While the internet was in shambles, Dayo used that time to focus on himself. With little time left, Coach Richard was drilling him hard on the 100 meters.

"Alright, it's time to see if you're worth entering other competitions," Richard said as he tapped Dayo's shoulder and gave him a gentle push toward the starting block.

Dayo smiled, shook his head lightly, then nodded.

"On your mark."

"SET!"

"GO!" Richard shouted, blowing the whistle.

The moment the whistle sounded, Dayo dived into the water immediately.

Richard nodded, impressed. Dayo's reaction time had improved. Now it was time to see if he truly had the potential for other events.

Dayo, as usual, emptied his mind. He moved like he belonged to the water. His strokes were fluid — nothing like the slow swimmer he used to be. He had gone from slow and steady… to an outright tsunami.

Richard watched the entire scene with disbelief. Dayo hadn't even reached the wall yet, but Richard could already tell he was meeting the qualifying time. Then he noticed something that made him frown — Dayo slowed down before touching the wall. He didn't know if it was intentional or not.

The moment Dayo touched the wall, Richard pressed the timer.

Beep.

Dayo looked up.

"So, Coach… how did I do?"

Richard paused, then asked, "I noticed you slowed down at the end. Was that deliberate?"

Dayo scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"Hehe… Coach, it's a bad habit. As long as it's not official finals, I don't exhaust myself."

Richard shook his head.

"Yeah, we all have that habit. But I'm your coach — I need to know your limits so I know how to push you."

"Noted, Coach. I'll keep that in mind," Dayo said.

"Good."

"So what's my time?" Dayo asked eagerly.

Richard stared at him, baffled by how casually he was asking.

"50.09," he said.

Even saying it, he struggled to accept it. How could someone with zero experience in the 100 meters swim such a monstrous time?

The Olympic Qualifying Time (OQT) was 48.34.

Dayo had passed it by more than a full second — and that was with slowing down at the end.

Dayo grinned.

"Coach, how about we check the other events?"

Richard looked at Dayo like he was staring at a monster. He remembered Dayo saying he would fight to qualify for the Olympics. And now… it was becoming reality.

"Alright, let's che—"

His phone rang, cutting him off. The name on the screen made him freeze.

"Excuse me, Dayo."

He walked away to take the call.

After a few minutes, he returned, looking unsettled.

"Dayo, it seems we'll check the other times during our next session. I… I have to go somewhere."

Dayo frowned, suddenly worried.

"Is everything okay, Coach?"

Richard forced a smile.

"Everything's fine. I'm just surprised by the call, that's all. I'll see you later, Dayo."

He quickly grabbed his things and left the training center.

Dayo watched him hurry out and muttered, "I hope everything is alright."

Then he returned to run a few more drills before packing his bag.

****

Richard drove out of the training center with his mind all over the place. The call he had received minutes earlier kept replaying in his head. He could barely focus on the road. His hands were on the wheel, but mentally, he wasn't even in the car.

His emotions were mixed—confusion, fear, surprise, anger, and something else he couldn't describe.

He didn't even know how he drove for twenty minutes without crashing. His mind was far away, thinking about the voice he heard on the phone, thinking about why he was suddenly being called after all these years.

When he finally arrived at the destination, he blinked twice to make sure he was seeing correctly.

The signboard read:

UNITED STATES NATIONAL SWIMMING TEAM — HEAD OFFICE

Richard swallowed hard.

The person who called him… was the Head Coordinator of the entire U.S. National Swimming Team.

"What does he want with me now…?" Richard muttered under his breath.

He took a deep breath, stepped out of the car, and walked inside.

---

The moment Richard entered the office, the coordinator stood up immediately.

"Richard… my brother," the man said with a sigh. "I don't even know where to start. I am really, really sorry."

Richard remained silent for a moment. The apology wasn't what he expected to hear first.

The coordinator continued, "Back then, when Coach Matthew brought the evidence that you encouraged doping for one of your swimmers… everything looked airtight. The proof was too strong, and… I couldn't defend you."

Richard clenched his jaw slightly but kept quiet. He remembered everything clearly. He remembered begging them to believe he wasn't the one. He remembered losing everything in one day. His career, his respect, his reputation, all gone because of fake evidence.

"You were one of the best coaches we ever had," the coordinator said. "And still… we had to let you go."

Richard finally spoke, voice calm but carrying years of pain.

"It's fine. I already healed from that part. But you didn't call me here just to apologize. So, what exactly do you want from me?"

The coordinator smiled a little, shaking his head.

"I knew you would say that. You've always been sharp."

He took a deep breath and leaned forward.

"Richard… I want to offer you the position of Head Coach of the U.S. National Swimming Team."

Richard stared at him.

"What?"

The coordinator nodded. "You heard me clearly."

"You can't be serious," Richard said instantly. "There are other coaches. Why me?"

"There were other coaches," the coordinator corrected. "More than half of them have just been suspended today. Even some of the assistant coaches. A lot of the doping cases came directly from swimming, and the people involved were mostly top coaches."

He continued, "Right now, we are short-staffed. We lost experience. We lost structure. And the truth is… nobody else has the ability to rebuild this team from the ground up. Except you."

Richard shook his head, stunned.

"You still haven't explained why you suddenly trust me again."

The coordinator sighed deeply, opened his drawer, and dropped a document on the table.

"Evidence arrived this morning proving you were framed. Coach Matthew was the one behind it. He forged signatures, tampered with lab results, and placed substances inside your athlete's bag. Everything is there."

Richard didn't even look surprised.

He already knew.

Dayo had told him that evidence would soon surface.

"That boy…" Richard muttered quietly, shaking his head.

"So, Richard," the coordinator said softly, "I am asking—please return. Lead the national team. Fix what has been broken."

Richard breathed out slowly.

"I'm not sure I can do that," he said honestly. "This is a huge responsibility."

"I know," the coordinator replied. "And I'm not asking for an answer now. Think about it. Go home. Talk to your family. Let your mind settle."

Richard nodded.

"Alright. I'll think about it."

He stood to leave, but the coordinator called out again.

"Richard… I truly am sorry. I wanted to believe you back then. I really did. But the evidence… it was too solid. I couldn't defend you."

Richard forced a small smile.

"I understand. It's over now."

He walked out of the building and headed back to his car.

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