Fog and dampness (Part 2)

Life continued as usual, seemingly no different from the countless days before. He would open his eyes in the morning, rush to training, then attend class, then train again, and then attend class again, as if Reyena's appearance was just an ordinary interlude.

Sometimes Sorkov couldn't understand how time flowed in this world. Why did it always seem to pass so slowly during dull moments, yet suddenly make people realize that a long time had passed without them noticing? The rising and setting of the sun and moon, the passing of spring and autumn, all seemed to happen in the blink of an eye.

In a way, this should be considered a good thing.

Because Sorkov had no idea what he was doing.

Going to school seemed to be just a requirement; after graduating from university, he would pursue postgraduate studies, which was what Mr. Elberlint expected. After all, he was a traditional intellectual. As for Sorkov himself, he didn't feel anything was wrong; after all, reading one book or two books was the same.

The same goes for training. He just persisted in the sport day after day without knowing the meaning of his persistence or what awaited him if he persisted.

In fact, Reyena was right to mock him at the time. This country really couldn't help him much. Without a world-class training environment and coaching team, without an enlightened atmosphere and noble spirit, all that was left in the mess seemed to be chaos and disorder.

Doesn't he know this himself? How could he?

More than a decade ago, he had already realized that the land beneath his feet was just an ordinary little country, offering him very little, while imposing more and more constraints on him.

Four years ago, when he first made a name for himself at the European Under-21 Championship, someone subtly reminded him that he should have started planning for his future. It was from that time on that he began to receive more and more offers.

After all, this "shabby place" that Lena mentioned truly lacked the soil suitable for his growth.

If he had accepted Master's offer back then, he might now be enjoying the media frenzy and success on the other side of the ocean, becoming another star athlete among immigrants, and being repeatedly sung as a success story, attracting more young talents from all over the world to that land.

Unfortunately, he did not agree at the time.

It's strange to think about, isn't it? Why didn't he agree? After all, he wasn't the kind of person who was so patriotic that he would burst into tears. In fact, because of his experiences over the past ten years, he seemed to have only a faint hatred for this land. But he just didn't leave.

As an athlete, he naturally knows what his best option is. Given the current level of the Serbian swimming team, which isn't even at the second-tier level in the world, there's no need for him to force himself to stay here. Besides, they wouldn't accept him anyway.

What is this? Is this some kind of desperate attempt to huddle together for warmth in a state of extreme incompetence?

If it weren't for participating in this year's World Championships, he wouldn't have bothered to waste time communicating with the national team's head coach. After all, communication is useless, because the last time the two met, he kicked that balding old man into the pool. Of course, he didn't expect to be met with a pleasant expression.

Obviously, he was rejected again and not even allowed to participate in the team's next round of selection.

In the head coach's eyes, this seemed to be a huge mockery and insult. After all, there is nothing more pleasant than humiliating someone who has humiliated him before, especially rejecting a troublemaker who is not in line with the rules. It seems to better demonstrate his leadership.

But that's just too stupid.

The balding madman thought that Solkov was deliberately backing down, and in fact, that was exactly what he meant. However, Solkov no longer had any expectations for the team project; he was doing it purely for his own benefit.

However, given the long-standing grudge between him and the balding old man, this is of course impossible to achieve, even if he can bring a gold medal to the country.

After all, it's his fault for not being obedient enough.

So it seems only natural that he is in a state of confusion now. He is only in his early twenties this year. How can he judge whether he should continue down this path, and how can he know that he did not choose the wrong path back then?

This is really difficult, and of course, no one can help him.

Sorkov had long been accustomed to living alone, both in the past and now. As someone once told him, anyone can only accompany you for a short while; the rest of the journey must be walked alone.

That person has said a lot of fallacies, but this statement is correct.

So after saying goodbye, the world that had temporarily returned to its former splendor in his eyes quickly collapsed again in a short period of time. It wasn't too bad, just... very boring.

The word "boring" seems insignificant. When Sorkov was a child, he didn't even understand the meaning of the word. After all, it didn't mean much to him. He was busy avoiding being beaten and filling his stomach. It seems that people only have the right to be bored when they have enough to eat and wear.

So it's not that he can't stand this kind of life; after all, he's survived even the most difficult times, so what's wrong with living a boring life like this?

...

As August arrives, temperatures soar to nearly 30 degrees Celsius. This is a common occurrence in Belgrade, a city with a temperate continental climate, so common that nobody pays much attention to it.

Sorkov slung his bag over his shoulder, glanced briefly at the bright sunshine outside from the doorway, said goodbye to Mr. Elberlint who was tinkering in the kitchen, then got on his bicycle and quickly rode away from the path in front of his house, turning onto a quiet, tree-lined lane.

The bicycle chain made a screeching noise as it sped along, and he realized that the bike was really too old. He had also neglected to take care of it because of various things, so much so that after days of exposure to the sun, the chain was starting to show signs of breaking.

He seemed to sigh softly, but didn't seem to think much of it.

This road seems to be deserted, even though there is a beautiful lake right next to it, and you can even see the distant mountains faintly visible in the distance. He used to love swimming in that lake, but it seems like he hasn't been there in a long time.

It seems there was some reason, but he couldn't quite remember.

He shook his head, not forcing himself to think any further. He soon reached the end of the tree-lined path, where the glaring sunlight poured down without any shade from the leaves, stinging his bare skin.

Seeing the familiar buildings, he parked his car under the shade of trees, squatted down to look at the rusty chain, then straightened up and, as he had done countless times before, slung his bag over his shoulder and walked toward the school's swimming pool.

It was still early, and the swimming pool was empty. He took out the key to the locker room, skillfully pushed open the creaking wooden door, and, by the dim light inside, easily found his locker.

Then he stopped, reached out, and gently rubbed away some of the marker marks on the cabinet door with his fingertips.

A string of bright red letters: Get out of Serbia!

He remained expressionless, his gaze not lingering on the string of letters for long. He continued to rub the dried ink with his fingertips, but found it difficult to erase, so he quickly gave up the idea and, as if ignoring it, took out his keys and opened the door.

Mrs. Elberlint had previously bought a bottle of ink specifically for removing marker ink, but he had no idea where he had put it. Even if the bottle were right next to him now, he wouldn't bother to clean it up, since it would just reappear the next day anyway.

Why bother?

Sorkov remained expressionless. He quickly changed into his swimsuit and did some simple warm-up exercises by the pool.

Is what the media is saying true?

He slowed his movements, but still didn't turn around: "What do you mean?"

The girl hesitated for a moment: "So... you're going to America soon, is that true?"

Solkov did not give her a direct answer: "Don't you already know the answer?"

She lowered her head, looking lost and saying something in a very soft voice. Sorkov wasn't particularly curious about what she said, since he always thought that speaking softly meant the other person didn't want to hear clearly, and he had no desire to investigate further.

The girl sighed almost imperceptibly: "So, what they said is true?"

Sorkov finished all his warm-up exercises and finally turned to look at her, but still did not answer her question. "I don't know what they are talking about."

After he finished speaking, his gaze passed over her head and he saw a few people standing not far away, looking around. "Do you have anything else to say? Your friend seems to be waiting for you."

Are you really not planning to stay?

He still didn't answer, turning his head away and fixing his gaze on the broken tile by the pool.

“Well, okay,” she couldn’t help but show a hint of disappointment. “Actually, I was going to ask you if you would be my dance partner at my graduation ceremony, but never mind, goodbye.”

Sorkov nodded and asked, "Would you mind telling me your name?"

The girl was taken aback: "Me? My name is Katarina."

“Katarina,” he repeated, “thank you for cleaning the writing off the cabinet door earlier. Goodbye.”

The girl and her friends left, so he turned around, put on his swimming goggles, entered the pool, and began his daily morning exercise.

He never counted how many laps he swam until he was too tired to swim anymore. He would slowly straighten up on the shore, take off his goggles, and the blurry black figure on the shore would suddenly become clear. He subconsciously frowned slightly. He wanted to put his goggles back on and continue swimming, but the person stopped him.

“You don’t need to be so hostile to me, young sir,” Master said with a smile. “I have no ill intentions; I just want you to continue to consider it.”

The tone was very polite, and it seemed to be true, but unless Sorkov was already suffering from dementia, he could never believe such high-sounding words. After all, he had not revealed this to anyone. But the next day, the news that "Sorkov is about to immigrate to the United States" spread throughout the streets and alleys.

If he were a kindergarten teacher, he would probably ask the children: "Guess who did the bad thing?" But unfortunately, he isn't, yet he still knows who the mastermind is.

They resorted to threats and inducements, and when inducements failed, they even resorted to threats.

Sorkov leaned against the shore, seemingly for a moment so helpless he wanted to laugh, his lips twitching strangely, but he couldn't bring himself to laugh out loud.

"Sir, has anyone ever told you that you are very persistent?"

“In fact, it has always been a very good virtue,” Master replied with a smile, his tone impeccable. “But interestingly, I don’t seem to want you to be like me.”

"I don't understand. Your country doesn't seem to lack outstanding young athletes. What makes you stay here and try to persuade me?"

Master was not surprised by his question at all, and answered fluently as always, with a hint of meaning in his words: "Persistence. That is precisely the secret to our swimming team's enduring success, sir."

Having said all that, even Solkov had nothing more to say.

"I had Ms. Hawke contact you before, but it seems that the results were not very obvious, so I think that I can probably only complete this task of spacing myself."

Ms. Hawke? Solkov realized it was Yelena and smiled slightly, but it was definitely not out of joy. "So, you made a mistake from the very first step. If you had come first, I might not be so stubborn now."

"It's a pity you should have told me this sooner, sir."

As the two chatted casually, the number of people in the swimming pool seemed to gradually increase. Sorkov himself knew how strange this scene was: an old man in a smart dress speaking American English was standing on the shore, while he himself was in the water with a calm expression. Combined with the words "Get out of Serbia" on his locker door, the situation was so clear that even he himself had to despise himself.

Fortunately, Sorkov didn't care about other people's opinions at all. Of course, if he hadn't, he probably would have died several times over by now, but he's still alive.

In other words, he didn't care much about the subtle glances, the hushed discussions, or even the accusations made by name in the venue.

Master, however, continued to smile at him and kept lecturing him.

"Sir, I must say you deserve everything better than you have now. I heard that your previous coach has been poached by someone with a large sum of money. In my humble opinion, you are currently lacking a professional coach, nutritionist, physical therapist, and training rehabilitation specialist. If you agree to my request, we will prepare everything for you."

"That sounds like a very tempting offer."

“Of course,” he said respectfully. “Sir, a professional athlete’s youth lasts only a few years. I hope you don’t want to watch time slip away. Make your choice as soon as possible and leave this place. We will make you one of the most dazzling athletes of the 21st century.”

Solkov didn't rush to answer him, because he suddenly caught a glimpse of another person walking towards them.

“That sounds great, Andrei. If I were you, I would probably say yes.”

“Ah, Radetz,” he glanced at him dismissively, “I’m glad you said that, but you’ll probably never have that chance.”

Radetz didn't react to his sarcasm, shrugging his shoulders. "You've gotten more and more humorous lately. I'm just stating the facts. This is a condition that no one else has. Aren't you tempted?"

Did these two conspire together?

Obviously not. He simply wants Solkov to leave Belgrade, even if he becomes a star player or the world's number one, as long as he doesn't stay in Belgrade, as long as he can see him.

Sorkov suppressed the urge to sneer. He glanced thoughtfully at Radetz, who was standing on the shore, smiling at him with a smile that was so hypocritical it was laughable.

“I know you really hate me, Radetz, you don’t need to keep acting.”

Radetz didn't refute him, but instead tugged at the corners of his mouth, seemingly trying his best to smile at him, though it looked more like he was making a face.

“So why are you still here?” he chuckled. “You know none of us welcome you, Sorkov. Why would anyone go out of their way to make things difficult?”

Like him, Sorkov chuckled, but said nothing, instead turning to Master, who was watching the spectacle with great interest.

“Sir, I truly admire your perseverance,” he said, ignoring the other man’s gaze and continuing to put on his swimming goggles as if no one else was there. “However, sometimes threats and bribes may not work, because, as you know, someone like me doesn’t care about public opinion or insults.”

Before starting another round of practice, he only left one last sentence.

"Before spreading false information, you should have checked my reputation. If my reputation is so bad that it's become commonplace, why would you think I would succumb to rumors?"