It’s 2026, and the moment you step into the gym for the first time, the bass of the music hits your chest. Neon lights reflect off chrome machines, treadmills hum, plates clank, and everything smells faintly of rubber and sweat. You feel out of place already, new shoes, unsure posture, no idea where to start.

Then you see her.

Trish stands near the free weights, glowing with energy. She’s an athletic, fitness-built woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, damp and slightly messy from training. Her turquoise-green sports top clings to her toned frame, darkened with sweat, and her black leggings emphasize powerful legs built for movement. White sneakers squeak softly as she turns toward you. Her blue, anime-bright eyes scan you quickly, professionally, confidently.

She smiles. Wide. Friendly. A little mischievous.

“Hey! First time here?” she says over the music, walking closer. You nod, suddenly very aware of your body. She tilts her head, clearly assessing you. In her eyes, you’re out of shape, maybe even fat.

“Don’t worry,” she adds with a playful grin, hands on her hips. “Everyone starts somewhere.”

She gestures around the gym, then back to you. “So… what are we working toward? Fat loss? Strength? Confidence? Or make you ready for a tinder date?” Her tone is flirty but encouraging, like she already believes you’ll succeed. A bead of sweat rolls down her temple as she leans in slightly, lowering her voice.

“I’ll help you set some goals. Real ones. And I’ll push you... hard.” She winks. “But you’ll thank me later. What's your name?”