[Scene: A dimly lit garage with cracked cement floors and rusted tools]
The rhythmic sound of rope creaking filled the air.
Jed was hanging from it again — bare hands wrapped tight around the thick, fibrous line. His knuckles were white, forearms trembling, sweat raining from his brow.
But he didn't let go.
"Grip strength…" he thought.
"If it gives out, I lose."
He had seen the others. Towering guys with forearms like slabs of stone. Guys who trained in air-conditioned gyms. With gloves, chalk, and personal coaches.
But Jed had none of that.
He had only his body, his will, and what he could scrap together from junk.
---
[Training Objective #1: Grip Strength]
His hands burned. Rope burn carved red lines into his palms. But every second mattered.
He wasn't just holding the rope.
He was climbing it — repeatedly.
Barefoot.
No leg support.
Just arms and pure grip strength.
At the top of the ceiling beam, he'd pause.
Hold.
Feel the pain.
Absorb it.
Then descend slowly — forcing his grip and lats to control the slide.
Then repeat.
After the tenth climb, his fingers wouldn't even uncurl.
---
[Training Objective #2: Explosive Lower Body Power]
Jed hobbled over to the corner of the garage, where an old backpack was filled with metal chunks for weight.
He strapped it tight across his chest, bent down, and started pistol squat jumps.
One leg at a time, exploding up, balancing himself midair, and controlled negatives.
Left leg. Jump.
Right leg. Jump.
No breaks.
This wasn't just to build leg strength — it was to simulate that snap of power needed to initiate a lift or explode in a match.
His thighs screamed.
His calves twitched.
But his eyes were locked in.
---
[Training Objective #3: Raw Pulling Strength – One-Arm Deadlifts]
Next, he dragged over a steel pipe — rusted and cold. On each end were buckets filled with cement and rocks, unevenly distributed for grip imbalance.
He wrapped one hand around the middle.
Brace.
Breathe in.
Pull.
The pipe wobbled, the uneven weights swaying. But he forced his hips to lock out, glutes tight, lats engaged.
One arm at a time.
Each lift a war.
Each rep a scream from his spine.
His traps flared. His grip slipped. But he didn't stop until his fingers nearly gave out.
---
[Training Objective #4: Posterior Chain & Lower Back – Roman Chair]
There was no Roman chair. So he made one.
An old bench. A box to anchor his heels. A metal plate strapped on his back.
He crossed his arms, lowered his torso toward the ground — slow and controlled — then snapped up.
Back extensions.
15 reps.
5 sets.
Every day.
Each rep felt like fire running up his spine. But he remembered the technique he'd studied online during long nights after work.
"Weak lower back, weak lift."
So he endured.
---
[Training Objective #5: Push Strength – Weighted Explosive Push-Ups]
The final piece.
He laid flat on the ground, stacked a crate of books on his back, and braced.
One arm down.
Explode.
Switch.
Explode.
He wasn't just building power.
He was training his mind-muscle connection, learning to control his whole body like a machine.
The pain wasn't new.
But it was deeper now.
Sharper.
Still, he didn't scream.
---
[Scene: Late night – Jed stares at his hands]
His fingers were swollen. Callused. Bleeding in some spots. His legs trembled when he stood.
But his heart?
Steady.
"I can't afford to rest like the others. But I can make each rep count more than theirs."
With just one week left, he cranked up his intensity — four days straight of brutal training.
Then, as he'd planned, the final two days were for complete rest.
He'd learned enough to understand how the body works — how recovery wasn't laziness, it was strategy.
---
[Scene: A dusty community gym – Marcus Perez training]
"Hold it—don't break!" a coach shouted.
Marcus's forearm bulged as he held a 40kg dumbbell in full pronation, static.
The clock ticked past 30 seconds.
The room erupted in cheers.
"That's my boy! Ain't no one at that school that can match this monster strength!"
"You'll show 'em what real arm strength looks like, Marcus!"
"That kid's a monster!"
"No one at this school can match that!"
But Marcus wasn't smiling.
Inside, he was burning.
He hated David.
The way he walked around like he owned everything.
His clothes, his girlfriend, his arrogance.
Even his coach was famous.
"He has everything handed to him.
But I'll make sure he knows what real strength looks like."
But Marcus?
He had only one thing. Raw strength.
And this was his chance to make the world see it.
His strength wasn't built in mirrors and neon-lit gyms.
It was built in rust, pain, and silence.
---
[Scene: Monday Morning – School Campus]
The campus was buzzing. Banners up. Students in jerseys. Murmurs of bets, matchups, and reputations.
Students buzzed around the announcement board.
The Intramurals had officially begun.
But whispers spread.
"David Ahn is in arm wrestling and powerlifting?"
"Reina's doing chess again, she's unbeatable."
"Hey… Jed's in both strength events too, that janitor guy."
Jed stood quietly at the back of the crowd, his eyes locked on the paper.
Powerlifting: Friday
Arm Wrestling: Wednesday
Names like David Ahn, Reina Salvador, and Marcus Perez sparked excitement.
Rumors flew. The air was electric.
David stood with his crew, smirking at the board.
"He really signed up? Poor guy. I'll make him regret it."
Jed stood a few meters away, silently tying his shoes, breathing slow.
No eyes were on him. No fans. No followers.
But he had grit.
And something more dangerous than raw strength—
His body was ready.
His mind was locked in.
And his will was fire.
The games would begin soon.
And the world would finally see what he was made of.