Ah! Ah!
Djokovic roared: The King, Reign!
With his fists clenched, roaring toward the sky, his eyes wide open, his aura fully revealed, he stood on the final 100-meter sprint track of the championship battle. The world number one exploded completely, instantly widening the gap. The rolling heat wave of the Arthur Ashe Stadium was also fully ignited, and light exploded all over the sky and the ground.
The layers of pressure rushed towards Gawain with bared fangs and claws.
The dormant memory invades——
Roland Garros semifinals, Wimbledon semifinals.
In fact, when the game reaches this stage, it has little to do with skills and tactics, but is more of a contest of spirit and will.
Gao Wen understood all those principles, but at this stage of the competition, the painful memories of the past two Grand Slams still gripped his heart tightly.
Maybe, he really lost that magic; maybe, his opponents really deciphered his code; maybe, he really no longer has any secrets.
Maybe... today he will stop here again.
My heart suddenly stopped beating and my breathing started burning.
but--
so what?
Even if today we will stop here again, even if my knees are shaking, my breathing is short and my mind is blank, even if I fight to the end and still can't catch up with the score, even if I try my best to save the match point and still can't stop Djokovic, even if he loses his magic and is no longer magical and has no secrets...
so what?
Give up? Surrender? Give in? No.
He refused.
The moment your feet step onto the tennis court, it is for victory, for the championship, for challenge, for battle, for blooming, and for burning.
He doesn't want to waste his second chance at life. He just wants to live hard and truly and firmly grasp this hard-earned new opportunity.
He didn't want to regret or feel sorry. Even if he burned to the end and still lost the game, even if he tried his best and was shattered to pieces and still lost the championship, it didn't matter.
At least, he gave it his all.
Whether it is Roland Garros or Wimbledon, those memories cannot hurt him, but will instead become the fuel for him to continue to strive, move forward and continue to fight.
Look, he's not fighting alone.
"Fight."
"Fight."
It was neither a roar nor a cheer, but a low murmur, like a jet flying at low altitude. The sounds overlapped on top of each other, awakening the last heat in the blood, the last energy in the soul, and the whisper of the earth's core coming from the abyss.
Plan stood up again, with his back straight and eyes clear, and stared at Gawain, staring at him seriously, as if they were the only ones left in the world.
Fighting.
She said, mumbling to herself.
It's not just her.
Sharapova and Dimitrov couldn't help but exchange glances, looking around, and no one in the entire Arthur Ashe Stadium was an exception.
Even the momentum of the Serbian fans was suppressed by the dark whispers, and all the shouts were cut off.
Then.
Dimitrov stood up hesitantly, carefully felt his heartbeat, and called out softly -
Maybe this is what he has been missing all along, a little killer instinct, a little burning impulse.
Until this moment, Dimitrov truly touched the soul of competitive sports, thump, thump, beating slightly like a pulse.
Turning around, Dimitrov saw Sharapova slowly standing up. The two exchanged glances. Although Sharapova still had a cold and expressionless face, Dimitrov could see the stubbornness and fighting spirit in those eyes, shining without reservation.
"Fight."
"Fight."
Dimitrov could feel his eardrums ringing, an energy he had not felt when he played against Djokovic.
So hot. So violent.
As he shouted, his blood boiled.
As he shouted, tears welled up in his eyes.
In the huge Arthur Ashe Stadium, there is only one exciting voice.
And this is just the tip of the iceberg.
Jiang Yanqing in the bar was shouting, and although their voices could not reach the other side of the Pacific Ocean, their souls fought alongside Gawain.
In addition, the subway is crowded with young people going to work, middle-level leaders who arrive at the company early but secretly go to the bathroom, announcers at the TV station who are about to go to work stop at the door of the studio, and the sound of broadcasts coming from the TVs in the convenience stores at the intersections attracts pedestrians to stop.
The head teacher pushed open the back door of the classroom to check on the morning reading situation and was about to speak but couldn't help holding his breath when he heard the live broadcast on the radio. The TV wall in the shopping mall was bustling with customers, employees and passers-by, and even the traffic police at the red light intersection could hear voices.
Fighting.
Plop.
Fighting.
Plop.
Whispers and heartbeats intertwined and collided with each other, erupting into an unprecedented roar.
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Thousands of eyes were watching Djokovic and Gawain on the court, as the two players completed the court change in an orderly manner.
The game continues.
“5:1”.
Every point that follows is a point of no return for Gao Wen. The slightest negligence will lead to match point.
Arthur Ashe Stadium fell silent. When the low roar gathered and finally evolved into a roar releasing all the energy, it fell silent amid the applause and cheers, and then stared with bated breath, fearing to miss any excitement.
On the edge of the cliff, the wind was howling strongly.
The lights are coming on.
At this moment in New York, it is already 8:30 in the evening. The last rays of sunset remain at the end of the horizon. The city lights are slowly lighting up, and the lights of the Arthur Ashe Stadium are also lit up one after another. From afternoon to evening, from daytime to nighttime, this peak showdown continues.
The atmosphere changed silently, becoming more and more intense, more and more exciting, and more and more tense, making one's mouth dry even if one was just watching.
However, Gao Wen, standing at the bottom line, was so calm and composed.
Area 1.
Gao Wen looked up at Djokovic, signaled with his eyes to make sure Djokovic was ready, and then served.
Tactics. Techniques. Game.
These are still important, but Gao Wen believes that his strategy is correct and does not need to be changed. The only thing he needs to do now is to stay focused and calm.
One shot, inside corner.
The tennis ball was thrown up and into the light of Arthur Ashe, with the remaining afterglow of the setting sun falling down.
Gao Wen did not hesitate or show any mercy, as if this was just an ordinary and common thing.
The muscles are completely relaxed, and the movements from pushing off the ground to turning the body become more coherent. The little remaining strength is clearly and completely concentrated on the tennis ball.
190 kilometers per hour.
Bang! The ball went flat into the inside corner, putting pressure on Djokovic's forehand.
Speed, yes.
Power, yes.
There is a landing point.
Rotation, yes.
Djokovic rushed out with one foot, his body stretched out completely, and with a light forehand push, he hit the tennis ball head-on.
As soon as he touched the ball, Djokovic realized something was wrong.
The speed was faster than expected, and the ball hit a little later.
Oops!