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“Not cool, bro,” Michael said, staring at Levi like he’d just betrayed the gym.
“Be honest with me.
You on gear?”
Levi had shown up at the gym first thing in the morning, excited to test his new strength.
He’d heard a hundred-kilo bench was a real milestone for most lifters and wanted to see if he could smash through it today.
To his surprise, Michael was already there.
The guy had an afternoon shift, so he was squeezing in a quick session before school.
They started training and Michael quickly noticed something was way off.
Two days ago Levi had been grinding for every rep at eighty kilos.
Today he was moving the same weight like it was nothing.
Michael’s first thought was steroids.
“Relax,” Levi said, clapping him on the shoulder.
“I’m not on anything.”
“Then you were fucking with me the other day,” Michael insisted.
“Nobody progresses like this.
You Superman?
You just stand in the sun and get stronger?”
Levi was curious about the system’s limits too, but right now he was still just a seventeen-year-old kid who’d had it for barely a week.
Becoming some sun-powered god wasn’t on the table yet.
“Less talking, more loading,” Levi said with a grin.
“Help me put plates on.”
“How much?” Michael asked.
“Feeling good?
Want to try ninety?”
Levi shook his head.
“Straight to a hundred.
Let’s see.”
“Bro, if you actually bench a hundred that’s insane,” Michael said, bumping fists with him and loading the bar.
“I got you from behind.”
…
Michael watched in disbelief as Levi locked out a clean hundred, then kept going and did a hundred and ten like it was easy.
He grabbed Levi’s shirt.
“I give up.
What the fuck are you taking?
Hook me up.
Seriously. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
Stop lifting.
You’re done.
You’re not allowed to lift anymore.”
Levi knew Michael was mostly joking.
After a couple laughs he moved over to the squat rack and tested his legs.
Squats had jumped from ninety-five kilos straight to a hundred and forty.
For the first time Levi felt like his body might actually be good enough to walk onto a high school football team.
They wrapped up around nine.
Michael headed to school while Levi went back to the basement to change for his shift on the Upper East Side.
Mrs.
Dolores noticed the difference the second he walked in.
“This suit looks tight on you,” she said, circling him.
“Did you gain weight?
Or are you wearing something underneath?”
“I’ve been lifting,” Levi explained.
“Probably why the clothes feel smaller.”
“That fast?” She didn’t look convinced.
“Stand still.”
She stepped in close and ran her hands over his chest and waist, taking her time.
Levi stood there for a few seconds before it clicked.
This Slavic woman had already known he was bigger.
She was just feeling him up.
“That’s sexual harassment,” Levi said, stepping back.
“You’re gonna have to pay extra.”
Mrs.
Dolores didn’t even blink.
“Your body is perfect now.
Don’t train anymore.
I’m raising you to thirty an hour.
I like that you still have self-control with money.
That’s rare among poor people.”
Thirty extra bucks an hour before tax was hard to turn down.
Levi decided he could tolerate the occasional grope.
Her face stayed completely calm even after he called her out.
Not a hint of embarrassment.
“Go find Emma,” she said, giving him another once-over.
EU54 Brunello Cucinelli.
And get her to pair it with some plain gold wire glasses.”
“Isn’t that suit like thirteen thousand dollars?” Levi asked.
“So be careful with it,” Mrs.
Dolores said evenly.
“And don’t smoke.
Don’t come in smelling like anything.”
Levi had to admit the woman had taste.
When he came out in the tailored Neapolitan-cut suit with the shoulder pads removed and the non-prescription gold frames on, plus his mixed features, he looked like a young aristocrat fresh from a luxury fashion show.
He closed another big sale before the shift ended.
He suspected the customer had bought mostly because of how he looked, but the money was real.
Five hundred in commission plus a five-hundred-dollar tip.
After taxes he lost two hundred and eighteen dollars on the spot.
It stung.
“Already complaining?” Emma teased from behind the counter.
“You don’t even have papers yet.
Wait until you’ve got a house and real income.
The good times are still coming.”
“FICA, withholding, state, city, mandatory insurance, property tax…” She started counting on her fingers and sighed.
“If you take home half your gross you’re doing fine.
The rest still has to cover life.”
“Aren’t rich people supposed to avoid taxes?” Levi asked.
“Yeah,” Emma laughed.
“But you usually need a hundred million in assets and at least two full-time accountants before that becomes a real conversation.”
Levi watched the two hundred and eighteen dollars vanish and took the subway back to Brooklyn in a sour mood.
He grabbed some high-calorie, high-value groceries on the way and headed into the basement.
“Well, look who’s home,” he said when he saw Don Quixote already there.
“Shouldn’t you be on a job site right now?”
Don Quixote was half-reclined on the couch with a half-empty bottle of cheap liquor, coughing and holding the door open so the smoke could clear.
Cigarette butts had overflowed the ashtray on the coffee table.
“Not that many,” Don Quixote muttered.
“I need to ask you something.
You really think you can get into an Ivy with the background you’ve got right now?”
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