The Olympics. This was the final grail, the only ticket to the pantheon. He carried the weight of an era onto the final court, facing a destined reunion with his opponent, as if history's script had long been written, waiting only for him to turn the final page. This wasn't fighting for records or titles. This was fighting for what was "deserved." The moment the gold medal hung around his neck, the bells of the Super Grand Slam rang out. Fan Zhendong—this name now stands alongside immortality. He didn't complete his final dance; he simply opened a new era defined by him.

That year, he was still just a 19-year-old boy, a gifted "challenger." But on German soil, he used pure power and desire to tear apart all predetermined scripts. This wasn't just a victory, it was a declaration. A prince of a new era had stepped onto his rightful territory.

Two years later, he was no longer the challenger; he was the one being challenged. In the legendary European stronghold, facing the thunderous support of his opponent's fans, he had to win to prove his dominance wasn't accidental. He walked into his opponent's palace and calmly made it his own. This was maturity, and more importantly, a statement.

Defending is harder than winning for the first time, because it tests not talent, but will. On his home soil, pressure became something concrete, tangible. His opponents were young, fearless, eager to overthrow the old order. But Fan Zhendong showed the world through action: this era is not yet yours.

Three consecutive championships. This unprecedented record was earned by defeating a god and crowning himself. He was no longer a prince; he had established his own dynasty. A seven-game epic, an ultimate test of willpower, with his opponent's neck under his foot.

Behind the 4-0 score was the end of years of waiting. He finally grasped that "ghost" with his own hands, completing his redemption. The St. Bride's Cup, the crown of World Championships, was the "ghost" that had haunted his heart for years. He had come infinitely close twice, only to watch it slip through his fingers twice. This time, he allowed no accidents.

He won. Proving to everyone, especially to the future: my era is not over yet. Below the throne, new heirs had already emerged. This final was both a sparring match between teammates and a ceremony of power transfer... or rather, the current king's renewed grip on his scepter.

The Olympics. This was the final grail, the only ticket to the pantheon. He carried the weight of an era onto the final court, facing a destined reunion with his opponent, as if history's script had long been written, waiting only for him to turn the final page. This wasn't fighting for records or titles. This was fighting for what was "deserved." The moment the gold medal hung around his neck, the bells of the Super Grand Slam rang out. Fan Zhendong—this name now stands alongside immortality. He didn't complete his final dance; he simply opened a new era defined by him.