DASH-Chapter 186
The lights flickering messily over the blue surface of the water switched off, and the arena broadcast began to play. The announcer’s voice, laced with Australia’s signature upbeat accent, echoed through the swimming pool.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the men's 400-meter Freestyle Relay final will be held...”
At the announcement that the men’s 400m freestyle relay was about to begin, the stands erupted in cheers.
The French couple seated right next to Jiheon also waved their flag and shouted. But once they realized they were blocking Jiheon’s view, they quickly apologized.
Jiheon gestured with his eyes that it was fine, then put the earbuds in his ears. His gaze remained fixed on the giant screen above the pool, while he listened to the Korean commentary through the live stream.
“Ah, now the lights have turned off. Looks like the race is about to begin.”
“Yes, the athletes are currently waiting to enter the arena.”
Fortunately, there was no lag this time, and the audio and video were perfectly in sync. Jiheon relaxed, ready to enjoy the race. Two days ago, during the 400m individual medley final, the delay had been so bad he ended up turning the broadcast off halfway. He silently wished it would stay synced all the way through this time—but just then, the crowd’s roar pierced through his earbuds. The athletes were making their entrance.
“Here they come, finally entering the arena. First, Brazil in lane 8. Next, Belgium in lane 1.”
In Olympic finals, lane assignments are based on preliminary results in the order of 4-5-3-6-2-7-1-8. The swimmer who placed first in the heats gets the prime spot in lane 4, while the swimmer who barely made it in at eighth place swims in lane 8. The entrance order is the reverse of that—starting with lane 8 and ending with lane 4, which always gets the loudest cheers and a hero’s welcome.
“And now, in lane 7—it’s the Republic of Korea!”
At these Brisbane Olympics, the Korean men’s 400m freestyle relay team had ranked sixth in the preliminaries. It must have been an unfamiliar experience for Jaekyoung, who was used to being assigned lanes 4 or 5 in finals. Actually, it wasn’t just unfamiliar for him—the same went for his teammates, and probably even for the Korean public watching the broadcast.
Because—
“This is the first time Korea has ever reached the relay finals at the Olympics.”
“Yes, and it’s actually our first time even competing in the 400m freestyle relay.”
“Incredible, really incredible. Our Korean team—Kwon Jaekyoung, Park Namhyeon, Lee Haejeong, and Cho Junhwan. Making it to the finals in their debut appearance is already exceeding all expectations.”
Indeed, this was the very first time a Korean men’s swimming team had ever made it to a finals in a team relay event at the Olympics.
“There we see Lee Haejeong and Park Namhyeon. And at the very back—there’s Kwon Jaekyoung.”
“Four years ago, Kwon Jaekyoung was the youngest on the team. But now he’s the oldest, leading the younger swimmers all the way to Australia.”
“That’s right. The eighteen-year-old rookie is now a twenty-two-year-old team leader. So proud.”
The reason the commentators spoke with such deep emotion wasn’t just because the eighteen-year-old boy had grown into a twenty-two-year-old man. It was because that twenty-two-year-old Kwon Jaekyoung had made a choice that the eighteen-year-old version of him never would have made.
It had been six years since Jaekyoung last competed in a relay. At his first international meet, he had swum the 400m freestyle relay and finished with a disastrous result. After that, he refused to compete in any team events. No matter how much the Swimming Federation and the Korean Sports Council tried to coax him, he stubbornly shook his head. He insisted that he’d rather add another individual event and bring home an extra medal. And he really had done exactly that.
“So why a relay all of a sudden? What made him want to do this?”
Jiheon had only found out after seeing the roster, and he’d asked in disbelief. Jaekyoung had replied coolly.
“To get that eighth medal, obviously.”
He made it sound like that was the only reason for entering the relay—but of course, that couldn’t be it. There was almost no chance of winning a medal in the relay anyway.
And yet, the added burden of another event was real. Worse, it was a team event.
Unlike individual races where he only had to focus on his own performance, a relay required four swimmers to work as one. They had to train together to synchronize, rotate through different running orders to find the most effective one—it wasn’t the kind of stress someone like Kwon Jaekyoung would endure just for the slim chance at one more medal. If anything, he’d rather give up a medal and win gold in the remaining seven.
What’s more, this had all started because Jaekyoung himself had said, “If I can, I’d like to try the relay too.” It wasn’t something he could half-ass and walk away from. In fact, he had been visibly invested in who would be chosen as the fourth swimmer in the relay.
Each country had its own method for selecting Olympic relay team members, and Korea—like most others—didn’t hold separate relay tryouts. Instead, they selected based on final placements in the 100m freestyle. In short, assuming they met the qualifying time, the top four finishers would get priority.
This time, only three swimmers had passed the 100m freestyle qualifying time. When Jaekyoung expressed interest in joining the relay, the Sports Council practically jumped for joy and promised to find a fourth swimmer. According to Olympic regulations, anyone on the national swim team could be selected for the relay, regardless of their specialty. Based on this rule, and after reviewing trial results, the Performance Enhancement Committee selected Cho Junhwan, a 50m freestyle swimmer, as the final member.
“Junhwan’s fine. He can handle it.”
When Junhwan was chosen over the other two candidates, Jaekyoung had looked quite pleased.
“Really? I thought the guy who got second in the 200m freestyle might be better. Isn’t it smoother for someone trained in 200m to swim 100m than for someone who only does 50m?”
“Junhwan’s easier.”
Jiheon only learned that “easier” was short for “easier to push around” during a press interview just before the Olympics.
“Kwon Jaekyoung really put the younger swimmers through ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) hell while training for this 400m relay,” the announcer said, sounding almost proud.
The commentator laughed. “Of course! That’s what it takes!”
“Cho Junhwan said in an interview that he cried every night during camp training—but didn’t even realize he was crying.”
“Yes, apparently he’d lie down in bed and cry from sheer relief, but fall asleep so fast he only found out when he woke up and saw his pillow soaked.”
While preparing for the relay, Jaekyoung had practically worked the younger swimmers like dogs. After netizens started joking that Kwon Jaekyoung must be doting on Lee Haejeong and Cho Junhwan, and saying things like “he should marry one of them and create a third-generation national athlete family,” he only trained them harder.
Whether it was thanks to that or not, Junhwan had made it all the way to the 50m freestyle final and placed seventh—a stunning result. Haejeong, though eliminated in the 100m freestyle semifinal, had still broken his personal record.
Both gold medals for those events had, of course, gone to Jaekyoung.
“And finally, the main stars in lane 4—the Australians!”
The moment the Australians appeared, the stadium exploded with thunderous cheers. In the front row, members of the Australian national team were huddled together, waving flags and cheering on their teammates. The giant screen captured Noah’s face, waving the Australian flag and shouting.
Up until last year, Noah had been the reigning champion of the 400m individual medley, hailed as the god of swimming. But shockingly, he hadn’t even qualified for that event this Olympics—after finishing third in the national trials. Instead, he took gold in two butterfly events, including the 200m that Jaekyoung had forfeited, and earned a silver as the butterfly swimmer in the men’s medley relay.
The rookie who had beaten Noah to qualify for the 400m IM had failed to make the finals after a disappointing prelim performance.
There are no eternal winners or losers in sports. Only fleeting moments of victory and defeat.
Jiheon had felt the truth of that several times each day while in Australia.
“But medals are forever,”
Jaekyoung had said after the 400m IM final.
“Oh yeah? I thought diamonds were forever.”
“...Hyung, do you want to be proposed to with a diamond ring?”
Jaekyoung gave Jiheon a wary look, like, Don’t tell me you’re planning something right now. At that point, Jaekyoung had already secured four gold medals.
“No, I was just talking about the expression.”
“Seriously...?”
“Yes, please stop linking everything to a proposal.”
At that point, it felt like Jaekyoung’s entire brain was filled with nothing but proposal thoughts. Honestly, it had been that way since before the Olympics even began. While other athletes were daydreaming about what they’d say in interviews if they won, or what kind of expression to make on the podium, Jaekyoung had been obsessing over when, where, and how to propose.
Jiheon had even warned him ahead of time—just in case. He told him flat-out not to do it during a medal ceremony. “You wouldn’t do something like that, but if you even think about it—I swear I’ll never forgive you. No one likes that kind of spectacle. Okay, maybe some people do. But I’m not one of them.” The day before they left for Australia, he even sat Jaekyoung down and said it to his face.
Jaekyoung had looked slightly flustered and muttered, “W-What? I’m not gonna do that. Why would I?”
But the way his pupils had started darting wildly said otherwise. He was definitely planning something.
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Autor Note:
Sometimes the order is 4-3-5-6-2-7-1-8. The basic rule is that the first-place swimmer is assigned to lane 4, and then lanes are filled outward alternately from lanes 3 and 5 onward. However, the left and right sides may occasionally be swapped.
