After walking a few more minutes, he finally reached the gym.
Removing his earphones and letting them hang around his neck, Isagi pushed open the glass door of the Saitama Fit Center, hearing the faint jingle of the little bell attached to the frame—a makeshift addition that Fujio himself had installed a few days earlier, claiming it "gave the place personality."
As always, the gym was simple but cozy: machines neatly lined up, weights perfectly organized, no giant screens, no blaring music.
And, most importantly, almost nobody there at 5:30 in the morning.
Except, of course, for the owner of the place.
"Yo, Yoichi-kun." The deep, calm voice rang out immediately.
There he was: Fujio Uzaki, arms so thick they looked like temple pillars, casually arranging dumbbells on the rack as easily as someone stacking shopping carts. Short black hair parted to the side. Narrow blue eyes that always carried a strange mix of calmness, seriousness, and a silent humor that appeared out of nowhere. Brown shirt, light-colored pants, perpetually half-scowling expression—but deep down, the guy was far friendlier than he let on.
Isagi raised his hand in greeting.
"Morning, Fujio."
The man barely lifted his head, just giving that heavy chin nod that seemed to mean both "good morning" and "you're breathing too hard, tone it down."
"Yoichi-kun. You should learn to be a normal teenager and sleep in a little. Why don't you switch to a later time slot like I've suggested a million times?"
Isagi let out a short chuckle.
"Unfortunately, this is the only time I've got free… I'm fine, don't worry. I'm completely used to the routine by now. But you didn't say that just out of concern, did you? Did something happen? Trouble with Kiri-san or one of your other daughters?"
Over the past month of coming to the gym every single day, he had already picked up a very clear pattern in Fujio's behavior. Whenever the man made a comment that sounded like simple concern—whether about schedule, diet, routine, or even random daily details—there was always a hidden second motive behind it.
It was almost involuntary. Fujio took forever to admit it, but whenever it involved his wife or daughters, he slipped into overprotective-dad mode without realizing. His posture changed, his voice softened, and he'd circle the topic with generic remarks before finally revealing what was really bothering him…
It hadn't taken Isagi long to decode that behavior.
It was always the same red flag.
So at that moment, he was already certain something had happened with the Uzaki family. Fujio never showed concern for someone else's health or routine unless there was a bigger reason—and judging by the intensity in his voice, it clearly involved one of the daughters, most likely Tsuki or Hana…
Fujio finally looked up when he heard the question.
His blue eyes blinked once, slowly, as if weighing whether the question actually deserved an answer. Then he set the dumbbell down with a precise clack, planted his huge hands on his hips, and let out a deep, far-too-heavy sigh for something that was supposedly just about "training hours."
"Trouble with Kiri…?" he repeated, frowning. "Hmph. Kiri is always trouble. But… no, that's not it."
He paused—an odd, long pause.
The kind that sits between "I'm thinking" and "I don't want to talk about this."
Then he scratched his chin with thick fingers, his expression hardening a little more.
"Hana's been getting home late lately."
Isagi blinked. "Hana?"
"Yeah." His voice turned serious, but not threatening—just the typical tone of a dad who takes things way too seriously. "She says she's studying with friends… but she always comes back way too excited, way too hyper, talking a mile a minute. It feels like she's hiding something."
Fujio stared into space for a few seconds, the classic worried-dad look on his face.
"I see… but I don't think you need to worry that much, Fujio. Doesn't your daughter go to an all-girls university? That was one of the reasons you moved to Saitama Prefecture, right—besides the chance to open this gym." Isagi replied with a slightly awkward expression.
Fujio didn't answer right away. Instead, he slowly closed his eyes, as if recalling something unpleasant or frustrating.
"Yeah… that was one of the reasons," he admitted, opening his eyes again. "An all-girls university. Safe environment. Good teachers. Stable routine."
He nodded firmly.
"Perfect for her."
For a second, he actually seemed satisfied.
Just for a second.
Then his jaw clenched.
"But that doesn't mean anything when it comes to Hana."
Isagi tilted his head a bit. "What do you mean…?"
"She attracts trouble," Fujio answered as naturally as if stating the weather. "No matter where she is. Always has. Ever since she was little. If there's a simple path and a complicated one… she always picks the complicated one."
He pointed firmly at the floor, like he was delivering a philosophical lecture on a universal law.
"And when someone's like that… some idiot always shows up in the middle of it."
Isagi blinked.
"An… idiot…?"
"Hm." Fujio confirmed with a deep grunt. "Boys, especially. They've got a radar for that kind of girl."
"…What kind of girl?"
"That kind." He answered as if it explained everything in the universe. "The hyper, loud, scatterbrained type who gets way too close to people too fast. That's Hana. She arrives talking, leaves talking, thinks too fast, and… annoys people just as fast."
Isagi tried not to laugh—and mostly failed.
"…I've never met her, but I think you might be exaggerating a little, Fujio…"
"You only say that because you haven't met her and don't live with her." Fujio crossed his arms again, as if he'd just won the argument. "That's why I never let my guard down. If Hana comes home late… I think. If she comes home excited… I think even harder."
He then looked straight at Isagi with those narrow, calm eyes that somehow carried insane intensity.
"You're young, Yoichi-kun. Maybe you don't get it yet. But when you have a daughter like Hana…"
He took a deep breath.
"…a dad has to worry twice as much."
Fujio kept going, completely unfiltered, the way he always did when he trusted someone.
"And my wife keeps telling me I'm overreacting. That I should relax. That Hana's just… growing up." He sighed, as if the word physically hurt.
"But how am I supposed to relax? My daughter is impulsive. She's full of energy." His eyes narrowed. "And there are a lot of weird boys out there."
Isagi almost said "true," but caught himself just in time and stayed quiet.
Fujio crossed his arms again, his expression finally softening a little.
"But you… you're different. You're a decent kid. That's why I even suggested it, remember?" He said it casually, like they were talking about the weather. "If Hana ever picks someone like you in the future, I'd sleep easy."
Isagi nearly choked on air.
"…Please don't say that out loud ever again," he whispered, desperate.
"Hm?" Fujio tilted his head, genuinely confused. "Why not? It's true. You're hardworking. You wake up early. You're dedicated. You play well. Good posture. Not like those soft boys who show up here and quit after one proper squat. If a man can't do a decent squat, how's he gonna support a family? Impossible."
Isagi took a deep breath, trying to recover whatever dignity Fujio had just stripped away with a single sentence.
"F-Fujio… seriously… calm down." He raised his hands a little, like he was trying to soothe a bear. "I get the worry. Really. But you're overthinking it. Your daughter is probably just having fun with friends. Doesn't sound serious at all."
Fujio narrowed his eyes.
"Yoichi-kun. The moment a dad thinks 'it doesn't seem serious,' that's exactly when it gets serious."
"You need to relax a bit," Isagi insisted, keeping a light smile. "Hana-san is probably just a normal girl. Energetic, from what you say. But normal. You said she talks a lot, she's full of energy… that kind of person always has extra battery. No surprise she comes home excited."
Fujio closed his eyes and breathed slowly, as if trying to absorb the words. He seemed a little less tense… but only a little.
"You really think so…?" he muttered.
"I do." Isagi nodded. "And even if she were hiding something—which I doubt—it wouldn't necessarily be bad. Maybe a new interest. A hobby. A new friend. Who knows, a club."
Fujio opened one eye.
"Hobbies are dangerous."
"What?!"
"It starts with 'just trying out a hobby' and ends with someone knocking on your gate at 2 a.m."
"That makes no sense…"
Fujio just shrugged, as if it were a hard-earned universal truth. But at least the tension in his shoulders had eased.
Isagi pressed a little more, with a genuine smile.
"You're a good dad, Fujio. Anyone can see that. If something were really wrong, Hana-san would probably have said something already. She doesn't sound like the type to keep problems bottled up."
"…She's not," Fujio admitted quietly. "She talks. Too much."
"Then there you go." Isagi smiled, walking past him and giving the man a light pat on the arm. "Relax a bit. And seriously—I come here early to train, not to get lectures from a worried dad."
"…Hmph."
Fujio looked away, but finally seemed to accept it… enough.
"If you say so…" he muttered, crossing his arms again. "Then I'll… watch for a few more days."
Which, coming from Fujio, meant: I'll watch obsessively and imagine five different worst-case scenarios. But Isagi decided not to comment.
He just smiled.
"Great. Now, if you'll excuse me… I need to start training before the sun actually comes up."
"Hm. Go ahead." Fujio replied, returning to his normal tone. "Start with the warm-up…"
"I know, I know…" Isagi grumbled as he walked toward the stretching mat.
As he began his first stretch, he heard Fujio's deep voice from the back:
"Yoichi-kun."
"Hm?"
"…Thanks."
Isagi smiled without turning around.
"No problem."
After that, he continued stretching for a few more minutes.
He finished the last stretch with a light crack in his shoulders, rolled his neck side to side until the muscles loosened, took a deep breath, shook out his arms, and headed to the flat bench press.
Fujio, still organizing some plates in the back, threw a quick glance his way—one of those experienced-trainer looks, just enough to check posture, energy, and, of course, whether Isagi was about to do something insane.
…Which was ironic.
Because to any other trainer, what Isagi was about to do would be exactly that: insane.
But Fujio had seen it. He had witnessed it. He had either grown used to it or simply given up trying to understand how this kid's body seemed built to defy logic.
Isagi lay down on the bench, adjusted his shoulder blades, planted his feet firmly on the floor, and took a deep breath.
The cold iron greeted him like an old friend.
He started with a standard warm-up load of eighty kilos.
Did the reps smoothly, no rush, no effort.
Then bumped it up to one hundred and twenty kilos. Lowered the bar with perfect control, raised it with embarrassing ease for a boy his age.
Fujio watched from afar, arms crossed, expression neutral.
Neutral… but with that faint glint of "look at this kid doing impossible things again."
Isagi took another deep breath and loaded his current limit: one hundred and fifty kilos.
The plates clinked softly—a heavy, solid sound that would make any regular gym-goer turn their head instantly.
He lay back down, aligned his spine, gripped the bar, and started knocking out multiple reps.
When he racked the bar again, he heard Fujio let out a low "tsk."
"Yoichi-kun."
"Yeah?" Isagi answered, sitting up and wiping his face with his towel.
"How old did you say you were again?"
"Fifteen."
"…Hmph."
Silence.
"Just say it," Isagi grumbled. "I already know what you're gonna say."
"Normal fifteen-year-olds don't bench twice their body weight," Fujio commented without looking at him, picking up a mat from the floor. "And they definitely don't make it look easy."
"I'm not a normal kid," Isagi replied calmly. "Have you ever seen someone my age wake up at five, come to the gym every day, go to school, then straight to soccer practice, three times a week to a dojo for martial arts, on top of a strict diet and everything else…?"
Fujio grunted something that sounded like "fair…," but it came out more like a bear admitting the tree really is too big to knock down.
Isagi lay back down, added a few more plates, and pushed the weight well beyond his current limit.
An absurd load.
Even more absurd for someone his age.
So absurd that even Fujio—who had become somewhat numb to all the shocks Isagi had given him during training—straightened his posture.
"Yoichi-kun…" he started, in that tone of "I won't stop you because I know you can do it, but I'm gonna complain because it's my job as an adult."
"Just one rep," Isagi warned before the full lecture could come.
"…Hmph."
He gripped the bar.
The muscles in his arms and chest contracted with perfect precision—no shake, no fear, no hesitation.
Down.
The crushing weight seemed determined to weld the bar to his chest, but Isagi didn't give an inch.
Up.
As if it were just another regular set on a morning workout.
When he racked the bar again, he took a deep breath and sat up. His arms were warm, blood pumping fast. But… it wasn't exhaustion. It was just his body working exactly as it should.
Fujio walked over, hands in his pockets, expression a complicated mix of pride, worry, and disbelief.
"…You're really gonna give me gray hair before I'm forty."
Isagi laughed, wiping the light sweat from his forehead.
"Relax, Fujio. I'm fine."
"Hmph. You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
Fujio looked away, reluctantly accepting reality.
"…At least your form is perfect," he admitted quietly. "Flawless technique. Even the thirty-year-old meatheads don't bench like that."
"That's because I have a good coach." Isagi smiled.
Fujio raised an eyebrow, clearly appreciating the compliment… but trying not to show it.
"Hmph. Of course you do."
Then he turned and walked toward the back of the room.
"Keep going with the workout. I'll set up the weights for the next exercise."
"Got it."
Isagi stood up from the bench, rolled his shoulders with a satisfying crack, and moved on to the next part of the session—his body buzzing with that strong, almost superhuman energy he hid so well from the world.
He had a heavy workout ahead of him!
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