The Perfect Monster

Chapter 3 - "The Art of War"

Relieved to have some guidance, I followed Coach Bluk, eager to begin training. While touring the gym, we eventually stopped at a closed door. With a sense of anticipation, Coach Bluk opened it, revealing a room where a few men were engaged in conversation. However, to my surprise, they were completely naked.

Caught off guard by the unexpected sight, I couldn't help but express my surprise. "Wow, I didn't expect that," I blurted out, my eyes shifting towards Coach Bluk for an explanation. 

Coach Bluk chuckled in response, understanding my bewilderment. "Hahaha, don't worry. That's the locker room. Go inside and get dressed. We keep our gear in there. I'll leave you to it." 

Realizing my mistake, I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. I quickly made my way into the locker room, seeking out the appropriate attire.

"Who the fuck are you?" a man suddenly questioned, his tone harsh and confrontational. 

"Oh, hi. My name is Bobby, and starting from today, I will be training in this gym." I offered a friendly smile and a slight bow. 

"A scrawny little kid like you doesn't belong here," he retorted brutally. 

"That's precisely why I'm here, sir. I aspire to grow and become as strong as you," I replied respectfully.

As expected, his demeanor softened, and a faint smile formed on his face. "Oh, hahaha, I like that attitude, boy. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask me, alright?" 

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate it," 

Once dressed, I took a deep breath and headed back out into the gym, I noticed Coach Bluk standing with a line of men in front of him. Realizing it was likely a training session or instruction, I hurried over to join the line, positioning myself among the other participants.

"Men! Today is another day of absolute hell! Are you ready?" Coach Bluk bellowed at the top of his lungs, his voice resounding through the gym. 

"Yes, sir!" the rest of the participants responded in unison, their voices echoing with determination and discipline. It was as if they were soldiers ready for battle. My reaction, however, was delayed, and I mustered my response with a hint of hesitance, "Y-yes, sir!" 

The unexpected contrast between my voice and the confident chorus of the others caused a burst of laughter to ripple through the room. 

"Stop!" Coach Bluk commanded, his voice cutting through the laughter. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to him. "We have a new member today, Treat him with respect!" he declared firmly. 

After introducing myself, the others in the gym went on with their training, leaving me standing alone, unsure of what to do next. Fortunately, my coach, recognizing my need for guidance, approached me and motioned for me to follow him. 

He led me to a designated area where a boxing bag awaited me. Without hesitation, he tossed a pair of MMA gloves my way. "Put these on and start punching the bag," he instructed firmly. 

Eager to prove myself, I complied, slipping on the gloves and stepping up to the bag. I began throwing punches, pouring my energy and determination into each strike. Time seemed to blur as I relentlessly pounded the bag, pushing myself to the limits. 

Suddenly, Coach Bluk commanded me to stop. I halted my assault on the bag, breathing heavily from the exertion. He approached me, a critical eye assessing my efforts. "Have you punched anything in your life?" he asked, his tone carrying a hint of curiosity. 

"No," I admitted, realizing that my lack of experience was evident. 

"I could see that," he responded bluntly. "Your punches lack power, and your technique needs work. Additionally, your body frame is too skinny to deliver any significant damage. For now, we'll focus on weight training to help you gain some muscle mass." 

"Oh, okay," I replied, feeling a pang of discouragement. However, Coach Bluk sensed my disappointment and immediately placed his hand on my shoulder, his voice brimming with reassurance. "Don't worry, Bobby. I'll transform you into a beast. Just trust in the process."

As the training session came to an end, I left the gym feeling both satisfied and utterly exhausted. Every muscle in my body ached, but it was a satisfying kind of pain—a testament to the effort I had put in and the progress I was making. 

Upon returning home, I was greeted by my concerned mother. "Where were you?" she asked, worry evident in her voice. 

"Mother, to be honest, I wanted to start training for football, so I went to check it out today." I lied to her face because she would never allow me to train in something as brutal as MMA and i didn't want to ruin my image as a pacifist to my family.

A mixture of surprise and concern crossed her face. "But what about your studies?" 

I reassured her with a smile, "Don't worry, Mom. My grades won't suffer. I'll work twice as hard to make sure I excel in both my training and academics." 

Though she didn't fully approve, my mother eventually accepted it. The dinner table had already been cleared, and I found myself eating alone in my room for the first time in my life. It was a tangible sign that things were changing. 

Rather than mindlessly browsing YouTube until I grew tired, I chose a different path. I continued reading "The Art of War," immersing myself in its timeless wisdom. Hours passed as I devoured the pages, captivated by the profound insights it offered. 1

After completing the book, a sense of accomplishment washed over me. I yearned to dive into another book, eager to expand my knowledge further. However, fatigue began to weigh me down, and I reluctantly admitted that my tiredness would not allow for further reading tonight. 

With a contented sigh, I set the book aside, knowing that there would be plenty of opportunities to explore new literary realms in the days to come. As I drifted off to sleep, my mind filled with the lessons of "The Art of War" and the lessons my Couch taught me. An air of excitement enveloped me, as I eagerly anticipated the moment I crushed those bastards.