Jerry did not come to the gym on Monday.
Alex waited by the stairs for a minute after class, thinking the boy might have stayed behind to finish a page. But Jerry only packed his book and walked out the other way, toward the dorm, without a glance. Alex watched him go and then went down to the gym alone.
On Tuesday it was the same. On Wednesday too.
By Wednesday night he could not hold it in anymore. Jerry was sitting on the edge of the top bunk with his book propped on his knees, and Alex stood at the foot of the ladder with a towel over his shoulder.
"Hey. Why aren’t you coming to the gym anymore?"
Jerry did not look up. He turned a page.
"Jerry."
Nothing. The boy kept his eyes on the text, his jaw tight, and the silence stretched until it was clear no answer was coming.
Alex waited another few seconds, then shrugged and let it go.
’Fine. If he doesn’t want to talk about it.’
He did not have time to chase it. He had a body to build.
The gym was quiet on the days Jerry was gone. Kelly still stood in the doorway with her stopwatch, arms crossed, but she said less than before. She watched Alex work.
On Monday he did the chest press the way he had done it since the first week. Three sets of eight, at a weight that made his arms burn by the end. He rested a full minute between each. When he finished, he wiped his face and moved to the leg press, then the rows, then the shoulder press, ticking through them like items on a list. He ran four laps of the compound in the afternoon. Then he went back to the dorm, showered, ate, and picked up a book from the stack.
He read until midnight. When his eyes started to blur, he read another page. Then he turned off the lamp and slept.
On Tuesday he added a set.
Four sets of eight on the chest press. Four on the legs, four on the rows. His arms trembled by the end, but he finished every rep. He ran five laps. He came home and read until his head drooped, then lifted it and read some more.
On Wednesday he added reps. Four sets of ten. The bar felt lighter than it had the week before, though he knew it was not. His body was simply catching up. He noticed the small things, the way his shoulders sat back, the way his breath settled faster between sets. Kelly said nothing, but he caught her looking at his arms once and looking away.
On Thursday he raised the weight.
It was a small increase, just one extra plate. But when he set the pin and pushed, the resistance hit him hard. He gritted his teeth and drove the handles forward, once, twice, three times. His muscles screamed. By the fifth rep he was shaking. He finished the set and sat there with his chest heaving, and the room seemed to tilt.
’That’s more like it,’ he thought.
He did the next set anyway, then the one after. He ran six laps that afternoon. On the final lap his legs felt like wet sand, but he did not stop until he crossed the line.
Back at the dorm he ate quickly, opened the next book from the stack, and read until the clock on the desk showed twelve.
The same pattern held on Friday. Five sets now, ten reps each, at the heavier weight. He moved through the machines without pausing to think. Leg press. Rows. Shoulder press. Lat pulldown. The routines that had felt impossible on the first day felt almost ordinary. His hands did not shake when they gripped the bars. His breathing did not spike. He was not strong, not yet, but he was different.
He ran seven laps. He finished the last one at a steady jog, and when he stopped and put his hands on his knees, he laughed.
Kelly, standing by the fence with her stopwatch, raised one eyebrow.
"What?"
"Nothing," Alex said. "Just realized I’m not dead."
She shook her head and looked away, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
That evening he came back to the dorm sweating and starving. He dropped his bag on the desk and stripped off his damp shirt. Jerry sat on the top bunk, exactly where he had been, with his book open across his lap. He looked up when Alex walked in.
"Hey," Jerry said.
Alex paused. It was the first thing Jerry had said to him in days.
"Hey."
Jerry closed the book and picked at the corner of the cover.
"Isn’t it kind of the same?" he said. It came out of nowhere.
"What is?"
"Me not going to the gym." His eyes stayed on the book. "And you not reading some books. Isn’t that kind of the same thing?"
Alex blinked.
He turned it over in his head. It was a fair question, and a sharp one. He had been avoiding the dry books, the thick technical ones, and putting all his effort into the ones that pulled him in. Jerry had stopped going to the gym because it was hard, and because it had made him feel small.
But it was not the same. He knew it was not.
"No," he said. "It’s not."
"Why not?"
"Because I’m still reading." Alex pulled a clean shirt from the closet. "I’m reading at least that will still help with the written exams. Facts, rankings, drop grades, the parts they’ll actually test. I’m not avoiding the reading. I’m choosing which parts to spend my time on."
Jerry said nothing.
"I’m just trying to play to my strengths," Alex went on. "That’s all. If I can absorb the books that read like stories, I get more out of them than I would from forcing the ones that put me to sleep. But I’m still doing the work. You stopped doing part of it altogether."
The boy’s shoulders stiffened. He did not reply. He opened his book again and lowered his eyes.
Alex let out a breath.
’That came out harsher than I meant.’
But he did not take it back. It was the truth, and he had no time to soften it.
He finished dressing, ate the sandwich Kelly had left him at the reception desk, and sat down on the lower bunk to read. Two book Chapters later, he set the book on his chest and stared at the slats above.
He thought back over the week.
On the first day, he had done three sets of eight on the chest press and been proud of it. Now he was doing five sets of ten at a heavier weight without feeling faint. On the first day he had run one lap of the compound and thrown up behind a bush. Now he ran seven without stopping. His shoulders were broader. His legs were firmer. He could climb the stairs to the third floor and barely feel it.
It was not much. In the grand scheme of the Foundation, the suits, the Beasts, it was nothing at all. But it was more than he had started with, and that was the point.
’It’s working,’ he thought. ’Slowly. But it’s working.’
Then his eyes slid to the little clock on the desk, and the date beside it.
He counted the days.
His stomach dropped.
’Only one week left.’
With his progress so far, he wasn’t bothering as much about not possessing a cheat system. He had come a long way without one.
He let the book slide off his chest and put a hand over his face. Twenty two days gone. Twenty two days of reading and running and lifting, of thick dry Chapters and sleepless nights. And in seven days, a suit would be brought into a room and he would stand in front of it and find out what he was worth.
Alex sighed.
"One week left," he said quietly, to no one in particular. "Until the evaluation."
Above him, the bunk creaked.