Chapter 7 - The Muscles Next to Me See Through Everything
Frozen in place atop my bed, I clutched my phone tightly. I’d just exchanged contact info with Tsukishiro-san――.
It was sudden, but I was honestly thrilled. I didn’t even own a smartphone back in middle school, and this was the first time I’d ever gotten a girl’s contact――. The problem came right after.
“Should I send something…? But if I message her out of nowhere, it might be annoying… Still, not responding at all feels weird too…”
The same thoughts spun endlessly in my head, my heart pounding, unable to settle down. I stared at the name “Tsukishiro Rei” displayed on my phone, hesitating.
This is no good. I’ll get nowhere like this.
That’s it! In times like these――
“Strength training.”
I’m hesitating because of mental clutter! If I sweat it out, I’ll reset my mood. Muscles always give me answers!
I got up from bed and headed to my home training room――nicknamed the “Muscle Room.”
The wall was plastered with workout charts, handwritten by Dad, featuring mysterious slogans like “Spirit!” “Grit!” and “Fat is the enemy!”
I began stacking plates onto the barbell of the Smith machine in the room. The total weight: 150 kilograms.
The Smith machine is a training apparatus where the barbell is fixed to rails, allowing vertical movement. With a regular barbell, squats or bench presses require balance and can be dangerous. If you’re not used to it, the bar can wobble side to side, and you might even get crushed.
But with the Smith machine, that worry disappears. Its vertical-only movement makes for vastly more stable form.
Even if you run out of strength mid-set, a slight twist of the bar engages the metal hooks on either side—the safety hooks—which click into the rails and stop the bar securely.
I began squatting on the Smith machine. I strapped on a power belt to protect my lower back, regulated my breathing, and focused.
“Suuu—haaah—”
“Hmph!”
I lifted the barbell, paying close attention to proper form.
DOOOOON!
“...Haa, haa…!”
Sweat poured like a waterfall, dripping onto the floor.
“...Alright! Last ten reps!”
My muscles screamed.
My thighs trembled, and my vision nearly went white.
“UOOOOOOHH!”
I powered through the final rep, collapsed onto the bench, and stared up at the ceiling. My whole body burned with heat. But it felt unbelievably good.
Just as I basked in the sense of accomplishment that only training could give me――
The front door slammed open with a DON! From the hallway came thunderous footsteps, shaking the house like a mini-earthquake.
The door to the Muscle Room burst open, nearly flying off its hinges. Standing there was a near two-meter-tall muscle monster stuffed into a suit.
“I’m home—!”
It was Dad. Kanzaki Gojuro――.
Over 190 centimeters tall, former member of Japan’s national judo team. Now a university coach. His personality is bold to the core… I’m pretty sure he’s the reincarnation of a samurai. His brain is probably made of muscle――he explains everything through muscles.
“Oh, you’re at it, Tsubasa! …Hm? That quadriceps… it’s conflicted.”
“Huh? What do you mean my quadriceps are conflicted?”
Dad folded his arms and looked down at me with a serious expression.
His eyes were sharp, as if they could see through every muscle in my body.
“Tsubasa, you… you’re troubled by something, aren’t you?”
“Scary! How do you even know that?!”
When I retorted, Dad laughed heartily, “Hahaha!”
…Seriously, I can’t beat this guy.
Ever since Mom passed away when I was little, it’s just been the two of us. Maybe I got chubby and socially awkward because I was lonely after losing her. But Dad never rushed me, never forced anything. He just stayed by my side, smiling, and sometimes supported me through muscle talk like this.
Back in middle school, I told Dad everything. The fun times in the library with Tsukishiro-san. Her confession. How I turned her down because I lacked confidence. How I wanted to change. Dad hugged me and cried his eyes out.
“Leave it to me. Tsubasa, you can definitely change!”
That one line saved me more than I can say――I’m nothing but grateful to Dad. But… from that day, hellish training began.
First, mornings. At five a.m., while it was still dark outside, he’d slap me awake.
“Time to run, Tsubasa! A soaked judo gi is proof of true training!”
He’d force me into a judo uniform, tighten the belt until it hurt, and make me run ten kilometers. Along the way, Dad would shout at full volume for some reason.
“Ippon, Tsubasaaaa! The goal’s that traffic light!”
I’d dash past old ladies who’d smile and say, “So energetic!”… It was embarrassing…
Back home, it was breakfast time. The table was covered in mountains of chicken breast, miso soup with protein powder, and a field of broccoli.
“Muscles are built from meals. Look, the chicken breast is watching you. Eat!”
“What does that even mean?!”
I’d cry as I shoveled down chicken breast… It was agony.
Daytime was even more relentless.
Go shopping? “That bag is a dumbbell.”
Walk around the house? “Always squat-walk.”
Watch TV? “Obviously while doing sit-ups.”
Take a bath? “Wash while doing a wall sit.”
There was no escape from muscle.
And for some reason, as mental training:
“Smile a hundred times! Practice for when a girl talks to you in front of a mirror!”
“Ask her, ‘Do you drink protein?’!”
“There’s no girl like that!” I genuinely thought from the bottom of my heart.
But――
Before I knew it, I could run. My double chin vanished from the mirror. Just standing tall gave me a bit of confidence.
――Then came that day. The morning of Aoba Academy’s entrance ceremony.
“Dad. Thank you so much. I… I’ve come this far thanks to you.”
“No, Tsubasa. Your current self is the result of your own will to change. I only made the menu. You really did great.”
As Dad teared up, I took a deep breath and smiled.
“…I’m off!”
Straightening my back, puffing out my chest, I walked toward Aoba Academy.
――And now.
I gave in and confessed everything to Dad.