The next morning, Jin returned to the gym, his steps steady and deliberate. The air inside was heavy with the smell of metal and sweat, a battlefield where he'd been defeated just yesterday.

The moment he stepped through the doors,  Gun hee was already waiting. His arms were crossed over his chest, his posture lazy, and his smirk sharp enough to cut.

“So, you actually came back,” Gun hee said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Didn’t think you had the guts. Thought you’d be crying in bed by now, licking your wounds.”

Jin met his gaze, his eyes cold and unyielding. He said nothing, not even a hint of acknowledgment, as he calmly dropped his bag to the floor.

Without a word, he began.

Push-ups.

Sit-ups.

Pull-ups.

Squats.

The gym was silent except for the rhythmic sound of Jin’s movements and the dull thud of his fists hitting the floor.

An hour passed. Then two. Then three.

By the fourth hour, Jin’s muscles trembled under the strain. His sweat fell in torrents, pooling beneath him, his breaths ragged but determined. Yet he never stopped. Not once.

Gun hee, leaning against the wall with his arms still crossed, let his smirk slip as his brows furrowed.

“What the hell…” he muttered under his breath, watching the young man grind through the agony. “He’s still going? That’s insane.”

Finally, Jin collapsed after his thousandth push-up, his body hitting the floor like a weight dropped from a great height. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he lay sprawled on the ground, exhausted but not defeated.

Gun he approached, crouching beside him. His voice carried a mix of disbelief and reluctant respect.

“Hey, kid. You’re gonna destroy yourself if you keep this up. There’s a difference between being stubborn and being suicidal, you know?”

Jin’s voice came low and steady, muffled by his panting. “Not… your… call.”

 Gun hee chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “You’re insane. But maybe you’re just the kind of insane I need.”

 Gun hee stood and handed Jin a crumpled piece of paper.

“Here. Buy these: fruits, water, whole grains. You’re going to need them.”

Jin blinked up at him, his face still pale, sweat dripping from his chin. “Why?”

“Because,” Gun hee said, crossing his arms again, “for the next two months, this gym is your world. No distractions. No outside noise. Just this—pain, sweat, and whatever the hell it takes to make you stronger. But there’s a catch.”

Jin pushed himself up, his knees wobbling but his back straight. “What’s the catch?”

Gun hee leaned closer, a sly grin on his face. “You might die half-way.”

The statement hung in the air, heavy and ominous.

''huh?... And you said it like it no big of a deal" Jin said smiling awkwardly scratching th back of his head

"Then u can quit, thats th way out" Gun hee said pointing at the door

“Fine,” he said simply.

That evening, Jin returned home with the list in hand and something heavier on his mind. His sister Yumi sat at the small, worn dining table, flipping through a stack of schoolwork she had no real intention of doing.

“Jin?” she asked, glancing up when he walked in.

Without answering, he placed an envelope on the table.

“What’s this?”

“It’s for the loan,” Jin said, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “Use the rest to buy yourself school clothes. You’re going back to school.”

She frowned, her confusion quickly replaced by concern. “Where did you get this? What are you doing, Jin? Don’t tell me you—”

“It’s not illegal,” Jin interrupted, his voice soft but resolute. He met her worried gaze with his own unwavering one. “Just… trust me. Take care of yourself. I’ll be gone for two months.”

Her eyes widened. “Two months? Jin, what are you talking about? Where are you going?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said, already heading toward the door.

She called after him, her voice desperate. “Jin!”

But he was gone.

Gun hee led Jin to the back of the gym, where a small storage room waited. It was cramped, windowless, and smelled faintly of stale sweat and mildew.

“This is your castle,” gun hee said, throwing open the door with a dramatic flourish.

Jin stepped inside, looking around. The walls were bare except for peeling paint, and the floor was little more than concrete. It was claustrophobic, suffocating even—but Jin didn’t flinch.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, dropping his bag in the corner.

The man smirked. “Traditional training. None of that flashy gym stuff. Just pain, repetition, and raw discipline.” He handed Jin a sheet of paper with a list of daily tasks:

Lift a one-ton training bag.

1,000 push-ups.

1,000 sit-ups.

1,000 one-handed pull-ups (each arm).

1,000 one-legged squats (each leg).

100,000 skips with a rope.

Hours of shadowboxing with weighted vest of 500 lbs

and weighted wrist straps of 400 lbs to each arm.

“Every day,” the man added, grinning devilishly. “No rest days. Four hours of sleep. And you’re not stepping out of this room unless it’s for the bathroom. Got it?”

Jin took the list and scanned it. “Got it.”

The first week was hell.

Jin’s body screamed in protest with every move he made. His hands blistered and bled, his muscles tore and rebuilt themselves, and his legs wobbled under the weight of the endless squats.

But he endured.

Every punch, every push-up, every drop of sweat was a battle won. And with each passing day, Jin grew stronger—not just physically, but mentally.

Two Months Later

 Gun hee woke up one morning and yawned, scratching his head as he ambled toward the storage room.

“Hope the kid didn’t drop dead,” he muttered, grabbing the key.

When he opened the door, a wave of heat hit him like a furnace, mixed with the sharp, acrid smell of sweat.

“Hey, go shower, you stink,” the man said, waving his hand in front of his nose without even looking inside.

A moment later, Jin emerged from the shadows, a towel slung over his shoulder. The man blinked.

Jin’s transformation was staggering. His body was lean but powerful, his muscles carved with precision and hardened from relentless training. He carried himself with a calm, unshakable confidence, his once-gentle aura replaced by something raw and dangerous.

The man whistled low. “Damn, kid. i guess rome wasn't really built in a day.”