Broadcast: Congratulations, Charlotte O'Hagan!
The weight of the medal presses on her neck as camera bulbs flash all around her, leaving her a little dazzled.
Reporter I: Quick—snap a picture of the scar on her foot!
Reporter II: Charlotte, congratulations on winning first place at the Uluru Games!
Reporter II: That's a surprise. You've smashed the record, making history as the youngest ever winner of Floor Ritual. What was the process like to get to this point?
Charlotte: ...
She lowers her head, examining the shining gold medal hanging at her chest.
Charlotte: I snatched the sun from the sky.
Reporter II: The sun?
The girl smiles and raises the gold medal.
Charlotte: That's right. This is my sun!
Reporter I: Perfect angle, real front page material. Charlotte, could you lift the medal a bit higher?
The girl raises the medal higher. The camera flashes, making it shine even brighter.
Reporter I: Great. We plan on doing an exclusive interview next week.
Reporter III: Hey, Philip, haven't you hogged enough of her time?
A reporter pushes his way toward Charlotte, his suit wrinkled from the jostling crowd.
Reporter III: Finally! Alright. Charlotte, what's next for you?
The girl is overwhelmed by questions and flashing lights.
The cacophony has come to an end.
Charlotte: Is that it ...?
The medal rests heavy in her palm.
Charlotte: I won, but now what?
Coach: You're still so young.
Familiar footsteps approach.
Coach: The stories we tell always end with winning the gold.
Coach: No one talks about what you're supposed to do after you win the medal. After all, life goes on much longer than any story.
Charlotte: But I did it! I got the gold!
She argues fiercely on her own behalf.
Charlotte: I broke the record. I beat Caroline! I'm the youngest champion ever! There's never been an 11-year-old champion in all history!
Coach: So what?
Charlotte: My name will be in the newspapers. Everyone will remember who I am, and at the next Uluru Games, they'll all be cheering my name.
Charlotte: And then ...
Coach: Your name will become a symbol, a topic at every dinner table conversation, and, as even you fall prey to the illusion of fame and the past, it will become your prison.
Coach: And before long, you will have entirely forgotten who you thought you were.
Charlotte: I—
Coach: We all die one day, but the Floor Ritual will carry on. It's the symbol itself. How could someone possibly defeat something abstract?
Coach: Today is the beginning of your tragedy.
She coldly announces her verdict.
Coach: When you look directly into the sun, you must always remember that it's also the source of shadow.
Charlotte: I've sacrificed so much for this.
She clutches the gold medal tightly.
Charlotte: I beat everyone to get it—the gold medal. I woke up at the crack of dawn, trained until I could train no more, just for a chance.
Charlotte: And now, I've won.
Charlotte: Do you think I can't see the desire in their eyes when they see it? They all want this medal.
She bites her lip and musters the courage to look her coach in the eye. The face before her ripples, trembling slightly.
Charlotte: If this is the source of tragedy, then why do we long for it?
Coach: Heh.
As she lets out a cold sneer, her features become clearer.
Coach: It's the gold medal. That's why.
Coach: It's precisely because it's a gold medal that you kept going. Even if your feet were bleeding, you couldn't escape this self-inflicted sacrifice. Because this is what you desired!
Coach: Isn't this the root of your tragedy?
