Chapter 446: Mr. Wang, Don’t Push Yourself If You Can’t!

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

Both treadmills were cranked to their maximum speed, and the noise was deafening.

Xiaoyong’s running form was textbook professional—arms swinging rhythmically at his sides to generate momentum, legs slightly bent at the knees to absorb impact. Most of the power came from his thighs, driving his calves in a smooth, efficient motion. It was a technique designed to minimize stress on the joints.

Wang Yun, on the other hand, didn’t look nearly as textbook.

His arms also pumped steadily, but his fists didn’t rise to chin level like Xiaoyong’s. Instead, they hovered around his chest. His steps were quicker too, partly due to his shorter stride compared to Xiaoyong’s longer legs, which covered more ground with each step.

But in one key area, Wang Yun had the clear advantage: breathing rhythm.

One minute passed.

Then two.

Then four.

In what felt like a blink, the two had been running for four minutes straight.

By the time the display ticked past the four-minute mark, the once-quiet gym had come alive with noise and murmurs.

“Holy crap, four minutes?!”

“Xiaoyong, can you still keep going? Don’t overdo it; high-intensity training like this is brutal on the body!”

“Shouldn’t we be more worried about Mr. Wang? If he’s not careful, he’s going to throw up!”

The fitness trainers hovering nearby couldn’t stay quiet any longer. One by one, they stepped forward, huddling around the treadmills in concern.

Only they, as professionals, truly understood the toll a treadmill at speed twelve could take and what kind of consequences it could bring.

Yet Wang Yun didn’t look the slightest bit uncomfortable.

On the contrary, he was still running at a smooth, consistent pace. His posture and breathing hadn’t changed since he started.

Five minutes.

Huff… huff… HUFF!

Xiaoyong was starting to falter.

His rhythm began to slip. His legs couldn’t quite keep up with the conveyor’s speed, and his body was starting to drift backward.

Realizing he was about to be flung off the back, he quickly surged forward, forcing himself to keep up.

His facial expression twisted. He was no longer calm and confident but strained, desperate.

His arms flailed wider now, swinging for balance more than power. Sweat poured down his face like a waterfall. The muscles in his calves visibly trembled.

“Damn!”

Xiaoyong glanced at the treadmill’s timer. His eyes burned, sharp as blades.

But his mind was growing hazy; he was running out of oxygen. Every breath felt thinner than the last.

His body screamed at him to reach for the stop button.

But out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wang Yun—still steady, still going strong.

That glance alone reignited his pride.

With a roar, he pushed himself harder. Veins popped along his neck. His entire body trembled as the pounding of his feet echoed louder and louder across the gym.

“Shit! Xiaoyong’s about to break, his steps are getting heavy!”

“No way… Mr. Wang’s still going? Eight minutes?! That’s near the upper limit of human capability!”

“When did our neighborhood get such a beast? This isn’t just fitness—this is raw explosive power!”

“Look at him! Still stable, barely even sweating, while Xiaoyong looks like he’s about to collapse!”

By now, the onlookers weren’t just impressed, they were stunned.

They had watched in awe, then in admiration… and now? In disbelief.

Wang Yun looked like something out of a movie.

He stood tall on the treadmill, calm and composed, still running like it was nothing.

Meanwhile, Xiaoyong sounded like he was dying. Even from behind, they could hear the ragged gasps tearing from his throat.

Wang Yun, hearing it, found it almost funny.

His current physical condition was already bordering on the limits of human potential. Endurance, explosive power, stamina. He had it all.

This pace? This speed?

He barely even considered it a warm-up.

Just a little tiring, that’s all.

“This speed’s pretty low. Can we go faster?”

The crowd hadn’t even recovered from their shock when Wang Yun suddenly turned to Supervisor Zhang and spoke.

The moment those words dropped, a wave of stunned gasps swept through the gym.

“Huh?” Zhang blinked, stunned.

Did he just say… faster?

“Mr. Wang, you… you want to go faster?” he stammered.

Even as he spoke, Zhang felt a chill run down his spine.

Because Wang Yun was still running. Still steady.

And those words he’d just uttered were as smooth as if he were chatting in a café—no panting, no strain.

As if he hadn’t been sprinting for nearly ten minutes.

Is he even human?

The crowd around them gawked, mouths falling open.

Xiaoyong looked up in disbelief, nearly tripping.

He couldn’t even speak, let alone process what was happening.

“The speed’s still too low,” Wang Yun said casually, wiping the sweat from his forehead as if it were an afterthought.

His chest rose and fell gently, breath controlled. Even up close, there was no labored breathing to be heard.

“I’m afraid we can’t, Mr. Wang,” Supervisor Zhang said, wiping his own sweat now. “This is already the highest setting. In all of Magic City, only this gym’s treadmill goes up to twelve. Most top out at ten.”

He swallowed hard.

At this point, the only thing left in his voice—and his eyes—was pure, unfiltered respect.