Did you know there are character images in the Auxiliary Chapter: Mentioned Characters?
Dick paused for a moment outside the campus gates, glancing at the rows of student cars parked neatly by the curb. Flashy imports, sleek sedans, even a few beat-up old clunkers. A set of wheels would give him more freedom. But he didn't have the cash. Sure, he had 25 NP, which could be converted into twenty-five grand, but burning through his points for something as basic as a car felt like a waste. He'd rather save those points for something that could push his plans further—Netori Skills that would give him a real edge.
As he walked, he felt his phone buzz again. Not Lana this time. The name Karen flashed on the screen.
Karen: "You free to come in early? Got a rich client looking for some extra attention today. Could use a hand."
Shrugging, Dick started walking toward the gym. If Karen needed help, there was no reason to refuse. Besides, he could use the extra cash, and dealing with a client was a decent way to pass time. He had learned by now that gym customers came in all shapes and sizes—some were chill, focused on their workouts, while others were downright obnoxious, especially the ones who felt entitled to attention just because they had money.
The gym was packed when he arrived, the low hum of machinery and grunts of effort filling the air. Karen was at the front desk.
"Hey," she greeted as he approached. "Glad you could make it. Got a client in the back, waiting for you. She's... a bit high maintenance, so watch your step."
"Great," Dick muttered under his breath, but Karen ignored it.
"She's in one of the private rooms. You'll find her by the weights," Karen added, handing him a clipboard with the session details. "Just... do what you can to keep her happy."
Dick raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"
Karen gave him a flat look. "You'll see."
With a sigh, Dick headed toward the back. As he reached the private section of the gym, he spotted her immediately—a woman in her late forties, maybe early fifties, standing by the dumbbells with her arms crossed. She had that classic cougar look—long blonde hair styled to perfection, her figure toned and athletic, though the slight lines on her face and neck betrayed her age. Her workout gear was designer, of course, a matching set that showed off just enough skin to remind anyone watching that she still had it. But her expression? Pure arrogance.
She didn't acknowledge him as he approached, just kept her eyes on the mirror, adjusting her ponytail like she was the main event. Dick stopped a few feet away, hands resting casually at his sides.
"Mrs. Harper?" he asked, voice neutral.
She finally looked over, her eyes raking him up and down in that way people do when they're deciding whether you're worth their time. She was attractive, sure, but there was a coldness in her gaze that made it clear she wasn't interested in anything beyond her own reflection.
"You're the trainer?" Her voice dripped with condescension.
"Yeah," Dick replied, unfazed. "Karen asked me to step in."
Mrs. Harper huffed, barely hiding her displeasure. "I was expecting someone more... experienced."
Dick raised an eyebrow. "I've got experience."
"Hmm," she muttered, picking up a set of dumbbells and doing a lazy bicep curl. "We'll see."
She moved with a kind of practiced grace, her form good but not perfect. Dick stayed quiet, watching her go through a few reps before stepping closer. "Your elbows are flaring out a bit," he said, keeping his tone professional. "Try keeping them tighter to your body for better isolation."
She looked at Dick with an expression that practically oozed condescension. "Honey, I was curling before you were even a sperm."
Dick didn't flinch. His tone was calm, almost bored. "Pity. All those years of bad posture."
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't bite back right away. Instead, she set down the dumbbells with a heavy thud, straightening up and crossing her arms. "Let's see what you've got then, trainer. What's your big fix?"
Dick stepped forward, ignoring her attitude. "Your range of motion is limited because your wrists are too stiff. You're compensating with your shoulders, and that's why your form's off." He gestured to the weights. "Try it again, this time with a lighter load. Focus on the full contraction, not just the lift."
Mrs. Harper let out a sharp laugh, but there was a flicker of interest in her eyes. "Lighter, huh? You really think that's going to make a difference?"
"Yeah," he replied, unphased. "You want definition, not bulk. Let the muscles do the work, not your ego."
For a second, she just stared at him, sizing him up again, probably expecting him to back down. But when he didn't, she rolled her eyes and reached for a lighter set of dumbbells. As she lifted them, Dick stood close, watching her form. "Slower," he instructed. "Focus on the contraction at the top."
She followed his advice, albeit reluctantly, her eyes flicking to the mirror to check her progress. Dick stayed quiet, letting her work through the set, noting the small improvements in her posture. By the time she finished, there was a hint of frustration in her expression, like she didn't want to admit he was right.
Dick didn't care what she thought. He wasn't here to impress her, just to get paid. Mrs. Harper could roll her eyes all she wanted, but by the end of this session, she'd realize the difference between posturing and results. As she moved on to the next set, Dick kept his instructions short, correcting her form when needed but not hovering. She was stubborn, but he wasn't interested in a back-and-forth.
"Alright," he said after a while, "let's hit the leg press. You're strong up top, but you've been neglecting the lower body."
Mrs. Harper scoffed, grabbing her water bottle. "Neglecting? Please, I squat more than half the guys in this gym."
"Show me," Dick said, stepping aside, gesturing toward the machine.
She gave him a challenging look but didn't argue, setting the weights on the leg press. As she settled into position, Dick watched closely. Her legs were strong, no doubt, but her knees buckled slightly when she pushed too hard.
"You're locking out," Dick said, keeping his voice even. "You want to keep tension in your quads. Stop before you hit full extension."
Mrs. Harper exhaled sharply but adjusted her form. The first few reps were stiff, but as she found her rhythm, the strain in her legs became more controlled. Dick nodded, satisfied.
"Better. Keep that up, and you'll actually start seeing improvement."
She didn't respond, just pushed through the set with a determination that made Dick almost respect her, despite the attitude. By the time she finished, her breath was heavy, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her skin.
"Not bad," Dick said, handing her a towel. "But you're still locking out on the last few reps. You're losing tension in the quads when you do that."
She wiped her forehead, not meeting his eyes, clearly irritated that he was still critiquing her. "You've got a lot of opinions for someone half my age," she muttered, though there was less bite in her voice this time.
"It's not about age. It's about results," Dick replied, keeping his tone neutral. "And you're here for results, right?"
Mrs. Harper shot him a sidelong glance, her lips pressing into a thin line. She wasn't used to being spoken to this way, that much was obvious. Most people probably bent over backward to accommodate her, afraid of losing her business or pissing her off. But Dick wasn't interested in coddling anyone, least of all someone who thought they were above critique.
"Let's move on to deadlifts," he said, walking over to the barbell without waiting for her to respond.
For a moment, Mrs. Harper just stood there, watching him, her expression unreadable. Then, with a small huff, she followed.
She positioned herself behind the bar, her eyes flicking to the mirror as she adjusted her stance. Dick stood back, arms crossed, observing her form without saying a word. She knew the basics, but there was still room for improvement—her back was a little too straight, her grip slightly off.
"Lower your hips more," Dick said, stepping forward. "You're pulling too much with your lower back."
Mrs. Harper shot him a sharp look but complied, adjusting her posture. She bent down, gripping the bar tighter, and pulled, the weights clanging as she lifted. Her muscles strained, the effort clear on her face, but she powered through, her breathing controlled.
When she finished the set, she dropped the bar with a loud thud, standing up straight, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. She didn't look at him this time, just reached for her water bottle and took a long sip.
"You've got strength," Dick said, his tone matter-of-fact. "But your technique's still holding you back. If you want to push past your plateau, you need to focus on form more than ego."
Mrs. Harper's eyes narrowed, and for a second, Dick thought she was going to snap back at him, but instead, she surprised him. "Fine," she said, setting the water bottle down. "Show me what I'm doing wrong."
Dick nodded, stepping up to the bar. He demonstrated the movement, his form clear and controlled. "See how my hips and shoulders rise at the same time? You're letting your hips shoot up too fast, which puts more strain on your back. That's where you're losing power."
Mrs. Harper watched closely, her eyes following his movements with an intensity that made it clear she wasn't just brushing him off. For the first time since they'd started, she looked like she was actually listening.
"Alright," she said after a moment, stepping forward to try again. This time, her form was better—more controlled, more precise. She powered through the reps, her muscles trembling slightly as she neared the end of the set.
When she finished, she set the bar down carefully, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "Happy now?" she asked, her voice breathless but not as sharp as before.
Dick smirked. "Getting there."
Mrs. Harper wiped her forehead again, this time not bothering to hide the satisfaction in her eyes. She wasn't used to being pushed, but part of her liked it—liked the challenge, the feeling of someone not backing down just because she threw around a bit of attitude.
"Leg press, deadlifts," she muttered, leaning against the wall. "What's next, trainer?"
"Depends," Dick replied, stepping closer, his voice low but firm. "You want to keep pretending you've got it all figured out, or do you actually want to improve?"
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for the first time, there was a glimmer of something else in her gaze—something more than just arrogance. She straightened up, rolling her shoulders back, her expression shifting into something almost predatory.
"I'm used to getting what I want, Dick," she said, her voice smooth, dangerous. "And I expect the same from my trainer."
Dick didn't flinch, didn't break eye contact. "Then you're going to have to work for it."
"Undress," she said suddenly, her tone casual, like she was asking him to pass her a weight.
Dick raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Time's up."
Mrs. Harper blinked, clearly taken aback. "What?"
"You heard me," Dick said, stepping back, his tone calm but final. "Session's over."
Her face twisted into a mixture of confusion and anger. "I'm paying you, aren't I? I don't care if the session's over. Take. It. Off."
Dick met her gaze, his expression unwavering. "I'm not a dick for purchase, Mrs. Harper. I'm Dick with a capital D. If you're looking for something else, you can find it elsewhere."