Due to so reasons the award ceremony was shifted to the next day so Dayo’s family and Evan’s family used this ti to tour the little they could with the remaining ti.
And after going to their different hotel Dayo found it hard to sleep after all he had just won not one but THREE OLYMPIC DALS and they were all Gold.
After a long while exhaustion took it place and he slept.
***
The next day
After doing everything it was ti.
The Podium
The stadium did not calm down after the races.
If anything, it grew louder.
By the ti officials began arranging the podium, the atmosphere had shifted completely. This was no longer just about competition. Everyone in the arena knew sothing historic had happened. Not rumours. Not speculation. It had already happened.
Three races.
Three finals.
Three wins.
This has never been done before the highest thay has been achieved was two of the sprint in swimming which were 50 and 100 ters.
So Dayo’s was the first ever both in this world and his old.
The announcent ca through the speakers, firm and formal, cutting through the noise.
"Ladies and gentlen, we will now begin the dal ceremonies for the n’s freestyle events."
Dayo stood with the other athletes near the waiting area, a towel draped over his shoulders. His body had finally started to cool down, and with that ca the ache. His legs felt heavy. His arms felt stiff. But his mind was alert—too alert.
Coach Richard stood beside him, arms folded, eyes locked on the podium.
"Breathe," the coach said quietly. "You’ve already done the hard part."
Dayo nodded, though his chest still felt tight.
In the stands, his family leaned forward.
Janet sat on the edge of her seat, gripping her mother’s hand. Jeffery had his arms crossed, but his foot tapped nonstop. Abishola watched without blinking. Jayden’s posture was calm, but his jaw was tight.
They were all waiting.
The first announcent ca.
"We begin with the n’s 100 tres freestyle dal ceremony."
A murmur spread across the stadium.
Dayo straightened slightly.
He hadn’t even had ti to process the race itself. It had been fast, clean, controlled. He rembered touching the wall, lifting his head, and seeing his na at the top of the board. Everything after that had blurred.
Now it was real.
"The bronze dal goes to—"
Applause followed as the third-place swimr stepped forward.
"The silver dal goes to—"
More applause. More cheers.
Then the pause.
"And the gold dal... goes to... Dayo Jason-Dayo, United States of Arica."
The sound that followed was overwhelming.
Not just cheers—shouts. Screams. Whistles. Flags waving. Caras flashing from every angle.
Dayo took a step forward.
Then another.
As he walked toward the podium, he felt sothing unexpected—his hands were shaking.
He climbed the steps and took his place at the center, standing taller as the dal was placed around his neck. The weight of it rested against his chest, cool at first, then warming against his skin.
The anthem played.
Dayo stared ahead, jaw set, eyes focused. He didn’t smile yet. This one felt heavy—not because it was his first dal, but because it confird sothing.
This wasn’t a fluke.
From the stands, Abishola pressed her hand to her mouth.
"That’s one," Janet whispered.
Jayden nodded. "Brois so cool."
Janet giggled. "Hehe look at him posing so high."
She took out her phone and captured the mont.
When the ceremony ended, Dayo stepped down, returning to the waiting area. Coach Richard t him imdiately.
"One down," the coach said. "Two to go."
Dayo exhaled slowly. "Yeah."
The officials moved efficiently. There was no long delay. The crowd stayed engaged, buzzing with anticipation.
"Next, the dal ceremony for the n’s 200 tres freestyle."
This one carried a different weight.
Everyone rembered that race.
It had been harder. Slower. More brutal. Dayo had looked strained in the final stretch. He had pushed through on instinct alone.
The bronze dalist was announced.
Then silver.
When the gold was called—his na again—the reaction was louder than before.
This ti, Dayo closed his eyes briefly before stepping forward.
As he climbed the podium, he felt the fatigue more clearly now. The dal was placed around his neck, joining the first. Two dals rested against his chest.
Two.
He stood through the anthem again, posture strong, breathing controlled.
In the stands, Jeffery leaned back and shook his head.
"This is crazy," he muttered.
Wayne glanced around. "People are realizing it now."
Valerie nodded. "This isn’t normal."
When Dayo returned, Coach Richard placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Listen to ," he said quietly. "What’s coming next... that’s the one everyone will rember."
Dayo swallowed.
He knew.
The officials took longer before the final announcent.
The crowd sensed it too. The noise softened—not because people were losing interest, but because they were focusing.
"Finally," the announcer said, "the dal ceremony for the n’s 50 tres freestyle."
A ripple moved through the stadium.
This was the sprint.
The fastest race.
The one that defined speed.
Dayo felt his throat tighten.
This was the race that had nearly broken him that day. The one he had entered exhausted. The one everyone thought would be too much.
He looked up at the big screen. His na was still there. First.
The bronze dal was announced.
The silver dal followed which was Evan he fist bump with Dayo which earned a hail from the crowd as they knew how close fhe race was.
Then the pause ca.
Longer than before.
"And the gold dal—"
The announcer stopped.
The crowd leaned in.
"—goes to... Dayo Jason-Dayo, United States of Arica."
The stadium exploded.
This ti, the reaction was different. People stood. People scread. So laughed. So simply stared at the screen, shaking their heads.
Dayo didn’t move imdiately.
For a mont, he just stood there.
Then he stepped forward.
As he climbed the podium for the third ti, sothing shifted inside him. His chest tightened, and his vision blurred slightly. When the dal was placed around his neck, joining the other two, the weight felt overwhelming.
Three.
He stood at the center again, but this ti, his composure cracked.
As the anthem played, Dayo lowered his head.
His shoulders shook once.
Then again.
From the stands, Abishola’s eyes filled with tears.
"That’s my son," she whispered.
Janet clapped through her tears. Jeffery didn’t hide his grin. Jayden stood, hands clasped, pride written plainly on his face.
When the anthem ended, Dayo lifted his head, eyes red but steady. He looked out into the crowd—and his gaze found his family.
They were standing.
All of them.
He pressed his fist lightly to his chest.
The mont passed quickly. Officials guided the athletes down. Caras followed him from every angle, but no one stopped him yet. No questions. No microphones.
Just space.
Back in the athlete area, Dayo sat down slowly, dals resting against his chest. Coach Richard crouched in front of him.
"Three," the coach said quietly.
Dayo nodded. "Three."
"No one has ever done this," Richard added.
Dayo let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
"I know."
The noise from the stadium still echoed, but inside, there was a strange calm.
The dals were real.
The history was real.
And this—this was only the beginning.
Dayo placed the three dals on his coach.
"Coach you deserve this."
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