The day after my first sale didn't feel like a victory lap.
It felt like the first breath before diving deeper.
Because selling four units of my prototype on a street corner was a win—sure. But it wasn't enough.
What I needed was scale.
And that meant walking into a space I wasn't invited to.
The gym was just fifteen minutes from my apartment. Not a franchise chain. A local spot. The kind of place with rust on the dumbbells and duct tape on the punching bags.
It was perfect.
I'd scouted it twice already.
Morning hours were quiet—mostly older regulars and one or two trainers.
That's when I planned to go.
I woke up early, did my own bodyweight training at home, then loaded my crate with care. Cleaned the prototype straps. Clipped the instruction sheet professionally. Wiped down the handles.
I dressed simply: black shirt, fitted jeans, no logos, no branding. Just clean. Presentable. Confident.
Before leaving, I stood in front of the mirror one last time.
No nerves. No excitement. Just intention.
Then I walked.
The gym bell rang as I stepped in.
Rubber flooring. Iron. Chalk dust.
Old-school. Real.
Exactly my kind of battlefield.
Behind the counter stood a man in his early forties. Buzz cut. Tight grey shirt. Forearms like steel cables.
He looked up. Raised a brow.
"You a new member?"
"Not yet," I said. "I'm here to show you something."
He frowned slightly. "We don't do vendors."
"I'm not a vendor. I'm a builder."
That made him pause.
"...Explain."
I lifted the crate onto the counter, opened it gently, and pulled out the harness.
"This is my design. It's a full-body tension system for resistance training. No machines, no weights. Just anchor, pull, adjust. I made it from salvaged parts. And I want to show you it works."
He crossed his arms. "You selling this?"
"Eventually. But first, I'm proving it."
Silence stretched.
Finally, he motioned behind him. "Mat space is free. Five minutes. Impress me."
I nodded. "Thank you."
Five minutes became fifteen.
I anchored the strap to a low barbell rack, adjusted the tension, and ran through the circuit.
Push-pulls. L-sits. Reverse crunches. Assisted dips. Cross-torque rows.
Controlled. Stable. Real.
The man behind the counter—"Ken," his name tag said—watched the whole thing.
At some point, a young trainer paused nearby, curious.
I didn't speak while I worked. I let the gear talk for me.
No sales pitch. Just presence.
When I finished, I stood up, wiped sweat from my neck, and met Ken's gaze.
"It's crude," he said.
"It's intentional."
"You made this yourself?"
"Every piece."
He exhaled slowly. Then nodded.
"We have a few guys who can't afford personal equipment. You leave two units here on consignment. No promises. But if they move, I'll let you put up a flyer."
I bowed slightly. "Deal."
[Milestone Achieved: Pitch to a Professional Space]
You entered a formal environment without status, branding, or backup—and left with opportunity.
Rewards: +1 Charisma +1 System Affinity +1 Confidence New Trait Unlocked: Practical Entrepreneur
As I left the gym, the weight I carried was lighter.
Not just physically. Mentally.
Because I didn't need luck. I didn't need investors.
I needed to show up.
Over and over.