He went to the gym the next morning, after a good, healthy ten hours of sleep. He was refreshed, energized, and ecstatic, as if he had a sugar rush. He opened the doors to the gym, sighing in, then heading back to the treadmill. His legs were still somewhat sore, but they didn't feel as painful and nerve-racking as they did yesterday.
He stepped on the treadmill, stretched his legs and arms, twisting and turning his body, till every part of his being cracked with an intense sound. Then, he set the treadmill's speed to six, as if he were an Olympic runner. At least that's what his dumbass thought.
The treadmill's speed increased at a tremendous pace, skipping numbers as if they were rocks, and in just a second, it was set to six. He ran like hell just to catch up with the machine. His legs flapped, arms pinwheeled, and his eyes expanded so wide they looked ready to file for independent citizenship.
To say the least, his legs were still not ready for cardio. Eventually, as he caught on to the machine, the machine's speed outrunning him, he turned off the treadmill, gasping for air. The people around him were dumbfounded by the sight they saw. Nova ignored them all, since none of their contorted faces mattered, only the fact that he was improving slowly, and that was enough for him for the time being.
"Okay, cardio's a no-go," he panted, leaning against the wall.
He tried some light dumbbells instead, his arms shaking like they were auditioning for an earthquake movie. A girl nearby, lifting twice his weight, gave him a pitying look. He shot her a weak grin.
"First day," he said, as his excuse. His tone sounded like it explained everything.
The girl just smirked and kept going, completing her set.
He tried another couple of exercises, some of them being on machines, and taking advice from trainers, and doing a "Push-Pull-Leg" workout. And today was the pull day. He started with the dumbbell curls, then moved on to a back machine. The machine was very well engineered, with simple, yet efficient instructions on how to use, how to avoid death, and just overall how to use the machine the proper way.
It was a seated row. He put on some twenty-five-pound weights on either side, pulling them effortlessly, and maintaining correct form. Then he took a one-minute break, loaded another twenty-five-pound plate, and slowly, feeling the stretch and the burn of the muscle, did ten reps. He was exhausted from just two exercises.
Then he moved on to another back exercise: the lat pulldown. He perfectly managed to do that exercise, feeling much stronger and better, all the while feeling tired to the brim. Then he did preacher curls, and then finished off with two sets of face pulls.
By the time he left the gym, it was already near midday. He realized that he had invented new ways to be sore, while still feeling the pain of getting stronger. He felt stronger, more confident, and he knew all the strength he had to accumulate would come eventually, through steady and efficient progress.
He shuffled back home, his body so tired it could give out in the middle of the sidewalk, but he pushed through. His eyes were determined to walk the five minutes, his face serious, as if he were playing "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire."
Eventually, back at his apartment, he collapsed onto the couch again, the kittens immediately piling onto him. Smudge, Luna, the orange cat, Nyx, the pure black cat, Miro, the Persian-looking cat, and Sol, the whitest white cat ever, all climbed up on him like a leopard climbing a tree, all looking cute while doing it.
Smudge curled up on his chest, purring like a tiny lawnmower, with the rest of them following Smudge's lead and curling up on his chest, purring like tiny lawnmowers.
"You guys are the only ones who get me," he mumbled, scratching their ears.
His phone, the cheap prepaid one that Talia had lent him, came to life on the coffee table in front of him. He groaned, reaching for it, realizing the kittens were in the way. He adjusted their positions, just enough for him to get his phone, while not disturbing their slumber.
He opened his phone and saw a text from Talia: "How's training going? You still alive?"
He snorted, typing back: "Barely. My body hates me. It feels like I can break into a million pieces." Then he inquired, wondering if she could give me more information about the tournament that the books themselves didn't mention: "Tell me more about this tournament?"
A minute later, the phone brightened. "It's intense from what I have heard. No one other than some guests and guild members is allowed. I have heard it's a lot of fighting and some weird tests. Also, you gotta show you have got 'potential', whatever that means, I am not too familiar with it."
Nova typed back: "Yeah, I'm dying out here. What's 'potential' mean?"
Her reply came quickly: "Nobody knows till it happens. Just keep pushing. You got this!"
He tossed the phone aside, his brain too fried to process that. Fighting? Weird tests? He pictured himself getting knocked out in front of a crowd and winced.
"Gotta get stronger," he muttered, but the thought of tomorrow's training made him want to hide under the couch.
He grabbed Awakening in the Modern Age from the table, hoping for something useful. It talked about the Surge again, how people suddenly got powers, some could run super-fast, others could, like, move stuff with their minds.
Yeah, that's nice and all, he thought, but how do I unlock things like that? I want fire manipulation or void manipulation, or something to do with souls. His face brightened, his voice coming to reality: "Or something to do with destruction."
He opened the book The Path to Power, trying another shitty exercise. He was sitting cross-legged and "visualized his strength." All he visualized was a burger. His stomach growled again, and he sighed, grabbing another spoonful of peanut butter.
"This is my life now," he said to Smudge, who was still purring on his chest. "Peanut butter and pain."
He closed his eyes, the weight of the day pulling him under. The tournament felt like a mountain, and he was at the bottom, with no gear and no clue. But he promised to climb it. He had to. For the kittens, for Talia, for himself. Even if he felt like the dumbest guy in the room, he wasn't giving up. Not yet.