Ethan stood just inside the doorway, taking in the sight before him.
The gym wasn't what he expected.
Not even close.
It wasn't some sleek, high-tech facility with blinking machines and automated training modules. There were no voice-activated weights, no self-correcting mirrors, no AI-assisted feedback pods like the kind Nova Tech was aiming to build one day.
Instead, what he saw was… raw. Real.
The floor was wooden, worn with age and scuffed from years of use. The walls were lined with old punching bags, medicine balls, and racks of iron weights that looked older than him.
A large boxing ring stood in the center of the space like a proud relic, its ropes frayed and canvas faded. The air smelled of sweat, leather, and a faint trace of eucalyptus oil.
Ethan turned to Mark with a raised eyebrow. "Seriously? This is it?"
Mark gave a faint smile. "What were you expecting?"
"I don't know. Maybe something less… Rocky Balboa?"
