The training hall smelled like metal and sweat.

  Unlike the main Guild Hall, the gym wasn’t trying to impress anyone, but it was massive, like someone had tried to turn an old industrial furnace room into a pce for physical worship. The walls were thick steel ptes, bolted over what looked like original stone and reinforced with riveted beams. Piping ran everywhere, exposed—but unlike many of the pipes in my life, they were not leaking hot mana and steam. Many ventition fans were installed too. They’d managed to cram tall mirrors between the support struts, giving you distorted, wobbly reflections in some pces and pristine ones in others.

  The flooring, though—that was something. Some kind of rubberized polymer, spongy and clean, reminding me of gyms back on Earth before everything went to hell. My boots barely made a sound when I stepped in. It made me wonder how they could have done something like this.

  Weights were lined up in organized racks along one wall. Dumbbells of bck iron, bars of varying length and thickness, kettlebells shaped like monster skulls—intimidating, sure, but beautiful in their own way.

  There weren’t traditional machines. Instead, there were mana-powered resistance devices. Gears turned visibly in rge metal casings, and I could see people straining against mechanical forces that adjusted depending on the user’s strength output.

  One guy was pushing against a gear-powered resistance wall, muscles trembling as the wheel pushed back with growing strength, powered by a mana supply line. Another woman was strapped into a rotating rig that simuted swimming through sludge—it was like resistance training against a whirlpool.

  Off to the side, there was even a roped-off sparring ring, with two men circling each other and trading blows in a blur of muscle and footwork. The wet sp of a hand on a body echoed across the room. I didn’t need much imagination to figure out why salvagers trained so hard. In this world, staying strong didn’t just help you haul scrap or beat the slime monsters. Sometimes, you had to knock out another salvager trying to steal your haul.

  “It’s a real gritty sight,” I said, putting my stuff down.

  Meredi tugged off her bck jacket and tossed it onto a bench. Her tank was clinging to her body, hugging every curve that wasn’t already outside of it. She stretched once, reminding me that her arms could probably curl me like a sack of flour.

  “Start easy,” she said, nodding toward a set of dumbbells. “Ten-pounders to warm up.”

  I gave her a smirk and grabbed a pair of twenties.

  She raised a brow. “Feeling ambitious, huh?”

  I knocked out ten slow, controlled reps. “Just trying to impress the goddess of muscles.”

  “Hah.” She tilted her head, visibly surprised. “Well, color me impressed. Since when can you do that?”

  I grinned. “I’ve been working out.”

  “And wow, you’re actually doing it right if you can crank those out. Okay!” she said, eyes sparkling with excitement.

  She hefted a pair of fifties like they were nothing and stood beside me in front of one of the wider mirrors. Her stance was clean, shoulders tight, arms flexed with perfect form.

  I traded out for twenty-fives and mimicked her posture. Well, I tried. Most of my attention went to studying her through the mirror. Her biceps tensed and rexed with each curl—a graphic in a game could never do them justice. They were so giant, and the way they glistened with sweat—it was like beyond high definition.

  “Straighten up,” she said. “Keep an eye on me.”

  “Got it,” I replied, narrowing my eyes on her form further.

  Her colrbone was pronounced, her chest steady even as her tank fought a war. Sweat already glistened near the hollow of her neck. The veins along her forearms were visible, running like living cables beneath ember-touched skin. I got to admire her in motion, and because we were working out, it wasn’t weird.

  I was in heaven—muscle goddess heaven.

  “Hey! Meredi!” a voice called out.

  We both turned.

  A tall man approached—broad, thick-chested, with skin like copper and long, braided hair. His sleeveless tunic did a lot to accentuate his traps and arms. Just behind him was a nkier, nervous guy who looked like he was trying not to trip over his own boots.

  “Ervon,” Meredi said, nodding with a smile. “Didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “Repair job finished early. Brought along a new recruit.” Ervon cpped the scrawny man on the back, making him stumble a step. “Name’s Cray. Kid’s got potential, but he needs a bit more oomph behind his arms.”

  Cray gave a shy nod.

  “This is my stepson, Timaeus,” Meredi replied, casual and smooth.

  My soul withered a bit. But I kept smiling.

  Ervon ughed. “Stepson, huh? Poor kid’s got some big shoes to fill.”

  “I’m 32,” I muttered.

  Meredi gnced my way. “I think he’s doing just fine.”

  "Stepson, you spot her or just watch in awe?" Ervon asked, amused.

  "He spots me," Meredi said proudly, tapping me with the weight in her hand.

  My brain melted. I wore the stupidest grin.

  “Don’t worry,” I said with fake bravado. “I won’t let you down.”

  Ervon ughed again, “Alright, we’ll leave you to it,” and the two moved on.

  Meredi chuckled. “Ervon’s a good guy.”

  My eyes narrowed, and I started pumping faster.

  “Timaeus?”

  I huffed through my nose. “I’m going to be bigger than that guy.”

  Meredi’s smile widened. “You don’t need to be that big. It’s a little bit too much, don’t you think?”

  I slowed down immediately. “I will be leaner than that guy.”

  We worked through more sets—squats, overhead presses, curls, pull-ups—and the pride in my chest grew with every rep. My body still ached from the st few days, but all this effort—all my waking up and working out— was really paying off. I was keeping up and I was leaving Meredi impressed.

  “Bench press next,” Meredi said, leading me to the padded bench.

  She loaded up two ptes on each side of the bar.

  “Two hundred pounds?” I asked. “Isn’t that a bit much?”

  “Want me to get crushed when I’m working beneath some gearbox contraption?” She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she shot me a pyful smirk.

  “Never. Heck, I’d rather you not work beneath something so dangerous.”

  “Well, life isn’t so kind,” she replied. She y down, set her grip, and breathed deeply. “You gotta work, and do the things others won’t.” Her body tensed so much that her muscle definition increased threefold. “Spot me.”

  I stepped behind the bar. The first two sets were fine. Then, on the third set, she pushed through the first few reps fine—but by the twelfth, she was trembling.

  I was concerned. “Meredi—”

  “Tell me I can do it!” she barked.

  “You can do it!” I shouted out of reflex.

  “Louder!”

  “You can do it, Meredi!”

  “Damn right I can!” she growled, voice cracking from strain.

  I hovered my hands under the bar, ready, but she powered through six more reps, face red, jaw clenched, arms bulging with effort. She made it to eighteen—just barely—and I helped guide the bar back into the rack the moment it dipped.

  She let out a deep exhale, arms falling to her sides.

  “You did it,” I whispered, holding back the urge to throw my arms around her.

  She raised her shaking arm and showed me a thumbs-up. "New record," she breathed.

  I fought the urge to hug her even more. Every part of me wanted to. This was the most difficult challenge of the day.

  Instead, I gave her a grin. "That’s one for the books."

  She reached up and tapped her knuckles against my chest. "You’re not so bad yourself, partner."

  I think I blushed. Just a little.

  Ervon came back around, shirtless now, with a fresh sheen of sweat and looking far too proud of it.

  I cursed him 100 times in three seconds.

  “Hey Meredi,” he said, wiping his handsome brow with the back of his firm hand. “You up for a quick spar?”

  I opened my mouth to decline on her behalf—but Meredi had already lit up.

  “Sure!” she said brightly, cracking her knuckles. “Just let me grab gloves.”

  My mouth stayed open, the air caught somewhere between a “Wait” and a “Why.”

  “And how about this,” Ervon added, smiling. “After our match, our rookies go at it. Cray and Timaeus.”

  What? No, I didn’t want to do that—

  “Yesss,” Meredi grinned, spping her fist into her palm. “I’ve been dying to see Tim in the ring. He’s way tougher than he looks, did you know that?” Meredi turned to me, her eye sparkling. “You hear that, Tim? You’re going in the ring!”

  I couldn’t speak. I was just so overwhelmed by her cute enthusiasm.

  “I’m going in the ring,” I finally managed to say, and then, as if it was a blessing, she gripped my hand, a mighty cp rumbling the air.

  “And you’re going to win!” she procimed.

  “Yeah!”

  “You’re going to beat that guy to a pulp!”

  “Yeah! I’ll kill him!”

  Meredi’s eye went wide.

  I immediately regretted everything—of course that was too far—

  “YEAH!” Meredi roared.

  She hugged me so tight I almost went to Momma Goddess heaven.

  …

  It was then that I realized I would kill someone if Meredi just said to do it. Shit. I was really far gone… Then again…

  Meredi was excited. Glowing. Literally glowing, thanks to the sweat catching the light from the mps above. She looked adorable. Absolutely adorable.

  And I was going to die from adorability overload. I did not have time to think about my mindset when I was too busy resisting death from adorability.

  Before I could blink, I was standing ringside, my arms crossed, watching Meredi tug on a pair of combat gloves—fingerless leather wraps, padded across the knuckles, with woven stitching and metal csps. She rolled her neck, then slipped in her mouthguard.

  It was then that I realized that, wait, no, this was horrifying.

  Then Ervon stepped into the ring, still shirtless.

  With his shirt off, he really looked huge. Like an angry demigod. His chest was wider than most doors. His shoulders looked like they had backup shoulders on standby. Had someone tried to build a statue out of copper wire and ambition? Veins ran like tree roots across his arms, and seemed to be engorging in real time. Compared to Meredi—who was plenty built in her own right—he looked like a goliath.

  They met in the middle of the mat. Touched gloves. Smirked at each other.

  “You sure you’re ready?” he asked, tightening the cloth band around his wrist.

  “Try not to cry when I flip you,” she said with a grin, bouncing on her heels.

  “Regur rules,” he said.

  My sense returned to me. I raised a hand in protest. “Hey, wait, is this fair? That guy’s got like a hundred pounds on her—”

  Cheers erupted. Other guild members had gathered to watch the friendly match.

  I wasn’t cheering. I wasn’t even blinking. The cheering had made my jaw so tight it might have fused.

  The match started with a quick exchange of feints, and then—Meredi lunged in for a low grapple.

  Ervon didn’t even flinch. He countered by sweeping her sideways and guiding her down onto her hands and knees. He got one knee pressed behind her thigh and his arms wrapped around her stomach. He had his sweaty chest pressed against her toned back.

  From behind.

  Full body contact.

  I felt my soul vibrate.

  I nearly jumped the ropes.

  I never thought I could hate someone more than the devs. Or the original Timaeus. Or the City Lord.

  But Ervon—this grinning bastard—had ascended to a new tier of loathing.

  I could practically feel his arm against her ribcage. His torso against her back. That smug little smile. His breath on her neck—

  I will destroy you, I thought. I will alchemize your face into a sock puppet. Even if that’s not possible in this world!!!

  He flipped them, rolling onto his back with Meredi caught in a tight headlock across his chest. Their legs were tangled. Their sweat was shared. Her cheek pressed to his pectoral like some slow-burn romance gone terribly, terribly wrong. Meredi kicked once, twice—and then tapped.

  Ervon let go and rolled to the side. “Whew,” he breathed.

  Meredi flopped onto her back, chest heaving. “Is it obvious I’m not a fighter?” she groaned, tugging out her mouthguard.

  “You’re still one of the strongest people I know,” Ervon said, ughing with her. “That’s enough to make me sweat.”

  She grinned. “Still got my strength. That’s what matters.”

  I gred so hard the ring ropes could start vibrating from the intensity.

  “I’ve found my new enemy.”

  My time came sooner than I expected.

  While Meredi slipped on my gloves, I stared into the middle distance with all the calm of a man who had just witnessed a war crime.

  “You okay?” she asked, tugging a strap snug. “Your face looks kind of—”

  “I’m focused,” I said, voice more gravely than I ever thought I could sound.

  She grinned, completely misreading me. “Good! Have fun. I’m rooting for you.”

  I walked away. “I’m earning my stew today.”

  I heard a slight gasp behind me, but it might have been my imagination.

  I stepped into the ring like a demon in a rage.

  Cray visibly paled. The poor guy looked like a candle in the rain.

  “Don’t worry, Cray!” Ervon called from the sidelines. “You’ve got this! Just remember what I said. Stay loose, keep moving, don’t let the alchemist explode your head.”

  Cray turned. “He can explode heads?!”

  “I’m joking, I’m joking,” Ervon said with a wave and a rosy chuckle. “Right, Meredi—”

  “Crush him, Tim!” Meredi shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Ftten that kid! BREAK HIS FLIMSY STANCE. TEAR HIM APART!”

  I had to turn to look at her. She looked so wild. Holy shit. I looked at Cray. “I’m going to annihite you,” I whispered.

  He paled harder.

  I waved to Ervon. “Rules?”

  Ervon chuckled. “Anything goes, within reason. Just avoid the groin. This is about adapting to the chaos of combat. Real fights don’t have referees.”

  Cray shivered.

  I cracked my neck. “Cool. Just letting you know I’m insane.”

  Meredi's shout exploded from behind me. “CRAY, YOU’RE GOING DOWN, PUNK!”

  “Did you get that, Ervon?” I asked. “My warning?”

  Ervon ughed. “I hope so. Let’s see some creativity. This is to prep Cray for field encounters.”

  Then he walked back over to Meredi’s side. They stood shoulder to shoulder.

  What a fucking bastard.

  “You know,” Meredi said, “Tim survived a trip to the marshes. Alone.”

  Ervon raised a brow. “That so?”

  “Mhm! I even gave him the sword. Told me he even fought a Gloomspawn.”

  She was gushing. I loved it. I would kill 100 Gloomspawn if it meant seeing Meredi gush.

  Ervon turned, and our eyes met. He studied me, then nodded slowly—like he was realizing what I was in his quest to get his hands on Meredi.

  He stepped closer to the ropes. “Alright, Tim. If it’s clear you’re winning, ease off. This isn’t about punishment. It’s about experience. Let Cray feel the pressure, not the healer’s bill.”

  I nodded, the edge in my posture remaining.

  Meredi, unaware of the fire burning inside me, waved him off with a teasing tone. “You getting scared, Ervon? Worried my little alchemist’s gonna beat your protégé?”

  Ervon chuckled. “Nah. More scared that—if that look in his eye’s any sign—you might be blind, Meredi.”

  He gave me a nod that almost threw me off.

  “Kid looks like a wrathful padin about to smite some evil noble.”

  “Huh?” Meredi asked. “What are you talking about? He’s my cute little stepson.”

  My whole body twitched.

  I pulled my mouthguard into pce and cracked my neck.

  “This soul’s got over 20 years of bad living packed into it,” I muttered.