Pressure

For the entire week that followed, both home and the stadium were shrouded in a high-pressure atmosphere.

Mom spoke very little. She seemed to have abandoned any pretense of concealment, her daily attire leaving nothing to the imagination about her voluptuous figure.

Monday brought a tight white sports tank top that squeezed her ample breasts into exaggerated curves. The swaying motion as she ran left every teammate staring. Wednesday brought a cropped, belly-baring T-shirt paired with black hot pants barely covering her buttocks. Her straight, long legs and the slight wiggle of her full hips with each stride became the most criminally tempting sight on the track.

I knew Mom dressed this way purely for practicality—to demonstrate movements with precision. But to those eighteen- or nineteen-year-old boys, it felt like the most direct form of provocation.

They feared Mom's piercing gaze and her merciless punishments, yet during every training session, they couldn't help but chase every detail of her body.

"Watch closely!"

Mom stood at the starting blocks to demonstrate personally. Leaning forward with hands braced on the ground, her tight pants traced the curve of her firm, rounded buttocks with startling precision—even the taut contours of muscle beneath the fabric were visible.

"Ready—"

She lifted her full hips, her entire body—from the nape of her neck, through her spine and waist, to her pert buttocks—executing the movement with flawless precision.

"Go!"

She shot forward like a cheetah, covering the short thirty meters with explosive beauty.

"Got it?! That's explosive power!"

Mom came to a halt, her chest heaving as sweat trickled down her neck into the deep cleft of her breasts.

"Again! Everyone! Anyone whose form slips today won't get dinner!"

Zhang Hao's gaze was particularly lecherous, practically glued to Mom. During a training break, he edged closer to her again.

"Coach, that pose you just did... your butt looks amazing. I dare say there's no coach in the whole country with a better figure than yours."

Mom didn't even lift an eyelid, her gaze fixed coldly on the stopwatch. "Is that so? Looks like you've got time to notice these things. Go. Load twenty kilos. Do one hundred meters of frog jumps."

Zhang Hao’s face instantly fell, but he wasn’t ready to give up. "Come on, Coach, I was just complimenting you. After the weekend competition, give me a chance. I’ll take you to the movies."

"Two hundred meters." Her voice remained utterly unruffled.

"Zhu Ling!"

Zhang Hao panicked, summoning his courage to call her by her first name. "Must you push me away like this? I fucking love you!"

"Three hundred meters. Do it now. One more word and you're not going to the competition."

Mom finally lifted her eyes. The icy glare seemed to drop the temperature of the entire training ground.

Gritting his teeth, Zhang Hao dared not say another word. Dejected, he turned and walked toward the punching bag.

That night, Mom was unusually sleepless.

I got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and saw Mom standing on the balcony, wearing only that old T-shirt and shorts, alone in the night breeze.

On the morning of the competition, Mom rose early to make me breakfast.

Dressed in her provincial team uniform, she stood at the door pulling her suitcase.

"Xiao Fei, while I'm gone these two days, eat on time, do your homework properly, and don't spend all your time playing computer games."

"Got it, Mom."

I nodded, wanting to say "Good luck at the competition," but seeing the bloodshot veins in her eyes, the words died on my lips.

She leaned closer and adjusted my collar. In that moment, I caught the faint, comforting scent that always clung to her.

Then she straightened quickly and said, "I'm leaving."

All weekend I was restless. I couldn't focus on my books or games; my mind was completely elsewhere, hundreds of miles away at the competition venue.

I refreshed that sports information website over and over, staring at the gray text that read "Results pending," my palms sweaty.

Finally, in the evening, the page flickered. The results were in.

I scanned from top to bottom, searching for any name from our provincial team. At the very bottom, a cold, small note read: XX Province Team's Zhang Hao, Preliminary Heat 1, false start, disqualified; XX Province Team's Li Kai, Preliminary Heat 3, time 12.58 seconds, last in his group.

Total annihilation.

My mind went blank. It was over.

Only one thought remained: Mom is finished.

That night, I barely slept. The next evening, as I sat blankly in the living room, the sound of a key turning in the lock reached me—two hours later than usual.

I jumped to my feet.

The door opened, and Mom walked in.

She was still wearing her provincial team tracksuit, but her entire being radiated fragility. Her eyes were hollow and unfocused, her face drained of color.

Her usually straight back now carried a slight stoop, and a heavy aura of defeat enveloped her.

"Mom, you're back," I murmured.

Hearing my voice, her body trembled before her gaze finally focused on my face.

She tried to smile, but her lips only twitched slightly before settling back into a frozen line.

"Mhm... I'm back."

"Son, are you hungry? Mom... will make you something to eat."

She started toward the kitchen, but her steps were weak and unsteady. Her body swayed violently, slamming hard against the wall.

Thud!

"Mom! I'm not hungry! You need to rest!"

I rushed over to support her. Her arms were frighteningly cold, devoid of any warmth.

"I... I'm not tired."

She stubbornly insisted, yet her body collapsed against mine as if her bones had vanished.

For the first time, I realized how light my mother—who had always shielded me from life's storms—actually was.

I struggled to guide her into the bedroom before closing the door and leaving.

But standing outside, I heard intermittent sobs emerging from beneath the covers.

"Waaah... waaah..."

Hearing her sobs, panic surged through me. I was about to push open the door when a phone rang from inside the bedroom.

The crying stopped abruptly. My hand froze mid-motion on the door handle. Slowly, I lowered my arm, holding my breath as I listened intently to the sounds within.

"Hello... Director Wang."

Mom's voice carried the thick nasal tone of sobbing, yet she struggled to sound composed.

"Yes... yes, I understand... This outcome is my responsibility as head coach. I failed to lead the team properly. I offer my full accountability."

Whatever came next on the other end made her voice snap to urgency.

"Director Wang! I know Zhang Hao's false start was the most basic mistake. It's my fault... I didn't discipline him strictly enough, and his mindset collapsed. But I take responsibility... Please give me one more season, just one! I promise I'll fix his mindset! Next time..."

Her words were cut off, seemingly interrupted by the other party.

"No... no contract renewal?"

Mom's voice shot up, panic-stricken. "Director Wang! You can't! My contract still has a year left... You can't do this... It's a breach of contract!"

Another long string of words came from the other end. I couldn't make them out, but Mom's tone conveyed their weight.

"Yes... yes, I understand... We disgraced the provincial team, and the sponsors are under immense pressure... But that can't justify unilaterally tearing up the contract!"

"Director Wang, you know my situation. My son is in high school—it's a costly time. Our entire household relies on my salary... I can't lose this job... I beg you, please intercede with the higher-ups. I'm begging you..."

"I... I can forgo the bonus! Even halve my salary! Just let me keep coaching the team... Director Wang! Director Wang!"

Impatience seemed to grow on the other end.

Finally, Mom appeared to lose all strength, her voice reduced to a desperate whisper: "Alright... I understand."

The call ended.

Dead silence filled the room.

Suddenly, a dull thud echoed through the room—as if Mom had collapsed weakly against something, or perhaps the phone slipped from her grasp and fell onto the quilt.

Then, complete silence.

No sobs, no movement. The bedroom felt like a black hole, sealing off everything.

I stood frozen outside the door. I dared not knock, dared not speak, dared not even breathe.

I knew exactly what that phone call meant.

Mom had lost her job.

At that moment, staring at the closed door before me, I saw the powerful, cold, and indomitable figure of my mother—the one who never faltered on the sports field—finally cracking under the weight of reality. A deep, bottomless fissure had opened in her...