Late Night, Garage, 11:47 PM
The only light came from his cracked phone screen, propped up against a old box.
The video replayed in slow motion.
Gaolang Wongsawat.
Every punch a bullet. Every step a rhythm.
Ashan watched it again.
And again.
And again.
Then finally... paused.
"What… is he doing with his feet?"
He rewound.
Zoomed in.
Step-in. Punch. Recoil.
"He never stays still. It's all flow."
Then he said it out loud, like a realization striking him in the jaw:
"He's not just hitting hard…
He's hitting smart."
---
Ashan unwrapped his knuckles and shook out his hands.
"I've been punching like a gorilla," he muttered.
He squared up in front of the mirror.
Wide stance. Shoulders stiff. Elbows flared. Fists clenched too early.
"No wonder my shoulders burn and I gas out."
He relaxed.
Loosened his hands.
He tried again.
Jab. Cross. Step.
Boom, still too stiff.
"Breathe."
"Snap, not smash."
He punched again.
Looser.
Lighter.
Then clenched at the last split second.
Smack.
The bag popped louder this time.
His eyes widened.
"That's it…"
---
12:25 AM
He set a metronome app to 88 bpm.
Not for music, for timing.
He started shadowboxing.
Right foot forward. Bounce-bounce, step. Jab.
Left foot forward. Pendulum step back. Slip, 1-2 (jab-cross).
He felt like he was dancing.
No, like he was cutting through air with rhythm.
His fists stopped dragging.
His body started coiling, then uncoiling.
Weight shifted.
Momentum was used, not wasted.
"I've been throwing punches like I'm trying to impress the bag."
"Now I'm trying to hit with meaning."
---
Hours Later, 3:32 AM
His shirt was soaked through.
The garage smelled like wet canvas and iron.
He sat on the floor, back against the wall.
Hands shaking. But not from pain, but from excitement.
"I finally understand…"
"Power's not in the muscle."
"It's in everything else."
His arms, though still thin, felt alive.
Not just meat and bone, now they were tools.
"And this is just the start."
---
Project Dragon, Day 32
"Learned how to punch. For real."
"Bodyweight + timing > brute strength."
"Still weak. But I could punch old me in the face and he'd fold."