SMASH!!

A Father's Pride

Jian Yong sat in his office, his morning coffee untouched on the desk. The large TV mounted on the wall was tuned to the sports news, replaying highlights from the badminton academy's annual showcase. The anchors couldn't stop raving about one name:

Chen Jian.

"…a performance that left everyone in awe. It's hard to believe this young man has only been training for five months. His natural talent, combined with his rapid growth, has many calling him the future of badminton."

Jian Yong leaned back in his chair, a wide grin spreading across his face. He picked up his phone and called his assistant.

"Miss Zhang," he said cheerfully, "did you see the news?"

"Yes, sir," she replied. "Congratulations on your son's success. It's quite the accomplishment."

"Quite the accomplishment?" Jian Yong laughed. "It's extraordinary! My son has gone from knowing nothing about badminton to being a rising star. We need to celebrate this properly."

"What do you have in mind, sir?"

"I want something special," Jian Yong said, his tone firm. "Get in touch with the best racket manufacturers and custom shoe designers. My son deserves the best equipment, tailored just for him."

The Gifts

A week later, Jian was called to the academy's main office. When he arrived, he found his father waiting for him, a large, sleek black case and a shoebox sitting on the desk beside him.

"Dad?" Jian said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Surprising you," Jian Yong said with a grin. "Come here."

Curious, Jian walked over. His father gestured to the case and opened it with a dramatic flourish. Inside lay a stunning badminton racket. The frame was a sleek metallic black with accents of crimson red, his name—Chen Jian—engraved elegantly on the shaft. The grip was custom-molded to fit his hand perfectly.

Next, his father opened the shoebox, revealing a pair of lightweight, high-performance badminton shoes. They were designed in the same black and red color scheme as the racket, with his initials embroidered on the side.

"Custom-made," Jian Yong said proudly. "The racket was designed by the best engineers in the business, made to enhance speed and precision. And the shoes? Built for agility and comfort, tailored to your playstyle."

Jian stared at the gifts, speechless. He picked up the racket, feeling its perfect balance, then ran his fingers over the engraved name.

"Dad…" he said softly. "This is… amazing. Thank you."

"Ah, don't thank me yet," Jian Yong said, his grin widening. "You still have to prove you're worthy of these. You've got big shoes to fill now—literally!"

Jian laughed, shaking his head. "Seriously, though, this is incredible."

Jian Yong placed a hand on his son's shoulder, his voice growing softer. "I'm proud of you, Xiao Jian. I may have doubted you at first, but you've proven me—and everyone else—wrong. Keep going. Show the world what you're made of."

Jian nodded, the weight of his father's words settling in his chest. "I will."

On the Court

Later that day, Jian stepped onto the court with his new racket and shoes. The crowd of students gathered to watch as he tested his new gear, and the difference was immediate. The racket's precision made his smashes even sharper, and the shoes felt like an extension of his body, allowing him to move faster than ever before.

Even Coach Liu, watching from the sidelines, couldn't hide his astonishment. "He's going to be unstoppable," Liu muttered under his breath.

Jian grinned as he scored another perfect smash during a practice rally. His father's gifts weren't just equipment—they were a symbol of the support and belief that surrounded him.

And with every swing of his new racket, Jian felt a surge of confidence. He was just playing for himself and having fun.

The Conversation

It was late evening, and the academy's courts were empty, save for Jian and Coach Liu. The two sat on the sidelines, the faint hum of the overhead lights filling the quiet air. Jian twirled his new racket absentmindedly while Coach Liu studied him with a curious, contemplative gaze.

"Jian," Liu began, his voice calm but probing, "I've seen a lot of players in my career. Talented ones, hardworking ones, even a few prodigies. But what you did in that match against Wu Jian…" He shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it."

Jian glanced at him, then looked away, unsure of how to respond.

"I need to know," Liu continued. "How did you play like that? What was going through your head?"

Jian hesitated, twirling the racket faster. Finally, he stopped and set it down, leaning back on the bench.

"Honestly, Coach? I don't know," he admitted, his voice low. "Everything just… slowed down."

Liu raised an eyebrow. "Slowed down?"

"Yeah," Jian said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "It was like the whole world hit pause, except for me. The shuttlecock, Wu's movements, even the sounds of the crowd—it all felt distant, like it wasn't real. I didn't have to think. I just knew what to do."

Liu's brows furrowed as he processed Jian's words. "And this has never happened before?"

"Not like that," Jian replied. "I've had moments in practice where I felt… sharp, I guess. But this? It was different. Like my body and mind were completely in sync. It was like…" He struggled to find the right words. "Like walking through a dream, but I was wide awake."

Liu leaned back, his arms crossed. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what Jian was describing. He had heard of athletes experiencing "the zone," a state of heightened focus and clarity, but this sounded more intense—something beyond the ordinary.

"And you don't know how it happened?" Liu pressed.

"No clue," Jian admitted, shaking his head. "I wasn't trying to make it happen. It just… did."

Liu was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on Jian. Finally, he spoke, his tone serious. "If what you're saying is true, then this isn't just talent, Jian. This is something rare. Something most players will never experience, no matter how hard they train."

Jian looked at him, his expression unreadable. "So what do I do with it?"

Liu sighed, rubbing his temples. "That's the question, isn't it? You can't rely on it happening every time you step on the court. But if we can figure out what triggers it… you'd be unstoppable."

Jian chuckled, though there was a hint of nervousness in his voice. "No pressure, right?"

"Pressure comes with greatness," Liu said firmly. "And like it or not, Jian, you're on the path to something extraordinary. But this—this ability of yours—it's like a double-edged sword. If you don't understand it, it could disappear just as quickly as it came."

Jian nodded slowly, his mind swirling with thoughts. "So, what now?"

"Now," Liu said, his voice resolute, "we work harder than ever. You've proven you have what it takes to be the best, but this isn't just about raw talent anymore. We need to train your mind as much as your body. Focus, clarity, control—if we can harness what happened during that match, there'll be no limits to what you can achieve."

Jian exhaled, feeling the weight of Liu's words settle on his shoulders. But beneath the pressure, there was a spark of excitement.

"Alright, Coach," he said, standing up and gripping his racket. "Let's figure this out."

Liu smiled faintly, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "Good. Because if you thought beating Wu Jian was impressive, just wait until the world sees what you're truly capable of."

The two walked back toward the court, ready to dive into the next chapter of Jian's journey.

The First Move

The academy buzzed with life as students hurried between practice sessions and classes, but one girl lingered by the edge of the courts, her heart pounding. Mei Lin was one of the academy's newer players, known for her sharp net play and calm demeanor. But today, she felt anything but calm.

Her gaze drifted toward Jian Chen, who was practicing on the far court. His movements were fluid, his smashes precise, and his focus unwavering. She watched as he wiped sweat from his brow, casually joking with his roommate Feng between drills.

Mei felt her cheeks warm. He's so out of reach, she thought. But she couldn't deny the growing feelings she'd been harboring ever since she'd seen him dominate his match against Wu Jian. There was something about his effortless skill and quiet determination that drew her in.

No more waiting, she told herself, clenching her fists. If I don't make a move now, someone else might.

The Approach

Mei took a deep breath and walked toward the court. Jian had just finished a rally with Feng, who noticed her approach first.

"Hey, Mei," Feng said with a mischievous grin. "Looking for someone?"

Mei tried to ignore the teasing tone. "Actually, yes," she said, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest. "Jian, can I talk to you?"

Jian turned, surprised. "Me? Sure."

He set his racket down and followed her to the side of the court, wiping his hands on his towel. "What's up?"

Mei hesitated for a moment, her confidence wavering. Just say it, she urged herself.

"I, um… I wanted to tell you that I think you're amazing," she said, her words tumbling out faster than she'd intended.

Jian raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "Amazing? At what?"

"At everything," Mei blurted, then immediately wanted to kick herself. She took another breath and tried again. "I mean… the way you play. It's inspiring. And not just that—you're dedicated, you're talented, and… you're kind of intimidating, honestly."

Jian blinked, unsure how to respond. "Uh… thanks, I guess?"

Mei felt her face grow hotter. Why did I say intimidating? she thought, but there was no going back now.

"I just wanted to let you know that… I admire you," she said softly, looking down at the ground. "And I was wondering if maybe… sometime… we could hang out? Like, outside of practice?"

Jian's Response

Jian was silent for a moment, processing her words. He wasn't used to this kind of attention, especially not from someone like Mei, who was one of the academy's more promising players.

Finally, he smiled, though it was small and a bit shy. "Hang out? Sure, I guess. That sounds… nice."

Mei's eyes widened, a mixture of relief and excitement washing over her. "Really? Great!"

"Yeah," Jian said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just let me know when."

Mei nodded, a bright smile breaking across her face. "Okay! I'll, um, let you get back to practice. Thanks for listening."

She turned to leave, her heart racing, but not from nerves this time.

The Aftermath

As Mei walked away, Feng sidled up to Jian, smirking. "Well, well, well. Looks like someone's got an admirer."

Jian frowned, grabbing his racket. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on," Feng said, nudging him. "She totally likes you."

Jian paused, glancing toward Mei as she disappeared into the crowd. He hadn't thought of it that way, but now that Feng mentioned it…

"Maybe," he said with a shrug, but there was a faint smile on his face as he returned to the court.

For the first time in weeks, Jian found himself distracted during practice, his mind wandering back to Mei's words and the way her eyes had lit up when he said yes.

The Training Intensifies

The sun hadn't even risen, but Jian Chen was already drenched in sweat. The sound of his shoes squeaking against the court floor echoed in the near-empty gymnasium as he sprinted back and forth, retrieving shuttles fired from an automatic feeder at blistering speeds.

On the sidelines, Feng leaned against the wall, clutching a water bottle and watching his roommate with wide eyes.

"This is insane," Feng muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Even the first-years don't train like this."

Coach Liu stood nearby, barking instructions. "Faster, Jian! I don't care how tired you are—move your feet! You want to compete internationally? Then play like your life depends on it!"

Jian gritted his teeth and pushed himself harder, diving to return a sharp cross-court shuttle and scrambling back to the center of the court. His legs burned, his lungs felt like they were on fire, but he didn't stop.

A Grueling Regime

The new training regime was brutal, even by the academy's standards:

Morning Sprint Drills: Jian ran laps around the track, alternating between sprints and endurance runs to build stamina. Coach Liu timed every lap, demanding faster speeds each day.

Reaction Training: On the court, Jian had to return shuttles launched at random intervals and angles, forcing him to react instantly without anticipating the next shot.

Strength and Conditioning: Hours in the weight room followed, where Jian lifted, squatted, and pushed his body to its limits.

Mental Focus Exercises: Liu added meditation and visualization sessions to help Jian stay calm under pressure.

Even during practice matches, Liu ramped up the difficulty, pitting Jian against two players at once to simulate the intensity of international competition.

Feng's Reaction

By the third week, Feng couldn't take it anymore. He sat on the sidelines during one of Jian's sessions, pale and queasy just from watching.

"Dude," Feng said as Jian finally collapsed onto the bench beside him, gulping down water. "This isn't training—it's a death sentence. Are you trying to kill yourself?"

Jian wiped his face with a towel, breathing heavily but smirking. "You think this is bad? Wait until Liu adds the altitude mask next week."

Feng stared at him, horrified. "Next week? You're not serious."

"Oh, I'm serious," Jian replied, leaning back and closing his eyes. "He says it'll help me build lung capacity. Sounds fun, right?"

"Fun?" Feng scoffed. "This is madness. Not even the first-years work this hard, and they're the ones who are supposed to be proving themselves!"

Jian chuckled dryly. "Well, I don't exactly have time to take it slow."

Feng frowned, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean? You're already at the top of the academy. What's the rush?"

Jian's Resolve

Jian opened his eyes and sat up, his expression unusually serious. "Because if I'm going international, I'm not going to get many chances to meet her."

Feng blinked. "Wait… you mean her? The girl from TV?"

Jian nodded. "Yeah. Li Wei."

Feng shook his head in disbelief. "You're putting yourself through all this because of her? I mean, I get wanting to be great, but—"

"It's not just about her," Jian interrupted, his tone firm. "At first, yeah, she was the reason I started. But now? Now I want to see how far I can go. If I'm going to play internationally, I don't want to just compete—I want to win. And if I happen to meet her along the way, then that's a bonus."

Feng stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Maybe," Jian said with a grin, standing up and grabbing his racket. "But crazy's what it takes, right?"

Feng watched as Jian returned to the court, shaking his head. "This guy… He's going to kill himself or become a legend. Maybe both."

On the court, Jian focused on the next drill, his determination unwavering. Every drop of sweat, every aching muscle, every grueling session—it was all part of the journey. And Jian was ready to face whatever came next.

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