Bang, bang, bang—the steady thump of fists pounding a punching bag echoed through the gym. It was late, and in this super-professional fitness center, Jonathan Black was throwing punches like his life depended on it.
Under the yellow lights, Jonathan was rocking a workout tank and working up a sweat, his back shining. Every heavy punch made the bag bend over like someone taking a gut shot. His muscular back flexed and rippled, looking like an eagle flapping its wings.
Heavy punch, heavy punch—roundhouse kick!
Jonathan gritted his teeth and glared, his leg whipping up like a gust of wind. Bam! His shin crashed into the bag, and with a loud creak, the heavy thing shot off the hook, flying straight toward the door.
Just as the bag was about to slam into the doors, those old Western-style double doors creaked open. Smack—a pale hand snatched the bag out of the air, flipped it, and casually set the heavy thing down by the door.
The newcomer was rocking a sleeveless top and knee-length shorts, radiating pure sporty-girl energy. It was Jill Young.
"Yo, working out? Pretty dedicated, huh?" Jill waved, then took a couple steps and leapt up onto the ring with a perfect hurdle jump. She beckoned, "Punching a bag by yourself is boring. Come on, I'll spar with you! Let's do this!"
"Us two?" Jonathan blinked. "Can we even fight each other?" But then he got pumped, nodding seriously: "Alright, let's go!"
Whoosh—he jumped in place and cleared nearly ten meters, landing with a thud on the ring. In this dim room, the ring was the only spot lit up, just like a real underground fight club. Standing here, facing Jill Young, Jonathan felt his heart racing, his body heating up, and a wild urge to prove how strong he was—even if he knew he couldn't win.
If I can't hurt her anyway, might as well go all out! Jonathan's eyes narrowed, fists clenched, ready to throw down.
But just as he clenched his fists, Jill Young dumped a bucket of cold water on him: "Nope, that stance is all wrong. Here, here—change it." Jill poked and prodded Jonathan, glancing around: "Man, it's been ages since I was in this room. Back when I was training for the ring, I was here every day—who taught you that stance? It's not bad, but your teacher must be a foot shorter than you. You can't stand like that at your height! Didn't they tell you?"
"Uh... honestly, nobody really taught me. I just copied you." Jonathan adjusted his stance, explaining: "When I was a shady boss, installing cameras everywhere was a must—especially here. You broke so many gadgets and ruined dozens of punching bags while training, I got curious and started learning too. Guess I'm still not there yet. But hey, your tweaks feel way better."
"Your stance is the foundation—sure, they all look similar, but the details matter. Don't just wing it; ask me when I'm around, or find a real pro to learn the basics. If you mess up at the start, everything else is pointless. Oh, when I'm training Brooke Rain, you can join in—maybe you two can help each other out." Jill finished her adjustments, gave Jonathan a satisfied slap on the shoulder: "Alright, that's better. Let's start simple—jab, hook, uppercut, whip punch—go!"
"Okay." Jonathan nodded and started moving in for the attack. After Jill's adjustments, his fiery energy cooled down a bit, but his punches were less reckless now.
Jill held up both palms like regular punch mitts, ready to catch his blows. But Jonathan could tell there was real skill behind her simple moves—her hands were the perfect balance of soft and strong. Every punch he landed told him exactly where his technique was off. He was sure this was some next-level training.
"Too slow."
"Too weak."
"Out of steam? Too soft! Hit like a real man—yeah, that's more like it."
The smack of fists against palms echoed through the gym, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, but never stopping. After just fifteen minutes, Jonathan felt more exhausted than after two hours with the punching bag. He was drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, but totally happy—like the Monkey King finally finding his perfect weapon. Tired, but thrilled.
He panted and asked, "Sometimes I feel like meeting you and Professor Yang was fate. Ever since I met you guys, my whole worldview keeps getting turned upside down. Thinking back to when you first came to 'apply for the job'—it wasn't that long ago, but it feels like ages. So, what brings you here today? None of this stuff should be a challenge for you anymore, right?"
"I'm only here because of you!—That punch was off, keep your left arm guarding your ribs or I'll sock you!" Jill tapped Jonathan's side and continued, "Two hours ago I heard you banging away in here, kept me from sleeping, so I came to check it out."
"You heard me?" Jonathan was stunned. "Your bedroom's so far from here—how could you possibly hear?"
"Don't even start. Remember that time on the big ship? I found that metal box through tons of walls just by following a buzzing sound. And, uh—this might kill your vibe—but I can hear you picking up ladies, too. If I want, I can hear it all. Three wild nights a week, huh? Kid, you gotta pace yourself, hahaha!"
Jonathan was speechless for a few seconds, then suddenly kicked out hard: "Sorry for waking you up!"
"That kick was even worse—never heard of not kicking high in a real fight?" Jill caught Jonathan's leg and spun him like a top: "Beginners should stick to low kicks below the knee. Quit showing off!"
Jonathan rolled across the ring like a spinning top, finally stopping at the edge. He sat up, dizzy and exhausted, and just sat there catching his breath: "You've been sleeping way too much lately—almost twenty hours a day. You feeling okay?"
"Not really sick—just had to detox a little girl, gave away half my strength, then burned out all my energy in a big fight. Now I'm just tired, that's all. A few more days of sleep and I'll be fine." Jill plopped down next to Jonathan, handed him a bottle of water.
Jonathan stared at Jill for a while, then finally said, "Wait, my Chinese isn't great, and that was a lot to take in. Can you say it again?"
"Don't worry about it—sounds serious, but I'm fine. Just a little weaker in a fight, but I'll recover soon. I came here mainly to see you." Jill slapped Jonathan on the shoulder, her eyes sharp like a private detective: "Kid, your punches can't wake me, but they're way too wild."
"Restless?" Jonathan mulled over the word, looking thoughtful.
"Yep, restless—like you've got a fire inside but can't let it out. You've been punching for two hours and barely broke a sweat. Looks like stamina, but really it's scattered and weak. Not tired because you're not focused. If you went all out, even I couldn't last half an hour." Jill pushed up imaginary glasses, her eyes sharp: "Kid, you're not usually like this. You've got something on your mind."
Jonathan went quiet, thinking for a moment before nodding: "You're right, but I don't get why. It's just...so much has changed in six months, it feels like a dream. I'm a little freaked out."
"Hmm... maybe, but I don't think that's the main reason."
"Maybe it's because my power's grown too fast and I can't keep up mentally—just can't handle it."
"Definitely not that. On the ship, you were super focused and on fire." Jill snapped her fingers like a doctor finding the problem: "Oh, I remember! You changed after we visited Eden."
"Eden..." Jonathan frowned, thinking hard before nodding seriously. "Yeah, I think you're right. I've definitely seen a place like that before. That white expanse keeps flashing in my mind. And that Slaughterer guy—something's off, but I can't remember when or where I saw him."
Seeing Jonathan clutch his head in frustration, Jill sighed and stood up: "Don't worry, now that we know the problem, we can fix it. We dragged the whole ship back, so we can study it as much as we want—sooner or later, we'll figure it out. Keep punching, and put all your strength into every hit, or it's pointless."
"Alright." Jonathan stood up, shook his head, and refocused. The chat was short, but it really cleared his mind.
"Oh, by the way," Jill said as she walked out, not looking back, "once I finish a few things and get ready, we'll finally take care of that business we've been putting off."
"The business we've been putting off?" Jonathan asked, puzzled. "Which one do you mean?"
"Of course—the one we've been meaning to do." Jill walked to the door, grabbed the sandbag, and tossed it with a flick of her wrist: "Go home."
The sandbag landed perfectly on the hook, swinging wildly back and forth, creaking with every swing.
"Go home?!" Jonathan jolted, paused, then took a deep breath. As the sandbag swung by, he threw a lightning-fast straight punch. Bam—crack! One punch, two sounds—the bag exploded, sand pouring out like a waterfall, scattering everywhere. Now that's a real straight punch.
After that punch, Jonathan was out of breath, but his eyes were shining. "Yeah, it's time to go home."