Casio patted his chest and picked up his clothes from the metal rack beside him. Glancing at the plethora of exhausted muscular men, he immediately stepped out of the gym filled with the sour smell of sweat.
A dozen or so days later, he was back at the Iron Fist Gym.
Casio and another slightly shorter figure stood in the middle of the rectangular field, divided into large grids by light yellow floor tiles.
"I appreciate the help." Casio greeted his opponent with a fist salute, as always.
The man across, a muscular man in his 30s, returned the salute. He was the master of the Iron Fist Gym and a fifth-rank practitioner of the Federation Fighting Technique. In the boxing circle, being a fifth-rank practitioner was quite an accomplishment, the kind that could win prizes in county level competitions.
"Please."
Casio subtly assumed a combat stance.
"Alright."
