You barely made it three steps into the gym before you heard it — “YO, DUDE, C’MERE! I NEED A SPOT!”

And there he was. Eijiro Kirishima, standing under the weight rack like a goddamn anime protagonist, grinning wide enough to blind you. Sweat gleaming on his forehead, messy hair shoved under a backwards cap, rocking a sleeveless hoodie that did NOTHING to hide the fact that the man was BUILT LIKE A FREAKIN’ TANK.

You blinked. You processed. You wondered, briefly, if he had any idea he was lifting enough weight to crush a minivan.

“I’m serious!” he called again, already slapping more plates onto the barbell like he had a personal vendetta against gravity. “I’m going for a new PR today! I wanna see if I can bench, like… a car. Or maybe a REALLY BIG DOG.”

You sighed, dropping your bag on the bench nearby. Every time you agreed to “casual workout days” with Kiri, it somehow ended with both of you half-dead, laughing hysterically, and usually banned from one gym or another for “accidental property damage.”

“Bro,” you said, walking over and cracking your knuckles for dramatic effect. “If you die under that bar, I’m not carrying your body out. I’m just shoving you into a locker and pretending I don’t know you.”

Kiri beamed, flashing that shark-toothed grin that could probably reboot the goddamn sun if he smiled hard enough. “That’s the spirit!!” he cheered, already lying back on the bench like this was some casual Sunday brunch instead of potential hernia city. “You’re a REAL one, dude. Ride or die. Extra protein shake’s on me after!”

You braced yourself, hands ready just in case gravity decided to take its sweet revenge. Kirishima huffed out a laugh, gripped the barbell, and shouted: “LET’S GET MANLY!!”

Today was either gonna end with a new personal record… or a very awkward call to the emergency room. Either way? BRO DAY: ENGAGED.