Chapter 136: Physical Examination (Part I)

Aoki Tsukasa, who had originally planned to skip training for another day to stay home and read, touched his significantly thinner wallet and trotted off toward the combat gym, braving the autumn wind.

Matsuyama Iwa did not hold back on complaining about Aoki’s tardiness once again. Watching him diligently change clothes in the locker room, he snorted, "You brat, you’re getting more and more out of hand. Is the money I’m giving you too much? Can’t seem to spend it all fast enough?"

He stood with his arms crossed; his thick, muscular limbs were so massive that they strained against the sleeves of his shirt, making them bulge awkwardly.

Aoki chuckled sheepishly, "That’s not it, but I had no choice. Some things just have to be done."

Matsuyama shot him a glance, his gaze thoughtful as he watched Aoki change into a tight training tank top that revealed his well-defined arms. After a moment, Matsuyama suddenly spoke up, "Want to test your physical stats again?"

Aoki paused. To be honest, he was curious about his current level, so he nodded. "Sure."

"Alright, warm up for a bit, then I’ll take you to test them." Matsuyama looked at Aoki, his expression slightly annoyed. "You aren't even that diligent every day, so how on earth do you keep improving like this?"

Aoki grinned. "Can't help it, it must be talent."

"Enough, enough, you get carried away the moment you’re praised." Matsuyama glared at him and stood up to adjust the testing equipment.

Aoki wrapped his hands with bandages and threw a combination of punches into the air, the whistling sound of his strikes quite intimidating. He patted his arms and flexed in the locker room mirror.

"Not bad!" He nodded, satisfied with his physique. It wasn't vanity; his muscles were truly well-defined—distinct lines without being overly exaggerated. He looked lean in clothes but muscular when stripped, which was perfect.

After loosening up, Aoki walked out of the locker room. Matsuyama waved at him from a distance. "Come on, let's start with this."

Aoki walked over and stood on the machine with practiced ease. After a few rhythmic beeps, a test report printed out.

"Hiss..." Matsuyama took the report and examined it closely, his expression shifting from shock to pleasure. "Here, take a look for yourself."

Aoki took the sheet and nodded in satisfaction.

"Height 181 cm, wingspan 187 cm, weight 64 kg, body fat 8%."

Aoki recited the data and smiled at Matsuyama. "My body fat has gone up quite a bit."

"That’s a good thing," Matsuyama explained earnestly. "Extremely low body fat is actually unhealthy. Physical strength isn't defined by body fat. In my opinion, keeping it around 12% is ideal. Before the tournament, you’ll need to set aside half a month for prep. It will definitely drop a bit by then."

Hearing this, Aoki frowned slightly. "Do I really need to take half a month off? What about school?"

"Don't worry, no matter what school you attend, I can handle the negotiations. Even if you miss exams, I’ll ensure you move up to the next grade," Matsuyama said with absolute confidence, laughing. "Taking half a month is mandatory. You must strictly control your weight before the match. You’re already at sixty-four kilograms; even a little extra weight could put you over the lightweight limit and disqualify you."

"I see..." Aoki rubbed his stomach with a bitter smile, feeling nothing but washboard abs. His weight gain was mostly due to a growth spurt.

"With your low body fat, it means you have a high muscle-to-weight ratio. If you don't hit the target weight and have to cut, you’re going to suffer!" Matsuyama shuddered at the memory. "When I was competing, I went three days without a drop of water just to make weight for the weigh-in. I sat in a sauna until I sweated everything out—I felt like I was dying just to squeeze those pounds off."

"If you don't want to go through that hell, you’d better train properly when the time comes." Matsuyama checked the date and said, "In about a week, you'll enter the promotional period."

"Promotional period?" Aoki frowned.

"Of course. Do you think this 'Supernova' tournament is just for fun?" Matsuyama looked at Aoki’s relaxed expression and shook his head. "Go look it up online and see how much attention this tournament gets."

Aoki hadn't paid much attention to the tournament. To him, as long as he kept getting stronger, he didn't care who his opponent was. The competition felt more like a promise to Matsuyama; he didn't really care what the event was.

He pulled out his phone and searched for the tournament name. Aoki gasped and looked up at Matsuyama, his expression stunned. "This tournament is that big?"

"What did you think!" Matsuyama was between laughter and tears. "You really haven't been paying any attention at all!"

"The ultimate winner of this tournament can use the championship title to jump straight into top-tier MMA events! Do you know how hard it is to even get a spot in those? Even a warm-up fight starts at tens of thousands of dollars!"

Seeing Aoki’s unimpressed expression, Matsuyama urged, "I know you aren't interested in professional combat or being a celebrity. But do you know how many Asians are in top-tier MMA right now?"

"Once you get in and win a match, you’ll instantly become a national idol, a target for every young person." Seeing that Aoki still looked uninterested, Matsuyama added with a tempting tone, "You could shoot a few commercials and make hundreds of millions. You know what that kind of money is worth, right?"

Aoki was indeed tempted. He didn't care for luxury cars or mansions, but that didn't mean he didn't need money. His life goal wasn't to be a big shot, but living freely—eating and drinking whatever he wanted—required a lot of money, didn't it? If he could make hundreds of millions... couldn't he buy high-grade beef to eat every day?

He shook his head and didn't agree immediately, smiling instead. "Let's talk about it later. I’m only in my first year of high school; it’s not time to worry about how much I’m earning yet. I feel like if I really want to make money, there are plenty of ways."

If he actually became a celebrity, Aoki knew without a doubt that his reputation as a delinquent would cause endless trouble. If it only involved him, that would be one thing, but if it dragged his friends into it, that would be a problem. In this era of "entertainment to death" and trial by public opinion, where the media was best at making mountains out of molehills, Aoki felt a certain fear of fame.

As for making money, Aoki felt that with his looks, he could make money just by driving a taxi, so he wasn't in a rush. Being handsome meant he could be willful; someone like Matsuyama, with his fierce looks, certainly couldn't understand that feeling.

"Alright, let's continue. Let's test your punching power." Matsuyama felt a bit of regret at being so calmly rejected, but he also felt that as a young man, once Aoki stood on that big stage and experienced the meaning of glory, his mindset would surely change.

They arrived at the punching power tester. Aoki was eager to try. Nearby, an assistant coach also walked over to watch the show.

"Right hook!" Matsuyama said with anticipation, his eyes fixed intently on the machine.