Chapter 58: The American Traditional Craft Has Arrived (Bonus Chapter! Please vote!)

"Racing against me? Are you even capable?"

Another burst of laughter followed. This guy was clearly one of the participants in the upcoming invitational finals.

Ning Debao and the others wanted to come over, but Su Shen gestured for them to stay back.

He wanted to solve this himself.

To settle it the athlete's way.

"I can't speak for others, but I'm definitely better than you." Su Shen had just observed this guy's strength; he was the first-place finisher in the third heat.

He had just run a 10.88 seconds.

Ning Debao preferred a progressive approach.

After careful consideration of these races, she had arranged for them to start with weaker opponents, gradually helping Su Shen and the others adapt to the intensity.

Her intentions were undoubtedly well-meaning.

Little did Ning Debao know, Su Shen had already raced against Bolt, though no one knew who Bolt was just yet.

When they finally found out, they would surely be dumbfounded.

...

"Vic, don't run too fast, lest the other guy can't even see your dust."

Witnessing this, Su Shen could only shake his head inwardly.

Back in the early 2000s, it truly was a period where "all sorts of demons and monsters showed their magical powers."

White people, biologically the race with the least inherent sprinting talent, could still take it for granted that they looked down on the yellow race, thinking yellow people were no good...

If this were decades later, Su Shen really wanted to say: I'll leave you so far behind you won't even see my taillights.

The fastest white man in history was named Christophe Lemaitre, a guy less than a year younger than Su Shen, whom he would meet frequently in the future.

And the absolute limit for white sprinters was 9.92 seconds, a mark that wouldn't be set for several more years.

With just that...

He honestly didn't know what they had to be proud of...

The crucial point was that no one back home helped popularize these facts.

It led Su Shen to believe during his childhood that white people were vastly superior to yellow people at running.

In reality, they had always been evenly matched.

For the time being, neither side could easily crush the other.

...

"Your name is Vic, right?" Su Shen said. "Let's have a go."

"Play what?" the white man mocked.

"Whoever wins gets to be the other's daddy," Su Shen looked at the white guy named Vic and said. "How about it? Dare you?"

Foreigners loved a lively scene and loved to egg people on. All that nonsense about the air abroad being sweet and toilet water being directly drinkable was just a routine fabricated by online pundits. A dozen years later, compatriots wouldn't even deign to bat an eye at it.

If no one else, Uncle Sam would be the first to disagree.

The universally acknowledged worst tourists abroad were clearly the Americans, for whom there was even a specialized term—Ugly American.

That was a specially designated Wikipedia entry.

We had never received such special treatment.

It was just these pundits stirring up trouble for no reason.

Su Shen didn't know if they had taken capitalist money or if they were simply willing to act as the wicked hounds of capitalist America. Whatever the case, Su Shen would put it into practice: what he did in his past life, he would do again in this one.

And he would do it sooner.

And more thoroughly.

"Come on, Vic! Accept his challenge!"

"He's just a yellow man! Are you really that chicken?"

"Accept it! Show him what sprinting is all about!"

Pushed by this momentum, the white guy named Vic had no choice but to take up the challenge.

"A-Bing, stick with me. Don't follow my rhythm later."

Su Shen was in lane five, Zhou Bing in lane four, and the Caucasian Vic in lane six. Su Shen specifically reminded Zhou Bing not to let his rhythm be thrown off by him.

"Alright, but Tian, are you really going to be fine?"

Zhou Bing looked somewhat worried, but it didn't matter. From now on, whenever he raced against white people, he would never worry again.

Self-confidence is built step by step.

Individuals are like that.

National pride and confidence are no different.

Liu Xiang had taken the first step in track and field, and Su Shen was going to be his successor, initiating the second step.

Then in the future, he would lead a new generation to kick off the third step.

Until white people no longer dared to challenge our great nation.

Su Shen said nothing more. It wouldn't take long; once ten seconds passed, everything would become clear.

Acting as if no one else was around, Su Shen began adjusting his starting blocks. The commotion had gradually drawn quite a crowd around them.

The vast majority were just onlookers looking for some excitement.

Or waiting to see Su Shen and the others make fools of themselves.

Su Shen habitually stretched his thighs, gave them a firm pat, and then assumed a crouching start, placing his feet steadily before and behind on the starting blocks.

At this moment, everyone fell silent, concentrating their minds in preparation for the start.

True to form, the American still wanted to drop some trash talk at the last second, but after crouching down, Su Shen went completely into radio silence, completely ignoring him and leaving his trash talk choked in his throat.

What the heck!

Acting all high and mighty? I'll show you soon enough! A mere Asian, daring to act arrogant on the track?

"On your marks."

All eight athletes firmly planted their feet on the starting blocks. Even so, Su Shen's posture was visibly a cut above the rest.

More poised, more aesthetically pleasing.

"Set."

All eight runners simultaneously raised their hips slightly.

Holding their breath and focusing their minds, they pooled their energy for the impending explosion.

Bang————————

The gun fired, and they all surged out.

At that exact moment,

Vic only felt a burst of explosive energy at the edge of his retina, like a body injected with full nitro.

Bang.

Right from his flank, it blasted forward in one breath.

In barely a heartbeat, the opponent had established a positional advantage in just a few strides.

Another couple of strides later, forget about him—everyone noticed... that Asian runner in lane five had already rushed to the front.

Such explosive power?

Even some of the observing black athletes were startled.

After all, they were a demographic naturally confident in their physical attributes.

For even them to feel surprised was enough to demonstrate Su Shen's current overwhelming dominance.

Seeing this, Ning Debao couldn't help but nod inwardly.

She used to think that while Su Shen's acceleration phase was formidable, it was only a domestic phenomenon, and he probably didn't hold any distinct advantage compared to Asia's current sprinting overlord, Japan.

As it turned out...

Reality was so "crucial."

Never mind Japan; even when placed among white and black athletes, Su Shen's starting acceleration remained at a super-class level among his peers.

At least among his peers, Ning Debao had yet to see him falter.

What kind of talent was this?

This kid was born to run.

During the acceleration phase, Su Shen surged ahead alone, his speed so terrifyingly fast that even the accompanying staff were left dumbfounded by his explosive start.

They seemed utterly transfixed by Su Shen's race-dominating start and acceleration.

On Vic's face, any trace of the Bald Eagle's pride and arrogance had vanished, replaced by alternating expressions of bewilderment and anxiety.

If only this race had video recording equipment, the expression in lane six right now would undoubtedly be priceless.

Vic tried desperately to chase him down, but alas...

He had chosen the wrong approach.

Because if you tried to match the rhythm of Su Shen's early race, your own form would instantly collapse—a fact Bolt himself knew all too well, let alone an obscure white athlete?

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.

Within just a few strides, the white runner's stride rhythm fell apart. Once your rhythm fell apart, aside from Bolt, virtually no one could ever hope to catch up.

At that point, forget about eating dust; they could only watch Su Shen's "Chinese sculpted glutes" recede further and further into the distance.

To put it bluntly...

They couldn't even catch a whiff of his exhaust.

How could this be...

How could his strength possibly surpass mine?

Su Shen didn't care at all about what such a person was thinking. Having completed his acceleration and transition into the top-speed phase, he unleashed another powerful burst in the 60-meter zone, driving his speed to its absolute limit.

This round of the race was originally an invitational featuring relatively weaker competitors—mostly athletes destined to be eliminated in the first round. It would be a miracle if anyone here could catch Su Shen.

Don't assume the Marrakech IAAF World Junior Championships were packed exclusively with top-tier masters. If you checked the heat sheets, you would see there were thirteen groups in total, and the bottom four runners in almost every group hovered around 11 seconds, with some even dropping close to 12 seconds.

People eliminated in the first round were nowhere near as strong as you might imagine.

Their level was roughly equivalent to a domestic municipal sports school, hovering in the mid-to-lower tiers.

Mixing with this crowd, to be frank, was a breeze for Su Shen to conquer.

In fact, the strongest contenders in this heat were this white runner named Vic and another Congolese black athlete.

Vic had his rhythm completely shattered by Su Shen's initial burst, effectively eliminating himself not even 30 meters into the race.

That left only the Congolese black athlete.

Whose caliber was roughly on par with Zhou Bing's.

If Zhou Bing hadn't pushed himself quite so hard in the first race, Su Shen and Zhou Bing would have had a high probability of jointly sweeping the top two spots in this invitational.

Under Su Shen's scientific guidance and without taking any detours, Zhou Bing's rate of progress had actually surpassed Zhou Tao's estimations.

Zhou Bing was currently working hard to consistently break the 10.80 seconds barrier.

And the 10.70+ range was roughly where Zhou Tao usually performed.

Pity that due to excessive energy expenditure in the first heat, Zhou Bing lacked stamina in the latter half and could only finish third.

It left him with quite a bit of regret.

There were no medals in this kind of race, but there was a modest cash prize. If Zhou Bing could have taken second, he at least would have pocketed a larger share.

Never mind.

Let this be a lesson for him. The guy was usually a bit scatterbrained; hopefully, this time he would remember it well.

At least long enough to stick for a while.

As for Su Shen, upon reaching the 85-meter mark and realizing he held an overwhelming lead, he began to contemplate his next move...

Since he was already showing off, he might as well go all the way.

Deliver a resounding first international championship title.

Therefore,

Past the 90-meter mark, he flashed a single-finger-pointing gesture to the sky, and then crossed the finish line in first place, claiming the invitational championship.

The electronic timer displayed—

Despite visibly easing up towards the end, Su Shen had still dipped well into the 10.80 seconds range, clocking a 10.77.

If he hadn't eased up, he would already possess the reliable capability to break into the 10.70 seconds barrier.

Now, breaking into the 10.60 seconds zone was merely a matter of opportunity for Su Shen.

Seeing Su Shen pull off such a cocky celebration before crossing the finish line,

Countless spectators were left astonished and amazed.

And inexplicably stirred with excitement?

You must remember that before Bolt, very few athletes ever performed "finish line celebrations."

Su Shen had pulled off this stunt ahead of Bolt.

Naturally, it was an eye-catcher.

Everyone was cheering, finding it utterly novel.

Like a young lion slowing its pace, Su Shen jogged in a circle to cool down.

Then he heard the crowd jeering. Listening closely, they were demanding that Vic fulfill his wager.

Though they didn't know Su Shen's name, their chanting was completely unified:

"Call him daddy!"

"Call him daddy!"

"Call him daddy!"

At this point, the arrogant and shameless nature of the American truly manifested itself.

He dropped a classic remark of utter disbelief—

"How could a yellow person possibly beat me? You must be doping!"

"Otherwise, how on earth could you win!"

Su Shen: ......

Hearing those words, it was unmistakably American through and through.

Shifting blame and resorting to dirty tricks, refusing to look for flaws within oneself—truly the traditional craft of the Beautiful Country.

From commoners to presidents, not a single one failed to act this way.

Whenever something went wrong, they immediately looked for external causes, pushing America's bandit logic to absolute perfection.

Translated into plain English, Su Shen's response to that was—

Doping?

You're not worthy.

...

A dominant, showboating victory etched the name Su Shen into a modest pocket of fame in Marrakech for the very first time.

And with the small fame secured,

Could the big fame be far behind?

[Author's Note: Come on, cast your votes~~~~~ Another update is here~~~~~~ Keep going, hehe, smash little Zi with votes, amen, let's go~~~]