Chapter 7: Forming Small Groups
The gym at James Woods Regional High School.
A brutal student fight had just erupted in this place where students worked out.
If this were in some uptight private school back East, it would be enough to make the front page of the local news.
Fortunately, this is Quahog, Rhode Island, where Mayor West once spent tax dollars on an Aquaman statue, violence is commonplace, and a mere student fight between two kids is nothing.
This isn't news at all, it's not even a big deal!
So not only did it fail to attract the attention of the school's faculty, but it didn't even spread among the students.
Even the few people in the gym who witnessed the whole thing quickly forgot about it.
They only remembered some guy who looked pudgy but was freakishly strong.
However, while nobody here cared about the fight, what Chris was about to do next attracted quite a crowd.
This is a gym, after all, and in a gym, what could be more interesting than watching someone set a new bench press record?
Especially when the guy setting this record was a chubby kid who looked like he'd never set foot in a gym before.
That made people even more curious and amazed.
Chris's lift of 400 pounds had already drawn a group of spectators, and now seeing him add another 90 pounds to the barbell, the crowd of onlookers surged again.
Many people even started recording on their phones, wanting to witness this moment that would surely become campus legend.
Since James Woods High got its gym, over the past decade or so, the best anyone had managed was a 330-pound bench press.
That record was several years old, back when the gym wasn't as nice as it is now, and didn't even have air conditioning.
So, over the past couple of years, there'd been a rumor circulating around school that the gym's central AC should be removed, claiming it made people soft and affected muscle development.
That's supposedly why there hadn't been a second person to bench press 330 pounds.
Although this rumor was just something casually thrown out by some meathead jocks, most people still somewhat bought into it.
They also felt that a comfortable environment made people lazy, preventing them from achieving better workout results.
However, this notion might disappear after today.
After all, Chris had already debunked that rumor, and he was about to break his own newly-set record again.
But everyone present couldn't help thinking that while Chris was shattering old myths, he might also be establishing new ones.
Namely, that genetics explain everything; as long as you've got the right DNA, hard work and environment don't mean squat.
And Chris himself was living proof—after all, this guy didn't even have proper form, nothing like a seasoned lifter on a cut.
Under the nervous gaze of the crowd, Chris showed zero tension.
He gripped the bar firmly with both hands, took a breath, looked at the spotter, and then pushed with everything he had.
The 490-pound barbell rose high, and this was without Chris even using leg drive or an arch.
Of course, the crowd couldn't tell; his belly fat blocked their view, preventing them from seeing whether his back was arched or not.
But seeing Chris repeatedly lift the 490-pound barbell, everyone understood this wasn't even close to Chris's limit.
So as Chris lifted, everyone joined in with cheers and roars that shook the entire gym.
Questions about genetics would only come to mind once they calmed down; right now, they were simply genuinely hyped for Chris.
After all, this moment might become one of the most unforgettable memories of their high school years, and a story they'd tell their kids someday.
After eighteen consecutive reps, Chris finally felt a hint of fatigue.
This feeling was like finishing a tough football practice—tired, but after a short rest, he'd be good to go.
From this, Chris made a rough estimate of his strength: his max bench press was probably between 550 and 620 pounds, definitely not quite at the 650-pound level yet.
However, even so, this level of strength was already at world-class athlete territory.
And this was at only fifteen years old, having never trained before, achieving it purely through natural talent and instinct.
If he actually trained seriously, and with his body still growing and developing, his strength would continue to skyrocket.
The future looked bright!
After that moment of reflection, Chris felt his stamina recover quite a bit, so he started another set.
After all, having a bright future required actually surviving to see it, and not dying in whatever unknown crisis that weird cat thing had mentioned.
The crowd, seeing that Chris wasn't going to attempt even heavier weights, began dispersing.
A few gossips had already left the gym and started spreading word of Chris's feat around campus.
News of a fifteen-year-old benching 490 pounds was likely to dominate conversation at James Woods High for a while.
After twenty more reps, Chris set down the barbell and, while resting, said to the two spotters, "Alright, guys, you can take a break."
The two had watched Chris knock out sets with 490 pounds without even breathing hard, so they knew this weight was nowhere near a challenge for him, and obediently sat on a nearby bench.
It was then that the little fanboy finally had a chance to talk to Chris, saying, "Dude, boss! I didn't expect you to be this strong; I thought 440 was gonna be your max!"
When Chris had bench pressed 400 pounds earlier, his expression hadn't even changed, so this guy had figured that wasn't his limit.
But what he never expected was that Chris benching 490 wasn't his limit either.
This completely blew the kid's mind and made him even more certain he'd picked the right guy to follow.
Chris sat up and looked at the kid, then noticed he was also wearing basketball team gear, and asked curiously, "You're on the basketball team too? I just knocked out your teammate—how are you not worried the rest of them will give you crap for hanging around me?"
As soon as he said this, the Black guy next to him looked stunned, not expecting there to be drama involved.
"Heh!" The white kid gave a bitter laugh, then said, "Boss, you're overthinking it. Those guys—you think they don't already give me crap on the regular?"
"Oh! I gotcha."
As soon as the kid said that, Chris understood.
So this kid was already getting hazed by his teammates, which is why when he saw Chris deck one of them with a single punch, instead of resenting him, he became a fan.
Well, what else was there to say? If someone wanted in, he should definitely accept him.
After all, the original Chris was a loser, a nobody around school.
Forget followers—he didn't even have many real friends.
So, facing the first person who wanted to be part of his crew, Chris extended his hand and said, "Chris Griffin. I've got your back from now on!"
Seeing Chris's outstretched hand, the white kid excitedly shook it and said, "Marn Robert, basketball team benchwarmer. If you ever want to meet cheerleaders, I can hook you up."
"We'll see about that later!"
Chris wasn't in any rush about dating; after all, with his natural charm, he wouldn't be hurting for attention from either guys or girls.
"Hanger Rost. I want in on your crew too—that cool?"
The Black guy who'd been watching their exchange suddenly spoke up.
Then he noticed their weird looks and immediately realized how that sounded, quickly adding, "Hey, I got a girlfriend!"
To his surprise, Chris and Marn, after hearing him, exchanged glances and started cracking up.
"Oh~!" they said in unison, voices dripping with innuendo.
Seeing this, Hanger could only continue trying to explain, "I seriously didn't mean it like that!"
"Sure, sure, we totally believe you!" they said together, still laughing.
"Whatever, man," Hanger said, shaking his head but grinning. "So am I in or what?"
Chris wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "Yeah, you're in. Welcome to the crew, Hanger."
The three of them shook hands, and just like that, Chris Griffin—former nobody—had formed his first real circle at James Woods High.
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