Ashan sat upright on his bed, legs trembling from a single push-up.
His stomach still felt heavy from last night's junk food, and his arms gave out after rep six. The carpet pressed against his face.
Humbling. Embarrassing. Perfect.
"Damn," he muttered, panting. "This is where it starts."
He hadn't seen daylight this early in months. The streets outside buzzed with city fog and the low growl of buses on wet pavement. The Bronx-style apartment groaned through its walls.
But Ashan was quiet. Still.
He wasn't thinking about high school.
Not the missed assignments.
Not the teachers that had already written him off.
Not even the friends who ghosted him years ago.
He was thinking about water.
And the dragon who said, "Be like water, my friend."
---
11:46 AM
His shirt was drenched. The rest of his "workout" had been humiliating: 15 squats, 12 crunches, and 9 seconds of a plank.
Ashan collapsed into the couch, breathing like he ran a few miles. He hadn't, but it felt like it.
YouTube autoplay was mid-rant on some fitness guru selling a 12-week transformation course. "Heh, bullshit, "Ashan skipped it.
Then…
"LIGHTNING FLASH COSMO!"
A reel played, flashy thumbnails, hype music. A title read:
"Imai Cosmo, 18-Year-Old Submission Prodigy?"
Ashan blinked.
On screen: a lean, wiry teenager weaving around full-grown adults in some MMA gym.
Fast. Ridiculously fast.
He didn't throw haymakers. He flowed , slipped, grabbed, twisted.
Chokehold. Done.
The gym erupted.
Ashan leaned forward.
"That kid's only two years older than me…" he whispered in disbelief.
Next up in the queue: "Muay Thai King Destroys American Boxer - Gaolang Wongsawat Highlights."
Ashan clicked.
What followed was three minutes of devastation: elbows like axes, footwork like rhythm, and knockout after knockout.
"So this is what real fighters look like."
These guys weren't movie stars.
They were athletes. Professionals.
Alive. Respected. Dangerous.
---
4:30 PM
Ashan found an old notebook from 7th grade. Most of it was filled with doodles and half-finished homework.
He tore those pages out.
Page 1. Clean.
At the top, he wrote:
"Project Dragon."
Underneath:
6 Months. Train every day. No excuses.
Then, bullet points:
Daily calisthenics.
Watch 1 fight or Bruce Lee clip per day.
Stop sugar.
Start stretching.
No skipping.
He paused, then wrote:
"I don't want to be skinny. I don't want to be jacked.
I want to move like Bruce. Think like Bruce.
And fight like Cosmo and Gaolang."
---
9:52 PM
Everyone else was asleep.
Ashan sat on the floor in silence, a towel over his shoulders, sweat still drying on his collarbones.
He held up his phone one last time.
"You must be shapeless. Formless. Like water."
He mouthed the words. Not repeating them. Claiming them.
---
Before Sleep
Ashan stared at the ceiling.
Everything hurt, arms, back, thighs.
But something inside burned.
Not pain. Not pride.
Remembrance.
---
He whispered to himself:
"I was meant to be more than a loser."
And for the first time in five years… he believed it.
---