I brought the bar down, close to my chest. Oren spotted me, his watchful eyes ensuring my safety. "Make the bar touch your chest," he instructed. I would if I could, I thought, straining against the weight. I lay the bar on my chest, huffing and puffing, trying to muster the strength to push it back up. I gave it everything I had, but suddenly, my strength gave out. Oren reacted quickly, catching the bar and stopping it from dropping onto me. He held it up effortlessly and placed it back on the rack. "Not bad." he praised, a hint of pride in his voice. "You've started to bench your body weight for a few reps after just a month." I kicked up, sitting on the bench and grabbing my water bottle from beside the machine. I took a long drink, feeling the cool liquid soothe my parched throat. "I need more, though." I responded, determination in my eyes. Oren nodded, his expression serious but encouraging. "Give it time. Your body has already changed significantly." I glanced at my arms and chest. I can't judge it with this angle, I need the mirror.

I walked over to the mirror and stared at myself, taking in the changes that had begun to manifest over the past month. My hamstrings, calves, and quadriceps had gotten slightly larger and were more defined, the muscles standing out under my skin. My pectoral muscles had also grown, creating a noticeable indent in my shirt, a physical testament to the countless bench presses and chest exercises. My biceps had gained an inch in width, the veins more prominent and snaking down my arms. Oren had commented on my vascularity when we first started, noting it was unusual for someone who hadn't been regularly hitting the gym. My shoulders were broader and more defined, with my deltoids rounding out nicely. My beloved deltoids had become a particular point of pride, their shape and strength a direct result of relentless shoulder workouts.

Beyond aesthetics, my physical abilities had improved significantly. I could now run an eight-minute mile, a feat that seemed impossible just a few weeks ago. My punch had gained power, capable of pushing the punching bag with a single strike. My flexibility had also increased, a product of rigorous stretching and mobility exercises. My posture had improved as well; I no longer found myself hunching over, my spine now straight and strong. Perhaps the most noticeable change was in my energy levels. I felt more alive, more vibrant, and more capable of taking on challenges. The fatigue that used to plague me had diminished, replaced by a newfound vigor. Yet, despite all these improvements, I knew I was still far from my ultimate goal. Oren's voice broke my reverie. "Alright, let's start bi's now." he instructed, referring to the biceps workout we had planned. "Yes," I responded, ready for the next struggle.

Five days later..

"My personal style is a street fighting style. You have learned the basics of the three in this past month. I will teach you a few special techniques now." Oren explained. He walked over to the edge of the mat and pulled out a half-body dummy with a spinner bottom. Oren placed it in the middle of the mat and informed, "I'll teach you a poke today." Oren started hopping lightly on his feet, his movements fluid and controlled. He threw out a quick jab, stepping forward with his left foot. As his arm reached its maximum range, his fingers extended, and he pierced the eye of the dummy with such force that it looked like he tore the material. "I've done resistance training on my fingers, but any finger will be tough enough to destroy an actual eye." he explained. He is showing the practicality and raw effectiveness of his street fighting style. He relaxed, shaking out his hands and stepping back. "Come over here and begin." he demanded. I positioned myself in front of the dummy and got into my stance. I threw a right jab without stepping forward.

Oren's voice cut through the air, interrupting my jab, "No! Step for the range." I recovered my stance, feeling the slight embarrassment of my mistake, and threw another jab. This time, I stepped with my right foot. I aimed for the dummy's eye, but my finger bent awkwardly upon impact. I winced and grasped my hand. "That hurt, damn it!" I exclaimed, shaking my hand to alleviate the pain. Oren walked over and disclaimed, "Don't actually try and pierce it. Just practice this motion over and over for the next ten minutes. I'm going to the bathroom." He left the mat and headed towards the bathroom, leaving me alone with the dummy. I sighed, rubbing my sore finger. Well, time to practice this, I guess. I refocused my energy and attention, determined to get the technique right.

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I positioned myself again, recalling Oren's movements in my mind. I threw another jab, stepping forward correctly, but this time, I pulled back just before impact, ensuring my finger wouldn't bend. It felt more controlled, more precise. I repeated the motion, each time trying to perfect the step and the jab without fully committing to the poke. Minutes passed, and with each repetition, I felt a slight improvement. The initial awkwardness began to fade, replaced by a growing confidence in the movement. My body started to remember the sequence, the flow of the step and the jab becoming more natural. Oren returned from the bathroom, his eyes scanning my form and movements. He nodded slightly, approving of my dedication. "Good. Keep practicing like that, and you'll get the hang of it. Precision and repetition are key."

Twenty two days later..

"That's a good jab, but it won't get me!" Tony taunted as he effortlessly swerved, dodging my jab. He shifted his weight and fired a powerful right straight. I raised my guard just in time to block it, feeling the impact travel through my arms. That was powerful! Tony charged up a roundhouse, his move clearly telegraphed. Rookie mistake. I seized the opportunity, threw a quick jab, and nicked his shoulder. The force of the jab made Tony trip and fall backward, landing on his back.

This is as good a time as any! I thought, advancing quickly. I delivered a heavy oblique kick to his thigh. Tony fought through the pain, his face contorted in a grimace. He planted his palms behind him and, with surprising agility, delivered a side kick to my gut. The kick knocked the wind out of me, and I fell down on one knee. Tony took advantage of my vulnerable position, going through the motion of an uppercut. He stopped just before it landed, a fraction of an inch from my chin. "I win." he declared, lowering his fist. Tony extended his hand to help me up. "You're getting better, though," he said with a hint of respect in his voice. "give it a few months, and you might win." I accepted his hand, getting back on my feet.

Thirty two days later..

Damon is a great student. He's meeting my expectations for his growth perfectly. While he is not surpassing them, he is meeting them every single time. For example, his one-rep max a few weeks ago was one hundred and eighty pounds, his current body weight. Now, his one-rep max is two hundred and twenty pounds. He is growing stronger day by day, and his rest periods are ensuring that. His progress is not just in raw strength. Damon has also learned three techniques of 'Hashigana-Style Street Fighting', demonstrating a good grasp of each move. I expect him to master ten techniques by the end of this training. His commitment and attention to detail are commendable.

In terms of overall skill, Damon is still at an amateurish level in MMA. Tony continues to dominate in that aspect, but Damon is closing the gap slowly. I expect Damon to finish his body training three months from now. At worst, if he decides to take a break, four months. His body is becoming more defined, and he is hyper-focused on his physical development. When I first met him, he was disheveled, but now, he looks like an upstanding young man. His dedication and transformation are remarkable. Damon’s progress is consistent and steady, meeting all my expectations. With his current trajectory, he’s well on his way to achieving the strength and skill level I've set out for him. Maybe.. seven more weeks? That concludes this progress report.

Eighty days later..

"And... twenty!" I yelled, my voice echoing in the gym as sweat dripped from my face. I placed the bar back on the rack and sat up, catching my breath. I grabbed my water bottle, taking a long drink before walking over to one of the punching bags. I leaned back, channeling all of my power. I threw my entire body weight into a punch, the force surging from my legs through my torso and into my fist. The bag absorbed the hit, but only for a moment before it tore open, spilling sand onto the floor. Oren's voice rang out, "Good, you're ready." I turned to face him, still grasping the hand I had used to punch the bag, feeling the strain in my knuckles. My face changed from a neutral expression to one of bursting anger. I clenched my jaw, tightening the muscles in my face. Yes, I am ready. I am ready to exact my revenge!