I came to the swimming competition to watch the great athletes and learn from their techniques. As a third-year high school student preparing to enter university, I hoped to join a swimming team. The arena buzzed with energy as spectators filled the stands under bright overhead lights. The chlorine scent hung in the air, mixing with the faint smell of sweat and concession stand food.

Sitting in the audience seats, my gaze suddenly fell on a black-haired man stretching near the pool's edge. His movements were precise, each stretch calculated to prepare his muscles for the race ahead. There was an air of quiet intensity about him that stood out among the other competitors.

"Swimmers are requested to prepare immediately," announced the judge over the loudspeaker, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd.

The athletes moved to their starting positions. The tension in the air was palpable as everyone waited for the starting signal. Then came the sharp crack of the starting gun.

"Ready, set, go!"

The swimmers exploded off the blocks, but my eyes remained fixed on the black-haired man. He sliced through the water with incredible speed and efficiency, his body moving in perfect harmony with the strokes. It was like watching a dolphin in its natural habitat—powerful yet graceful.

"Wow, he's amazing!" I whispered, stunned by his technique.

He touched the wall first, breaking the surface as the scoreboard flashed his name: Haruka Nanase. The crowd erupted in applause, but he remained composed, showing little emotion despite his victory.

After the awards ceremony, I noticed him walking toward the changing rooms with the same calm expression. Later, while exploring the venue during a break in the competitions, I found him sleeping on a chair beside the vending machines near the locker rooms. Though his face still wore that cool demeanor, his heavy eyelids and relaxed posture revealed his exhaustion.