Chapter 27: Progress and Breakthrough

There were twenty-eight days left until the Provincial Games.

Every day, Rousseau devoted all his energy to training for the 100 meters—everything depended on this foundation. For an entire week, he had been making mistakes in his sprints, even falling during his runs, so practice for the 4x100 relay had been suspended.

Coach Lu Jinrong told Rousseau not to put too much psychological pressure on himself: master the 100 meters first, then worry about everything else.

From the coach’s perspective, Rousseau’s problems stemmed from the combined stress of academics and relay training. This pressure had led to psychological and physical issues, which explained why he kept falling in practice—after all, Rousseau had only been on the team for a month.

Logically, someone like Rousseau, who had never received professional training and had joined the team just a month ago, should still be in the adaptation phase. He could be sent out to experience the atmosphere of a competition, but the coach never expected him to achieve any results.

Placing expectations on this child would only create unbearable pressure.

But in response to the coach’s comfort, Rousseau had only one thing to say: “Coach, I can win.”

Yes, Rousseau wanted only to win.

Otherwise, why would he push himself this hard?

For a week straight, he had spent his daily quota of “endurance” practicing and adapting to the “explosion” technique. If he failed to master “explosion” in the 100 meters, it would also delay improvements to his basic physical attributes, and he’d have no hope of surpassing Tian Shihui at the Provincial Games.

Now, standing on the track, his opponent wasn’t Tian Shihui, but Xu Taiming—once a member of the team’s second tier and also a relay runner for the 4x100.

Tian Shihui was currently overwhelmed with training—100 meters, 200 meters, and the 4x100 relay—participating in everything. As the strongest sprinter on the provincial team, Tian Shihui had no time to accompany Rousseau in endless practice races.

Xu Taiming was a formidable competitor himself, able to run the 100 meters in 11.5 seconds at best, comparable to Rousseau. But Xu was far more consistent—he seemed much more reliable than Rousseau, who’d been tripping over his own feet in recent practice.

Rousseau found it puzzling. From what he’d seen, Tian Shihui’s best time was only 11.1 or 11.2 seconds—a bit better than the second-tier runners like Xu Taiming, Wang Peng, Lin Lishuo, and even Rousseau himself, but not by much. How did Tian Shihui manage to hold the top spot on the team so firmly?

Tian Shihui always claimed to be a “competition type”—his best results would only flash forth in big meets, or when facing true opponents. Then, he could break 11 seconds, even better.

Rousseau had heard Tian Shihui boast too many times to believe it entirely, but the coach and the other teammates all seemed convinced. Perhaps it was true.

Tian Shihui often warned Rousseau not to focus solely on beating the team’s number one. With his current, merely average results, Rousseau should try to beat the others first.

Yet Rousseau had only one approach to competition: to win.

“Are you ready?” the coach asked Rousseau and Xu Taiming on the track.

Xu Taiming nodded. His hair was a little long, and “man” was the right word for him now—he was no longer a boy, not at twenty-five. Although he was still in the golden age for competitive athletics, his best result had only been a semifinal at the National Games. He was an old hand on the provincial sprint team, but not a prominent one.

Looking at Rousseau beside him, Xu Taiming couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy—even jealousy. Who wouldn’t? This young man was seven years his junior and had, in one month, surpassed what Xu had worked a decade for.

For those without talent, competitive sports were truly cruel—none more so than the 100 meters.

Xu Taiming still held a slight edge over Rousseau thanks to his experience. He hoped to keep it through the Provincial Games, even the National Games, so he could stay in the 4x100 and maybe, by hitching a ride with Tian Shihui, win a gold medal. With a Provincial Games gold, Xu could return home and secure a teaching post as a PE teacher—a perfect ending to his ten-year athletic career.

Under the gaze of the coach and his rival, Rousseau momentarily drifted off. Only when the coach asked a second time did he flash a curious smile and say, “I’m ready.”

Bang!

The starter’s pistol fired.

Rousseau didn’t false start. Though his launch was still a weakness and his status panel still showed “false start” as an option, in an official race, two false starts meant disqualification. It wasn’t a useful tactic.

Besides, the status panel now offered other, more effective options.

Rousseau and Xu Taiming broke from the blocks together, almost neck and neck over the first thirty meters.

Lu Jinrong estimated their reaction times: between 0.3 and 0.4 seconds. Xu Taiming, with more experience and a steadier mindset, started more slowly—his physical limits had been reached. Rousseau, still lacking practice, was simply too new to the team.

In the next month, the coach would need Rousseau to keep drilling his technique.

Between the first thirty meters and the middle thirty, Xu Taiming was sometimes ahead, sometimes behind, sometimes pulling ahead again. In just a few seconds, he shifted speeds several times, but always maintained control—a testament to his ten years of sprinting. Rousseau, by contrast, was thrown off balance.

Although the 100 meters is run in separate lanes, it is still a head-to-head contest. Athletes can’t help but pay attention to their rivals just beside them. If overtaken, they inevitably push harder; if ahead, they get excited.

Manipulating speed to disturb an opponent’s rhythm rarely matters against overwhelming talent, but against someone of equal ability but less experience, it can be decisive.

As expected, in the final thirty meters, Rousseau’s rhythm began to falter—wait. Lu Jinrong suddenly saw Rousseau accelerate.

In the last thirty meters of the 100, Rousseau suddenly regained his rhythm—not only stabilized, but quickened his stride, as if he’d been hiding his strength for the first seventy meters. He shot ahead of Xu Taiming by more than half a body and kept pulling away.

Lu Jinrong, who had been sitting out of fatigue, now jumped to his feet. He was witnessing a kind of final-30-meter acceleration that defied his understanding of the 100 meters. How could someone have the strength to speed up at the very end?

Buzz!

The electronic timing system captured two figures crossing the finish, one ahead of the other. In moments, the numbers appeared on the electronic scoreboard.

“11.1 seconds” and “11.5 seconds.”

At that moment, the warm May breeze of Pengcheng swept across the track and brought a hint of coolness to everyone present. Many athletes paused to savor the refreshing wind; others, especially the sprinters, turned their gaze to the screen, staring at a result that was rarely seen.