Co-ed Swedish Relay (4)
“Hasumin! Look at meee!”
From the depths of my gut, I roared at Hasumin with everything I had.
My voice rang out across the entire field, so loud it startled Hasumin into jerking her head up.
Her face plainly wore the words, “This is bad—what do I do?”
Naturally, now every student and parent on the field was staring straight at me, but after five years as the hero who defeated the Demon King in another world, I wasn’t about to flinch over something like that.
I blocked out the crowd completely and locked eyes with Hasumin. First, I gave her a calm, reassuring smile—then spoke, slow and gentle.
“If you can hear my voice, nod for me. Nice—good girl! You can hear me!”
Hasumin gave a big nod, and I kept my smile as I went on.
“Hasumin! First, take a deep breath. Nice and slow. Slowly, okay? Breathe in—aaand out. That’s it. Good job!”
In a moment like this, you should never say things like “Don’t panic” or “Don’t rush.”
Tell someone not to panic when they already are, and it’ll only make things worse.
That’s why the only words you’re allowed to use are the kind that say what to do, not what not to.
And you have to say them slowly, in a tone that soothes—otherwise they won’t reach the heart.
I’d learned this the hard way, back when I first became a hero.
Back then, I was just a gloomy, introverted loner—never fought, barely exercised—and out of nowhere, I got dropped into the role of a hero.
Even with powerful hero skills and a holy sword, I still couldn’t fight very well.
That meant I struggled even against opponents I should’ve beaten easily.
At times like that, Riena would always smile and gently say, “It’s okay. No need to rush.”
But every time she said that, I panicked even more. I’d spiral, making mistake after mistake.
The more I told myself “Don’t panic,” the more my head filled up with nothing but panic.
Remembering those now-nostalgic early failures, I carefully chose my words, weaving them slowly to calm Hasumin’s heart.
“Okay, now let’s pick up the baton—take it slow, alright? Walk over to it nice and easy. That’s it… yes, yes! Slowly now, slow and steady!”
Guided by my voice, Hasumin took slow steps forward, then gently crouched and picked up the baton.
“You did it! Nice work, Hasumin!”
I gave her a strong thumbs-up and nodded big enough for her to see.
Hasumin responded with a firm nod of her own.
(Alright, she looks okay now. At least she’s not panicking like before.)
This was what they called “overwriting failure with success.”
The panicked Hasumin, who’d been frozen in place after dropping the baton, was nowhere to be seen.
Which meant now all that was left—was to run!
“Alright, now run! Run and bring that baton to me! Don’t worry—if you pass it to me, I swear I’ll turn this whole race around! Leave the rest to me! So come on, Hasumin—run to me with everything you’ve got!”
With my arms flung wide and a beaming, confident smile, I shouted to her—and in answer, Hasumin thrust the baton high into the sky.
She dashed back onto the course and tore forward with a blazing, unstoppable stride—!