One, two. One, two. Maintain a steady rhythm. Exhale on the lift. Keep a consistent balance with your grip.
Heaving the bar up one last time, I set it on the rack above me and allow my arms to fall limply to my sides. Whew, okay, that’s the last set of reps I needed for today.
...But it can’t hurt to try for a little more. It’s the same idea as shaking down Shadows, right? Operating on that flimsy line of logic, I pull myself up from the bench and slap on ten extra pounds to each side of the bar before going back at it.
The unique burn of physical exertion is a pain I’ve grown accustomed to since moving to Tokyo. I was by no means an athletic individual before my run-in with whoever that bald prick was, but becoming a Phantom Thief has necessitated a change in my previously lethargic lifestyle. Thanks to my good fortune in having a fairly high metabolism and befriending a certain delinquent with a promising future as a personal trainer, I’ve been making impressive strides in my fitness. Between improvised exercises in my loft and stints to this well equipped gym, my physique is quickly developing into that of a respectable criminal.
As my mind wanders in an attempt to distract myself from my growing exhaustion, so too do my eyes. Scanning the gym to scout its other members, I see a variety of other men and women in workout clothes, ranging from branded latex numbers to simple sweats similar to mine. There’s no one that really catches my attention until the radically distinct gray haired man in a suit walks in from the entrance lobby. My sight quickly travels to the reflective accessory on his belt, a police badge.
Shit. He’s a cop, one I imagine won’t take well to the idea of some punk on probation trying to bulk up. And I just had to wear my Shujin sweats today too. One call in about my school and he’ll be able to pin me down for sure.
In my panic, the balance of my lift is completely thrown off. As my muscles fail me, the bar begins to fall lower and lower towards my far-more-fragile-than-metal sternum. I look to my left as my face twists into a pleading grimace- only to find Morgana happily snoozing in my bag, unaware of my impending doom. I suppose I deserve as much for assuming a cat could be my spotter.
So this is how it ends, huh? Crushed under my own hubris; it’d be oddly poetic if it weren’t so humiliating. All I can hope for now is that Ryuji will keep his promise to tell everyone the government assassinated me and staged it to look like an accident. Closing my eyes and clenching my teeth, I attempt one last paltry rebellion against my fate as the metal pole begins to press down against me.
