The driver was there, waiting for Michael in the parking lot. Michael had tried to convince him not to bother, that the dojo was only a few minutes away and he could go there by himself, but the burly man insisted. Looking at him, Michael noticed that he was wearing sunglasses even though it was dark outside, earpiece tight in his ear, and there was a bulge in his suit. A gun. Like a goddamn spy movie.

“You’re new.” He told the driver, making more small talk with one of them than in the previous days combined.

“Yes.” He said as he drove. The man’s voice was surprisingly clear for someone with so much muscle. “Name’s Robert Stonebridge, but you can call me Bob. Mr Chestermill hired me after he fired the previous chauffeur. He said, to quote, he was one of Carmela’s goons for sure.”

“That’s funny.” Michael smiled, “but also quite worrying.”

“That is why he hired me. Don’t worry sir, I have been told to expect strange things to happen from time to time, and to pretend nothing is happening. I signed an NDA. I also double as security detail if you need me. I am quite a good shot, I have martial arts training, the whole thing: systema, krav maga, kalah, muay thai, jiu jitsu. And as you can see I have the size to back up any threat I speak. Speaking of,” he laughed, “I have been told you were big but sir, you’re almost bigger than I am!”

Michael laughed at the pleasant banter. The new driver-slash-guard was surprisingly nice, but after a while Michael found himself raising the privacy screen so that he could think.

Old Dave had mentioned private security before in passing. It seemed that he was finally making the first moves towards securing the places Michael frequented. The next step would be securing the plot of land that was soon to be his, but that had to wait until the purchase was finalized. With Travis helping, it shouldn’t take long at all, after which they would build a fence to keep people out and post guards at the dungeon at all times. They would have to be vetted, their silence paid, and instructed to look out not only for trespassers but also for possible magical apparitions. The mana was ever-thicker there, and Michael didn’t like the things he saw hiding in the shadows.

The fence and security are a necessary measure. They will attract attention, and it goes against my trekking-lover nature to close off a part of the Trail like this, but it’s better than to have random people stumbling upon the cave like I did all those days ago.

In the end, to soothe his guilt, he decided to make an anonymous donation to the organization in charge of maintaining this section of the Appalachian Trail, adding a note explaining that they might need the money to carve a new section of the trail that went around a new property some rich asshole had bought and was about to fence off, even though the trail ran through it.

Then a text message disturbed his quiet musings, ruining his mood. It was from Dave.

“There might be another magic user working with Carmela. Asked CEO Tyrell to investigate discreetly. He demanded to be taken to the dungeon tomorrow. I accepted, but you have final say.”

Immediately Michael thought about the car he had seen way too many times parked beside his, close to the Trail. Re-reading the message, he sighed.

“Fine,” he texted back. Better to deal with it quickly before the situation could grow out of control. Investigating the existence of another magic user was much more important than the hassle of taking the rich CEO to the dungeon.

At least Travis Tyrell did not look like your usual CEO. He was well-built even though his body had been ravaged by cancer for weeks, he had tattoos on both of his rather muscular arms, and he exuded the type of quiet confidence that didn’t come from just being rich and powerful, but also from knowing where you are in the pecking order of life. Michael knew, he had been feeling some of it himself as of late, as the knowledge that he was no longer a weak nobody cemented itself in his mind. The way he carried himself had changed, from a slumped over teenager to a proud man, and being fit was only a small part of the equation. Most of it was in the mind.

Despite the happy thoughts, it seemed that the day had yet another curveball in store for him. Right as he was getting out of the car, he heard someone call his name. Turning around, he saw who it was. Lawyer-guy.

“Michael?” Phillip called, getting out of his old 2003 Ford Taurus, a car that even to Michael’s untrained eye stank of unfulfilled potential.

“Hey,” Michael called back, waving lazily.

Behind him, Bob had driven the car to a parking spot that was out of the way but close enough he could keep an eye on the only entrance to the dojo.

“Is that your car?” Phillip asked cheekily.

Michael nodded. “Yeah. Company car.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

All of a sudden, he realized that his ages-old desires to get back at Phillip had melted like spring snow sometime in the past few days without him even noticing. Instead of feeling a sense of satisfaction at rubbing his car in Phillip’s face, he simply felt tired of the incoming charade already. He had other things to think about.

But sensei Stephan is right, this is mental training in a normal environment.

“What company?” asked Phillip, oblivious to his inner monologue, “did you finally get a real job?”

“Envious?” Michael asked, trying to act lighthearted and playful.

“Nah,” said the guy, “I’m perfectly fine working for myself. I could never work under a boss.”

“I see.” It didn’t escape Michael’s notice the fact that Phillip was treading carefully with him now.

“It’s all legal, I hope.” Phillip added, “you are the chosen one, you can’t disappoint the sensei.”

Michael groaned. “What does it have to do with—whatever. It’s all legal. I got lucky is all.”

In the locker room, Phillip couldn’t resist telling everyone about what he had seen. What followed was a long round of questions about this ‘new job’ excuse Michael had come up with on the spot until sensei Stephan put an end to it with a knowing look, calling for the beginning of the warm-up exercises.

“Does your boss need a lawyer?” Phillip asked as they sparred. He was going at it much lighter than usual.

Has he always been this slimy? He sees I got a lucky windfall and now he’s acting all friendly. At least compared to how he acted before.

“I don’t think so.” Michael replied. “I could ask.”

As if. I would never hire someone like you.

“See that you do.” Phillip’s true personality showed for a moment. “I just finished a big job, and I could use another. You do know I’m very professional and a hard worker.”

Don’t think so. Earlier you were complaining about having to do the dishes and iron your laundry instead of lazing around on the sofa all day.

“I’ll put in a good word. If we need a lawyer, I’ll drop your name.”

“Great!” Phillip said with a self-satisfied smile, proud of a job well done. “Now let’s actually train. It wouldn’t do for me to go soft on you, right, chosen one?”

With that, the speed and strength behind the punches increased dramatically. Despite that, though, it was nothing Michael couldn’t handle. With his 30% bonus to reflexes and his chiseled body—thanks to his healing skill and the training he did every morning—he could keep up with ease. Compared to having to fight goblins… which reminds me, tomorrow it should be skeletons instead of goblins. What a pain. I need to come up with a plan so that Travis doesn’t die as soon as we step into the first room. What if he panics? He shouldn’t, but what—

His distraction meant that one of Phillip’s punches slipped past his guard. He then had to exert every drop of willpower in order not to summon a distortion sphere and destroy the man’s arm before it hit him in the chest, driving his breath away and making him double over.

“Ouch,” he coughed, before healing himself. It had been a nasty punch.

Phillip didn’t even offer a hand. “You need to contract your abs. Otherwise I’m going to hurt you every time.”

Except that Phillip had aimed for Michael’s ribs, where there were no muscles to contract.

“You know what?” Michael croaked, “you’re right, once again I bow to your wisdom. I’ll contract my abs now.”

He willingly let another punch past his guard a few exchanges later. This time, he triggered [Crude Body Enhancement] to the extreme, burning mana to sustain the skill and the healing it took not to bleed all over the tatami. Phillip’s hand hit him in the ribs again, full force, but this time it was like he was hitting iron. Michael’s body didn’t budge an inch, instead Phillip recoiled backwards, nursing his hand.

As soon as the man saw Michael look at him with a puzzled expression—who in turn was trying his best to hide the nasty smile—he pretended it was nothing.

That’s not enough. I want more.

Indeed, all the resentment that had evaporated in the last few days was back with accrued interest, after seeing just how slimy Phillip was.

There came the opportunity to perform a block, and once again Michael triggered the two skills. Instead of being the one getting a bruise, Phillip recoiled in pain. Then again. And again. Now it was Michael’s turn to punch. No nasty hits, he didn’t need to play the same game as the lawyer. Just hits that hurt like a bag of bricks. Soon, Phillip was the one asking him to go easy on his bruising forearms, barely after a few blocks.

“What sort of gear are you on, man?” Marc, usually silent, asked in the locker room after they were done. “First you get all muscular, like a statue. Now Phillip is all bruised. You have to be on steroids, I just know it.”

“Maybe he’s just a weak sack of shit?” Michael snapped, yelling at Marc while pointing a finger in Phillip’s direction. Shit, the stress is getting at me. But being self-aware of a problem wasn’t enough to solve it.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Marc said in his languid voice, sounding like he was mocking Michael.

“Calm down my ass. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps he is getting what he deserves? What the fuck, guys? I’m here to learn, not to be bullied by middle-aged men. Act your fucking age. All this chosen one business, Phillip beating me like I’m his punching bag.” He turned to the man in question, who was even now massaging his red and swollen arms. “You didn’t like it, did you, when I did it to you? Now you know how it feels. From now on, every time you slip back to your old behavior, I pay you back five-fold. Am I clear?”

“You can’t threaten me like that,” Phillip barked back, a dog cornered looking at Marc and the silent other two in the room for backup. Too bad none said a word, and Stephan wasn’t there. “I never beat you for spite or anything. I was just trying to teach you, seeing you are the chosen one. You don’t want to learn, I need to make sure you understand what it means to be weak!”

Michael was onto him in a flash, lifting the man up by the scruff of his shirt with only one hand and slamming him against the wall mirror. The other hand was cupped around his face, squishing his cheeks.

“You don’t teach shit,” Michael growled, “you are a violent, sad excuse for a man. You are what, forty, and you accomplished nothing in life. Now you take it out on someone weaker than you. Too bad. You want to use me to vent your stress? Don’t complain if I do the same. And trust me, I am far more stressed than you are.”

He released him, took a deep breath and stormed off, leaving behind a room full of men stunned into silence.