Kengan: New Roots

The tournament was over. No new friends. No interviews. Only silence.

Ashan's days changed. He stopped waking up before dawn. Instead, he showed up to the gym in the afternoons, usually around 4 or 5 PM. Hoodie up, focused.

Jerry had been clear: "You need size. You're too small. Japan's not like here."

So Ashan lifted. Squats. Deadlifts. Weighted pull-ups until his arms trembled. He wasn't an expert. He messed up form sometimes. But Jerry had sent a simple plan, low reps, heavy weight, eat more than usual, and get rest.

No shadowboxing. No sparring.

The pain was different from fighting. Slower. Numbing. Like his body was turning into concrete, one rep at a time. The last period of time Ashan had trained intensely, was not at all similar. Now Ashan controlled his reps, and went all the way to muscular failure, not exhaustion.

Sets, reps, sweat. Drink. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

He didn't tell anyone about Japan. No one would have believed him anyway. A first-class flight to Tokyo for a kid who'd barely fought? It felt surreal. But the ticket was real.

It came on a Tuesday night, in a plain email:

Subject: Departure

From: Jerry Tyson

To: Ashan Korr

Flight info attached. First class. Eat well. Get stronger.

-J

Ashan opened the PDF.

Departure: New York JFK → Tokyo Haneda

Date: [REDACTED] - 3 weeks out

Seat: 2A

He stared at it for a long time. Not because he was excited. Because it made it real. No turning back. The kind of thing most people only dreamed of, he just saw it as the next fight.

Ashan closed the email and got up to finish his set of weighted pull-ups.

He still had three weeks.

Three weeks to get heavier.

Stronger.

Ready.

And this time, no one was watching.

Just how he liked it.

---