The Fox of France

Back at the main arena, Mari-Henri Bell hurriedly squeezed his way to the athletes' rest area outside. At that moment, Bousaion was eagerly looking on.

"Hey, for you, brother. I remember our sizes are about the same. You've worn my clothes, my shoes, and even caught my athlete's foot—so I bought a set in my size. Hurry and change." Mari-Henri Bell said, handing over a bag containing clothes.

"Thanks a lot. Just as you said, my feet are starting to itch again... darn it, there's no changing room here." Bousaion remarked.

"Oh, my friend, don't bother about that. Everyone here is a man. If you reveal something we don't recognize, you won't need to compete anymore. We'll just send you to the Academy's lab for dissection." Mari-Henri Bell laughed.

Bousaion looked around and then started taking off his pants.

Bousaion put on the sports suit, moved around a bit, and said, "Feels much lighter. No wonder back in the day, those Greeks... uh, how much is this?"

"110 francs. They dare charge this much for a few pieces of cloth. Why don't they just rob people?"

"Normal. 'Kris' clothes are outrageously expensive. But believe it or not, if 'Kris' clothes weren't that pricey, no one would buy them. Many who buy these clothes aren't interested in the clothing itself but in what it represents." Bousaion said, "For instance, the 'Kris' line always has a peculiar style, and some people just like that quirkiness."

"They don't like the quirkiness. They wear these clothes to tell the poor: 'You're poor.' And to tell the old-fashioned rich: 'You're behind the times, old man.'" Mari-Henri Bell replied.

"Maybe." Bousaion continued, "But about robbing, well, buying these clothes is more efficient than robbing. Think about it. To rob someone, you have to find a target, assess if they have money, if it's worth robbing. You'd even have to figure out if their bulging pockets hold a wallet or a gun, risking getting shot. Then, let's say you rob me, you'd get 30 francs at most.

However, they here don't bother with that. They sit in their shops, and you willingly offer your money. If they're not satisfied, you might even borrow from family and friends to pay them—have you ever seen a robbery victim borrowing money for the thief? So, I have no respect for those robbers, no skills at all..."

Just then, the speakers outside blared again; a group of athletes was about to start the second round of sprinting.

"Hey, buddy, it's almost my turn. I'll go get ready. You head back to the stands!" Bousaion said.

"Sure, go for it! Good luck advancing!" Mari-Henri Bell replied.

Back at his seat, just as he sat down, Mari-Henri Bell once again heard the girl's shout: "Goodness, why are they all dressed like this?"

Mari-Henri Bell quickly raised his telescope to look at the field and saw almost all the athletes in tank tops and shorts. On closer inspection, he noticed something odd—the tank tops had buttons, and the shorts—surprisingly—looked like they were cut with scissors, not knives. Because no one would carry knives when going to compete. As for scissors, those would be easier to find, like with the police maintaining order.

The shorts were plainly trousers cut short. Some guys, due to poor skills, had uneven lengths on both sides. As for the tank tops, it was the same story; a closer look revealed the sleeves were cut off with scissors or even knives.

Apart from the changes in attire, another change was many people imitating the starting posture of a reporter from the Sun. Nearly half of them adopted a crouched starting position. However, many just mimicked it once and did it awkwardly.

Yet, it proved even such amateurish imitation had an impact. When the starting pistol fired, those at the forefront were indeed the ones who cut off sleeves and trouser legs, adopting the butt-raised starting posture—though one idiot who also attempted this fell at the very back due to poor execution. However, the top two in this group were both quick learners.

Clearly, each group's performance directly affected the following one. So, by the time the next group stood at the starting line, there wasn't a single one not in tank tops and shorts. By the subsequent group, Bousaion's group, during the starting preparation, everyone was adopting the butt-raised posture. And the entire group's speed notably increased. Yet even so, Bousaion secured the first place in the group, though Mari-Henri Bell had a feeling he wasn't as fast as that Sun reporter.

Mari-Henri Bell was about to go celebrate with his friend when he noticed the next group of athletes already on the track, but the audience's stands erupted into a buzz.

"What's happening?" Mari-Henri Bell quickly looked over. He spotted something different in this group—there were two reporters!

One was the Sun reporter Mari-Henri Bell had seen before, and the other, their chest imprinted with "Scientific Truth Gazette."

"An encounter of titans! This will be interesting." Mari-Henri Bell forgot to celebrate his friend's victory again and focused on the competition.

"Hey, buddy, who do you think will win? The 'Scientific Truth Gazette' or the 'Sun'?" A guy beside him seemed equally excited, tapping Mari-Henri Bell's shoulder.

"I think the 'Sun.' I heard that the 'Scientific Truth Gazette' folks don't even need to run outside; the news comes to them. But the 'Sun' reporters really do have to run outside."

"Not sure, but there's talk like that... Ah, it's about to start!"

The athletes began their starting movements, eight buttocks raised high. As the starting pistol fired, all eight dashed out, and indeed, the two reporters were visibly faster, with the 'Sun' reporter notably faster than the 'Scientific Truth Gazette.' When they reached the finish line, the 'Sun' reporter left the 'Scientific Truth Gazette' at least two meters behind.

"As expected, no one in the world runs faster than a 'Sun' reporter!" the guy beside Mari-Henri Bell exclaimed.

That was the end of Bousaion's day of competition. There were more events afterward, but Mari-Henri Bell had no intention to keep watching. He wanted to check out the upcoming equestrian obstacle race. If he had the money, he might even ride his own horse onto the track for a lap. However, Mari-Henri Bell couldn't afford it, and even if he could, he wouldn't spend it—renting this track was more of a robbery than the 'Kris' store.

However, as a registered participant, he had a free privilege: he could enter the arena to

inspect the course with his race proof. Of course, this inspection had limitations. He couldn't enter the track but could observe the track facilities from the outer pathway for staff.

Mari-Henri Bell arrived at the entrance to the equestrian course, pulling out his race proof from his cavalry backpack. A guard meticulously inspected the race proof repeatedly before returning it, signaling him to enter.

"There are participants practicing to get used to the course. Please refrain from speaking loudly or shouting and avoid sudden movements while inspecting."

Mari-Henri Bell nodded, fully understanding. As an old cavalryman, he knew horses were quite skittish and sensitive animals, easily startled. Warhorses were a bit better after training, but racehorses were another story.

Thinking about the price required to rent the track, Mari-Henri Bell couldn't help but recall the descriptions in 'The Origin and Basis of Inequality Among Men' regarding private property and inequality. He sighed in his mind, "Indeed, the emergence of private property is the root of inequality."

A staff member led Mari-Henri Bell along the staff pathway, where other participants were also checking the course.

The staff pathway ran close to the track, not much narrower than the course itself and could easily accommodate a galloping horse. Mari-Henri Bell, under the guide of the staff, followed this path.

At each obstacle, the staff member reported the height and other details like the distance from the previous hurdle. Mari-Henri Bell diligently recorded these numbers in his notebook with a pencil.

Suddenly, the pathway sharply turned, and before them stood a rather high obstacle.

"Good thing I came to see beforehand, or this would've been troublesome. This turn will surely slow down the horse noticeably. Then, with hardly any time to accelerate after turning, there's this tall obstacle ahead. 'Little Clever' has to jump from here, and that's a bit challenging. Maybe I should wear tank tops and shorts too, and not eat too much before the race or drink water..."

Thinking like this, Mari-Henri Bell suddenly heard a flurry of hoofbeats.