I Started Dead Last, Then Became the Fastest Man in the 100 Meters

His reaction time off the starting line was always a fraction too slow. When the starting gun fired and everyone else shot forward, he was still crouching.

Everyone said, "Jiang Su, you're not cut out for running."

Then a dark-faced coach from the county sports school blocked his way on a battered bicycle and said, "Those feet of yours are a gift from heaven. Whether you use them is up to you. If you do, I'll coach you."

No System, no golden finger, no miraculous stroke of luck from the heavens.

A boy from a fishing town, laughed at as he started out in a school track meet, chased his way to the city games, the provincial games, and the National Games, until the whole world fell silent.

His opponents were prodigies, records, and everyone's refrain: "You can't do it."

He didn't explain.

He ran.

If he was slow off the line, he'd catch up in the second half. If he couldn't catch up, he'd run a little faster. A little faster. And a little faster.

Until the starting gun fired, and he was no longer the last one off the line.

Until the moment he crossed the finish line, and the whole world was shouting his name.

And in his heart, there was only a faded note tucked beneath an insole, its handwriting crooked and uneven:

"Finish the race."

His father hadn't finished.

So he ran in his place.