Chapter Twelve: A Gap Not So Distant

Rousseau was telling the truth.

Yet Tian Shiwei thought he was spouting nonsense.

The point wasn’t that Rousseau was a sprinter and Juno did high jump.

The point was that Rousseau was on the men’s team, and Juno was on the women’s.

What’s the point of comparing at all?

“Old Lu, you’re not being honest,” Tian Shiwei said, pointing at Rousseau, then flopped back onto his bed to keep playing his NDS, clearly finished with the conversation.

Watching Tian Shiwei absorbed in his game, Rousseau pondered for a moment. It was none of his business, but feeling Tian Shiwei’s goodwill, he suddenly thought it necessary to offer some advice.

So Rousseau said, “Tian Shiwei, I think you need to step it up. You can’t keep going on like this, letting yourself go.”

With that, Rousseau went off to wash up.

Tian Shiwei hadn’t planned to respond, but the more he thought about Rousseau’s words, the more they irked him. He felt a surge of annoyance, wanting to grab Rousseau and demand an explanation—what did he mean by “letting yourself go”? What was wrong with playing a game after completing all his training?

Is Rousseau faster than me, or has he crushed me in medal counts?

He’s only been on the team for half a month and we’ve competed five or six times already—when have I not beaten him, and easily at that?

My 100-meter dash ranked top three in the last provincial games. I’m sure to make a mark at the national games, too. Who does he think he is?

But after brooding for a while, Tian Shiwei decided to ignore Rousseau. He knew he was the stronger one; he couldn’t let a few words from this guy throw him off. It was just a mind game—not worth taking seriously. If he did, he’d be falling for it.

…

After washing up, Rousseau prepared for bed.

When your stamina is under fifty, it’s especially easy to slip into deep sleep.

Before turning in, Rousseau reviewed his upcoming training plan. Since joining the team, he’d made noticeable gains in agility and strength, and had started to grasp some professional techniques. But in the 100-meter event, he was still far from being a match for Tian Shiwei, the team’s best.

But that gap wasn’t insurmountable anymore. He could see the difference now, which was a world apart from their first race, when he couldn’t even tell what made Tian Shiwei so strong.

The director had been right: knowing the gap meant you could surpass it.

Tian Shiwei was indeed formidable. By Rousseau’s estimates, Tian Shiwei’s agility and strength were at least five points above his, according to the system's status panel. There were other attributes, too—reaction time, jump height, explosive power—that the panel didn’t show, but Tian Shiwei’s overall lead was undeniable.

At this pace, Rousseau figured it would take at least three more months before he could surpass Tian Shiwei on paper, which was too slow.

He still needed to train his technique.

So Rousseau set his sights on Juno. If he could get a “technique” out of that status panel, maybe he’d have a chance to overtake Tian Shiwei in a single leap.

Two months later… No, in just over a month at the provincial games, he needed to take first place. Lu Xiaoyu was still waiting for him to pick her up.

“You’re the fastest, you’re the fastest, you’re the fastest, you’re the fastest…”

Rousseau drifted into sleep, repeating this mantra—a psychological suggestion he’d read in a comic book.

Whether it worked or not, there was no harm in reciting it before bed.

From the next room, Tian Shiwei could hear Rousseau’s muttering, then his breathing growing steady as he drifted off. That guy really had nothing in his head but training.

Tian Shiwei frowned, recalling that “you need to step it up” comment from earlier. He checked the time: already eleven. He glanced at the game console in his hand, suddenly feeling… uneasy, for some reason. But whatever it was, the feeling made him put the console aside and get ready for bed.

…

Mornings at Pengcheng Sports Academy were always bustling.

Sprinting, distance running, hurdles, high jump, pole vault, long jump, triple jump, discus, hammer throw, javelin, race walking—most of the provincial team athletes in these events were stationed here for routine training.

There were also swimmers, archers, badminton players, fencers, field hockey players, judokas, and others training at different facilities.

These professional athletes did nothing but train, yet needed the very best food and equipment. Only a municipality like Pengcheng, with its rich finances, could afford to support nearly all disciplines with a full athlete development pipeline.

Even so, Pengcheng remained weak in certain areas, like winter sports and equestrian events. The strongest winter sports athletes came from the Northeast provinces, while equestrian champions always hailed from Hong Kong.

If it was so for a single province, how much more so for an entire country? Success in sports directly reflected a nation’s economic strength and quality of life. It was no exaggeration to say that athletic competition was war by peaceful means.

That’s why every morning on the Pengcheng Sports Academy track brimmed with youthful vigor. Hundreds of young men and women sweated and strained, all in pursuit of higher, faster, stronger.

Since joining the team, Rousseau was always the first sprinter to arrive at the track.

By the time the other teammates sauntered in at the appointed hour, he’d already finished most of his shuttle runs. Under the morning light, sweat gleaming on his skin, Rousseau looked like a black panther, prompting Lu Jinrong to nod in approval.

But he didn’t praise Rousseau openly. Team harmony was paramount; too much attention would make Rousseau a target. Besides, thanks to Rousseau’s quiet example, the other sprinters had started working a bit harder, too—a real improvement.

“Gather up!” Lu Jinrong blew his whistle.

About twenty athletes formed ranks. All around the track, other coaches’ whistles sounded at the same time.

It was time for training, as always.

Endless training.

Every second, every meter, every ounce of progress an athlete made was forged in these countless mornings, noons, and nights of practice.

Through near-masochistic training, they pushed their bodies to the limit. All the suffering, exhaustion, even blood and pain, would eventually be distilled into those seemingly insignificant numbers on the scoreboard.

The cruelest part was that ninety-nine percent of athletes would never make it to the podium. Those who stood before Lu Jinrong now were already the cream of the crop, yet even these elite would fall before even stronger opponents.

There could only be one champion.

“Coach, I’m done,” Rousseau said, raising his hand to Lu Jinrong.

“Not doing extra today?” Lu Jinrong asked.

“I’m taking a break,” Rousseau replied.

“Alright, get some rest. And when you can, study your academics,” Lu Jinrong said.

You couldn’t run forever. Lu Jinrong kept a close eye on these kids’ academic progress, thinking of their futures.

Few from Lu Jinrong’s generation of athletes had made it big. Most retired with injuries, ending up as security guards or running small businesses. Their lives weren’t tragic, but there wasn’t much to look forward to.

“I know,” Rousseau nodded. He pulled out a literature textbook and found a spot on the track to stand and read.

His choice of location, however, was a bit… unusual.

So much so that the other sprinters, catching sight of him, couldn’t help but think to themselves, “Damn, you can actually do that?”

Meanwhile, Rousseau hid his eyes behind the textbook, his gaze sharp as he watched the women’s high jump team training inside the gymnasium.