Chapter 5: There Wasn’t Even a Camera—How Did You Make It to the Finals?
Unlike the Olympic Games of the previous world, the air pistol shooting competition in this world’s Olympics consists of only two rounds: a qualification round and a final round. The qualification scores are recorded as whole numbers, while the final scores are measured with decimal precision. Only the top eight qualifiers advance to the finals.
This time, there are two main favorites to win the air pistol gold medal: Yoshizou Komehachi from Sakura Nation, and Fay Murray from the Romantic Country. Both have impressive track records. Their sole aim is the gold medal. To them, the other competitors are merely participants who run alongside them.
...
The competition begins.
Athletes from all countries are tense yet orderly, donning their full gear. Most shooters wear professional glasses with two lenses—one for focusing and the other for shading—and a pair of specialized noise-canceling earplugs. The professionals use custom-made glasses, perfectly sized to fit their features.
Wang Xiaoming, having joined the team late, cannot enjoy such privileges. Even all his equipment is uniformly issued by the coaching staff.
Every country provides real-time broadcasting and live streaming of the event. The media’s spotlight, naturally, falls on the two frontrunners. Then come the strongest contenders from their respective nations. Wang Xiaoming, however, receives no media coverage—at best, a fleeting shot before the camera moves on. After all, no one expects anything from an unknown figure like him.
Win the championship? Ha! What a joke. No one has ever heard of him winning anything. Such a notion is pure fantasy.
Only a cameraman from China feels some sympathy, as he is of the same nationality. But just seconds into filming Wang Xiaoming, his supervisor angrily calls him away.
“Are you crazy? Hurry up and get shots of Captain Zhao An and Diao Xiao. Why waste so much footage on a hopeless case? Are you stupid or what?”
“But he’s one of our own…”
“What ‘but’? Do you think he can win the gold? It’s obvious he’s just a filler. Are you really that dumb?”
“Okay, got it.”
...
The viewers in China’s living rooms don’t pay much attention either. But the students at Linjiang University have already started complaining loudly.
“Damn it, why the hell is that idiot cameraman not showing Ming Ge’s shots?”
“I want to see Ming Ge!”
“This is ridiculous, I’m filing a complaint!”
Meanwhile, Wang Xiaoming is completely unaware of the uproar. He’s struggling to get the equipment issued by the coaching staff properly set up.
Having never used such gear before, he’s a bit flustered.
“If I had known, I wouldn’t have acted so cocky yesterday, claiming I’d used this before…”
Last night, several teammates asked him if he had experience with official equipment. Ever confident, Wang Xiaoming brushed it off. It’s just equipment—how hard could it be?
But now, putting it on for real, he realizes how difficult it actually is.
Just as he barely manages to adjust everything, the referee’s starting pistol fires. The competition has begun!
“Bang bang bang bang bang!” Yoshizou from Sakura Nation finishes first—all five shots hit the ten-ring.
The Romantic Country’s contestant also completes the round—five perfect tens.
One by one, the other competitors finish.
Chinese team captain Zhao An performs admirably with five ten-rings, scoring a perfect 50. Another compatriot, Diao Xiao, does well too—four tens and one nine, totaling 49.
The scores for the entire field are almost finalized.
At this point, the top eight ranks are: 50, 50, 50, 49, 49, 49, 48, and 46.
In other words, as long as the remaining shooters score above 46, they make the top eight and advance to the finals.
Seeing their two countrymen qualify, the Chinese spectators erupt in cheers, waving their flags wildly.
At this moment, Wang Xiaoming, having adjusted his gear, takes aim and starts shooting.
“Bang bang bang!” Three consecutive tens—undeniable.
But as he prepares to fire the last two shots, his glasses, worn improperly, suddenly slip off, obscuring his vision.
Instead of panicking, Wang Xiaoming calmly relies on his mental image of the target.
With steady nerves, he fires the final two shots.
“Bang bang.” Unfortunately, the mishap affects his performance—one shot scores nine, the last an eight.
His final score: 47.
“Beep~”
The competition’s end whistle sounds. All shooters lower their pistols.
...
The final scores flash on the big screen:
50, 50, 50, 49, 49, 49, 48, 47.
Sakura Nation: 1 place; Romantic Country: 1 place; Turkey: 1 place; Beautiful Country: 2 places; China...
When the Chinese flag appears on the leaderboard, the crowd that had just been ecstatic bursts into cheers once more.
Three Chinese shooters have made it to the finals.
That underdog Wang Xiaoming, dismissed by all, has also qualified—ranked eighth with 47 points.
“Not bad, I thought you were all talk!” Captain Zhao An claps Wang Xiaoming on the shoulder after the round.
Wang Xiaoming smiles modestly. “Just luck.”
“Luck is part of skill!” teammate Diao Xiao agrees happily.
With three finalists from their country, the chances of winning gold have greatly increased.
Meanwhile, the live stream’s comment section buzzes with excitement.
“Damn, I didn’t even see him shoot, and he quietly made the finals?”
“Wow, that guy’s lucky to crack the top eight!”
“Not bad, I thought he was just a filler. Looks like fortune favors China this time!”
“Feels like the gold is ours! Three finalists!”
“Did anyone catch how he shot just now?”
“Nope, the broadcast barely showed him, just a quick glance.”
“Damn, is the cameraman stupid or what?”
...
Back at the camera crew, the cameraman looks at his leader.
“Boss, should we give that competitor a bit more screen time?”
His leader glares.
“A couple more shots at most. Don’t think the winning footage is with him—he just got lucky.”
Though he agrees verbally, the cameraman’s thoughts are different.
He picks up his phone and reads the flood of insults in the live chat.
After a moment’s hesitation, he chooses his own conscience over his leader’s orders.
From now on, he will give this shooter more coverage.
...
In the stands, the chubby man who had just bet against the little Sakura fan is ecstatic, waving his arms excitedly.
“Hey, you only got one finalist, we have three. You’re destined to lose!”
The Sakura supporter scoffs.
“That’s just luck. The gold medal will definitely belong to us!”