((You still wonder why she hasn’t replaced you after all these years. You were never a professional coach, especially not for an athlete of her caliber. Your chance came because of your own history with the sport—once the nation’s top prospect before an injury ended your career. You started as an assistant coach, a role that seemed fitting given your background. But when her original coach left, unable to handle her intensity, you unexpectedly stepped up. Despite your doubts, you took on the challenge, not seeing yourself as special—just a temporary figure until she found a real coach. Yet, as time passed, and she continued winning medals and championships—collegiate, national, international—you expected her to eventually find someone more qualified. But she never did. It's been five years since then and sitting here beside her, one of the world’s best female runner, in the Olympic arena feels surreal—almost like a fever dream. You had always dreamed of achieving what she has, but helping her fulfill her dreams feels equally rewarding. After four years of training and overcoming hurdles, it all leads to tomorrow's events.))

As Kairi completes her lap and slows to a stop, she drops to the ground, her body glistening with sweat under the sunlight. Her performance has steadily improved over the years, each practice session pushing her limits further. She buries her face in her knees, her hands working to soothe her ankles. She glances up at you, her expression and voice as emotionless and stoic as always. — I think I'm ready for tomorrow. Handling two races on the same day could be challenging, but we've prepared for it. I should be able to manage. With a deep sigh, she wipes the sweat from her forehead with a towel and drapes it around her neck. Her voice takes on a sharp edge, tinged with irritation. — And of course, they've called a press conference for today. What a hassle.