The next day, David was already in the living room before the semi finals began, the television humming quietly as the broadcast moved through other events. He hadn't asked for it to be left on, but his mother hadn't changed the channel either. By now, she had picked up on the pattern. When the running was on, he watched. Not casually, not like a child distracted by noise, but with a kind of focus that didn't quite match his age.
When the semi finals finally came on, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The commentators spoke with more urgency, their tone sharper as they narrowed their focus to the remaining athletes. There were no filler names now, no easy races. Everyone on that track had earned their place.
David leaned forward slightly, resting his weight on his hands as he watched the first semi final line up. He still observed it properly, still picked up on the same details as before, but his attention wasn't fully there. He already knew which race mattered more. He called the winner anyway, pointing just before the gun, and once again the result followed exactly as he had expected. His mother noticed, but this time she didn't comment immediately. It was becoming less of a surprise and more of something she was quietly trying to understand.
By the time the second semi final was introduced, she was watching properly. Not the way she had at the start of all this, half-engaged and relaxed, but focused. Her eyes moved between the screen and David, waiting.
He didn't wait for her to ask this time. As the camera cut to lane four, he pointed.
"That one."
She followed his hand, recognising the runner now. "That's the same one," she said, her tone more certain than before. "Bolt."
David nodded, his eyes still on the screen.
Usain Bolt stood out even before the race began. He looked relaxed in a way that didn't match the moment. While others bounced lightly or adjusted themselves repeatedly, he remained loose, almost casual, as if this was routine rather than an Olympic semi final. There was no visible tension in him, no urgency in how he prepared.
"It truly is shocking to see a man with a lot to prove today at his first Olympics ever so tame and jovial at the start line but now its time to show up" The commentator waffled.
They got into their blocks.
The gun went.
Bolt didn't get the best start. For the first few steps, another runner edged ahead, driving more aggressively out of the blocks. It was the kind of start that usually mattered at this level, where small differences could decide everything.
David didn't react.
He kept watching.
By the time they reached the transition phase, around thirty metres, the difference began to show. Bolt rose smoothly, his stride opening up without any visible strain. Where the others looked like they were still trying to generate speed, he looked like he was already moving at it.
At fifty metres, he was level.
At seventy, he was ahead.
And then something changed.
It was subtle, but clear to David. Bolt stopped pushing as hard. His stride shortened slightly, his effort easing before the finish line even came into reach. He wasn't decelerating in a dramatic way, but he wasn't running through the line either.
He didn't need to.
He crossed comfortably in first.
The time came up almost immediately.
9.85.
David's eyes stayed on the screen for a moment longer.
"Unbelievable! 0.01 OFF THE OLYMPIC RECORD! The dude wasn't even trying! The commentator gasped.
"You're shocked I'm gobsmacked, I was actually in the race when Donovan Bailey set his clearly on a timer Olympic record to win the '96 Olympics AND that flash time on the screen that Bolt looks uninterested in is my PB" Another gushed.
"So what you're saying is..."
"Exactly what you're thinking, not only did he somehow jog a sub 9.9 100m, a time less that 0.1% of the population can even do on a perfect day, he almost grabbed the Olympic record whilst tying my fastest ever 100m ever"
One hundredth off the Olympic record. In a semi final. Without finishing properly.
His mother leaned forward, her reaction immediate. "That's fast," she said, looking at the time. "That's really fast."
"He can go even faster" David nodded as he explained what the commentators were seeing.
Almost in support of David, the commentator adds "I'm not fully sold on Bolt moving the World Record again, but we should expect nothing less than a 9.75 in those finals, potentially even faster"
She sat back slowly, her expression shifting again. This wasn't the same as before. He wasn't just picking winners. He was seeing something in the race itself, something she hadn't noticed until he pointed it out.
The commentators were saying similar things now, talking about how controlled it looked, how much more might be there. The idea that he could have gone faster, that he hadn't even fully pushed, was being repeated in different ways.
David didn't need to hear it.
He had already understood.
His mother looked back at him. "So he could've broken the Olympic record there?" she asked.
David nodded slightly. "He will and more in the final."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
This time, she didn't laugh or brush it off. She just looked at the screen again, quieter now, more thoughtful.
"Alright," she said after a moment. "We'll see."
David turned his attention back to the television, but his thoughts had already moved ahead. The number stayed in his head. 9.85, and it hadn't even been a full effort.