Chapter 19: The Abyss

Zhou Zhihan wanted Ryunosuke Sakamoto’s life, and he wanted it fair and square.

The competition was requested by Sakamoto; it was Zhou’s choice to accept or decline. Zhou had introduced the element of alcohol into the contest, and Sakamoto had been free to accept or decline that as well. Since he had agreed, it was his own choice; there was no coercion. Every student present could testify that both parties had entered the fray voluntarily. If Ryunosuke Sakamoto died, it would have nothing to do with Zhou Zhihan. Even if he survived, this ordeal would leave him physically devastated, perhaps even a cripple—a fate worse than death.

Most students at West Point were European or American, possessing an innate physiological advantage. Yet, even among them, deadlifting 80 kilograms fifteen times without specialized training was a daunting task, let alone for someone from an Asian military academy where such rigorous deadlift standards were not typically required. An 80-kilogram deadlift was considered quite strong in Asia; a 100-kilogram lift placed one in the ranks of the truly elite, even among the brawny students of Western military academies.

Soldiers have always respected the strong. No one expected Zhou Zhihan, who did not appear particularly muscular, to complete fifteen reps at 80 kilograms—a feat even a graduating senior would find respectable. If Zhou could manage 100 kilograms, he would undoubtedly place in the top 200 of the entire academy, a glorious achievement for a freshman international student from Asia.

While events like the two-kilometer weighted run, the 360-meter shuttle run, or underwater breath-holding while carrying heavy objects required significant technique, the deadlift was a test of raw physical power. Zhou’s effortless completion of the previous rounds had shattered his prior reputation as a "slacker" in the eyes of his peers, replaced now by envy and awe.

The 100-kilogram round began. Zhou did not activate his "Surpass" ability. The alcohol he had consumed earlier had long since been purged through sweat, and each drop of perspiration only made him stronger; he wanted to test the true limits of his physical constitution. Lose to a Japanese man? That was absolutely impossible. If he couldn't hit 100 kilograms on his own strength, he would then invoke his trump card.

When Sergeant Jink White announced the start, Zhou tested the weight. The moment the barbell left the floor, he knew he had the measure of it.

Across from him, Sakamoto tightened his belt another notch, trembling with nerves. He had failed repeatedly, vowing to win after every defeat, only to be crushed again and again since the morning. It was demoralizing. Sakamoto swore to himself that he would give his all; this was his last chance to salvage his pride. If he could defeat the "Sick Man of East Asia" at the 100-kilogram level, the remaining challenges would surely be his to win. After downing 2,000 milliliters of whiskey and four beers, even the hardiest of drinkers would struggle, let alone in such a grueling contest. But Sakamoto was desperate; individual dignity and the glory of the Empire were on the line.

Sakamoto gritted his teeth and completed four reps. His face turned deep red, almost purple, and the veins on his arms and neck bulged like balloons ready to burst. Zhou maintained a steady pace; by the time Sakamoto reached his sixth rep, Zhou had completed four.

The atmosphere on the field was electric. Even the stern Sergeant White was caught up in the intensity of this rare, fierce clash between a Chinese and a Japanese student. Everyone could see that Sakamoto was fighting for his life. As experts in physical training, the spectators could see that Sakamoto was shaking violently by his fourth rep; by the sixth, his joints were popping like roasting beans—he had pushed his body to its absolute limit. Meanwhile, Zhou’s legs only trembled slightly, his face flushed, and the ground beneath his feet was soaked in sweat.

Sakamoto prepared for his seventh rep. The crowd cheered him on; seeing his face swollen to the point where his eyes were mere slits, the students felt a mix of pity for the underdog and respect for his tenacity, hoping he could regain some ground.

Sakamoto found it hard to breathe, his ears ringing with a buzzing sound like trapped flies. A dull, sharp pain manifested in his lower abdomen—the telltale sign of internal injury. He needed to rest and regulate his breathing, though he knew he was still two reps ahead of Zhou. He let go of the bar, but just as he stood up to exhale, he saw Zhou finish his fifth, take a deep breath, and hoist his sixth.

Panic set in. Sakamoto rushed to pull the barbell again, but his preparation was rushed and insufficient; the bar wouldn't budge. At that same moment, Zhou began his seventh. Sakamoto felt an overwhelming surge of fury and impotence. He felt the weight of his white headband—marked with the "Certain Victory" slogan and the Rising Sun flag—pressing down on him like a mountain. Meanwhile, the Five-Star Red Flag on Zhou’s uniform and the Blue Sky and White Sun flag appeared as vibrant and clear as the open sky.

He could not let the Rising Sun flag lose to them. Even in death, he could not.

Sakamoto adjusted his breathing and managed to lift the seventh, though his legs shook violently as he locked out. Just then, a chant erupted from the crowd: "Nine!"

Sakamoto realized the students were cheering for Zhou. The Chinese student was already on his ninth rep. In that moment, Sakamoto felt abandoned by the world, staring into the bottomless abyss reserved for the weak and the defeated.