A White Rhino worked at the gym for the boys’ dormitory in Rormund Academy. His name was Uri, but most of the students called him ‘Trainer’. After a lengthy career, he came to be more familiar with the title than his name. He was a big mammal, standing almost twice as tall as the average students, and seemingly thrice with his giant horn in front of his nose. He had a habit of sharpening it in his off times, which led to him wearing a horn cap on the tip. It was a black leather cone with seamless stitches sitting atop his ivory tower, complimenting his black tank top and brown cargo shorts.

The gym itself was experiencing a particularly hefty week. Uri didn't know why, but it was better than nothing. He'd just finished spotting for a dozen and a half students and it wasn't even halfway through the evening. His co-workers, Iri the African Elephant; yellow tank top and green cargo shorts, no horn cap; and Ari the Cape Buffalo; white tank top and white cargo shorts, also no horn cap; were also spending most of today endlessly spotting and helping out with forced reps. As of now, Iri was manning the counter while Ari was coaching a horse with his curls. Uri himself was helping a skinny mongoose on a bench press.

“Come on, just one more,” he said, “Push it in one go.”

The mongoose looked as if his cheeks were one poke away from exploding as his twig-like arms struggled to raise the stainless steel bar atop his face. His fur shivered from wailing strength as he pushed his elbows in place. Uri had his palm suspended underneath the bar, just in case the mongoose’s arms were to suddenly lose power and turn himself to the boys’ dormitory gym’s second casualty. The first happened a century ago, which, considering the Academy’s prolific history, was a great streak in and of itself.

As he watched the mongoose wheeze and twitch, Uri fought the urge to simply raise the bar himself and get it over with.

Just as the urge was about to manifest the mongoose finally aligned his forearms and did his twentieth rep.

“Good job,” Uri said, easing the mongoose of his burden as he lifted the barbell in one hand and helped the mongoose up with his other.

The mongoose simply wiped away his head with his forearm and walked away without anything more than a few panting breaths. Uri dropped the barbell on the bench press and removed the weights. The mongoose was lifting his entire body weight. To Uri, it was like pushing against an opposing breeze. He dropped the weights to the side among the other piles of iron doughnuts and checked the time. What felt like an hour was barely fifteen minutes. He sighed.

Then he felt a slight vibration from his shorts pocket. He dug into it and pulled out a phone. It was barely the size of his palm and had a crack across the surface. There was a notification bar in his lock screen with the words ur turn written within in. He made his way towards the counter where Iri the elephant waited for him.

“It’s not even until half an hour,” Uri said.

“Get me out of here,” Iri said.

“That’s what you said last week,” the rhino retorted, “And the week before, and almost the whole last month.”

“Just help me,” the elephant pleaded, “Anything to get me out of here.”

“You’ve asked for so many solids that it’s becoming a damn wall,” the rhino said.

The elephant slumped over the counter and grabbed his tank top by the straps, his ears fanning from the side as he jabbed his bulging chest with his trunk, “Please…”

The rhino sighed. He understood the elephant's feelings completely, but work ethics were still prevalent in his mind. Then he thought about it for another moment. There wasn't any difference between the desk and the students. He could’ve slept through both jobs and there wouldn’t be any changes. He sighed and relented.

"Fine," Uri said.

"Owe you one," Iri raised his trunk as he bounced out of the counter, rising from his cramped seat as he stood almost a head taller than Uri.

"You owe me way too many," the rhino said, but the elephant didn't hear him. He was too busy relishing within the weights and metal bars. It was his habitat, after all, no matter if he's the one pumping iron or not.

"You're too lax on him," Uri heard a voice from behind him.

The rhino turned to his back. There Ari stood, unscrewing the cap off a bottle of water.

“It’s just an extra shift,” he said, “It still gets the job done.”

“I’m talking about his attitude here,” the cape buffalo said in between sips, “Who knows he’ll skip out on the job one day on the crucial moment.”

“You’re too serious about this,” Uri jabbed on Ari.

“I’m just trying to keep a job,” the buffalo retorted.

Uri sighed, “I’ll keep him in check.”

“That’s what you said last week,” Ari said, “And the week before, and the-”

“I get it, I get it,” Uri surrendered, “Give me a sip of that.”

Ari handed the bottle, already half-empty. Uri downed it all in one go.

“You said ‘a sip’,” Ari said.

“Rhinos need more fluid intake than buffalos,” Uri crushed the bottle in one grip.

“And ostriches can fly,” Ari then asked, “When’s my shift?”

Uri turned to his back and looked to the clock sitting atop the wall behind the counter.

“Between an hour and twenty years,” he informed, “I’ll call you when things get too boring.”

Ari spoke, “You could just do your job, right?”

“Train weeds that lift for two months, give up, and come back with a set-back of half a year?” Uri said, “They don’t even need me for it."

Ari asked, “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

“Just like you,” Uri said, “Contract and business card in the mailbox one day.”

“A contract that sums up to ‘give up your livelihood to serve trust fund children’, mind you," Ari said.

“Too bad,” Uri threw his arms up, “Pay’s so good I forgot to read the terms and conditions. Plus, they don’t simply give those out, you know. You gave in like me and Iri, didn’t you?”

“I had my own problems,” Ari said.

Uri paused and asked, “How’s she right now?”

“In college. Away from rehab,” Ari said.

“Good,” Uri nodded.

“Good? Speak for yourself,” Ari said, “You never had a poking stick behind you.”

“Hey, I worked hard for these guns,” Uri pounded on his chest, “They asked for the best, so I came here to be the best.”

“So,” Ari asked, “Are you still the best?”

Uri paused for a moment. Then he slumped over the counter, carrying his weight over his elbow.

“Not until I’ve seen them,” the rhino commented.

Ari shifted his glance towards the glass doors beside the counter. A corridor led out to a junction, where the locker rooms and elevators sat.

Ari asked, “They haven’t been back as often, have they?”

“Good riddance,” Uri replied, “They were tearing through bags like a buffet.”

“You don’t seem so happy saying that,” Ari remarked.

Uri sighed, “They were interesting, at least.”

“Watch your mouth,” Ari warned the rhino, “The devil listens. Judging from the favours you’re giving to Iri your karma’s not looking good.”

“Unlike you, I don’t let some old book tell me what to do tomorrow,” Uri said.

“Whatever,” Ari said, “One bunkmate and co-worker to another, be careful what you wish for.”

“What,” Uri said, “The praying man's scared of the devils?”

Ari replied, “You’re not? Why do I think we pray?"

The buffalo walked away, leaving Uri at the counter by himself. The rhino sighed, seating himself behind the counter. A tall stool sat on it. He pressed against the seat with his thick fingers. It was still warm. Uri opted to stand instead.

He took a long glance towards the scene before him. Glistening bars and racks filled the side, glaring brightly under the ceiling lights, showing off the visible, assiduous maintenance they’ve been receiving. Huffs and pants from the students filled the air, pairing the low, droning hymns of the fitness machines as backup vocals accompanying the upbeat, high-tempo music blaring from the speakers. The soft, salty scent of sweat whiffed through the air, with the unseen, unprecedented danger of someone’s occasional trace of thick body odour holding Uri back from truly letting his breaths run free in the place. Rubber mats aligned against the floor, spreading out to every coarse inch of the room.

Uri could fondly remember how he thought he accidentally stepped into paradise during his novice years in the dormitory gym. He also thought about how naive he was back then.

He never thought ‘being the best’ could be so boring. He was merely there to complete the look and atmosphere of the gym with his presence, helping the students hold their weight or lift their bars. None of them seemed serious either; merely driven by a sudden enthusiasm to get buff from a movie or commercial they’ve seen, only to discover that working out isn’t a day-one shipping exercise and promptly give up. Rarely did anyone stay, even less for more than a year. In essence, he wasn’t ‘being the best’ but rather, a decorative piece, only to sit there and look pretty. There was nothing to show nor strive for. No steps to climb, or milestones to reach.

That was until they came along.

They weren’t steps to climb, and certainly do they not represent as milestones to reach.

They were more like a physical premonition of a possibility.

A walking reminder of the lengths people could take their bodies to.

Uri didn’t know why they did so, but seeing their physique alone was enough to display their conviction towards it.

It was an interesting window to look at, to him. What their doing simply can’t be considered within the ballpark of body-building; it was something else entirely.

Just as he was wallowing in his thoughts, he heard the glass door swing open. He turned his head to the side, ready to drone out the usual greeting.

“Welcome, Sir-”

He choked out halfway.

Turns out you didn’t even need to speak of the devil. The mere thought of it was enough.

“Dove,” Uri found himself calling.

The Doberman came through the doorway, donning a plain, dark jacket and a pair of sweatpants. He carried a black duffel bag, with a clean towel draping over it. Uri tried to avoid eye contact, but the pressure was so strong that it was physically pulling his chin up to see his face. As always and unchanging; a dark, brown glare so intense that it was triggering an inner reaction from the rhino. His limbs stiffened as his chest tightened; all out of reflex.

The inner colloquy in Uri’s head told him there was absolutely nothing to be wary of; nothing bad happened in the past and neither will anything bad happen now. The message, however, couldn't deliver to the rest of his body as the rest of his body was too preoccupied with the sight before Uri’s eyes than to consider rational thoughts.

The nerves between his mouth and his brain were shaking as he uttered the words, "To the bags again?"

Dove didn't say anything. He merely walked past the counter and to the far side of the gym. A collection of punching bags sat dangling from stands and the ceiling, ranging from small speed bags on metal, rebound platforms to the heaviest pole bags dangling off iron chains. A red mat sat in the middle amongst the bags, made as a platform to test one's skill or settle scores professionally.

As far as Uri's concerned, they were simply just for show and gathering dust. There wasn't much use for fists within the era of speech and rules. Uri even reckoned the Academy could have these things removed and it wouldn't make a difference whatsoever. Rarely did these things ever saw use, except for a few curious ones who gave it a strike or two and nothing else.

That is, saving for the few exceptions in the Academy.

It was something that amused Uri. Within his career within Rormund, there will always be that select few he wouldn't have seen anywhere else. Rormund Academy was a different school compared to most others. Uri couldn't think of any other institutions that would go out of their way to source students like that.

Students like the exceptions.

Students like Dove.

The Doberman dropped his duffel bag to the side along with the towel. As expected, he went straight to the pole bag. The dog tensed up his shoulders and started his warm-up, doing jumping jacks and squats in between jogging in place. Occasionally he’d throw a jab or two into the empty air. Uri watched from the sideline throughout the process. Dove paid him no notice, putting on his usual scowl as he went on.

Ten minutes later, he went to the pole bag itself.

His punches were light and low, hitting the middle, shaking the bag some as he jammed his elbows in. It grew harder and bigger as time passed, shaking the iron chains more as he continued. His body remained stationary, barely shifting his shoulders as he threw punches.

Five minutes later, he stopped. He turned towards Uri, locking his glare to his eyes.

Uri knew all too well what it meant.

He moved to the opposite end of the bag and held onto both sides.

With that, Dove took off his jacket and revealed his arms and shoulders to full view. It was a sight Uri would never get used to.

As the sleeves of his jackets slipped off his elbows, His pectoral muscles, though hidden under a loose, white singlet, still held a commanding presence, punching up his collarbone as it spread to his shoulders, where his deltoid bulged like boulders, even under his fur. His back was stretching the straps of his singlet, wrapping all the way to his sides with his latissimus dorsi seeming as if it’s trying to swell its way out of its fabric confinement. The word “rigid” couldn’t sufficiently define his arms. They looked like sculptures chiselled out from raw, unpolished obsidian. From sight alone, Uri could tell what his fingers would feel if he had the chance to feel his biceps; pure solidity, simply unnatural to the average body.

Unnatural was a good word to describe it.

Bodies like this don’t come in a month or even a year. He’d seen bodies drugged up to their maximum limit, breaking every physical wall with extreme medication just to grasp onto every extra edge. It was from his experienced eye that he could see the same traits overlapping with the Doberman. Yet, it just wasn’t quite right. It was like a painting with a background shaded just a tone too deep for an artist to sense a mistake, but not as glaring as for the artist to discern it.

It didn’t feel like Dove paved his way through pharmaceuticals, but neither could Uri confidently say he’s built through legitimate means. That would mean implications that would’ve to be glossed over on adults, but not on an adolescent. If it truly was the case, then Uri wouldn’t dare imagine what it’ll be in Dove’s body. This dog wasn’t going to live beyond his forties. His metabolism would’ve been beyond recognition, and that’s discounting maintenance and upkeep of his physique.

It’s been over two months since Uri's seen Dove until now. He was barely a skin’s width thinner than before.

His eyes, however, was a different story. Somehow, it grew twice as intense as before. Where then it seemed as if he’s expression was simply an unlucky predisposition, now his glare was truly laser-focused. He had something burnt and seared into his pupils, and would be damned if he’d ever lost it.

Uri pity the poor soul Dove had his sights on.

The Doberman tossed his jacket to the side, draping it over his duffel bag. He turned to the pole bag, flexing his shoulders as he stretched his neck. He put one foot in front of the other and lowered his head. As he formed his fists, Uri noticed a bandage tying up his left ring finger. He wanted to say something about it, but then he took another look at his eyes and decided against it.

Uri had seen enough of Dove's antics to understand that the dog knows what he's getting into.

The Doberman raised both knuckles to the side of his face.

Uri thought to himself as he braced himself, Here we go.

The first punch rocked the bag backwards, jolting Uri's shoulders to the side. He could feel the pole bag wrangling itself out of his grip.

Uri wasn't ready for this at all. He tightened his grip, yet with every punch Dove landed, the bag twisted at least a few dozen degrees to the side, with the rhino barely holding onto the bag. He felt the canvas skid across his arms as it pulled his flesh with it. It could've been manageable, if the dog were to slow down some.

Uri felt something odd. He felt something different from Dove. That something felt potent, almost materialising into reality.

Dove was persistent. After one punch, three more came, and each of those three punches brought three more with them. It wasn't constant, either. Every spot he struck was unpredictable. It shook the bag more and more to the point where it's as if he's tearing it apart with both hands, at least that's how it felt from Uri's grip.

It was like the bandage on his finger was just for show. In fact, Dove seemed more ferocious than before. These weren't practice strikes; these were capable of mortal danger.

He had never struck this hard before.

The chains atop the pole bag clattered louder and louder as if it's screaming out of agony from being mercilessly wrung from ring to ring. Dull thumps erupted from within the bag with each strike Dove delivered. Uri was barely holding onto the bag himself. It was twisting in his grip, threatening to tear his skin off.

Then it became one notch too much. The bag was already wrenching to one side when Dove struck the opposite far end. Inertia tore the pole bag out of Uri's grip, bouncing it off his chest as it spun around in a swivel, shaking the chains into an audible rattle. The rhino caught his breath and checked his arms. They were merely a tad bit sweaty, only that it wasn't sweat; it was some sort of reddish fluid rhinos secrete to moisturize their bodies but that didn't matter at the moment. He was fine and that was all he needed to know. Or maybe it was the fluid that made the bag slip off his grip.

This had never happened before.

Still, regardless of whatever the reason may be, the Doberman didn't seem to be in a listening mood. Uri failed at the one job he was employed to do, and Dove's reaction was as expected. His glare showed no emotion, but Uri had a pretty good guess what was brewing behind his eyes.

"You," the dog suddenly pointed towards the side. Uri followed his finger as it aimed towards the crowd. Everyone was staring wide-eyed at both of them. The chains must've sounded off like an alarm. Anyone who'd been working out had heard and gotten off their machines, just to see what it was, only to be rendered quiet by the sight before them. Some were simply gawking, while others had their phones up, rolling their cameras at the two. Mainly though, as Uri suspected, the Doberman.

Dove had pointed towards Ari, who stood at the far side of the gym. Quietly, he shuffled past the gawking crowd and walked towards the pole bag. As he passed, Uri saw Ari's expression. It too, was fearful confusion. Without a second word, he pushed past Uri and held the bag in his grasp.

“No,” the Doberman said.

Ari released his grasp, unclear on Dove’s intentions.

“You two,” the Doberman said.

His glare staring dead towards the other side of the pole back. Uri and Ari looked at each other for a while before Uri moved to one side of the bag. Ari followed suit with him on the other side. They leaned in against the bag, pushing it from behind with one arm as they supported themselves with their other arms.

Dove then leaned into a stance.

The first punch slammed right into Uri’s face.

It took him a full second to realize it was canvas that had grazed his cheeks, not fur-covered knuckles. He managed to scramble out of his daze and slammed more power into his grip. The second punch came in, and the rhino managed to block it with his horn, pushing it back from his nose. The third rocked his shoulder back, nearly crushing his joints between his bones. All of it came within five seconds that felt like a whole minute’s worth of full effort from Uri himself.

His speed hadn’t decreased one bit. Watching as well as he could, Dove wasn’t even getting serious. His first few strikes were merely testing the waters. Every subsequent blow he made layered on top of one another, each more relentless than before. If there was anything that changed for the better, it was his striking positions, which seemed to be uniform, but that was hardly an equivalent exchange. His pace was untraceable. All Uri could pinpoint was that he’s fast, and everything else was a chalky haze as the rhino struggled with his strength with every punch Dove landed.

Uri hadn’t got time to check with Ari nor the crowd. The chains seemed to scream louder than before, sounding off like endless chiming bells touting a biblical apocalypse, accompanied by the heavy blasts sounding off from within the bag. The canvas was cutting through the pores of his skin like blades scraping paint off walls. He was barely keeping his grip on the bag, only holding onto it by sheer will.

The rhino took another glance at the Doberman. He was barely twisting his hips, only pumping his shoulders as he prepared for his next strike. His glare seemed to stare deeper than before, as if he's stuck in a trance, enraptured by the pole bag. It was merely an inch from his snout, yet his pupils dilated, like he was seeing far beyond that. Simultaneously, he looked focused and distracted. Uri would've been curious to prod deeper, but the scorching ache yelling from his shoulders pulled him further out of his element as he struggled to keep hold of the pole bag.

Eventually, the inevitable came. After ten minutes or what felt like ten hours, the bag slipped from both Uri's and Ari's grasp and went flying upwards in a loud blast. It swung back into a pivot, turning towards Ari whereby the buffalo caught it with a deep hug. Uri took a good look at him as he adjusted the pole bag. He looked hammered. His gaze was dropping to the floor as he wheezed out one fatigue-laden breath after another.

Ari then rubbed his shoulders as he shifted the bag into position, and that was when Uri realized he wasn't on peak performance himself either. The pain stung from his joints as the burns across his skin began to surface. It came in a sudden wave as if his senses had bottled up everything from the past few dozen minutes and decided that right then and there was the apt moment to release the valve.

Uri held in his reaction. He still had pride as the resident trainer of the gym. He looked towards the crowd, who were still watching, silent and in awe, though obviously, not at him.

Dove turned to his back. He gave no visible reaction, only examining his knuckles, releasing and closing his fists repeatedly, as if he's trying to catch a feel for something.

He turned to his side facing the crowd once more.

He didn't need to point. He merely nudged his snout and sent his point across the room.

Following Dove's snout, the crowd turned to their backs. There, standing at the back, towering at least a full meter over everybody else, was Iri the elephant. It was unsure what kind of a reaction he put on. For one, his ears seemed to extend out to the side from shock and fear, his pupils expanding considerably. Yet, his tail began swishing about the moment he realized he was caught in Dove's glare.

Silently, the crowd split to two sides, giving way to Iri's massive size. Iri didn't need any additional words either; he received the message as well as the next guy in the gym.

He made his way towards Dove. There Iri stood, looking down towards Dove, his trunk and tusks well above the Doberman's forehead. Yet, it was certain, just from a simple glance at both of their expressions, that one of them held a forceful power over the other, and it wasn't the obvious answer that fronted itself as a logical dynamic.

It was a surreal, almost freakish sight for Uri. He took a furtive peek at Ari's face; he too, thought the same.

Without a word, the elephant went to the other side of the pole bag and gently cusped the surface with his palms. The buffalo and the rhino followed suit, returning to their previous positions.

Dove didn't even take a stance. He came in full force, rocking the elephant off his foot with just his elbows. Iri took a step back and regained his balance, pushing the pole bag against the Doberman. The dog responded again with a lower punch hailing from his abdomen. This time, Iri was ready, and then he was not. The bag bent inwards, striking the elephant on his knees. He shifted to his side and pressed his weight further towards the pole bag.

Uri and Ari were simply bracing the pole bag, holding Iri's weight from pushing out the bag and keeping Dove's strikes from sending it flying sideways. They were relieved from some of the Doberman's pressure, but that didn't mean their job was any easier. Uri was immediately reminded of Iri's skills. As much as the elephant liked to fritter away on his job, he was also the only guy the rhino knew who could bench press twice his weight without a spotter. Simply carrying Iri's weight was already putting a toll on Uri's stamina. Yet, the elephant kept pushing harder, in response to Dove, who seemed incapable of stopping at this point.

Both just kept going, carrying strength and power from their seemingly bottomless reserve. Every second the two seemed to be hitting their limits, and every subsequent second they proved everyone else wrong. Now the worry was being put on the bag and whether it's gonna last through the whole ordeal.

Iri was practically leaning against the bag, laying his tusks and cheeks on the canvas as he huffed out breaths in between strikes through his trunk. The Doberman gave him no chance, as his strikes grew more frequent, hitting faster and, to Uri's disbelief, stronger.

Dove's glare became a solid block of pressure. Looks couldn't kill but his surely would. It was a death stare that could stop an unsuspecting mouse’s heart dead right then and there. His brown eyes had solidified into steaming bronze balls of lead boiling within his sockets. Veins began showing on his limbs, pushing from underneath his fur. They looked volatile, as if a single prick of a pen could blow up one of his vessels. It had stepped out of the boundaries of being uncanny to being absolutely grotesque.

It had always been a creeping suspicion sitting behind Uri's mind, but the sight before him had given him all the confirmation he'd ever need.

He ain't normal, Uri thought, He's a freak. A damned lunatic.

The final nail came slamming the coffin shut when Dove threw a sudden gut punch that bounced Iri off the canvas. The bag scorched across Uri's palms as it went flying on an upwards arc from its chain. The elephant swayed backwards, barely maintaining balance as he caught the bag mid-air before it smacked him in the trunk.

No one spoke for a moment. Dove showed neither emotions nor reactions. His glare lowered to its usual intensity. His breathing returned to its usual pace. He lowered his fists, loosening his shoulders and he dropped his knuckles beside his thighs.

Uri didn't know what to do nor say. The crowd was still looking at them, silently, some still holding their phones up, capturing everything within their lens. Ari stood in place, looking towards Uri with an empty gaze. Iri had his eyes glued towards the Doberman. Somehow, Uri could sense a hint of fascination permeating his stare.

Then Dove spoke these very words, "Not enough."

The low tone; the nonchalant fashion; the careless attitude; the flat voice.

Not enough.

Out of everything, it was those words that struck through Uri. It penetrated his skin, stabbed through his lungs and clipped his heart right in the centre. He felt the sensation spread in thunderous jolts across his body, sending his fingers and limbs and eyelids and lips on a spasming twitch.

He got pissed.

He, the trainer of this gym, hired to be the best of the best, was humiliated on the spot in front of a crowd by an adolescent barely half his size with two of his co-workers along with him, sharing the shame. A rhino overpowered by a damn dog between a punching bag.

And it's still not enough.

He took off his tank top on the spot.

Uri stripped himself from the waist up in one roll from the bottom of his top. His abdomen, built toned rolls of trained muscles under layers of thick, grey skin, bulged together into one smooth belly as they glimmered from the ceiling lights. His shoulders swelled beside his stiff, dense neck, where his collarbone dug deep between his chest. His pectoral muscles jutted out from below, with a visible shape and obvious, defined features.

He threw the tank top to the ground and reached for his horn cap. He gently removed the leather cone with one hand and beat the pit against his other hand. Chalk exploded across his palms. With hearty slaps, he spread the chalk across his body, dusting his chest and belly and arms into dry splotches of white.

As a final touch, he traced the tip of his horn with his palm where some chalk remained and brushed his fingers from his collarbone all the way down to his belly button, drawing a clear, thick line of white across his body.

It caught everyone's attention. They all had their gazes stuck to the rhino, their expressions carrying varying degrees of surprise, shock and interest. Dove watched him for the entirety with a widened glare.

Uri clapped his hands, sending puffs of white across both his palms. He pushed between Iri and the pole bag and, with a deep breath, opened his arms and crushed the bag within a bear hug.

Uri poked his head from beside the pole bag and growled, "Come at me."

Iri was enthralled. He wasn't scared or worried. Not even in the slightest bit. He only acted shocked to hide to teeming excitement. It felt as if a year-long tension had erupted when Dove nudged his head towards him. It wouldn't be a stretch to say it felt like one of the highlights of his career in Rormund as a trainer.

Before that, he felt cheated. He remembered when cats in suits came to his village years ago. They stepped through his hut without so much of a warning. He thought they were from the city, but then they pulled out a piece of paper, an expensive-looking pen and promises that people of Iri’s village he personally knew would kill for. They promised an easy job with a luxurious environment, air-conditioned dormitories and a monthly income higher than what he could ever earn for a lifetime. All of that for his ability as a trainer. Iri couldn’t believe his ears at the time. Those promises could’ve been made by a god, for all he knew.

However, no promise was as tempting as their last; a place to test his skills to the limit. His village was just a small-time work; they told he was getting sent to a place where money was no obstacle, and that he'd meet the best of the best to teach them to surpass themselves. They sold him on the same sentence that said limit.

The promises were only as real as his dreams. He did get an air-conditioner and enough money to buy his village twice, but he wasn’t being tested whatsoever. As an elephant, he was relegated to train larger species, like bears and lions and dogs within larger breeds. But, great strength comes with great size, and no one would feel compelled to train their bodies when they're already born powerful. Rarely did anyone larger than a tiger come through the door, even more so for those that stayed. Iri mostly spent his days either manning the counter or monitoring the students in case of a failure with the machines. It didn't help that everything within the gym is top of the line, and no one ever had any particular questions that prompted a meeting over the counter.

He felt like he was back in the village, at times. It was no different than being killed softly and slowly, being sent down a numbed death. He could’ve had his eulogies spoken in both his village and Rormund and nothing would’ve changed, only that the latter would provide a shinier casket and better soil to bury it in.

Then today happened.

When Dove nudged his head, Iri felt a chance of a lifetime being dangled in front of him like a carrot on a stick. He was told against it before, as people of Dove’s age were mostly hot-heads with no room for rational thoughts. But still, he followed through. It was fine if it was a special case. Maybe. Probably.

He couldn't care less anyway.

He'd watched Dove train before. He used to come regularly months ago, where he made the punching bags his second habitat. He’d come day after day, training with either Uri or Ari. He heard stories between the rhino and the buffalo about Dove and many others, while Iri himself had no say in the matter; he was relegated to the bigger weight classes that, frankly speaking, never came. Still, he watched. He watched the Doberman punch and hit and strike and pound.

At first, it was curiosity, but then it turned into an urge. He yearned to be part of Uri and Ari's conversations. He wanted to be on the other side of the bag. He wanted to test Dove. He wanted to see how much he could push the dog and in turn, see if the dog could push him back. It was then when he finally reached that epiphany and saw what the cats in suits promised him in the village all those years ago. When he took the walk towards the bag he felt as if he was climbing a hill as a voice from within endlessly teased about the breathtaking view on the summit. Still, with his excitement, Iri only lightly pushed against the bag with his hands, lowering his hopes, just in case it turned out to be all a lie and an illusion.

He was punched backwards by the bag itself. He felt his weight being turned against him, having it slammed against his body over and over again. When Dove landed his final hit, Iri saw that view above the promised peak of the hill; a misty mountainscape that stretched beyond the horizon with more peaks to reach, stretching higher and higher the further it went.

For once, he felt that spark. He felt challenged. He felt tested. He felt as if he’s reintroduced to a relative he’d lost contact with so long ago, a relative he’d met during his early years. As the pole bag swung between them, Iri watched Dove with excitement. The Doberman said something, but Iri couldn't listen. He was deaf, numb, and blind to everything but the image before him. A young dog, brimming to his limits and tearing his physicality to its thinnest extent and yet, was still pushing onward.

For a moment, a sense of selfishness overwhelmed the elephant. He wanted to keep Dove to himself, for reasons he himself couldn't comprehend. In a primitive sense, he wanted to devour and push himself against the dog with his whole body. It was a desire. An impulse. A craving. A restless hunger that Dove and only Dove could satiate. An unstoppable appetite that could only be quenched by the Doberman.

He wanted to hold the Doberman’s neck in his palm and crush him with his fingers, not out of malice, but to see the dog pry open his hand, just so Iri could try to smother him back down.

Yet, it wasn't simply just a pang of appetence. He felt a reason for it. He couldn't express it in words. He could only let the sensation speak its language to him and him only.

That want became a physical need. He scanned Dove from top to bottom, wondering what he'd feel like being crunched in his palms. He'd almost found himself walking up to the Doberman, if it wasn't for Uri, breaking his gaze from Dove with his chalky body, pushing him from the pole bag as he clasped it tightly within his embrace.

For an instant, Iri felt a sharp prick of irritation from within, like being cut in a long line from a supermarket on a bad day. He wanted to grab the rhino by his horns and fling him to the back in a single throw, setting him away between him and the Doberman. It wasn't until Iri saw the look in Uri's eyes where he snapped back to his senses.

The rhino was glaring down towards the Doberman from behind the bag with a genuine rage; near passionate malice.

Iri returned from his selfish stupor to his rational mind. There were others in the world, after all. Those that saw and realized those peaks long before he did. It was only fair that the first to come should be the first to be served.

Ari understood this much earlier than Iri. He was an understanding buffalo. As soon as he saw Uri grab the bag, he went to the side and held it tight. Iri followed him on the other side.

"Come at me," Uri said.

Dove didn't need another word. He slowly turned on his heel and faced the bag.

He didn't strike a pose immediately. Instead, he lightly pushed against the pole bag as Iri, Ari and Uri all braced themselves. He did so for the next thirty seconds, which felt like a whole year's worth of breathless waiting for them.

Iri took another glance at Uri. It was obvious the rhino's patience was trickling like a leaky faucet. The Doberman then began prodding at the bag, pressing his knuckles in all sorts of places. From the bottom to the sides to the top and back to the bottom again. He did so for another thirty seconds, making Iri wonder what the dog was up to.

Then Dove stopped.

He pushed himself back from the bag, standing just half an arm's length from it. He struck a pose, but it was different than the ones he made from before. It showed no defence whatsoever. His ducked his head, lowering his shoulders as he raised his elbows above his back. He lowered his legs, shifting his feet to a right angle. He twisted his hips sideways, aiming his glare towards the bag and forming a fist.

Then, for the first time, Iri saw Dove's teeth, stabbing out of his gums as it gleamed from below his frizzled snout.

The Doberman broke into a smile.

Iri felt a tinge of excitement and unease as he saw it.

Then he disappeared.

To be specific, his torso disappeared, only for a split second. He could see the other punching bags and balls behind the Doberman, albeit muddled by the dog's shadow. After that was the sound of a snapping whip, and immediately after Iri was hit by a truck.

The pole bag turned into a concrete pillar, travelling across Iri's palm with the velocity of a freight train. He felt his skin tear across his flesh, pulling every nerve in between into a tangled mess; all within the span of half a second. The sudden shock sent Iri to a short trance as his mind frantically caught up to the moment. He held onto his senses, wrangling to keep his body in check as the pain died down.

Dove came back to view, holding a different position now. His whole body twisted from his feet to his torso to his arm. His torso was turned towards his side, pushing his shoulders upwards. In turn, his shoulder pushed his elbows, locking his arms to a straight parallel line, where it all ended on his fist, now deeply embedded within the pole bag.

Slowly, Dove removed his fist from the bag. A hole was punctured through the canvas of the pole bag. A small crevice, barely big enough to slide three fingers in. Sand and small shards of wood began falling out from it. It gushed out like a miniature waterfall of filth and miasma.

Iri took another glance at Dove. The smile on his face was gone, returning to his usual scowl. He didn’t show as much as a single panting breath as he rubbed his shoulder, shaking the ache off his fingers.

Iri turned to see Uri. He had seen better days. He was still holding onto the bag, but his expression told a different situation. The rage in his eyes had dissipated, falling back to their usual colour. He was barely breathing, and from the look of his cheeks, he seemed to be holding something in. Iri ducked down to face his eye level.

The elephant asked, “You good?”

“Some… thing’s,” Uri spitted out, “Coming out.”

Ari showed up from the other side of the bag, “Take him out of here.”

Iri heaved Uri up from his shoulders. He saw his body. A red tinge spread across the ridge between his belly and his chest. An empty flower blossomed within it, breaking across the chalk on his body.

Uri then audibly gulped, which prompted Iri to hurry up. He pushed through the door, letting Uri cross before he followed from behind, leaving Ari to sort things out.

Ari lost count of how many times he spoke to God after Dove called him up. The internal bruises still pulsed in his body, scorching his nerves numb. He reckoned it's going to be a while before it subsides. He looked towards the Doberman.

Dove was staring at his fist. Ari figured he didn't even know what he'd done to Uri. He bet the dog didn't even know the rhino's name. The Doberman kept examining his knuckles, brushing his palm against it.

He then turned to see the bag, still spilling its insides to the ground.

Dove then suddenly asked, "Why is it canvas?"

Caught off guard, Ari stumbled on his first few words, "W-we had to change the material. Not many use the bags, and since the air here is quite moist we use canvas to increase durability-"

Dove nudged his fist against the pole bag. The pressure caused the canvas to spit out more sand.

"Get a leather bag," Dove said, "Have it tomorrow."

It wasn't impossible, but to have it delivered as soon as possible would be risky in terms of time. At best, it'll arrive before the afternoon, and that's accounting if the usual manufacturer had any of Rormund's specially custom made bags lying around within their distributors. They would also have to account for shipping time. The cost was no issue, but the efficiency of its delivery would have to depend on the weather. The tunnels may be closed if the seas get too rowdy, and there was absolutely no way anyone could predict it.

"Sure," Ari said, "We'll do our best."

With that, Dove left Ari to the pole bag. The crowd behind him also dispersed, with some still making furtive glances towards the Doberman's chiselled back as he turned.

Ari dealt with the spilling pole bag, releasing it from its chains and spinning it so that the hole would face upwards. He figured he'd quickly dump it in the storeroom and come back with another replacement.

Before he went, he took one last look at Dove. He stood by the speed ball, lazily twisting his wrists as he toyed with it. His pressured glare had gone listless, throwing one soft punch after another with barely any focus towards the ball itself.

Ari wondered what shaped Dove to become his current self. As far as he knew, Dove was barely a teen. His body resembled no teen the buffalo knew. It was a body Ari only saw on those who'd be willing desecrate their flesh with vile substance in the pursuit of a superficial, cosmetic superiority. However, their builds were the only thing behind the line of similarity. Ari could tell Dove was not such a man to engage with drugs. He knew not of his habits, but his gut feelings have never forsaken him.

A child's behaviour could only be shaped by their surroundings. Ari wondered what moulded Dove to be the boy that he is; what drove him to reach that physical ceiling and still consider it inadequate.

Or, if possible, what revelation made the Doberman decide on his own to become… this.

Ari could do nothing, only to sit on the sidelines and pray for Dove; if prayers could even redeem such a body.

“Get up,” the wolf said.

The wolf cub lifted his head off the floor, wiping his nose with his fingers.

“Get up,” the wolf said again.

The cub pushed against the wet brick wall, illuminated to a shimmering, dark grey moonlight.

The wolf shifted his posture. His hands were pocketed. His right foot shifted outwards, with his left leg standing in front of it.

“Punch me,” he said.

The cub shambled onto his knees, keeping a close eye to the wolf’s foot.

“Punch me,” the wolf said again.

The cub turned his ankle and sprung into a rush. He kept his hands beside his face and aimed a sprint beside the wolf, towards the doorway, and out of the construction site.

The wolf flung his left kneecap below the cub’s chin and kicked him back to the end of the room. The cub slammed against the wall. He screamed as a wailing sack of flesh, spitting saliva and tears and whatever else that came out of his snout against the brick wall.

“Get up,” the wolf said.

The cub got up again. He raised his arms beside his face once again.

“Punch me,” the wolf said.

The cub broke into another sprint, not beside the wolf but straight towards him. The wolf raised his left foot and swung it wide to his side. The cub closed in. The wolf tensed his thighs and swung his left leg across the cub’s face. His ankles hit the cub in the hands. In an instant, the cub rolled to his left and crashed against the wolf’s right foot from inside. The wolf flinched as he caught his balance, pushing against the doorway behind him.

By the time the wolf returned upright the cub had already crawled his way out of the doorway, coughing viciously on all fours as he gazed towards the wolf from below, staring at him from his crimson pupils.

The wolf sighed and spoke, “Fine. We’re going home.”

The wolf stepped out of the brick room and helped the cub up from his shoulders. He crouched down and dusted the dirt off his white T-shirt. The wolf only brushed off a little; much remained, stuck within patches of sweat and other forms of bodily fluids on his torso.

The wolf walked onwards, out of the construction, where a beaten hatchback sat with its beaming headlights, waiting for their return.

"Pa," the cub called from behind.

The wolf turned to his back, "Hm?"

"Don't need to come back," the cub said.

The wolf turned on his heel and stood over the cub, "You fought back?"

"He's gone," the cub said, "He won't beat me anymore."

"How?"

The cub didn't answer. He stood rooted on the spot, rubbing the back of his palm.

"How, Yasnyy," the wolf demanded.

"My girlfriend's bro-" then the cub promptly closed his snout.

"Girlfriend?" the wolf questioned, "You never told me."

The cub looked away in embarrassment.

"I won't ask," the wolf said, "Your girlfriend's brother. What did he do?"

"Scared him away," he said, "Make him promise not to come near me."

"You could've handed yourself in barbeque sauce on a plate," the wolf said, walking towards the cub.

The cub didn’t understand.

As the wolf closed in the headlights burnt his silhouette darker and larger, shrouding the cub in his shadow. He asked, “You know what you’ve done?”

The cub slowly shook his head.

“You let somebody else clean up your mess,” his silhouette said, “What do you think is happening next? You were somebody else’s problem then; now you’re an open hunt.”

“He said he’ll protect us,” the cub said.

“And who’s protecting you from him?”

The cub didn’t answer.

“What if he’s keeping you all to himself?”

The cub stayed silent.

“What if someone stronger shows up,” the wolf said, “Dump your girlfriend and go date his sister?

“You should’ve stuck a sign to your back that says ‘free game’ to save everyone’s time.”

The cub said nothing. He simply looked down to his feet, quiet as a dead mouse.

Then the wolf turned back to the hatchback and started walking. He said, "But sure, we'll stop coming here-"

The cub's expression glowed slightly. His tail started swishing side to side as he frantically caught up to the wolf.

"-on one condition," he added as he stopped again.

The cub stopped. His tail stopped wagging.

The wolf turned around once more and said, "Starting from now, if you get attacked within one week, even once, we start coming back."

The wolf paused and gazed, steel-eyed, towards the cub.

"Daily," he added.

The cub hesitated for a moment, flinching from the last word the wolf uttered. He stood in silence, running the risks as fast as his little head could manage. Every second of thought brought him closer to a resolution further from his destination than he could ever be. Paranoia set in as the reality of the situation dawned on him, slowly weighing in on his shoulder.

Then he felt the ache on his palm. He brushed his fingers over it. It was wet and frizzled. He raised his head and saw that he was out of the room, and out of the construction site. He looked up to the wolf. Behind him were shards of light shining from behind, his darkened contours hiding the blasting rays of the hatchback’s headlights.

The cub looked up to the wolf and nodded.

Shiro saw the wooden underside of his upper bunk again. He put his forearm over his eyes and sighed. He had a good streak going too. Two whole nights of deep sleep. He thought he could get three but it seems he was in over his head. If third time’s the charm his luck must be severely misplaced.

He dropped his arm to his side. The memory was starting to fade, but the emotion stayed. It always lingered. He could barely remember faces or even voices, much fewer names; but the emotions were always there. He took in a deep breath and hid it deep inside his chest. He had no need for those emotions anymore, and if he kept his head down in the library he might even have the privilege of forgetting them, leaving a blank slate behind him.

Oddly enough, the image of his dormmates came to his head. He thought of the scene from last night, where they talked and ate.

He glanced to the side. It was the same sight as the nights before. Romps tangled in his sheets in a compromising position. Vox hid away behind the blanket tent propped on his bunk.

He closed his eyes again.

At least he had something to look forward to every day.