CHAPTER 50: SORE MUSCLES, STOLEN KISSES

---

I didn’t know what hell looked like until I walked into a gym holding hands with Akane.

Eyes followed us from the moment we stepped inside—part envy, part confusion, and definitely a touch of disbelief. I mean, it wasn’t every day that Akane, the girl with a killer waistline and thighs that looked like they could break skulls, casually strolled in smiling beside a guy who had clearly never bench pressed more than his emotional trauma.

I swallowed hard.

We were already too deep for me to back out now. Besides, this had started because of my own stupid questions—something about her routine, her strength, and her arms looking unfairly good in a sports bra. I didn’t think she’d actually invite me to come watch.

Well. Not watch. Join.

I must’ve looked like I was walking into my own execution.

The gym smelled like metal, sweat, and confidence—none of which I had brought with me. Machines I couldn’t name lined the walls. People were already doing reps like their lives depended on it. Akane gave a cheerful wave to the lady at the front desk, who smirked knowingly.

I was beginning to suspect this was a mistake.

"Alright," Akane said, pulling me toward the weights. "Warm-up time."

"Warm-up," I repeated blankly, staring at the dumbbells like they were hostile.

"Yep. Light stretches. Then we start easy. You’ll be fine."

I wanted to believe her. I really did. But by the time I was holding ten-pound weights in both hands and trying to copy her bicep curl form, my arms were already screaming betrayal. Akane, of course, looked like she could do this in her sleep—muscles tight, expression calm, her ponytail bouncing with every rep.

It was like watching a goddess sculpt herself in real-time. And here I was, a sack of tofu with a pulse.

I tried to keep up. I really did. But after the third set, my form started falling apart like wet cardboard. My arms trembled, my breathing turned erratic, and every rep looked less like a curl and more like I was trying to lift a baby goat by its ankles.

And people noticed.

Eyes started drifting toward me. Some curious, some amused, a few downright judgmental. I caught one guy smirking while bench-pressing my body weight like it was a warm-up. Another girl actually paused her squats to whisper something to her friend while pointing—not even subtly.

Heat crawled up my neck. I was embarrassing myself in high definition.

Then I felt something pop in my shoulder.

"Ah—!" I hissed and dropped the weight with a loud thud.

Akane spun around immediately. "What happened?"

"I—I think it bit me," I muttered, clutching my shoulder like it owed me rent.

She blinked at me... and then burst out laughing.

"You absolute disaster."

My pride crumpled like a wet tissue in the rain.

And just when I was ready to crawl out and never return, she stepped closer.

With a casual flick of her wrist, her palm pressed gently against my shoulder. A soft, golden glow rippled out from her touch, subtle but unmistakable.

Strength boost spell.

Suddenly, the ache disappeared. No soreness. No tightness. Nothing. Just a light, rushing energy that filled my limbs like liquid fire. I felt... good. Better than good.

I felt invincible.

Like I could lift a car. Or a planet. Or maybe even my self-esteem.

I blinked in awe. "You—you did that on purpose?"

"Of course," she said, grinning. "What kind of gym buddy would I be if I didn’t cheat just a little?"

My next few sets were euphoric. I didn’t just lift—I soared. I was squatting more than I’d ever attempted, my curls looked smoother, and I may have tried to subtly flex near the mirror. (It didn’t help. I still looked like a confused twig beside a goddess.)

I felt invincible.

"Try it again now," Akane said, smirking, arms folded.

I gave her a look, cautiously picked up the dumbbell I’d just disgraced myself with... and curled it with ease.

No pain. No tremble. Not even a grunt.

Something clicked in my brain. Something reckless.

So I walked over to a barbell that absolutely wasn’t meant for me. I wasn’t even sure it was meant for normal humans. But I grabbed it anyway, took a deep breath, and lifted.

And it rose. Clean, smooth, steady.

A gasp echoed across the gym.

I held the weight there, arms locked out, eyes wide in disbelief—along with everyone else.

"Yo... is he juicing?" someone whispered.

"I saw him struggling like a wet kitten ten seconds ago," another guy muttered.

I didn’t respond. I just slowly set the barbell down, trying to pretend this was casual—like I did this every Tuesday.

Akane whistled. "Damn. Look at you, Superboy."

I beamed, just a little.

Okay, maybe more than a little.

It lasted right up until I turned around and noticed everyone was still staring.

Oops.

---

Then came the sparring room.

"This," Akane said as we stepped onto the mat, "is my favorite part."

My stomach dropped. "Sparring? Wait, like... fighting fighting?"

"Mhmm." She adjusted her gloves and stepped backward into a fighting stance. "Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you."

Famous last words.

What I didn’t know—what no one bothered to tell me—was that Akane didn’t just lift weights. She trained. Martial arts. Actual, structured, disciplined martial arts.

And I? I played turn-based strategy games and struggled with yoga stretches.

She lunged.

I dodged.

Barely.

"Come on," she teased. "Don’t just stand there!"

I swung.

It was probably the worst punch ever thrown in that gym.

Akane caught it with one hand, spun me around, and in a blur of motion, had me pinned flat on the mat with her knee on my chest and her hands pinning my wrists down like I’d just tried to rob her protein powder stash.

The ceiling looked disappointed in me.

I lay there, dazed, winded, and a little impressed. "Okay," I wheezed. "So you’re... kind of amazing at this."

Akane grinned down at me, hair falling to one side as she leaned in.

"Told you it was my favorite part," she whispered.

Then, without warning—right there on the gym mat, in front of whoever was still watching—she planted a kiss on my lips.

Not a soft one. Not a shy one.

Just bold, brief, and teasing—like a victory stamp.

By the time I blinked, she was already off me and offering her hand with that same cocky smile. "C’mon, lightweight. I’m just getting started."

And I... forgot how to stand.

We went again. And again. I kept losing. Badly. But every time, she helped me up, smiled, and encouraged me. Sometimes she even let me land a tap just to boost my confidence, even though I could tell she saw it coming from a mile away.

I was panting like a dog after just ten minutes. My knees felt like noodles. My shirt clung to my back with sweat, and my pride was in tatters.

And yet... I was having fun.

I looked at Akane—her flushed cheeks, her proud smile, the way her eyes sparkled every time we circled each other. And I realized something:

I was probably the weakest person to ever enter this gym.

But I was the only one here who got to spar with her.

And somehow, that made it okay.

---

By the time we’d wiped down the mats and packed up our stuff, the gym was quieting down—only a few late lifters and overly energetic couples still hanging around. My body was completely spent. My pride? Probably still lying face down on the mat where Akane pinned me with that effortless move... and kissed me.

But I couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot.

"Let’s get something to eat before we head home," Akane suggested, nodding toward the cafe near the entrance. "I’m starving."

I followed her like a puppy. "You just threw me across the mat and now you want to feed me?"

She glanced at me over her shoulder with a smirk. "I figured it was the least I could do. Besides..." Her voice dropped a little, just enough for only me to hear. "You did good, Ren. For someone who’s probably never punched anything tougher than a pillow."

I let out a groan as we stepped inside the gym’s cafe. Warm lighting. The smell of grilled meat and fresh coffee. It was cozy—quiet, with soft music playing from the overhead speakers. A few other people were sitting in booths, still in their gym clothes, sipping smoothies or digging into protein bowls.

Akane and I grabbed a corner booth.

She plopped down across from me, tugging off her hoodie to reveal a fitted sports bra underneath that made my brain short-circuit for half a second.

Focus, Ren.

I cleared my throat and picked up the menu. "So, uh... you come here often?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Did you just try to flirt with a gym-cafe cliché?"

I shrugged, grinning. "I’m low on protein and brain cells. That’s all I’ve got right now."

She giggled—this soft, sweet sound that immediately calmed whatever leftover nerves I had. Her cheeks were flushed from the workout, her hair tied up in a messy ponytail, and she looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen her.

"I usually get the grilled chicken bowl," she said. "But you might need something heavier. You nearly passed out lifting fifteen kilos."

"That was thirty," I muttered.

"Thirty total. Fifteen per side," she corrected, then winked.

I let it slide and ordered the same as her. The food came out fast—steaming rice, grilled chicken, a light broth on the side. It tasted way better than it had any right to for a gym cafe.

She watched me shovel food like a man starved. "You’d think I didn’t feed you back there."

"You kissed me mid-fight," I said through a mouthful of rice. "You short-circuited my hunger and my motor skills."

"Noted," she said, sipping her drink. "Next time, I’ll aim for the brain first."

I nearly choked laughing.

Then the silence settled in for a few peaceful minutes—just the clink of utensils, the low hum of music, and the warm buzz of being beside her. We didn’t need to say anything. It was enough that she was here. That she’d brought me into her world, her routine, even her favorite place.

Eventually, she pushed her plate aside and rested her chin in her palm. Her eyes softened.

"So... you remember what night it is, right?"

My hand froze around my glass of water.

Oh.

Right.

Her night.

Tonight.

I tried to play it cool. "Of course I remember."

Akane leaned forward a little. "Good. Because I’m not letting you fall asleep on the couch this time."

I swallowed.

Hard.

She stood up before I could even reply, stretching a little and pulling her hoodie back on. "Let’s go. We’ve got a long night ahead of us."

And with that, she turned and started walking toward the exit—without looking back, because she already knew I was following.

---

---

---

Enjoying the chaos, kisses, and emotional rollercoasters?

If you’re loving Ren’s journey with the girls—every spicy night, awkward moment, and unexpected twist—consider showing some love!

🌟 Add to Collection

🎁 Send a Gift if a scene made you smile (or blush).

🎫 Golden Tickets are a huge help in keeping this story going strong.

Your support means more crazy nights, more drama, and more exclusive Chapters.

Thanks for reading—now, back to the fun.