeply worried. I was afraid strangers would try to hit on me. Unsolicited conversations? Just the thought of it made me shudder.

But quite some time has passed since I first set foot in the gym. Enough time for a sense of familiarity to settle in. And now, I've corrected my absurd misconceptions.

The people who love the gym aren't crazy about men or women. They're just crazy. I don't know what kind of demonic charm exercise possesses, but it clearly instills a peculiar brand of madness in people.

"H-Huuuup...!"

"You can do it! One more! You've got this!"

"Ugh, ah! Uwoooogh!"

How can anyone enjoy this? Are they out of their minds?

I was absolutely certain of one thing. My thighs were currently on fire. And if they weren't on fire, they were about to snap.

The leg extension machine. Every time I moved my lower body, excruciating pain washed over me. We had clearly agreed on twenty reps per set, but the trainer kept shouting "One more!" until I hit twenty-five.

If we were going to do twenty-five, why couldn't he just say so from the start?

Though, if he had, I probably would have whined and complained. In any case, the members of this gym were demons beyond the comprehension of an ordinary person like me.

Everyone looked like they were on the verge of death during their workouts. Yet, the moment a set ended, they wore expressions of pure, refreshed bliss. Even my trainer looked incredibly proud, despite not lifting a single weight himself.

Meanwhile, I was trapped in a world of pure agony. The pain was on such a different level that I couldn't even squeeze out a tear.

Lifting the weight was torture, but letting it down wasn't any easier. By the time I pushed it all the way up, every nerve in my body felt concentrated in my thighs. My legs, which were usually soft and squishy, felt like they were about to explode.

"Twenty-five! Great job!"

Somehow, I managed to complete the twenty-five reps. The moment I received his unspoken permission, my feet immediately slipped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠off the pads. I massaged my thighs, not just because they hurt, but out of a desperate instinct for survival.

While I writhed in pain, the trainer lowered the weight on the machine. This came as a fresh shock to me. Once you sat on a machine, did the weight not only go up?

"You're... lowering the weight?"

"You look like you're struggling. But since it's the last set, let's increase the reps instead. Fifty. You can do it, right?"

I tentatively placed my legs back on the pads to test it.

The load felt significantly lighter than before. At this weight, even a higher rep ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠count seemed manageable. Naturally, my expression brightened, and a surge of energy returned to my body.

"Yes. I can do that!"

But how could I have been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so naive? I had forgotten that a personal trainer's competence is measured by their ability to invent novel methods of torture. And my trainer happened to be exceptionally creative.

By the time my legs had pumped just over twenty times, my body began to sense an instinctive danger.

Wait. Something is wrong here.

It was definitely lighter, yet it felt incredibly heavy. As if a terrifying demon were slowly stretching out its claws, heat enveloped my thighs once more. By the time I passed thirty reps, it felt no different from the heavier weight.

Today, I experienced a new horizon of physical exertion. It wasn't just heavy weights that caused suffering; doing high repetitions of a light weight could be just as agonizing. In fact, getting it over with quickly at a higher weight seemed much more merciful.

But there was no turning back now. Giving up was not an option. I felt a psychological resistance, fearing that if I quit now, I would truly become a hopeless failure of a human being.

After that hellish set of fifty reps finally ended, my legs shook uncontrollably with every step. Nearby, a muscular middle-aged man doing the same exercise was also shaking.

A strange sense of camaraderie washed over me. It felt like we had fought a fierce battle together—a sort of brotherhood born in the trenches. ...Is this how everyone gets sucked into this lifestyle?

"Alright. Great work today. Since your legs are completely spent, just do some light cardio and I'll see you next time!"

"Thank you..."

Still, time flies when you're working out. Now, all I had to do was walk on the treadmill for a bit, head home, and my daily routine would be complete. I planned to spend the rest of the day losing myself in games.

That would have been the plan, if not for the phone call that interrupted me.

Come to think of it, we had exchanged numbers not too long ago. I was supposed to save it, but I must have forgotten. Having rarely had a reason to save anyone's contact info in my life, it hadn't even crossed my mind.

Na Jia's proposal wasn't overly complicated. It was to film my coaching sessions at Snow Witch and release it as a sort of documentary.

Behind-the-scenes footage from professional gaming teams had become so common nowadays that it was practically expected. Many fans were curious about how their favorite players approached the game and what went on behind the matches they watched. Naturally, the larger the fandom, the higher the demand for this kind of content.

But that was for professional players. The story was entirely different when the subject was a mere trainee.

Esports was an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠industry where the gap between the rich and the poor in terms of attention was massive. While the importance of the academy or secondary teams had risen compared to the past, that was ultimately just talk among industry insiders. The fans' attention remained firmly fixed on the main roster—and even then, only on a select few star players.

This meant that creating content centered around a trainee was unlikely to gain much traction. And it wasn't as if the risks were low, either.

If something goes wrong along the way... they'll end up spending money just to get dragged through the mud.

How many survival shows or amateur-focused programs had existed in the world? Rags-to-riches stories were always beloved by the public. However, these programs suffered from an inherent contradiction.

If you gathered actual, unknown amateurs, no one would watch. If you brought in famous people to attract viewers, it turned into a variety show, defeating the original purpose. And if you scaled it up too much, it became incredibly expensive and inevitably plagued by controversies surrounding the participants.

Of course, Snow Witch's trainee roster was too small for that to begin with. Regardless, Na Jia's idea was that my situation fit perfectly into this gap.

Obviously, I was neither a streamer nor a pro gamer—just an ordinary person. Yet, my recognition had recently skyrocketed through the Challengers Cup. Since Hero had scouted me himself, there was a real possibility of me debuting as a professional player. Somehow, I had become the ideal candidate.

The question was how much of an impact my recognition would actually have... I expected today's meeting to address this point. I had braced myself for a fierce debate.

"The basic setup is that Na Jia will host, and I'll handle the coaching. We'll invite guests from time to time," Coach Seo explained.

"I'm fine with it, but is your schedule okay, Coach?" Na Jia asked.

"It's fine. I had to cut back a bit on my one-on-one coaching duties, but our head coach agreed to cover for me."

"Ah..."

"For now, it's scheduled for eight episodes. They said they might extend it if the response is good, but we'll decide that later."

Why aren't they doing it?

Na Jia, Hero, and the other staff members were strictly focused on the operational details. Not once did they voice concerns about the program failing to attract interest.

It was as if they had a surefire bet they trusted absolutely.

Even the marketing manager, who arrived late to the meeting, was no exception. He was a middle-aged man who walked in with a deep scowl. Looking more angry than merely dissatisfied, he swept his gaze over my face.

Then, he quietly took his seat. True to his professional nature, the marketing manager suddenly beamed, as if he had never been scowling in the first place.

"Haha. My apologies for being late. Another meeting ran long..."

"It's fine. I heard you've been very busy. So, what do you think?"

"Well, now that I'm here in person, I see why Coach Seo pushed so hard for this. The head coach is too much, though. If things were like this, he should have at least told me! Hahaha."

"The head coach hasn't actually met Nabi in person yet," Coach Seo replied.

"Ah, I see. That explains it. I understand now."

What is going on? Why am I the only one out of the loop?

I wanted to ask, but this was a cramped meeting room packed with people. With my fragile mental fortitude, just keeping my composure took everything I had. Initiating a conversation was out of the question.

The marketing manager glanced at my face once more. I flinched instinctively.

"I have a really good feeling about this program."

"Right?"

While I felt like I was dying inside, everyone else was in high spirits.