"No! No! No!" Shane vetoed his idea of dirty bulking and hurriedly said:
"Firewood comes in good and bad varieties too! Donuts are like throwing plastic trash into the furnace—all black smoke and no heat, and eventually, the furnace gets clogged!"
He explained more specifically: "You need to eat good firewood that burns long and hot, like... uh..." Shane subconsciously wanted to spout professional terms like "high-quality protein," "complex carbohydrates," and "healthy fats."
"Stop! Hold it right there!"
Seeing that Shane was about to start chanting scriptures again, Kevin immediately held his head in his hands, acting like he was surrendering.
"OK! OK! Shane! Please, stop talking to me about that stuff, my head is going to explode! Just tell me directly, what should I eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Just give me a prescription, keep it simple! I'll just follow it!"
Shane looked at Kevin's "Master, please stop chanting" expression and smiled inwardly.
Then, he wrote out a detailed diet list for Kevin like a prescription, listing five daily meals (six if he could stuff it in), along with specific portions for each food item.
Next, he arranged a few basic exercises, mainly restorative training to help Kevin regain muscle memory, asking him to find time to do a few sets every day.
Kevin took the "prescription" like it was a treasure. Looking at the specific food names and simple movement descriptions, he breathed a huge sigh of relief:
"That's more like it! Should've done this sooner! Leave it to me, Coach! Come on, let's start now. Guide me on how to do these moves first!"
...
During the intervals of correcting Kevin's form, Shane sighed intentionally or unintentionally, complaining to Kevin:
"But honestly, training in this broken basement of mine feels suffocating. The light is bad, the space is small... sometimes when I do a pull-up, I'm afraid I'll pull the beam down."
Kevin listened and looked around, nodding in agreement: "You're not wrong! A big guy like me can barely turn around in here. It's suffocating. So what's your plan?"
Shane pretended to be casual and said: "Actually, I passed by your Alibi Room a few days ago and saw that storage shed in the back alley. The space inside seems pretty decent..."
He watched Kevin's reaction carefully as he spoke.
Kevin froze for a moment, then seemed to remember the place, realizing:
"Oh! You mean that hellhole! Aside from piling up some empty beer crates and broken tables, it's all rat shit and cockroach armies! It's useless usually, except Frank occasionally sneaks in to play dead."
Shane was waiting for these exact words! He immediately threw out his plan: "Look, Kevin, how about we make a deal?"
Shane leaned in closer, speaking in a negotiating tone:
"You lend me that warehouse. I'll be responsible for cleaning it up and turning it into our own hardcore training camp! Think about it—sweating bullets in a bar warehouse... how authentic is that flavor! How South Side!"
Then, he put his arm around Kevin's shoulder and started painting a rosy picture:
"Plus, with more space, I can take you through more exciting, more effective training! When my videos come out and I get famous, I can even advertise your Alibi Room in the videos, calling it the 'Designated Supply Station for South Side Tough Guys'! How about it? Of course, I'll pay you rent."
Listening to Shane's description, Kevin's eyes began to shine. Spacious training ground, more exciting training, and free bar promotion...
He was already fantasizing about sweating profusely in Shane's lens, the Alibi Room sign flashing behind him, while patrons cheered for his muscles~
This was awesome!
And Kevin felt like he was getting a huge bargain. After all, professional personal training plans in the US cost a fortune, and Shane was teaching him for free right now.
"Rent? Brother," Kevin rubbed his hands, a difficult expression on his face.
"You're giving me this 'magical' training method and taking the trouble to guide me. If I charged you market rent, would I still be human? Wouldn't I become a black-hearted landlord?"
He initially wanted to charge zero rent, but then he thought if V asked, "Did you give the warehouse away?" he might not be able to explain it.
He thought for a moment, wavering between "loyalty" and "reality" for two seconds, then tentatively quoted a price:
"How about this? That broken shack is sitting empty anyway, taking up space for trash. A month... how about 50 bucks? Just a symbolic amount, a token gesture. But we have a deal—you have to clean up that hellhole yourself! You have to deal with the rat shit and cockroach nests! And if you use electricity, you pay the bill. Of course, don't forget the bar ad you promised me!"
Shane looked at this price. 50 dollars a month? In Chicago, even renting a random patch of dirt in the South Side would cost more than this. Although he approached Kevin hoping for a discount (and convenience), Kevin's price was too cheap.
"Kevin! Commercial space in Chicago doesn't go for this price! You're..."
Before Shane could finish, Kevin waved his large hand, cutting him off generously:
"Alright, alright, stop nagging! This is the fcking South Side, not downtown! Besides, you're one of us. Why be polite with me? It's settled! When you really get famous and drive some traffic to my bar, that'll be worth way more than this little bit of rent!"
Seeing Kevin insist so much, a warm current surged in Shane's heart.
He thought about it and didn't insist further, proposing a compromise:
"OK, I accept your kindness. Let's do this: start at 80 bucks a month. When I really make money from this plan, we'll raise it. How about that? I don't want to be the 'family member' who takes advantage of his brother."
Kevin looked at Shane's serious expression and knew the kid was for real.
He grinned and slapped Shane hard on the back:
"Deal! It's settled then! After training, I'll go get you the key. But don't forget," Kevin added with a gloating smile, "you have to shovel out those rat poop cookies yourself, one shovel at a time!"
Shane laughed too. "Deal! But Kevin, we have to set three ground rules..."
Kevin interrupted him directly, wrapping his arm around Shane's neck:
"I know, I know! No wild parties in the warehouse that make a mess, no bringing irrelevant people inside, and... absolutely! Absolutely do not let Frank know where the key is! Alright, let's continue training, Coach. My muscles are already hungry and thirsty!"
...