Sang Fan said nothing, simply lowering his head.
The coach actually thought highly of this prospect. Although he felt it was a pity, there was nothing he could do. "Sang Fan, I'm giving you a week's leave. Adjust your state properly. If it really doesn't work out, we'll have to find a replacement."
National team selections didn't happen every year, and not everyone could seize this opportunity. Sang Fan understood that the coach had already given him a concession. If after a week he was still in this condition, there was a high chance he would be cut.
Sang Fan wiped the water droplets from his face, his voice hoarse, "Thank you, Coach."
The coach patted his shoulder as if to encourage him, saying nothing more, only sighing and turning to leave.
Left alone, Sang Fan stood rooted to the spot for a long, long time. The bright lights cast his shadow long and thin.
Sang Fan bought a ticket home. After resting for a few days, his condition did not improve. He ultimately chose medical treatment and went to the hospital.
Sometimes, people are so unlucky that they get hurt even when drinking cold water.
He hadn't slept all night. On the way to the hospital, he got into a car accident. The other party was likely a novice, driving erratically. Sang Fan had been lost in thought at the time. By the time he reacted, he forcefully turned the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding the other car, and crashed into a pillar.
His head was bleeding, and his leg was trapped in the car, unable to move.
Sang Fan didn't feel much pain; perhaps he was numb.
The driver of the other car was a young woman. In a panic, she called an ambulance and tearfully beat on the car window, attracting the attention of passersby. Soon, the road was blocked.
The ambulance arrived quickly. Sang Fan was lifted in and underwent a head examination. He had a slight concussion, not severe, but the wound on his leg was troublesome; he couldn't engage in strenuous activity for a month. By the time his wounds were treated, it was already very dark.
Sang Fan disliked staying in the hospital; he even detested it. The nurse advised him a couple of times, but it was no use.
He sat on a chair in the hospital corridor. It was now late at night. There was almost no one in the corridor. The lights overhead were cold and piercing, and the strong smell of disinfectant was suffocating.
Sang Fan's current appearance was undoubtedly particularly disheveled and pathetic. The gray t-shirt he wore was stained with red and black patches. His pants had been cut to shreds due to the injury, bandaged and torn. His forehead was also cut, a bloody mess. Even after applying medication, it still looked serious.
A passing nurse, seeing the pitiful state of the young man, and ignoring his aloof aura, said, "Hello. Given your condition, would you like to complete the admission procedures? Or perhaps have your family or friends pick you up."
After all, staying here all night was not a solution.
Sang Fan was silent for a moment, then took out his phone from his pocket. The phone's screen was cracked; he didn't know if it still worked.
The nurse kindly offered her own phone, "You can use mine."
Sang Fan tried pressing the power button, but it remained black. The phone was completely broken.
He took the nurse's phone, apologizing softly. This was perhaps the most embarrassing moment of his life.
When he reached the dialing key, almost instinctively, he dialed a series of incredibly familiar numbers. By the time he realized it, he had already pressed the call button, and the call was connected.