Gym Room

My room was grey. Everything outside was black. I was in a pocket dimension. A girl named Kishimoto Junko visited me in her dreams to ask for my help. She was called a Conduit. I was called a Source. If I pulled on a metal rod called a Fulcrum, it’d transfer the force to the real world, so Kishimoto could use telekinesis. She needed telekinesis to defeat evil.

Wow.

I still had a few questions. How did she know my name? She’d said I was chosen, but what did that mean? There were other Conduits? Would I ever be able to leave the pocket dimension? Could she prove the telekinesis worked? How did she expect me to get stronger?

Well, I had a wealth of time. I figured testing my strength wasn’t a bad idea. I got changed into a navy blue sweatsuit and cleaned the main room. Maybe “cleaned” is the wrong word. I shoved everything into the corners. Then I did random stretches, jumped around, and tried shadow boxing. If I fought a literal shadow, I might win.

Warmed up, I got into position for a push-up and started to lower myself slowly. My stomach touched the floor. I grit my teeth. My arms shook and my abdomen felt tight and painful. After a few long, difficult seconds, I got back to the starting position.

‘One,’ I gasped.

I lowered myself, started to rise, and stopped. I couldn’t go further. My arms quivered. I flopped to the floor. ‘One-and-a-half,’ I panted. Worse than I thought.

I’d earned a break, I decided. Not having access to the net was a major loss to my lifestyle, but I had plenty of unread manga lying around. Plus, I had a box of unread books from when I’d impulsively resolved to become an expert at Russian literature. Don't ask. Long story.

True to what Kishimoto said, I didn’t get hungry or thirsty. Even so, I wanted to taste the snacks I liked. A packet of chips nearby was grey. I opened it. The chips were obviously grey, too. It really didn’t look appealing, but I nibbled the edge. It tasted like…nothing.

Disheartened by the loss of food, I took a nap.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed, but a loud metallic noise woke me up. The Fulcrum glowed red and rattled. I rubbed my eyes and swore, as I remembered what it meant. Fusing it to the floor, I pulled. The Fulcrum didn’t move, but my body didn’t feel static. It was like it absorbed the force of my pulling. My arms got tired after a few seconds.

Soon, the Fulcrum went back to a normal metallic colour. I released it. Had it worked? Did Kishimoto use telekinesis out in the real world?

Without night or day, I wasn’t sure how to structure my day. Worse still, I felt groggy from my nap, as if more tired than before. I needed to get stronger. But, how? My shelves had a variety of dusty school material, so I skimmed my biology textbook.

I found a section on hypertrophy. It defined hypertrophy as: The development of tissue due to an increase in the size of its cells. It went on to explain that muscular hypertrophy was a common factor in athletes. There were two commonly accepted types of hypertrophy. First, myofibrillar hypertrophy, which involved an increase in contractile elements of muscle fibre. Second, sarcoplasmic hypertrophy, which involved an increase in non-contractile elements like sarcoplasmic fluid surrounding the myofibrils.

In summary—I had no idea. I never got good grades in biology.

What I did understand from the textbook was that by causing tiny tears in the muscles, they repaired to get stronger and bigger. I wouldn’t get “more” muscles, only increase what I had. Protein fuelled the repairs. Therefore, all I needed to do was more of anything. That sounded straightforward, but what were the most optimal exercises? Sure, I had plenty of time, but I didn’t want to waste energy. Wait, if I didn't get hungry or thirsty, did I still use energy? If the pocket dimension solved universal entropy, that was a way bigger discovery than telekinesis. I'd have to ask Kishimoto later. 

I checked my manga collection for moments when the characters trained, but most of it was based on fantasy conditions. I didn't have any boulders or dragons available. Soon enough, I was just reading manga instead of training. 

A few hours later, the front door opened. Kishimoto Junko jogged inside. ‘You did it, right?’

‘Did what?’

‘Worked the Fulcrum.’

‘I...think so?' I replied.

‘Check it out.’ Kishimoto opened a video on her phone. It showed a bedroom with an office chair in the middle. An arm entered the frame and a second later the chair levitated. Telekinesis. Was that a girl’s bedroom? Wait, was that Kishimoto’s bedroom? The bedsheets were muted purple, and she had a collection of toy sea otters at the end. People cared a lot more about sea otters since they went extinct.

‘I heard they’re trying to clone some,’ I remarked.

‘Clone what?’

‘Sea otters.’

Kishimoto pulled the phone away and looked embarrassed. ‘F-Focus on the chair.’ She zoomed in, so only the levitating chair was in frame. ‘See. Telekinesis. Figure I should show you a video, in case you had doubts.’

‘Thanks. It felt lighter than a chair, though.’

‘The pocket dimension amplifies strength,’ Kishimoto explained. ‘My current estimation is a six-to-one scaling. If you can lift ten kilograms here, it’s equivalent to sixty in reality. But, the conversion of strength to force isn’t precise. The kilograms you can move isn’t the same as newtons applied. For now we should assume…’ Kishimoto looked embarrassed again. Cute. ‘Sorry, I’m wasting time by rambling. I’m having a nap in reality, so the REM cycle might not last.’

‘How much does a nuclear submarine weigh?’ I asked, half-joking.

‘One step at a time,’ Kishimoto replied, and tucked loose hair behind her ears. She gestured at the Fulcrum. ‘Show me how you pulled.’

I went to the Fulcrum, crouched, gripped the metal tightly, and yanked. Within a second Kishimoto gasped and made panicked sounds. ‘Stop, stop!’ she finally articulated. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘Because it looked like you wanted to rearrange your vertebrae.’

I frowned. Had I done it wrong? Sensing my confusion, Kishimoto waved me aside and took my place. ‘Don’t round your back. Keep the spine neutral, like this.’ She demonstrated. The difference was like a frightened cat and a rebar rod. ‘Then you settle lower and get your hips back.’ She wore leggings and when she demonstrated—I refocused on the Fulcrum. ‘Now, look slightly ahead and push through your legs, like you’re trying to push the floor away. Push through the legs, pull with your back. Understand?’

‘I understand.’ I didn't understand. 

‘You try.’

I spent the next few minutes attempting while Kishimoto adjusted my stance and technique. By the end, my underarms were dark with sweat.

‘That’ll have to do. We’re out of time.’

‘Thank you, Kishimoto.’

‘Call me Junko.’ She said it so casually, I was sure I’d misheard. ‘Can I call you Kenji?’

‘Y-Yeah.’

Kishimoto—Actually, Junko took an abrupt step toward me. I took a step back. Again, she closed the distance. I felt her breath on my face and hoped she couldn’t smell my sweat. ‘I’m relying on you, okay? You have a purpose now. I promise we’ll defeat evil and you’ll never have to feel hopeless again.’

I swallowed and nodded.

‘Being here is a good thing,’ Junko stated. ‘You don’t want to go back to that old life, do you?’

‘N-No. I’m happy.’

‘So am I.’ She smiled.

I forgot to ask any questions. I may or may not have fallen in love.

#

Before Junko returned to reality, she gave me a piece of paper. At first the paper wasn’t grey, but after a few hours the colours from reality desaturated. Apparently if she focused on one or two items before going to sleep, she could manifest them in the pocket dimension for me to use.

As for the contents: Junko had handwritten a training routine.

The routine went: Squats, lunges, pull-ups, sit-ups, and planking. It also included movements for a pre-routine warm-up and stretches for cooling down afterward.

At the bottom, it read:

‘P.S. Having a big chest might look cool, but it won’t help much with pulling the Fulcrum. Don’t do push-ups unless you have energy to spare.’

Still warm from learning to use the Fulcrum, I started on the routine. It excited me. Junko estimated a six-to-one ratio between reality and the pocket dimension. If I got strong enough to lift one-hundred kilograms, it’d be equivalent to six-hundred kilograms in reality.

The squats were reasonable. I did ten and swapped to lunges. My thighs felt warm and tight. For the pull-ups, I fused the Fulcrum to a doorframe. Unfortunately, I couldn’t even do one. The sit-ups and planking were similarly difficult. My abdomen ached and it felt sore when I took deep breaths. In the past, my abdominal muscles only need to be strong enough to keep me upright at the computer.

When I planked, I'd thought about Junko. I didn’t know much about girls, but when she stood close to me—did that mean anything? If it didn’t mean anything, she’d think I was weird for thinking it did. But if it did mean something, she might get annoyed I didn’t reciprocate.

I wasn’t sure about love and stuff. Did I love her, or did I feel lonely? Did I lust for her? None of it made sense, and it fundamentally went against my core beliefs. Guys wanted relationships to procreate. Girls could form friendships with girls and guys, but guys could only form friendships with other guys. If they were friends with a girl, it was because they wanted to have sex. That was biology.

Some guys despaired, but I had always told myself it was fine. Honestly, I fantasised about dedicating my life to supporting a girl without her knowledge, so she could live happily and I’d be happy seeing her happy. I’d be like the hand of God helping her out.

Junko. I would dedicate myself to her.