On the track, like a sudden gale, Milan Hai was still chasing Kitasan Black.
With every contraction and release of her muscles, her feet rose and fell, flattening and scattering blades of grass beneath her high-speed charge.
Sensing the momentum closing in from behind, a sharp glint flashed through Kitasan Black's crimson eyes as she fixed them ahead.
This scene of being closely pursued by an opponent was nothing unfamiliar to her.
When she had first stepped onto the track and faced this kind of pursuit, she would still become nervous, flustered, even so overwhelmed that her mind went blank.
But through training and races again and again, she had long since grown accustomed to being everyone's target.
Not only could she calmly handle any pursuit, but the way she responded had become an instinct, deeply engraved into the very depths of her body.
She tilted her head up slightly and took a deep breath. The air entered her lungs steadily before she slowly exhaled, that even rhythm seeming to proclaim her composure to the world.
At the same time, her originally steady, rhythmic Stride Frequency quietly increased a little without notice.
Her Stride Length became more compact. Each time her feet touched the turf, she precisely felt the reactive force coming from the ground, then skillfully transformed it into momentum to carry herself forward.
She adjusted at an unhurried pace, maintaining her own distinctive rhythm as much as possible while using it to suppress Milan Hai's aggressive pursuit from behind.
Yet after nearly twenty seconds had passed, a wave of surprise rose in her heart that she could not contain.
This was only a Simulation Race, so the pace should have been slower than in an official race. But judging from how it felt and from her experience—
It