The two turned their heads at the same time, only to see Shane had ridden his small scooter over at some point and parked across the street.
Shane parked the scooter and walked across the road.
He looked at the empty insulated boxes and the obviously empty drink buckets. "Looks like it was a big sale today."
"How was it? No one came looking for trouble, right? Like that Jack from yesterday?"
Fiona's expression switched rapidly, putting on a smile that said everything was normal.
"No, sold out everything. It went pretty smoothly."
Fiona didn't want Shane to see traces of their argument just now.
Lip also shut his mouth, swallowing back his unfinished words and dissatisfaction.
He coughed lightly, then lowered his head pretending to organize the insulated boxes, but the corners of his slightly tight mouth still betrayed his current emotions.
Shane's gaze scanned their faces briefly.
"Looks like you had a fight." He could tell, but couldn't be bothered to dig into the reason, because arguing was a common occurrence in the Gallagher household.
The main reason he came over specially at noon today was that he was worried Jack, whom he had publicly defeated yesterday, might take his anger out on Fiona and the others today.
But it looked like everything was fine now.
"As long as it went smoothly." Shane nodded. "Lip, how do you feel you're adapting?"
"It's okay, pretty average. If you let me go directly to the breakfast stall, I think I can adapt too."
Lip started his daily tough talk.
"Sure, then you go directly with Fiona tomorrow. I just happen to be quitting directly."
Shane wouldn't be polite with Lip; he hadn't wanted to get up that early for a long time.
"Uh—" Lip was stunned.
Shouldn't you say let me adapt for a few more days? Why did you agree directly?
But Lip's inner pride prevented him from saying words of refusal.
"No problem, leave it to me tomorrow."
Shane nodded at him and gave a thumbs up.
"Alright, you guys pack up too and go back early. And Lip, don't you have a test this afternoon? Don't be late."
This casual concern sounded very much like condescending preaching to the already somewhat irritated Lip.
He looked up and retorted directly: "Hey, what the fck is wrong with you? Acting like you're older than me?"
Lip's expression became somewhat agitated.
"Fiona is an adult, and I'm older than you too. Don't always use this preaching tone, OK?"
Shane was stunned for a moment, but immediately spread his hands indifferently.
"OK, OK, you guys are older than me, you decide for yourselves."
He had just mentioned it in passing.
Without saying more, Shane returned to his scooter, twisted the throttle, made a nimble U-turn, and drove towards the Alibi Room.
On Mondays, the bar was basically empty during the day, which was the perfect time to intensify the training on Kevin's fat.
Now, three sessions a week was just the start. In another week or two, he would have to arrange a luxurious package of five sessions a week for him. He had to be drilled hard.
Watching Shane's retreating figure, Lip lifted an insulated box and shoved it heavily into the back of the car, making quite a noise.
The spark ignited by the cash hadn't been extinguished by Fiona and Shane's words; instead, it burned more vigorously deep in his heart.
After 2 PM, inside the South Side Iron Gym.
Kevin had reached the stage of an out-of-body experience. He was now doing a final half-hour slow walk on the treadmill as a cool-down.
But for the overweight Kevin now, even a slow walk felt like torture.
"Fck, Shane, I really can't do it anymore," Kevin was panting like a broken bellows, his speech intermittent.
"My fcking legs aren't mine anymore. My ass hurts too, hurts so much I can't breathe."
Shane leaned against the barbell rack nearby, holding a small notebook and writing something down.
"Can't breathe is right; it proves your lungs are still working. Ass hurting is also right; pain means muscle growth. Keep walking, only 10 minutes left."
"10 minutes? Didn't you say only two minutes left?" Kevin wailed.
"Did you secretly slow down time? Why do I feel like this half-hour is longer than my whole life?"
"If that's the amount of exercise you've done in your whole life, then indeed your life would be over."
Shane closed the notebook, walked over, and glanced at the heart rate on Kevin's sports watch.
"Heart rate has come down a lot now. Very good. Think about V, think about how you'll ruthlessly show off your prowess in bed later."
"Right now I just want to sleep alone in bed, and a cold beer would be even better."
Kevin's eyes were unfocused, but he didn't dare stop walking, didn't dare slack off, because Shane had said slacking off meant extra training, and he really meant what he said.
Finally, the treadmill beeped, and the slow walk ended.
Kevin crawled off the treadmill trembling, plopped onto the chair next to it, gasping for big mouthfuls of air, not even having the strength to lift his hand to wipe his sweat.
When Kevin sipped some water and finally caught his breath, Shane pulled him to the wall inside the Iron Gym specifically used for taking photos.
"What for? You're not adding extra training on the fly, are you?" Kevin looked wary.
"Just taking photos." Shane took out his phone from his pocket, found the phone stand, and set it up. "Besides myself, I need a little student feedback. Only with comparison is there effect."
Kevin understood, but he felt a bit ashamed, yet vaguely excited.
"Fck, do we have to shoot now? I feel like a melting piece of lard right now. Can't you wait until I build some muscle to shoot?"
"This is exactly what I want, understand?" Shane adjusted the angle and the automatic burst interval. "Alright, now lift your tank top, cross your hands, stand sideways."
Kevin did as told, revealing his round, sweaty belly.
He tried hard to suck in his stomach, but that mass of fat stubbornly piled there, refusing to retreat even a bit.
Shane stood next to Kevin, also lifted his tank top, turned sideways, and exerted a little force. The lines of his abs and obliques were clear.
The difference in their current body shapes was extremely stark: one side was loose fat, the other side was tight muscle.
"Kevin, smile. Kevin, don't look like you're at a funeral."
"If you were fcking me, could you smile?" Kevin bared his teeth, squeezing out an expression uglier than crying.
Click, click.
Shane directed Kevin to change poses and took a few more shots.
"Alright." Shane took down the phone.
Kevin felt like he had been granted amnesty and quickly pulled down his clothes.
Shane sat on the chair and started cropping the photos, cutting out some messy backgrounds to make the contrast more prominent.
Then he opened Facebook, preparing to post the photos.
When he opened the app, he saw that there were already some replies under the set of personal photos posted yesterday.
Notification: 25 new comments, 8 new private messages.
He raised his eyebrows and clicked open the comments.
"Is this body real? Photoshopped, right?"
"Can't believe this is from the South Side—this face, this body, a model?"
"Bro, how did you train? Asking for the plan!"
There were also a few unread messages in the private message box. He clicked them open directly; the content inside was very direct.