Today was the final of the swimming events at the Tokyo Olympics.
Almost every swimming enthusiast around the world was glued to their television, waiting for the finals.
American viewers in particular were all huddled in front of their televisions, waiting to watch their athletes perform brilliantly and claim the gold medals.
"Do we even have any opponents this year?"
"Hahaha, are you kidding?"
"I guess Horton is the only one who can count as an opponent."
"I'm already guessing how many gold medals America will win today."
"I heard the China Team is made up of youth-training athletes this year. I doubt they'll even win a single bronze medal."
"Hahaha, no need to doubt it. I can tell you for sure—they won't win any!"
Compared with the relaxed and confident atmosphere in America, the Chinese audience seemed somewhat gloomy and dejected.
After all, they knew themselves that there was little hope.
But unwilling to give up, they still wanted to see the results with their own eyes.
At last, the time came for the finals to begin.
One competitor after another appeared on camera.
The first event was the men's swimming competition, and the first athlete to come out was that show-off Horton.
Horton wore an utterly smug expression. Before the competition had even begun, it was as if victory already lay at his feet.
After him came athletes from various countries.
In fact, quite a significant portion of the audience watching the swimming events consisted of women.
There was no other reason. Most of the female viewers were not there for rankings or results—they were there for the athletes' faces and physiques.
Male swimmers were especially popular among female viewers.
There was no other reason. Male swimmers wore little more than tiny swim briefs, and their years of