Month One: Struggle.
The next few weeks bled into each other like bruises on top of bruises. Time didn't pass in days—it passed in reps, sets, and knockdowns. Wang woke up sore and went to bed broken. And every single day, Rocky was there. Watching. Pushing. Laughing when it hurt the most.
***
WEEK 1 — LIGHT WEIGHT TRAINING
"Pick it up."
Wang grunted as he grabbed the barbell. Just 20kg on each side. Nothing compared to his cybernetic strength. Still, the old bastard made him lift it slow. Controlled. Strict form.
"That's not weight training," Wang muttered under his breath. "That's fuckin' yoga."
Rocky heard it.
"Yoga's for bitches who can't breathe in a fight," Rocky barked. "You're here to build a body that won't quit."
Wang lowered into a squat, legs trembling already.
"Up. Don't bounce."
"Jesus…"
Rocky smacked the back of his head lightly. "Jesus ain't spotting you. I am."
By the end of the session, Wang's legs were jelly, arms like rubber. The cyberarm was the only thing still working—and even that felt stiff from overuse.
"You wanna survive out there?" Rocky growled as Wang collapsed onto a bench. "Then you build real strength. Not this flash-and-shine bullshit."
Wang nodded, too winded to swear back.
***
WEEK 2 — HEAVY TRAINING
"You ever carried your own weight before?" Rocky asked.
"Literally or emotionally?"
Rocky didn't laugh. Just threw a sandbag at his chest. It knocked the wind out of him.
"Run."
"Run where?"
Rocky pointed to the far wall. "There. Then back. Fifty laps."
"Fifty—are you fucking kidding me?"
"Nope. You want abs or you want to stop bleeding in fights?"
Wang started running, sandbag slung over his shoulder, the weight digging into his spine.
Each lap got slower. The pain didn't build—it settled in, like a tumor growing behind every joint. His lower back screamed. His thighs locked up. The cyberarm was no help here—no legs, no balance.
"Thirty-eight!" Rocky yelled. "You're slower than a one-legged whore in a minefield!"
Wang almost puked at lap forty-three. Didn't even remember finishing. Just woke up on the gym floor with a bucket of cold water dumped over his face.
"Get up," Rocky said, offering a calloused hand.
Wang stared at it like it was a bear trap. Then grabbed it.
Rocky hauled him up. "That was a good puke. You earned it."
***
WEEK 3 — SPARRING BEGINS
"Hands up."
Wang raised his guard.
Rocky circled him like a predator, eyes locked on Wang's shoulders. Reading him. Waiting.
Wang threw a jab. It was fast—too fast. His cyberarm snapped forward with a metallic hiss.
Rocky dipped. Slipped. Countered with a gut punch so clean it made Wang double over and wheeze.
"You're relying on that fuckin' arm," Rocky barked. "It's not a weapon, it's a crutch."
Wang coughed, stumbling backward. "I have one arm. What the hell else am I supposed to rely on?!"
Rocky jabbed him in the forehead with two fingers. "You've got legs. You've got brains. You've got heart. Use those."
They went again.
Wang ducked this time, but not fast enough. Rocky clipped his temple. Stars. Again. Blood this time.
On the floor. Again.
***
DAY TWENTY-FOUR
"Uppercut. Stop thinking."
"I'm not—"
"You are. You think before every move. That's why you're on the fuckin' mat every two minutes."
Wang spat blood into a bucket.
"Let's go again," he growled.
Rocky smiled. Just a twitch. Approval.
They went again.
Wang jabbed. Feinted. Slipped under Rocky's hook and landed a body shot with the organic hand. It wasn't much, but it made Rocky grunt.
Progress.
Then Rocky slammed him with a shoulder and tossed him like a sack of rice into the corner.
Wang hit the mat hard.
"Nice try," Rocky said. "Almost had me."
Wang lay there, gasping.
"Get. Up."
"Give me… a second…"
"You don't get seconds in the ring. You get knocked the fuck out."
***
DAY TWENTY-EIGHT
"Lift it."
Wang stared at the bar. 120kg. Deadlift. His back still screamed from last time.
"Lift it or I'll call Cass and tell her you cried."
Wang let out a shaky breath, bent down, and heaved.
His body screamed. But the bar rose. Slowly. His teeth clenched. The cyberarm clicked. Sweat poured down his face.
Then it locked out.
Rocky nodded.
"Now do five more."
Wang dropped it, staggering back. "I'll kill you."
"You can try," Rocky said with a grin.
***
FINAL DAY OF MONTH ONE
Wang stood on the sparring mat, gloves taped, chest rising and falling with exhaustion.
Rocky approached.
No words this time.
They fought.
Wang lasted longer. Used his feet. His head. Mixed up the tempo.
Took hits. Gave hits.
Rocky still won. Cracked him across the jaw and floored him again.
But this time?
Wang got up before Rocky even said a word.
He rose, spitting blood, eyes burning with fury and adrenaline.
"I'm not done."
Rocky grinned.
"Now you're starting to look like a fighter."
Q: For those of you who don't work out, do you consider start working out?