After running on the treadmill long enough to completely soak the inner layer of his meld-suit, Sigmarus stretched his body. If not for the fact that the meld-suit could help him avoid unwanted trouble to some extent, he would have preferred wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Vibrant energy pulsed through his muscles as though wanting to explode outward through more rigorous activity. He couldn’t believe running all out for the first time since obtaining this apparatus would have such an affect on his body. Participating in mandatory sports and other physical activities back during his school days had never given him such a thrill.

He couldn’t help thinking, Is exercising going to become a drug for me? Well, it’s better than doing sunshine.

Just thinking about the victims who overdosed on sunshine sent a shiver down his spine. The terrifying experience of watching a grown man screaming obscenities while sprinting down the street completely naked with yellow blood leaking from his eyes and feet for the first time was unforgettable. Compared to that, an exercise addiction sounded like heaven.

Shaking away the vivid memory, he focused on his initial goal of testing the upper limits of his current strength. First, he approached the squat bar which was the closest equipment to the treadmills. Unsure how much his fifteen points of strength improved his fitness, he only added a forty-five pound weight on each side. To his surprise, the pressure of the one hundred thirty-five pounds barely affected his movement as he bent his knees.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him so much since he had been able to squat a little over one hundred and sixty pounds when he was in his last year of school before being banished. Although the achievement outshined his results in every other category, both physical and mental, he still placed last out of his classmates. Even women with smaller physiques effortlessly outperformed him back then.

Considering his previous achievement, squatting only this much with improved stats shouldn’t have surprised him. Still, despite not being in terribly bad shape, he hadn’t taken good care of his body after becoming a muskrat. Lack of confidence naturally took a throne at the forefront of his psyche without his notice.

I might have been looking down on myself too much. One thirty-five might have even been doable when I had five points of strength.

Realizing that, he placed the bar back on the rack and added another two forty-five pound weights. The total weight easily surpassed his maximum past achievement by more than sixty pounds. Now it could truly be called a test.

Before positioning himself under the bar, he stared at it. A strange and unfamiliar emotion emerged within his mind. He wondered if this was what it felt like to have hope. Receiving the Universal Apparatus and the Freedom Technique certainly opened a door for him, but standing before an obstacle which blocked his freedom in the past truly felt like coming face to face with one of his shackles.

Determination appeared in his eyes as he entered the squatting position. He closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply through his nose, then out from his mouth. His heart palpitated with anticipation. He straightened his legs. The weight of the squat bar weighed down on his shoulders as though a physical manifestation of the heavy emotional baggage holding him down. He slowly bent his knees.

Under the heft of the squat bar, his leg and back muscles trembled. This was a burden he had never been able to carry. But, he didn’t collapse. The burden didn’t crush him.

He fully bent his knees. He puffed out a heavy breath. Then, he straightened his knees. He breathed again. His heart trembled with emotion. Then, he squatted again. And again. And again.

With each consecutive squat, his lips quivered more and more. Moistness accumulated behind his closed eyelids. By the time he reached the tenth squat, a tear trickled down his cheek.

I can do it… I… I can do it!

Squatting two hundred twenty-five pounds was by no means a grand achievement in this world. More than ninety percent of his classmates had achieved this feat. For Sigmarus, however, the simple act of squatting a previously impossible weight for his weak self drenched him in a shower of emotion. Something shattered within his mind; a shackle which had imprisoned him within the dungeon of self-loathing and despair. This small achievement validated his hopes.

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Involuntarily, he mumbled in a quiet wavering voice, “I don’t have to be trash anymore.”

Bolstered by a newfound sliver of confidence, Sigmarus added a little more weight to the bar, causing it to reach two hundred and fifty pounds. For his one hundred seventy pound and one hundred eighty centimeter body which was spindly and underfed, it was an impressive amount. Increasing his stats had visibly increased his musculature, but not enough time had passed for the tattoo to erase the markedly visibly traits of a gangly muskrat who survived on nutrition bars and polluted water. This much weight was already amazing enough.

From there, he squatted another ten repetitions. The weight definitely reached the upper limits of his current strength and endurance. The heat burning in his thighs was proof. He then rested for a minute before doing another set.

Once finished, he removed all the weights from the bar and returned them to their stands. Like usual, lead-colored sweat dripped from his body and soaked the inner layer of his meld-suit. The sweat on his face mixed with the few tears of satisfaction still crawling down his cheeks to form a fluid evidence of triumph. A thin smile remained on his face the entire time.

After squats, he moved onto the leg press. Then, the pull-up bars. Then, the butterfly presses. Then, the crunch mats. Each time, he overcame his previous records by a similar, if not greater, margin to his squats. With his current achievements here, he could compare to the scores of the top forty or so percent of Upper District teenagers. It was an impressive feat for a muskrat, especially a comparatively weak one such as himself. This all continued until he reached the bench press which he had been delaying since he didn’t have a spotter.

Running his fingers through his short, sweat-soaked white hair which had lacked any pigment since his birth, he glanced over at the burly black man who was currently speeding through crunches while clutching a hundred pound weight over his bare chest. Sigmarus groaned at the sight.

This fucking monster…

From the start, Sigmarus had been hoping that another customer might show up so that he could ask them to spot him, but no one did. This Red Street Ogre dude was still his only option. Of course, he could always continue without a spotter, but he couldn’t stomach the notion of potentially dropping a heavy metal bar on his ribcage. As such, he contemplated the pros and cons of requesting a member of the Fallen Leaf gang to spot for him.

While pondering whether or not he should ask the guy to spot, he occasionally glanced toward the man with hesitancy hanging over his heart. During his contemplations, his eyebrow suddenly rose upon noticing a prominent feature of the man he previously hadn’t seen both due to his avoidance of making eye contact and also the man’s persistency in keeping his back to him.

Protruding from the man’s skull near his left temple was a distorted gray bone protuberance almost as long as a finger. It formed a shape bearing an uncanny resemblance to a horn. Sigmarus wondered if that deformation was the reason for the ‘Red Street Ogre’ title tattooed on his back. The horn added to the ambient intimidation coming from the man.

Mutations like that weren’t common, so it caught Sigmarus off-guard. Luckily, he had seen a handful of people with other types of physical mutations and was able to quickly acclimate to the uncommon sight. At the same time, however, he briefly remembered a work week from a year or so ago where his team had been working on a foundation near one of the major sewer pipelines. During that week, he could only force himself to ignore the occasional person carrying a heavily malformed infant into the sewer, only to return with empty arms. It was a vivid memory he always tried to forget, yet it remained seared in his mind. People with simple mutations like the man here could be considered lucky.

Sigmarus pinched his nose in an attempt to suppress the memory. Once the churning feeling in his gut disappeared, he returned his attention to the ‘Red Street Ogre’. Unfortunately, the man was still the only other person here right now. Sighing, Sigmarus resigned himself to asking for the man’s assistance and approached him. The man glanced at his approaching figure with curiosity and suspicion in his dark eyes. Sigmarus waited for the man to finish his set before speaking, but the man beat him to the punch.

“You need something?”

The man’s deep and heavy voice rumbled into Sigmarus’ ears. Although intimidating, the man spoke softly in a way which caused Sigmarus to imagine the man’s voice reading out an audiobook. However, he quickly dismissed the thought and answered with his own question.

“Sorry to interrupt you, but I was wondering if you could spot me real quick?”

Still sitting on the crunch mat with the weight resting on his thighs, the man carefully observed Sigmarus for a few seconds which made the latter uncomfortable. However, the man crushed Sigmarus’ anticipation of an annoyed reply with his next words.

“Sure. Why not?”

Sigmarus blinked in surprise, but then said, “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Nearby, out of Sigmarus’ line of sight, the man behind the counter nearly fell out of his chair. He couldn’t believe his eyes right now. The Red Street Ogre was going to spot for some random guy off the street? Was he hallucinating right now? The man immediately tossed the syringe sticking out of his arm in the trash.