Jason burst into Jeremiah's apartment like a battering ram of protein powder and misplaced enthusiasm. He didn't knock. Jason never knocked. Knocking was for betas.
Jeremiah, sprawled elegantly across his velvet couch in silk pajama bottoms, blinked at him over the rim of his cucumber- gold fleck added hydrogenated H20 infused water poured into his stanley of the day. "You look like you've just invented fire."
Jason's chest was already puffed up like a pigeon on steroids. "Bro. Forget fire. I just discovered the alpha equivalent of nuclear energy. It's the Bali Time Chamber Retreat."
Jeremiah blinked. "The... what now?"
Jason paced the room like a motivational speaker's spirit trapped in a gorilla in a zoo enclosure. "It's the retreat of retreats. The crucible of masculinity. A week-long test of dominance, endurance, and networking with other apex predators."
Jeremiah raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "...Llike, the dubai chocolate crumble cookie labubu of alphas."
Jason did not understand, but that sounded about right. "Exactly! It's the best thing ever!"
Jeremiah set his glass down, unimpressed. "Sounds sweaty."
Jason jabbed a finger at him. "Sweat is the currency of kings."
"I thought it was Bitcoin."
"That was before Elon changed." Jason said, with an expression of pure betrayal.
"...You're talking like he's your buddy you see on a daily."
Jason ignored that. "Bro, listen. The retreat. They've got ice bath challenges, primal yelling circles, fasting-for-clarity sessions, and—get this—*the Gauntlet of Alpha.*"
Jeremiah raised a brow. "The what now?"
Jason dropped his voice, reverent. "It's like... they strip you of all weakness. You emerge stronger. Sharper. A true wolf among sheep."
Jeremiah picked up his glass again, swirling the cucumber slice. "Right. And you want me to... what? Join you in this parade of testosterone and homoerotic chanting?"
Jason planted himself in front of him, eyes blazing. "Bro. Think of the clout. The livestreams. The sponsorships. Everyone's going. You'll meet crypto kings, forex generals, dudes who only sleep two hours a night because time is money. This will launch us into the stratosphere."
Jeremiah paused, tapping his manicured nail against the glass. "Clout, you say."
Jason nodded vigorously, sensing the shift. "So much clout. More than your skincare brand sponsorship. More than when I deadlifted a refrigerator."
Jeremiah sighed dramatically, as though he were a prince agreeing to a duel. "Fine. For clout."
Jason whooped and fist-pumped. "Knew you'd come around, brother. Pack your stuff. We leave tomorrow."
----
Jason's version of packing involved throwing three tank tops, two pairs of shorts, and a bottle of multivitamins into a duffel bag. Jeremiah, on the other hand, regarded packing as an art form.
"Minimalism is weakness," Jeremiah muttered as he folded his silk bathrobe into a travel cube. His bed was covered in neat piles: skincare products arranged by order of use, protein snacks that were definitely not Jason-approved ("Quinoa chips are alpha," Jeremiah insisted), silk pajamas, three pairs of fluffy slippers, a satin eye mask, scented candles, and a collapsible ring light.
Jason watched, horrified. "Bro, what is all this?"
"Necessities," Jeremiah replied coolly, slipping serums into a padded case.
Jason grabbed the bathrobe, aghast. "This? This is weakness."
Jeremiah snatched it back. "This is armor. You have your whey protein, I have my retinol."
Jason groaned, rubbing his temples. "You're supposed to endure the elements, not moisturize through them."
"I'll endure in style. End of discussion."
---
They landed in Bali the next day, humidity slapping them in the face the second they stepped off the plane. Jason strode through the airport like a warrior marching into battle, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Jeremiah trailed behind, balancing three matching pastel suitcases on a cart, pink heart shaped sunglasses on his hair, looking every bit the influencer on vacation.
The resort that housed the retreat was stunning. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, an infinity pool sparkled under the sun, and attendants in crisp uniforms greeted them with chilled towels. Jeremiah's eyes lit up with tentative hope.
"See, this isn't so bad," he murmured, picturing himself sipping a dragonfruit mocktail by the pool while pretending to be spiritual.
Jason, vibrating with excitement, smacked him on the back, which made Jeremiah choke on his mocktail. "Told you! Alpha paradise!"
They were ushered into a massive open-air pavilion where other retreat attendees were gathering. The crowd was a mix of bronzed, shirtless men with suspiciously identical jawlines, guys in linen pants with too many beaded bracelets, and the occasional middle-aged finance bro sweating through his polo.
At the front stood the Instructor: a bald man with a beard so sharp it could cut glass, wearing nothing but cargo shorts and an aura of superiority. He raised his arms, and the chatter hushed.
"Welcome, warriors," he boomed. "You have come here to shed weakness. To kill the beta inside you. To emerge as alphas, forged by fire, ice, and hunger."
The crowd cheered. Jason cheered the loudest.
Jeremiah fanned himself with a retreat pamphlet. "This is already a cult."
The Instructor's eyes swept the group, landing on Jeremiah's luggage cart, which looked like a Sephora store had mated with Louis Vuitton. He frowned.
"What is this?" he barked, marching over.
Jeremiah instinctively clutched the handle of his suitcase. "My belongings."
The Instructor sneered. "These are distractions. Luxuries. Crutches of the weak."
Jeremiah's jaw dropped. "Excuse me, this serum is 90 dollars. It's not a crutch, it's an investment."
Jason jumped in, panicked. "Sir, with all due respect, my brother here is redefining alpha minimalism. His luxuries are actually… weapons. Like, scented candles? Aromatherapy. Increases testosterone. Proven fact."
The Instructor glared. "Proven by who?"
Jason faltered. "Uh… Joe Rogan?"
The Instructor's expression softened. "Acceptable source."
Jeremiah smirked triumphantly and adjusted his sunglasses. But then, with the cruel precision of a man who lived on beef jerky and spite, the Instructor pointed at Jeremiah's bathrobe. "This. This is weakness."
Jeremiah gasped as though stabbed. "That's not a weakness. That's my robe."
"Confiscated."
"No!" Jeremiah clutched it dramatically to his chest.
Jason quickly stepped forward. "Wait— what if— what if he proves the robe is alpha? Like a trial by fire?"
The Instructor narrowed his eyes. "We shall see. Tomorrow morning, at the ice bath challenge. If the robe survives, so does he."
The crowd erupted in primal cheering.
Jeremiah stared in horror. "You people are insane."
Jason threw an arm around him, grinning. "Brother. This is it. This is where legends are made."
Jeremiah muttered into his drink straw. "This is where moisturizers go to die."