Chapter 117 October's Kwon Ji-yong's Personal Story...

Kwon Ji-yong's solo tour in October has finally come to a temporary end. But there's hardly any time to rest. Soon it will be the group members' last farewell tour before their military enlistment. They only have about a month left to rehearse and prepare together.

These days were filled with invisible torment for Kwon Ji-yong. Ever since that heart palpitation, he had been having frequent nightmares, and these nightmares became increasingly frequent and vivid. Every time he woke up from a nightmare, he felt an indescribable discomfort; every time he opened his eyes, he was filled with lingering fear and drenched in cold sweat.

In late October, in the dressing room of YG Entertainment's headquarters, where they were preparing for a live broadcast, the lights were blindingly bright. Kwon Ji-yong suddenly sat up from his recliner, breathing rapidly, his eyes filled with fear and confusion.

"You...you dreamed about it again?" Sun, sitting next to me, handed me an iced Americano, his tone tinged with worry.

Kwon Ji-yong took the coffee but didn't drink it. Instead, he pressed the cold cup against his burning forehead, trying to calm his chaotic thoughts: "It's still those... chaos... screams and shouts... and... and blood..." His voice trembled slightly, clearly still shaken from the nightmare.

“Ji-ryong, you really should take some time to see a psychologist.” Looking at his haggard appearance, Taeyang couldn’t help but advise him, “You’re in such a bad state right now, your health will collapse if this continues.”

"Forget it." Kwon Ji-yong shook his head wearily, glancing blankly at the schedule spread out on the dressing table: live broadcast tonight, fan meeting tomorrow, and flying to Japan early the day after to shoot an advertisement. The densely packed schedule trapped him tightly.

Kwon Ji-yong slowly released his grip, but the dull pain in his chest hadn't disappeared. This situation wasn't just due to physical exhaustion; it was also accompanied by a deep sense of fear and worry.

The live stream that evening had hundreds of thousands of fans watching online, and everything went smoothly until the latter half of the stream when Kwon Ji-yong suddenly and inexplicably lost focus.

Under the spotlight, he stood stiffly in the center of the camera, as if his soul had left his body. The executive director's roar came through the earpiece: "GDxi! GDxi! What are you doing?! Snap out of it!!"

Taeyang, who was standing next to him, immediately reacted, subtly stepping forward and putting his arm around Taeyang's shoulder, turning this unexpected situation into an interactive segment. Kwon Ji-yong mechanically cooperated with Taeyang to complete the final part of the process. Only when the live broadcast ended did he realize that his back was already soaked with cold sweat.

Backstage, he ignored everyone, went straight to the first-aid kit in the corner, took out two sedatives, and swallowed them expressionlessly with a bottle of mineral water.

"Ji-ryong, stop being so hard on yourself. What if we call a doctor?" Taeyang quickly followed and blocked him at the bathroom door.

Kwon Ji-yong didn't answer. He simply turned on the tap and buried his face deep in the icy water. He needed to calm himself down.

After a long while, he finally raised his head, his face covered in water droplets, his eyes vacant: "I'm just... really worried about her..."

"Who?...Ren Xiyao?" Taiyang asked cautiously.

The rushing water drowned out his barely audible, choked-up reply.

Meanwhile, Ren Xiyao spread the calendar out on the ice rink's barriers, her fingertips tracing the dates circled in red. From her return to the club in September after her suspension until the opening of the Pingcheng Winter Olympics, less than five months remained. The pages were worn brittle from her frequent turning, each edge frayed and curled.

The World Cup series schedule was pasted next to the calendar. Next to the familiar names: Canada, the USA, Japan… She stared at it for a long time, a heavy weight pressing on her heart. Without the World Cup, it meant she wouldn't be able to touch the ice on an international rink for the next six months, wouldn't understand the referees' standards for the new season, and wouldn't even know if her main opponents' form had changed. The ice is ever-changing; a tiny tactical adjustment could alter the course of a match, and she felt blindfolded, only able to spin her wheels on domestic ice rinks.

"What are you thinking about?" Coach Zhang's voice came from behind, holding her training plan in her hand: "The cornering speed I just measured is 0.3 seconds faster than last month."

Ren Xiyao turned around and looked at the young athletes training on the ice rink. The club's ice rink was still the same as before, the ice surface shimmering with a fine white light, the air filled with the refreshing scent of skates cutting through the ice. This past month back at the club had been the most peaceful time she had experienced in nearly six months.

Coach Zhang found the team's most experienced rehabilitation therapist to give her knee physical therapy every day. The swelling went down a lot, and the pain lessened considerably. The head chef in the cafeteria knew she had anorexia, so he cooked her favorite Northeastern dishes every day, such as sauerkraut dumplings and sweet and sour pork, forcing her to eat a little more. Her weight finally stabilized, and she was able to sleep at night instead of lying awake waiting for dawn or barely managing to stay awake with medication.

Those days surrounded by professional teams seem like a thing of the past.

She and Coach Zhang worked together to refine her techniques and tactics. When there were no sparring matches, they would analyze the video footage again and again, pointing out where her center of gravity was off, where her arm swing was excessive. Coach Zhang circled these points on the screen with a red pen, just as patiently as when he used to teach her. "Try to overtake on the outside a little earlier," he pointed to the video of her race in the first leg on the screen, "You have the stamina, don't be afraid to wear yourself out."

But the tranquility, like stolen moments, is always interrupted when you are most relaxed.

That day, she had just finished practicing one set of starting when the team's officer called, his tone carrying an unquestionable familiarity: "Xiao Ren, there are new arrangements from the national team. Pack your things and report to the second team next week."

"Second team? I'm not..."

“This is a unified arrangement,” the officer interrupted her. “The first team is busy with the World Cup right now, and the second team needs experienced players to mentor the younger players. You’ve just been released from your T-team ban, so it’s a good thing for you to get used to the second team first.”

The word "adapt" was like a thorn, making her throat tighten. She knew all too well what the second team meant. Most of them were young players who were fifteen or sixteen years old and whose skills were not yet fully developed. They could practice for five minutes and then make a fuss for ten. The rest were people like her who were "on the fringes" and waiting. To put it nicely, they were backups. To put it bluntly, they were pieces that could be replaced at any time.

“I’m doing well at the club,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “The training program here is very systematic.”

"System?" The clerk chuckled. "Can the conditions of a local club compare to the national team? Don't ruin your future. Besides, some people have reported that you've been 'emotionally unstable' lately. Going to the reserve team and interacting more with the younger players will be good for your own adjustment."

Once the label of "emotionally unstable" was attached to her, she didn't even have the strength to refute it. Her anorexia and insomnia during the review period, and her taciturnity during the suspension period, became evidence of "instability" in the eyes of others.

She went to Coach Zhang to ask if she could skip the training. Coach Zhang sat in his office, sighing as he looked at the training schedule on his computer. The screen showed the second team's recent schedule: endurance training on Mondays, explosive power training on Wednesdays, and tactical simulations on Fridays. There were minor changes every three days and major changes every five days. The second team used to train with the first team under the guidance of experienced coaches, but now that they had gone to the World Cup, the entire second team looked like a makeshift operation.

“There’s no point in me going there now.” Ren Xiyao’s voice was a little anxious: “My knee has just healed and I need systematic training.”

Coach Zhang didn't look up. He tapped his fingers on the keyboard and pulled up a document, a notice that had just been issued by the team. At the end, it was marked in red: "Those who refuse to obey arrangements will be affected in the subsequent review of their Olympic selection qualifications."

He sighed and turned the file towards her: "They said it's 'training,' it's 'for your own good.' If you don't go..."

The rest was left unsaid, but everyone understood. A label of "insubordination" would be slapped on her, and all the points she'd earned in the first leg, all the form she'd painstakingly built up at the club, could vanish. The spot in Pingcheng was still up in the air; she couldn't afford to gamble.

The weather in Beijing wasn't great the day I reported to the second team. The second team's training base is in the suburbs. The ice rink is neither new nor old, neither good nor bad. The heating in the corner was broken, and as soon as I went in, I felt a chill seep into my bones.

Ren Xiyao placed her ice skates on the sidelines and looked at the training plan posted on the wall. Today's content had been crossed out, and next to it was written in black pen, "Temporary adjustment, practice starting reaction." This was already her third day there, and the plan had been revised three times.

But that's not the worst part. Coach Li of the second team's training methods are stuck ten years in the past, believing that "more training equals more strength." Endurance is built through relentless long-distance running, and explosive power is achieved through intensive weighted squats, without even teaching the most basic movement and power generation techniques. When the second team trained with the first team, Ren Xiyao had never paid attention to these things. But now…

When the command to run ten more 400-meter races came down, she was trembling all over.

"Ren Xiyao, why aren't you moving?" Coach Li's gaze swept over, carrying a hint of scrutiny and coldness: "Or is it that you, coming from the first team, look down on the training volume of our second team?"

Ren Xiyao straightened up, trying to keep her tone calm: "Coach Li, I have an old injury in my right knee. Weighted squats and long-distance running put too much pressure on my joints. Could you switch to core training? In my previous rehabilitation plan..."

"A rehabilitation plan?" Coach Li scoffed. "I haven't seen it. When the team sent you here, they only gave you a medical examination form, which was from six months ago. You say you have an old injury, then show me the medical records."

"The medical records are in the national team's medical files; I can apply to transfer them..."

"That's your problem," Coach Li interrupted her, glancing towards the center of the ice rink. "I only care about the training results. Either train with me or rest on the sidelines and don't hold up the others."

Ren Xiyao stood there, watching the young athletes on the ice rink grimacing as they did squats, their knees creaking. She suddenly realized that this man didn't care about her injury at all; all he wanted was the appearance of being able to "endure," even at the cost of ruining the athletes.

Her injury is an old one and requires regular rehabilitation training; her tactics need to be honed in matches; she needs to know the latest developments of her opponents, instead of being needlessly worn down like she is now.

But what could she do?

Coach Li turned to make a phone call, saying, "These kids need to train hard; they have a chance in 2022." No one noticed her standing in the center of the ice rink, like an outsider.

The calendar kept turning, and the day in Pingcheng drew ever closer. She had no right to say no; she could only grit her teeth and swallow the blood amidst the chaos, just as she had done countless times before, and continue sliding.

However, the behind-the-scenes planning never stopped. In a high-end restaurant in Seoul, Director Kim of the Korea National Sport University was clinking glasses with President Yang of YG Entertainment.

"President Yang," Director Jin's voice, tinged with the smell of alcohol but carrying an undeniable weight, said, "Regarding Ji-yong and that Chinese athlete... I've heard some rumors, and they're not pleasant! Ji-yong is your pillar now, so we can't afford any mishaps!"

President Yang's smile froze for a moment, then he raised his glass: "I understand what Director Jin means. I had the public relations department deal with all those unfounded rumors before they were even released."

“Not enough,” Director Kim put down his glass, his eyes suddenly sharpening. “It’s fine that you wouldn’t budge before. Everyone has their own selfish motives, and we understand. But now, it’s time to shut up. Not just you, but also those entertainment media outlets you should be supporting. She’s just not good enough… Let the sports world handle its own affairs. The entertainment industry getting involved will only confuse the public’s focus. President Yang is a smart man; in South Korea, our university’s words always carry weight, right? Besides, if someone tries to muddy the waters and shift the blame onto Ji-yong… your already difficult days might get even worse, wouldn’t they?”

He wanted the gold medal at Pyeongseong, his home turf; he couldn't let Chinese athletes disrupt the long-distance events. Meanwhile, CEO Yang wanted YG to weather the crisis, and Kwon Ji-yong's last album before his enlistment had to be a huge hit. BigBang needed to have enough capital before it came to a halt.

"I know what to do; this is a win-win situation for both of us." President Yang raised his glass: "Those media outlets that want to drag Zhilong into this... I will let them know that there are some things that cannot be said."

The two glasses of wine clinked together again, making a crisp sound.