The Gun Goes Off
Bang—!
A sharp gunshot rang out, synced to the rhythm of my heartbeat.
Oxygen-rich blood surged through my whole body, flooding my muscles with power.
Twack!
Both feet drove into the ground and launched me forward, my torso leaning at a perilous, almost toppling angle. I tore through the air resistance, maximizing every ounce of acceleration, until my body straightened and my arms pumped violently to the rhythm—swinging so hard they seemed about to fly off.
"Hoo! Hoo!"
Heavy breathing, faint but relentless, chased me from behind. It came after me like something determined to devour me whole.
But—
Pabababak!
This was my space.
Even their killing breath on my heels was nothing more than seasoning for a new record.
The finish line finally came into view. And there, in my field of vision, stretched a black line no one else could see—a line running dead straight toward the finish.
A Gift.
That was what I called it.
Put simply in Korean, it would be "talent"—but since this was America, Gift felt like the better word.
Whenever I followed this black line, my body inexplicably felt faster. At first I'd dismissed it as pure imagination, and yet…
Taak!
The tip of my foot struck the finish line.
At the same instant, Coach Derek, who'd been timing me, shouted.
"Kim Jaehyuk! 10.33!"
"Wow! Another consistently solid time!"
I slowed down gradually and trudged off the track, walking it out. Coach Derek and Marie, the manager standing beside him, looked fairly satisfied. I was not.
…Even with the Gift, this is all I've got.
As a Korean, I'd already shredded the Korean high school national record. But my goal had never been to be the best in Korea.
My personal best was 10.21.
Not bad for a high school sophomore, I suppose.
But that was literally all it was—not bad. Nothing more.
"Go cool down."
"Yes, sir."
Having checked my expression, the coach waved me off toward the other side of the track. He'd apparently noticed I wasn't satisfied.
"Jaehyuk, you were fast again today!"
But this oblivious manager wore the face of someone who couldn't read my mood at all.
What could I do, though?
It wasn't like I could take my frustration out on other people for no reason.
"I thought my body was in good shape, but the time just didn't come out the way I wanted. Disappointing."
"What? That's a 10.33! Do you have any idea how fast that is?"
"Sorry, Marie. I want to be the fastest in the nation. 10.33 isn't going to cut it."
In that moment, everyone around us went quiet.
The eyes turned toward me were anything but ordinary.
"Ah… fastest in the nation? Well, of course, if you keep working hard like this, Jaehyuk, it could happen someday. Right?"
"I guess. I'll just have to try."
Only after my answer did people slowly return to their own routines. Marie managed an awkward smile and nodded along.
"Still, you work harder than anyone here, Jaehyuk. So maybe the odds aren't zero."
"Yeah. I'll give it everything."
Sixth grade of elementary school. That was when I came to America—to the state of Kansas. No other reason than my father's work.
As for how I ended up in track and field, that came in the second semester of my third year of middle school, when I got scouted out of nowhere just from racing a friend on a lark.
Thinking back on it now, it's absurd.
Me—a kid whose entire athletic history was a bit of neighborhood soccer back in Korea—outrunning a friend who was already a serious track athlete.
Every bit of it was thanks to the Gift.
The black line that appeared to me by chance that day made me run faster, and kept me from ever tiring.
"Whoa, look who it is—Jaehyuk Kim, national championship contender himself."
"Shut it, Frank."
The friend I'd outrun that day was this very guy—the one with I'M WHITE practically stamped across his face: Frank Main. He'd entered this school, Wichita North High School, alongside me through the track recruitment route.
He was also just about the only guy around here who bothered to hang out with me.
"But honestly, 10.33's going to be tough, isn't it, Jaehyuk?"
"I know."
"You heard about it, right? The ten-second barrier getting broken."
"…"
As if I could have missed it. It was all anyone talked about for weeks.
The national high school record had been shattered just recently.
And not just shattered—obliterated by a time unlike anything in history.
"No matter how many times I think about it, it's insane. Heh. You seriously believe 9.89 is a real number?"
"Haah…"
Of all the luck—the world had made me, and then gone and made another monster at the same time. The guy who set that record was one year older than me, and he wasn't just past the ten-second wall. He was running in the nines.
"Why the death-glare? Don't tell me you actually think you can be the best in the nation."
You wouldn't get it, Frank. I was born with a Gift. So of course you'd never understand how serious I am.
"Hey, hey. Wake up and smell reality. I'm not trying to be racist here, but let's be objective. You're Asian. You get that, right?"
"Shut your mouth, Frank."
Come to think of it, race could count as a kind of Gift, I suppose.
And out of all the races in the world, I happened to be Asian.
…But still, I have a Gift. That has to count for something.
There was no way I could ever give up this talent.
"Hey, Frank!"
I was about to wrap up my conversation with Frank and go finish loosening up when a huge man came trudging toward us from somewhere across the field. Please tell me that guy isn't my age.
"Ohhh, James. What brings our great football program all the way out here?"
"Ronnie got hurt."
"What? Since when?"
"Just now, that's when. So here's the thing—think we could borrow a sub? We need somebody to run in Ronnie's place for the practice game."
"Why are you telling me this? Can't you find anyone who actually wants to play?"
"I don't want just anybody, that's why I came all the way here. This is the track team, right? Let me ask you one thing first. Who's the fastest one here?"
Frank's gaze flicked instantly toward me, mid-stretch. Then the towering white giant—a guy I never would have guessed was my age—slowly turned and looked my way too.
"Frank, don't mess around."
"Huh? Haven't said a word yet. And besides, it's no joke. That's our ace, alright."
The football player called James let out a sigh and looked at me. Then, scratching his head, he asked:
"Is what Frank said true?"
"I'm the fastest here, yeah."
Actually, it was non-negotiable that I be the fastest here. I had to be number one. Always.
"In the 100 meters? What's your time?"
"Dude, he just ran a 10.33. It's insane, I'm telling you."
Frank chimed in from the side, making a spectacle of it.
No, hold on—what kind of conversation is this even supposed to be?
"10.33? That's legitimately fast. But I'm not sure it'd hold up, you know…"
"What exactly are you trying to say?"
At my question, James's brow furrowed. Then his expression eased, and he sighed.
"You didn't hear? We're looking for a sub. Our starting RB is out with an injury. We've got varsity and JV running a practice scrimmage against each other, and we're short on bodies."
"Football? No way. You get your body wrecked playing that."
To be honest, I didn't know the first thing about football. I'd only half-followed what James was saying just now. And what the hell is an RB anyway? A robot?
That was when Frank, whose antics had been grating on my nerves for a while now, poked at me again.
"Ohhh, Jaehyuk Kim! Scared, are we?"
"What kind of crap is that?"
"You literally just said it. You want to be number one. So be honest with yourself—which one's the superior athlete? The 100-meter track champion, or the football champion?"
"That's obviously—"
"Football!"
James cut me off mid-answer.
This time it was my turn to frown, and James just smirked at me like, what are you going to do about it?
"Aiming to be number one, huh? Now that I look at you, you've got some serious ambition. What was your name again?"
"Kim Jaehyuk."
"Kim, huh? Fine—Kim, whatever. Don't go thinking some puny little track event is ever going to top football. Football is the very essence and the very pinnacle of modern sports."
"Now you're just being funny."
"Funny? Haha! Then prove it yourself."
"Prove what?"
"That track is above football. Come play in the practice game."
"I don't even know the rules. How am I supposed to play?"
"Rules? It's simple! All you have to do is take the ball and run to the end of the field. Don't get caught by anyone along the way, and you win!"
Just run with the ball? And all I have to do is not get caught?
I figured the other team was supposed to stop you, but if all it took was staying on my feet…
I quietly sized James up.
In a straight fight, that bulk would beat me. But simply shaking him off?
That's laughably easy.
One look was enough to tell he was slow.
No—even Frank, a fellow track teammate standing right there, would be easy to slip past if I really tried. A whole sport stuffed with guys built like that wasn't even worth discussing.
"So? What do you say?"
Honestly, I had no reason to say yes. However fast I was, getting injured would be pure loss.
At the very least, I knew football was a dangerous sport.
"Oh, and for the record—this isn't just me asking a random favor. I didn't wander over to the track team with no plan."
"Then what is it?"
"Fifty dollars up front. Plus an invite to the after-party later."
"No thanks. Don't need it."
For a second I was tempted to take the bait and crash into him just to see what would happen, but the moment he started offering payment, I cooled right off.
I flatly refused and went back to my stretching. Apparently that didn't sit well with James, because he came stomping over, veins bulging on his forehead.
"Hey. You scared or what? Typical buttoned-up Asian—"
He reached out a hand, like he was going to grab me by the shoulder.
And the moment I saw it, I found myself moving to slip past his hand.
That instant—
Huh?
A line appeared.
The line I'd only ever seen while running on the track.
But there was something strange about it, appearing out of nowhere like this.
Thump!
The line, always pitch black before, now glowed a dark, blood-red. The crimson was faint, but sharper and more vivid than anything I'd seen from the old line.
And that wasn't all.
There wasn't just one line.
Thump!
As if pulsing in time with my heartbeat, the lines writhed and swayed. Two dark-red lines stretched out before my eyes—one flowing along each side of James. And the one on the right looked thicker, clearer.
Tap!
In a split second, my body was already moving.
I ran along the right-hand line, and James's grasp slipped past empty air.
"Wha—?"
"Whoa, what the—?!"
James and Frank both shouted. And I too spun around, half-stumbling, to take stock.
Somewhere along the way I'd blown five meters past James. It felt faster than anything I'd ever run in my life.
What on earth was that…?
Sudden acceleration—was that what you'd call it?
It felt far, far quicker than anything I'd ever done on the track.
And as if to prove it was no illusion, my heart was pounding out blood, hard and fierce.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
This had never, not once, happened before.
My whole life, I'd run only along the black line. I'd lived and competed on that single line, and that single line alone.
But this…
Was I using the Gift wrong all this time? Or is this an evolution?
Just then, James came trudging over.
He broke into a wide grin and said:
"You… you've actually got real talent, don't you? Come on. Just try it once with us. Yeah?"
"James, was it? Could you keep it down a little?"
"…"
Maybe—just maybe—my Gift wasn't something meant only for track. Not only for running in a straight line.
But how was I supposed to confirm that…?
"James. Try to grab me again."
"Uh? Okay."
James swung his arm around clumsily. I tried to dodge it just like before—but this time I simply got caught.
"?"
"?"
We stood there frozen, question marks practically floating over both our heads, until Frank snickered.
"What are you two doing?"
Yeah, that's clearly not it.
Which left one more way to find out.
I shook off James's hand and asked again.
"You said I just take the ball and run?"
"Huh? Yeah. That's it."
"And as long as nobody catches me, I'm done?"
"Yeah. That's the RB's job. Basically."
It's just one scrimmage game anyway.
With this, I could put my Gift to the test again. If it was all in my head, I'd simply keep running track and leave it at that.
"Fine. I'll run one game."
"Ohhh!"
"Dude, you're seriously playing? You're out of your mind, Jaehyuk Kim!"
Football? Track? Didn't matter either way.
I just had to be number one. Born with a Gift, that was my destiny.