A Day In The Life Of A Coach

The gym's lights hummed overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow on the polished wooden floors. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the faint tang of metal from the weight racks. The clang of weights being dropped echoed off the walls, mixing with the rhythmic thuds of footsteps on the treadmills. But in the far corner of the gym, away from the casual lifters and cardio enthusiasts, Kazemachi Sota stood with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

"Get up, Kazemachi," Jack Mercer's voice was unyielding, slicing through the fog of exhaustion clouding Sota's mind. "We're not done yet."

Sota lifted his head, his vision blurred from the sweat streaming down his face. His legs trembled beneath him, muscles screaming in protest, but he knew better than to complain. He forced himself to stand upright, every movement a battle against the burning fatigue that had settled deep in his bones.

Jack Mercer stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes sharp and unwavering. The former pro athlete was a figure of relentless determination, his presence commanding respect. His training regimen was nothing short of brutal—each session designed to push Sota to his absolute limits and then beyond.

"Ready for the next round?" Jack asked, though it wasn't really a question. His gaze bore into Sota, silently demanding nothing less than complete commitment.

Sota nodded, unable to muster the energy for words. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the grueling exercises he'd already endured. Squats, deadlifts, sprints, and drills—Jack had thrown everything at him, each exercise more intense than the last.

"Good. We'll start with lateral lunges," Jack announced, stepping back to give Sota space. "Go."

Sota immediately dropped into position, his legs widening into a lunge. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his quads burning with each repetition. The movement was slow and deliberate, the strain in his muscles building with every passing second. The gym's mirrored walls reflected his struggle, his sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his body as he pushed through the pain.

"One, two, three… Faster!" Jack barked, his voice a whip cracking in the air.

Sota's breath hitched as he increased his pace, each lunge deeper and more precise. His legs felt like they were made of lead, but he didn't dare slow down. The muscles in his thighs quivered under the strain, but he gritted his teeth and continued, his jaw clenched in determination.

"Switch to high knees! Now!"

Without hesitation, Sota shifted into the next exercise, driving his knees high into the air with each step. His breath came in ragged gasps, lungs burning as he forced his body to comply with Jack's commands. The thud of his sneakers against the floor was drowned out by the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

Jack watched him intently, his eyes narrowing as he assessed Sota's form. "Don't let your knees drop! Higher!"

Sota pushed harder, his movements becoming more frantic as he fought to maintain the intensity. His legs were on fire, each step sending jolts of pain through his entire body. But he didn't stop—he couldn't stop. Not when Jack was watching, not when he had come this far.

"Jump squats! Twenty reps, full extension!"

Sota dropped into a squat and then exploded upward, his legs propelling him off the ground. The first few reps were manageable, but by the time he hit ten, his thighs were screaming for relief. Each jump felt like leaping into a wall of agony, but he kept going, his mind blank except for the singular focus of completing the exercise.

"Come on, Kazemachi! Don't give up now!" Jack's voice was a relentless force, pushing Sota beyond the limits he thought he had.

The final jump nearly took everything out of him. Sota landed with a heavy thud, his legs barely supporting his weight. He wobbled, almost collapsing, but managed to stay upright, gasping for breath.

"Take thirty seconds," Jack said, his tone offering no comfort. "Then we go again."

Sota nodded weakly, bending over to rest his hands on his knees. His entire body was trembling, every muscle fiber screaming in protest. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The seconds ticked by, each one a brief respite before the next round of hell began.

Jack didn't wait for Sota to fully recover before calling him back into action. "Time's up. We're doing weighted lunges next."

Sota groaned inwardly but didn't protest. He shuffled over to the weight rack, grabbing a pair of dumbbells. His grip was weak, fingers barely curling around the cold metal, but he managed to lift them.

"Thirty meters. Let's go," Jack instructed, his tone brokering no argument.

Sota positioned the weights by his sides, then stepped forward into a lunge. The added weight made the exercise exponentially harder, his legs straining under the increased load. Each step felt like dragging his body through quicksand, the resistance pulling him down with every lunge forward.

The distance seemed endless. Sota's lungs burned with the effort of drawing in air, his vision tunneling as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. Sweat dripped from his forehead, blurring his sight even further, but he kept his focus on the end of the line.

Halfway through, his legs began to buckle. His steps grew slower, more labored, each lunge a battle against the urge to collapse. The dumbbells felt like anchors pulling him down, his arms shaking as he tried to keep them steady.

"Almost there, Kazemachi. Don't stop now," Jack called out, his voice cutting through the haze of pain.

Sota gritted his teeth, pushing past the point of exhaustion. The final few meters felt like an eternity, each step a monumental effort. His muscles screamed in agony, his breath ragged, but he forced himself to keep moving.

Finally, with a last burst of energy, Sota cleared the thirty-meter mark. He dropped the dumbbells with a loud clatter, collapsing to his knees, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.

Jack walked over, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he simply stared at Sota, who was too exhausted to even look up. Then, unexpectedly, a small smile tugged at the corners of Jack's lips.

"You did good, Kazemachi," he said, a rare note of approval in his voice. "Real good."

Sota managed a weak nod, still trying to catch his breath. His body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder, every muscle and joint aching with the effort. But despite the pain, a sense of accomplishment filled him. He had pushed past his limits, and the satisfaction of knowing he had earned Jack's approval made it all worth it.

"We'll call it a day," Jack said, clapping Sota on the shoulder. "Get some rest. You're going to need it."

Sota barely had the energy to stand, but with Jack's help, he managed to get to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him, and he winced as he took a step, but there was a faint smile on his lips. The hellish training session had pushed him to his breaking point, but he had survived it. More than that—he had conquered it.

As he hobbled toward the locker room, Jack's words echoed in his mind. Real good. It was a small victory, but it was enough to fuel him for whatever came next.