The Fox of France

Chapter 386: Olympic Games (2)

Just at the starting point, the journalist from The Sun outpaced everyone by a considerable margin, and as the race progressed, this Sun journalist further widened the lead relative to others. Like a gust of wind, he dashed past the finish line, leaving Bousaion, who was in second place, more than ten meters behind.

What was more impressive was that after finishing the race, this fellow seemed remarkably at ease. He jogged lightly, waving to the others, while Bousaion, who was in second place, was almost out of breath.

Although the Sun journalist left Bousaion more than ten meters behind, Bousaion still secured second place in the group, smoothly advancing to the next round.

There were still some preliminary races to come, but Mari-Henri Bell wasn't interested in watching further. He hurriedly made his way down the stairs to join his friends in celebration. Thus, he descended the steps, heading towards the athlete's rest area.

The athlete's rest area was already crowded, filled with various cheers. Mari-Henri Bell pushed through with great effort until he reached the iron railing separating the athlete's rest area from the spectator's area.

During this process, a policeman shouted at him, "Hey you, young man, don't push around."

"I need to congratulate my friend! He made it through!" Mari-Henri Bell replied, continuing to squeeze his way in. Generally, the gentlemen policemen were relatively tolerant of respectable folks who could afford entry tickets. In a train station, if it were a foreign laborer after such a warning, the policeman might have promptly intervened, possibly resorting to a baton to the head, then dragging them out, pressing them down, leaving them shouting for help.

But here, obviously, it wasn't the case because those who could afford tickets to watch the game were respectable people. After all, weren't the police in France here to serve these respectable individuals?

The policeman just chuckled and didn't take any forceful action, no drawing of a baton or dragging Mari-Henri Bell out to press him down. Using his military-trained physique, he finally managed to squeeze in.

"Hey, Bousaion! Bousaion!" Mari-Henri Bell leaned on the iron railing, shouting into the area, even though he couldn't actually spot his friend there.

"Marie!" Bousaion was the first to spot Mari-Henri Bell, and he walked over, responding as he approached.

"Hey, Jacques, well done! Congratulations on making it through!" Mari-Henri Bell shouted to Bousaion happily.

"It's nothing, just lucky," Bousaion replied, not sounding too pleased. "Just lucky; our team only has one journalist. Otherwise, as you've seen, the gap between us and the journalist is too vast."

"So what?" Mari-Henri Bell encouraged him, "Jacques, one can't challenge someone's profession with their own amateur interests. And honestly, I think the gap between you and that journalist isn't as big as you imagine. Did you notice his unique starting method? While coming down, I thought about it carefully and found that this starting method is so rational, so convenient for exerting force, and so suitable for starting. So just at the start, he surged ahead significantly."

"His mid-run was also much faster than mine, and he didn't seem strained."

"Jacques, that's because he's carrying much less weight than you," Mari-Henri Bell continued to pep him up. "In high-speed running, even the slightest burden significantly slows you down. Have you heard, General Oloro once captured an entire battalion of rebels with just a whip? Do you know what happened to his other weapons?"

"He discarded them to catch up with the enemy, as you've told me," Bousaion replied.

"Ah, imagine that compared to a warhorse, a cloak, a sword, a pistol, those are heavier. But getting rid of those things, even trousers not only add weight, they also hinder movement. So, you see those ancient heroes? They participated in the Olympic Games stark naked."

"Damn, what you say might make sense. Next game, I'll alter my clothes, but where can I buy such outfits?"

"I heard, 'Chris Men's Store' has these clothes called sportswear, but they're... plus 'Chris' clothing is unexpectedly expensive, and not many people buy them," interjected someone nearby.

"Hey, buddy," Bousaion slapped Mari-Henri Bell's hand, saying, "Can you do me a favor? There's a train back to Paris soon. Across the station is a 'Chris Men's Store.' Can you run over and buy me a set of that clothing, um, also those shoes called sneakers—I just saw his shoes had spikes underneath. Hold on, I'll get you the money."

Having said that, Bousaion turned and left. After a while, he returned with a large wallet and took out some banknotes to hand over to Mari-Henri Bell. "Buddy, I have thirty francs here. I don't know if it's enough—the 'Chris' clothes are outrageously expensive. If it's not enough, you can cover the rest. I'll pay you back later."

"Okay!" Mari-Henri Bell replied, knowing his classmate's family was wealthy.

Taking the money, Mari-Henri Bell tucked it into his vest pocket, squeezed out of the crowd, and left the stadium, heading towards the train station. He hurriedly bought a ticket, and as soon as he got on, the train started moving.

The main venue was not far from the center of Paris, so Mari-Henri Bell soon returned to the city. Across from the train station were the 'Chris Men's Store' and 'Chris Women's Store,' next to which stood the Bonwand Bank.

Mari-Henri Bell entered the store, explaining his purpose to a sweet-smiling saleswoman. With her help, he found a complete set of sprinting clothing, including running shoes.

"How much is this set?" Mari-Henri Bell asked.

"Oh, it's a hundred and ten francs in total," the sweet-smiling saleswoman replied.

"Why don't you just rob people! It's just a few pieces of cloth!" Mari-Henri Bell nearly jumped.

However, he refrained from voicing this thought. Suddenly, he understood why there was a Bonwand Bank next to the 'Chris' boutique.

After purchasing the items, Mari-Henri Bell entered the train station once again. As he was about to board, he saw someone leading a tall and handsome English thoroughbred horse onto the last custom-designed carriage.