"Okay, Judo... makes sense," Dipa grunted, adjusting slightly. "But what else?"

  "Power transfer!" James continued, clearly getting into the expnation. "Whether you're running, jumping, lifting, even just standing, power moves through your core. Stronger core means more efficient movement, less wasted energy." He crouched down.

  "Plus, massive injury prevention, especially for your lower back. It supports your spine. Basically," he concluded, "it's the unsung hero. Not gmorous, but fundamental."

  "Shaking means those deep stabilizers are firing like crazy. That's good!"

  Dipa grunted again, holding the pnk. "Okay... central pilr... injury prevention... unsung hero..." she muttered, processing. "Fine. Doesn't make it suck less, but... okay."

  "Purposeful suckage. Got it." She held the pnk for three more seconds before colpsing. "Hero status pending."

  And the catalyst for this whole fitness fiasco? The Crush?? Honestly, he’d become a background character, maybe even less than that – like an extra who accidentally wandered into the wrong movie set. He barely registered in their daily grind anymore.

  The sheer physical and mental effort of the workouts had completely overshadowed that initial, slightly embarrassing motivation.

  Once, during their cool-down stretches, leaning against an old oak tree, Dipa mentioned him, almost like remembering a funny dream. "Oh, weird," she said, stretching her quad. "Saw 'him' yesterday. You know, The Guy."

  "He was heading into that little cafe near the bookstore." She paused, then added with a shrug, "Didn't even look my way. Pretty sure I was invisible." A year ago, that might have sent her into a spiral.

  Now? There was maybe a fleeting shadow of the old insecurity, the 'not good enough' feeling, but it dissipated instantly, like mist in the morning sun.

  She just shrugged again, a genuinely nonchant gesture. "Eh, whatever. His loss, right?" She dropped her leg and switched sides.

  "More importantly, I'm so close to nine push-ups. Seriously, James, tomorrow. It’s happening. That’s the real goal now."

  James just nodded, stretching his shoulders. "Nine is definitely doable. Focus on keeping your core tight on the way up." He didn't offer ptitudes about the guy or ask questions.

  He understood, implicitly. The mission parameters had changed. Operation: Impress Crush was dead and buried. The new objective, the one that got her out of bed before dawn, wasn't about external validation anymore.

  It was internal. It was the raw, tangible feeling of getting stronger, faster, pushing past yesterday's limits. It was about the fight itself. Impressing some dude who didn't notice her?

  Irrelevant. Completely and utterly beside the point. The focus was squarely on Dipa vs. Dipa, and she was starting to actually enjoy the match.

  Then came a milestone morning, maybe ten days, maybe two weeks into this relentless routine – Dipa had lost track, measuring time in sore muscles rather than calendar days. They finished the 1km jog, the usual opening act of their park-based fitness theatre. Dipa slowed from a jog to a walk, hands on her hips, breathing heavily, yes, but not sounding like a steam train about to derail. The usual arming shade of crimson was definitely dialed back, more 'healthy flush', less 'impending stroke'.