Mia Ginger experienced this feeling for the first time.
She led the team, loudly shouting slogans, but it felt like a joke, with no one responding.
This feeling was unique, different from every other time she had led.
The drizzling rain hit her face, coldly and indifferently, as if it could extinguish all her resentment, grievances, anger, and pride.
No one obeyed the command.
Because she lacked deterrence.
She lacked in so many ways.
If the School of Journalism was a forest, Dallas Taylor was the tiger, commanding all beasts, while she was just a clever, lucky little fox.
Only when relying on him, she could borrow his power like a proxy and gain a bit of respect.
So that’s how it was.
She was on the same level as everyone else, so naturally, no one was convinced by her or feared her.
Mia ran while thinking, not knowing how many meters she had covered, how many things she had thought about. After a brief silence, just when everyone thought she would never shout again, her clear, loud voice rang out on the field once more.
"Heroine among women, only take first, never second."
This short phrase, given by the madman Dallas Taylor, sounded as if it came to life when she shouted it.
The slogan was alive.
The few following her were caught in a dilemma, still silent.
But the few male teams running in the outer circle started to stir once more.
Someone sighed, "Wow, where did this stubborn girl come from? Whoever among our boys can win her over, I’ll call him big bro!"
The boys laughed heartily, exclaiming as they ran further away.
Yet there was no longer the previous disdainful mockery; faintly, there was a bit of genuine consideration for her.
But Mia was clearly focused.
Running straight ahead, her voice crisply called again, "One two one, one two one, ... one, two, three, four!"
"One, two, three, four!"
In the team of five, aside from Wren King, the other four suddenly responded, unanimously starting to shout with her, as if cheering her on.
Mia was one step faster than them and couldn’t help but smile.
She continued to shout the slogans loudly as she ran.
This time, she wasn’t alone.
The remaining five all shouted with her, and though their voices couldn’t compare to the team of forty boys, they had a certain moving and surprisingly enchanting power.
Dallas Taylor walked onto the field with a stern face, only to see such a scene.
The slender girl led her five-person team like a graceful curve, crossing the bend of the track, neat, agile, a bit faster, running against the wind and rain, fearless, exuding a vibrant, thrilling vitality.
How long did it take?
How did these usually most rebellious girls become so obedient?
He was momentarily stunned, standing on the steps of the field, his gaze lingering on Mia Ginger for a long time.
Her camouflage was soaked.
The vibrant greens against her clean face, a striking contrast.
The slogan was louder than ever, with a spirit of refusing to lose.
Her running was extraordinarily standard, almost flawless.
This girl really did him proud, just like someone trained by Dallas Taylor.
His anger gradually subsided, and as he watched the fleeting figures of the six girls, a rare smile appeared on his usually solemn face.