Brawly Gym Novels & Stories

"Head out this door and take a right, walk down to the bar, then take a left. Walk down the road about two blocks, then you will arrive at the Revenge of the Moon gym." I nodded. "Thank you, have a great day." I smiled at him. He smiled back at me. "See you later." It only takes me about 10 minutes to arrive at the gym. I see that the building was two stories high. I walked in and saw that they had a pool, rock climbing area, tennis courts, basketball courts, and exercise stations. I walked a little further and saw a boxing ring! I was instantly in love! This was like a dream come true! I walked up to the reception desk. "How much for the day?"

Unexpectedly, my best friend at the same table was also here, even though the distance between them is only a few centimeters now. On the glossy floor of the gym, Brawen's eyes widened from looking at John Kronos lying on his right, and then at Riven lying on his left. Between Brawen and these two boys, there was a physical touch that was not light. Exactly, both rushed at the same time to push Brawen with them to lie down on the floor to dodge bullets. Riven's enchanting amber eyes. John's purple eyes filled with an amusing smile. Both arms were pressed to the point of being unable to move, Brawen opened her mouth in shock:

​Lucas warned, "Watch your hands! It would be effortless for me to break them!" ​Lucas then released John's hand. ​While enduring the pain, John grumbled, "Not only are you acting like a smart-ass, but you're also acting tough." ​Lucas furrowed his brow, staring at John. ​"If you really have the guts, I'll be waiting for you at the Brotherhood street fighting gym tonight!" John challenged. ​The Brotherhood street fighting gym was owned by John. The gym was notorious as a home for delinquent youths who wanted to become fighters. It was also one of the most successful gyms because it had produced many formidable fighters.

Wondering what to do next because going out wasn't an option right now, I remembered—the gym. I’d been shown it during the tour, but it barely registered at the time. Adrian’s sanctuary, they’d called it. Fitting, considering how good his muscles looked. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to kill time and shake off some of this restless energy and get rid of a little weight, maybe. I made my way to the glass door and pushed it open, stepping inside for the first time. The space was painted in grey, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a sweeping view of the city on one side, and the streets on the other.

The animals that usually gather near the garden seem skittish, their usual comfort around me replaced with unease. I pull on a loose tunic and head to the training room. If I sit still any longer, I’ll lose my mind. Ramon’s been teaching me how to fight, but my body still aches from yesterday’s session. No matter the fatigue, I need to keep moving. The room smells faintly of leather and sweat, and the weapons on the walls glint in the sunlight streaming through the high windows. I grab a staff, its polished wood cool against my palms, and start going through the drills Ramon taught me.

Vivian grabbed folded workout gear from a corner pile and pressed them into my hands. “Change.” I blinked. “What about you?” “Already on it.” She peeled off her top without hesitation. I hesitated only a second before doing the same. The gym was louder than I expected. Music pulsed from speakers, mixing with the thud of fists hitting flesh. Dozens of people filled the space, some grinding through machines, others sparring on the mat. Two men traded blows in the center. Each punch landed with a sharp smack that made my chest tighten. My breath caught as one man went down.

The tailor came and went, leaving behind a wardrobe that probably cost more than my brother's funeral. Everything was dark—blacks, charcoals, deep navy. Colors that matched Damian's aesthetic. Colors that screamed his. I hated how good I looked in them. By evening, Damian led me down to the building's sublevels, past security checkpoints that required retinal scans and fingerprints, into what he called his "private facility." The gym was state-of-the-art. Weapons lined one wall behind reinforced glass—everything from knives to firearms to things I didn't have names for. Mats covered the floor. Punching bags hung like bodies from the ceiling.

The gym was just one block from Anthony’s shop. When they arrived, Belle took a deep breath and prayed that she wouldn’t look awkward or foolish if Bastian was there. The moment Belle stepped inside, a rush of cold air mixed with the warm, sweaty stench of the gym hit her. Not exactly pleasant. Two rings stood side by side, and Anthony was sparring in one of them. The place was tranquil. Usually, it was packed, but maybe after last night’s chaos, people had decided to stay home. Belle scanned the room, but there was no sign of Bastian.

Jonathan led us back into the house, his steps purposeful as he gestured toward the sprawling hallways that branched into various rooms. The first stop was the main living area, an expanse of elegant yet understated decor with plush seating and walls adorned with art pieces that reflected a blend of tradition and modernity. “This is where the family gathers,” Jonathan explained. “Whether for casual conversations or urgent meetings, this space has witnessed more plans and decisions than you can imagine.” We continued through the corridor until we reached a set of double doors that opened into the gym. The room was impressive, outfitted with ultramodern equipment that catered to every conceiva

So I smile at him sweetly as I stride inside. The gym is open plan: a cavernous room with thick pillars and four boxing rings—one in each corner. Music blasts from a stack of speakers against one wall, and there's a desk by the door with a blond guy in a black polo tapping away at a keyboard. He shoots me a quick smile—way more welcoming than the old guy—then clicks at his screen. "Be right with you." "Sure," I murmur. It's good. I need a chance to get my bearings.