Chapter One: Provincial Team Tryouts

2004.
Peng City Sports Institute.

Bang!

The starter's gun fired.

Russo shot out like an arrow.

The scene before him compressed instantly, leaving only a narrow lane.

The reddish-brown rubber track.

The white lines.

All his energy and spirit poured out in these fleeting hundred meters.

The heart in his chest boiled to its limit in an instant.

A hundred meters—a distance both close and far.

Ten seconds or so—brief, yet endless.

Russo crossed the finish line, where there was no ribbon.

Click!

Someone pressed the stopwatch as he crossed.

“Twelve point three seconds.”

The voice called out.

Russo slowed to a stop, shaking his head in disappointment.

Upon hearing the result, the provincial track team members on the field exchanged surprised looks. Although they could all run twelve point three, for an outsider to achieve that was impressive—but not enough, not up to team standard.

“Coach, is this the so-called star you said could crush us? Even with a crutch, I could outrun him!”

A tall boy shouted.

“I’ll deal with you later! If you can’t run twelve point three with a crutch, your whole month’s holiday is cancelled!”

The grey-haired coach barked at the noisy boys.

At once, the boys hunched their necks like quails.

The coach eyed Russo, who was walking over, and asked, puzzled, “Why are you slower than last time?”

“Maybe I’m just a bit tired lately.” Russo rubbed his head, gazing at the ‘status bar’ only he could see.

It was a curious thing, appearing before him after a high fever, like a status panel in a game. Now it displayed: ‘Agility: 35, Strength: 28, Endurance 69/100’.

Simple, just three stats—seemingly monitoring his physical condition at all times. Russo hadn’t played many games, but he knew it was rather like one.

Strangely, below the three stats, a cursor blinked, as if words were about to appear, as if the ‘status bar’ had something to say to him, but the time had not yet come.

It had been there for half a year, bringing neither harm nor benefit. Russo had gradually grown accustomed to its presence.

He’d come to understand that endurance represented his health, fluctuating daily—highest in the morning, rarely full, above ninety meant he was in good shape. But today, he’d started the run with less than seventy-five. He really was tired.

“Every trial is precious. I made an exception for you, but you don’t cherish it, don’t show your best. Do you even want to join the provincial team?” The coach scolded Russo, frustrated by his lack of drive.

“It’s not like I asked to try out!” Russo raised his brows. He was tall, his features reminiscent of Daniel Wu, hair cut short, and when impatient, he looked fierce.

The coach had seen plenty of troublemakers like him. He frowned too: “Russo, you have talent. Eighteen this year—you’ve wasted the best years. You need to make up for lost time quickly…”

As the coach spoke, Russo turned and walked away, only to find a little girl standing in front of him, barely reaching his waist.

What do you want? Russo silently asked, rubbing her head.

“Coach, my brother stayed up late last night, so he’s not at his best today. Please give him another chance!” The girl slipped past Russo, faced the coach, and pleaded, hands clasped.

She was adorable, her big eyes like those from a comic. Her cuteness could soften any man’s heart—including the coach. He spoke gently, “I can give him one more chance.”

“Tomorrow, let’s set it for tomorrow! He’ll definitely run under twelve seconds!” The girl patted her chest in assurance.

“How can you guarantee that?” Russo tousled her hair, turning it into a bird’s nest.

“With my brother’s life!” she declared solemnly.

“You’re really willing to risk it.” Russo scooped her up, settling her on his shoulders, nodded to the coach, and left.

The coach watched their overlapping figures and sighed. He’d discovered this promising youngster half a month earlier while receiving a food delivery.

At the time, Russo’s electric bike had broken down, so he’d run deliveries for a restaurant, catching the coach’s eye. But after two trials, his results got worse—such waste of talent.

Through others, the coach had learned Russo and Lu Xiaoyu, the siblings, were orphans. Russo had quit school long ago, working deliveries, washing cars, odd jobs to support his sister. Xiaoyu was still in elementary school.

If this kept up, Russo’s potential would be ruined. Without education, he’d end up in a factory or at a construction site. Better to join the provincial team, but without qualifying times, there was no way in.

What a pity…

“Coach,” the tall boy who’d mocked Russo approached. “Look at his shoes.”

The coach glanced at Russo’s feet and saw his sneakers had split open. Russo walked with his foot flat, trying to hide the damage, but it was visible on closer inspection.

“His shoes are broken… that’s why he ran twelve point three.” The coach was surprised.

“He’s got some skill,” the tall boy remarked, “but his attitude stinks, he’s too old, little potential. Coach, you misjudged this one.”

“Go run laps!” The coach sent the boy off with a kick.

…

“Brother, your shoes are broken, that’s why you didn’t run fast?” Xiaoyu asked from Russo’s shoulders.

“Shh, it’s embarrassing. Keep your voice down,” Russo said.

“We need new shoes before tomorrow,” Xiaoyu said. “Run under twelve seconds, get into the provincial team, earn at least three thousand a month.”

“I can make that much in a month delivering food,” Russo replied.

“Level two athletes earn several thousand, level one over ten thousand, provincial meet champions get tens of thousands, national meets, Asian Games, Olympics… Brother, let’s use all our savings on shoes. Take a gamble—maybe we’ll turn a bicycle into a motorcycle!” Xiaoyu said.

“I just paid your tuition. All that’s left is this—don’t even know how we’ll pay the rent.” Russo rifled through his pockets—large bills, small change, coins—all together less than two hundred.

“I’ll go ask for my tuition back!” Xiaoyu said, delighted at a reason to skip school.

“You dare! I’ll kill you!” Russo said.

“Brother—” Xiaoyu clung to his neck, whining. “They’re still learning addition and multiplication, it’s so childish.”

“No matter how childish, you have to go. What else would a girl your age do, deliver food like me? Listen, no matter how poor we are, you have to go to school. I don’t care about your tuition. You’re going to university, to get a doctorate, become a scientist!” Russo said firmly.

“What about your shoes?” Xiaoyu asked.

“I’ll sleep well tonight, and once my endurance is full, I’ll run under twelve seconds barefoot!” Russo said.

Blowing hot air. Xiaoyu didn’t believe him, but dared not argue. Her eyes darted about—clearly plotting something mischievous.