Chapter 26: Technique? I Need Only One Force to Break All Techniques!

"Brother Ming, don't pay any mind to what they say. The way you closed the gap just now was so cool!" Pan Zhanle was the first to run up and console Wang Xiaoming.

Wang Xiaoming simply waved his hand, indicating it didn't matter.

Coach Wang Mu of the swim team stepped forward, his curiosity piqued: "Tell me, you’ve never received any formal swimming training, have you?"

Hearing the coach's question, Wang Xiaoming nodded. "Yeah, as far as professional training goes, today was my first time."

As soon as these words left his lips, the surrounding team members were stunned.

What did that mean? Did it mean he had never trained before and had just been swimming around blindly for fun? And he could achieve results like that just by messing around?

At first, the team members had assumed Wang Xiaoming was a secret ace groomed by the state. After all, in the two days since he joined the team, none of them had ever seen him show up for training or attempt to acclimatize.

"How did you tell, Coach?" Wang Xiaoming asked, genuinely surprised. Was it that easy to spot? Was his technique really that poor?

Wang Mu smiled. "Your reaction time at the start was too slow. Also, the moment you entered the water, you didn't even push off. Everything you did was based purely on your raw physical fitness."

Like his athletes, Coach Wang Mu had initially assumed that Wang Xiaoming must have participated in at least a few professional competitions, big or small. But looking at today's race, this kid was clearly just an amateur enthusiast. He was completely unaware of the various techniques and nuances required. It could be said that Wang Xiaoming had reached this level of performance relying solely on his physical prowess.

But on second thought, this kid was truly incredible! If he could swim like this relying only on his fitness, imagine what he could achieve with systematic training. Would he become China's own Michael Phelps?

Thinking of this, Wang Mu immediately voiced his thoughts. "Xiaoming, withdraw from the rest of this competition. Join our swim team when you get back! With systematic training, in just four years, you’ll definitely become our Chinese Michael Phelps! No, you might even surpass Phelps!"

The atmosphere turned deathly silent. The team members stared at their coach in disbelief. Since when had they ever heard their coach praise a competitor like this?

"Holy crap, Coach, isn't that a bit of a stretch? Saying he'll surpass Phelps is a bit much, isn't it?"

To Pan Zhanle, Phelps was an idol. Even with Wang Xiaoming standing right there, he couldn't bring himself to believe that anyone could surpass Phelps in swimming, just as Usain Bolt would always be the god of track and field.

However, facing Pan Zhanle’s skepticism, Coach Wang Mu didn't reply; he just watched Wang Xiaoming quietly, waiting for his answer.

Unfortunately, the result would not be what he hoped for.

"No thanks, Coach. I appreciate the offer, but I can't wait for the next Olympics. Let's just finish this one; I'll be taking home the rest of the gold medals!"

Listening to Wang Xiaoming’s stubborn refusal, Wang Mu sighed and shook his head. "Since you’re unwilling, at least let me teach you a few small techniques. Like, when you dive..."

Even though Wang Xiaoming was reluctant, Wang Mu felt that if he kept pushing, he might eventually persuade him. If he suffered a setback in this Olympics, it might be a good lesson. But he still wanted to share those tips. Perhaps, with just one of them, he could at least snag a bronze medal?

Before Wang Mu could finish, Wang Xiaoming waved him off. "No need, Coach. I don't have a use for those techniques! As long as I'm fast enough, that's all that matters!"

It wasn't that Wang Xiaoming looked down on these techniques. It was just that he was used to his life as an assassin, where the most important things were speed, precision, and ruthlessness. He believed in the principle that force can break through ten thousand techniques, and that in the world of martial arts, only speed is invincible. So, forget the swimming tips; as long as he swam fast enough, wouldn't they be unable to catch him?

Seeing Wang Xiaoming’s indifferent attitude, even the mild-mannered Coach Wang Mu couldn't help but sigh. *Suit yourself!* he thought. *You have powerful backing, and a small coach like me can't afford to provoke you. If the team doesn't get good results, I have an excuse—didn't the leadership force you on me? And they sent two of them, no less!*

Seeing their coach’s frustration, the other team members dared not speak. Pan Zhanle leaned in close to Wang Xiaoming. "Brother Ming, why not try the techniques? They really are useful!"

Wang Xiaoming shook his head. "I know you mean well, but I have my reasons. You guys can use these techniques effectively because they've become muscle memory. But for me, these are actions that would only increase my thinking and preparation time. Forcing myself to use them before a race might be counterproductive and actually hold me back."

After Wang Xiaoming’s explanation, the others realized he was right. *Damn, that makes so much sense! We have no argument against that.*

"Then, Brother Ming, the 800m is next. Are you confident?" Seeing Wang Xiaoming's resolve, they stopped trying to persuade him.

"Don't worry," Wang Xiaoming patted Pan Zhanle on the shoulder. "I'll only lose one gold medal."

Pan Zhanle was stunned. "Wow... so cool."

Next was the 800m freestyle. Competitors from various countries began to enter the arena.

Meanwhile, Wang Xiaoming's good friend, the chubby Zhang Wei, was in the spectator stands, engaged in a fierce online battle with foreign spectators. Because he was using a foreign social media app, Zhang Wei was using his dad's phone to translate and copy-paste retorts to fire back at the foreign netizens. But as he argued, he realized there were just too many of them, and he was running out of steam.

Exhausted and filled with indignation, he finally saw Wang Xiaoming emerge onto the track. A wave of grievance washed over him. "Brother Ming, you have to win the gold! I believe in you!" *Since I can't out-argue these jerks, let Brother Ming slap them in the face!*

Facing Zhang Wei’s hopeful look, Wang Xiaoming gave a faint smile and walked toward the starting block. For some reason, all of Zhang Wei’s anger and frustration vanished at the sight of that smile. It was as if it held some magical, convincing power.

Just then, a new notification popped up on his phone from a foreign netizen: "Hahaha, does your Chinese Wang Xiaoming really dare to enter the 800m? You've already embarrassed yourselves once, and you want to do it again?"

This time, facing the provocation, Zhang Wei simply typed a few words, closed his phone, and began to watch the race intently.

[Your mother, boom!]