Chapter Thirteen: The Athletic Champion

What sports most commonly produce athletic beauties? In China, it seems that volleyball, figure skating, and diving are the main sources. This is largely because Chinese athletes excel in these sports, drawing the public’s eye to their achievements. But on a global scale, events like rhythmic gymnastics, high jump, and figure skating yield even more beauties, for these disciplines demand a high degree of physical elegance from their female athletes.

Long limbs. Slender frames. Short hair fluttering in the wind. A powerful leap. Each leaves behind a vibrant silhouette in the morning light.

Sport asks its athletes to devote the most youthful and beautiful years of their lives. Thus, every member of the high jump squad radiates health and vitality. They may not all be conventionally beautiful, but they are certainly bright and full of life.

Rousseau stood by the open window of the gymnasium, a spot neither too close nor too far from the high jump bar inside. He watched as one tall, long-legged girl after another leapt and landed on the foam mat—some with success, some not. And then there was Juno…

Behind his language textbook, Rousseau wore a look of careful concentration.

Juno’s best record was 1.80 meters. According to Rousseau’s research, that was already near the standard for “Elite Athlete”—a level above third, second, and first class athletes. Of course, to truly earn that title, one had to prove oneself in international competitions, and above that still was the honor of “International Elite Athlete.”

In short, for someone so young, Juno was already approaching elite status—remarkable indeed. Still, there are innate physical differences between men and women; in high jump, each level’s standard for men is a full twenty centimeters higher. So Rousseau reckoned he still had a chance to beat her.

He was now observing Juno’s technique. He’d never trained in high jump himself and was eager to learn—take the approach, the timing of the jump, the arch of the back… As the text from his “status bar” scrolled by, he compared it to the athletes’ movements, soaking up knowledge like a sponge.

Rousseau was utterly absorbed when he suddenly sensed someone beside him. Turning in surprise, he saw a teammate standing there. “Nice spot,” the teammate muttered, holding a calculus book.

Nice spot? Rousseau wondered. But before he could puzzle it out, another teammate appeared on his right, this one brandishing a political science textbook.

Now there were three of them, standing side by side, each with a book raised to obscure their faces, their eyes peering sneakily over the edges at the high jump girls in training.

To be fair, Rousseau’s chosen vantage was quite ideal. From outside the gym, facing the open window, he was perpendicular to the high jump bar. Each time a girl soared, her body arched gracefully in mid-air; her toned, long legs were perfectly framed.

It’s common knowledge that female high jumpers wear fairly simple outfits for training and competition. Rousseau was there to study technique, but the motives of his companions were obvious.

“Bold move…” whispered the teammate on the right.

“Why didn’t I think of this earlier?” said the one on the left.

“Wow… those are amazing…”

“It’s throwing off my balance…”

“Lend me your glasses…”

“The prescription’s too strong for you…”

“A little blurring is just right…”

The sprinters’ conversation began to drift into increasingly unpredictable territory.

Soon a fourth arrived, and now four of them stood in a row.

As the group outside the window grew, the girls’ performances inside the gym began to falter. Failure rates soared, more bars were knocked down, and the girls reacted with either scowls or shy glances at the shameless spectators.

Rousseau sensed trouble brewing. From experience, he knew this was the moment to slip away. But Juno was up next.

Though her height wasn’t exceptional among the athletes, Juno’s proportions were superb; her legs seemed especially long, her motions elegant and expansive. Rousseau had watched her jump several times already, but this time, she was closer than ever.

Instead of leaping, Juno ran up to the bar, then continued toward the group of sprinters, hands on hips, standing in the sunlight just outside the window.

She was like a frame from an artful film, cut out by the daylight—her fair skin tinged pink from exertion, beads of sweat on her short hair sparkling like jewels in a crown.

Rousseau looked at her and thought she resembled the movie star Sophie Marceau—a poster of whom Tian Shiwei had hung in their dorm room.

“What are you looking at?” Juno demanded, her face cold.

“Studying!” all four boys replied in unison.

“Studying? You’re holding your books upside down!” she retorted.

All four instinctively flipped their books right side up, even the two who hadn’t been holding them wrong. One look and they realized their ruse was busted. They spun around to flee—only to find someone blocking their way.

“What are you boys doing?” The high jump coach, a woman, frowned at them.

Her name was Li Na—a name common enough in the sports world to cause confusion. She was just over forty, still youthful in appearance, a former Asian Games bronze medalist turned coach—a flower among the provincial team’s forest of male coaches.

“We were studying…” the boys answered feebly.

Just then, Lu Jinrong strode over.

“Take care of your athletes,” Li Na said sternly.

“Yes, yes, absolutely,” Lu Jinrong replied with a forced smile. Then he turned to the boys, face icy: “Who started this?”

The other three immediately stepped back, exposing Rousseau.

“I was just trying to learn technique,” Rousseau admitted.

“You’re a sprinter—what do you need to learn about high jump?” Lu Jinrong asked, frowning.

“Juno jumps exceptionally well. I was mainly watching her,” Rousseau replied.

Exceptionally well at jumping? Or something else entirely…?

Both coaches and the other sprinters glanced from movie-star-beautiful Juno to Rousseau, expressions tinged with disbelief.

Juno fixed Rousseau with her gaze. “What’s so good about my jumping?”

“Your second and third jumps were the best. I’m no expert, but your form was very fluid, and those were your highest marks—1.80 and 1.78 meters. I don’t think that’s your limit. Your core strength isn’t quite enough; you’re a bit slow to tuck your waist at this point.” Rousseau pointed at his own waist. “You need to work on your core strength—more focused training.”

Of course, Rousseau didn’t know all this himself; these were insights provided by the “status bar.” As he observed Juno, it displayed text analyzing her technique, which Rousseau found quite convincing.

Hearing his comments, Coach Li Na and Juno both looked surprised.

“Don’t listen to him—this kid just joined the team; he doesn’t know a thing,” Lu Jinrong said. “Looks like you boys have rested enough. Off you go—run three thousand meters to warm up.”

“Aw…” the boys groaned, but obediently jogged off to the track.

Before Rousseau set off, he gave Juno one last, lingering look, pondering how he might convince her to race against him.

Juno met his gaze, puzzled by the seriousness in his eyes. What on earth was this guy plotting?