It was the absentees on that podium that was the slow, then sudden realisation that the OGGG – the original golden generation – was gone. No Carolina Marin, PV Sindhu, Chen Yufei, Tai Tzu-ying, Akane Yamaguchi, Nozomi Okuhara, or Ratchanok Intanon. Bingjiao and Tunjung would be the two most deserving women to medal at the Olympics and big props to elegant badminton that won in Paris. Just that they were rather unexpected.

It wasn’t always ambition though, for they all won plenty – lost too – but the OGGG bunch have spent a good dozen years, battling at very high intensity, playing clutch an insane number of multiple times in mix-and-match contests. It elevates them to a different plane, where badminton ceased to be about ticking of boxes, settling scores, earning petty revenges or seething over a loss for long.

The furious and frankly unforgiving circuit meant they would dust off, get up and turn up to battle once more, all over again. They’d push the limits of endurance, flexibility, deceptive skills and speed, from one title to the next. The sheer hard work left them with no envy or insecurity towards one another, as even national identities melted into a genuine appreciation of each other’s effort and the highest standards of excellence they unfailingly brought. There are no gnashing rivalries in this golden generation, laced with negativity. They all bond over ACL traumas, in its various stages. There’s barely a common language in badminton, but silent respect is at the heart of every match.

It’s why the greatest moment of 2024 might not be the Olympic final, and the gold medal. It was Bingjiao standing on the podium, clutching her silver in one hand and a tiny pin of Spain held up, to tell Marin she was an equal winner.

In their semifinal, Marin led till she went for a hop smash, landed awkwardly and collapsed, sobbing “No, no, no, no it’s broken.” Bingjiao would help her gently get up and leave the court in her last Olympics match, to applause for how she had fought. Later on the podium, the Chinese would take a small Spanish pin along, reminding the world that Marin could well have been on the podium if not for her third heartbreaking injury mid-match.

Marin, at an event alongside Bingjiao in November, would say she hadn’t picked up a racquet since that fateful day of breaking her knee. “Now I’m good, now I’m happy. Slowly but surely. It is important to build up the muscles first. And go step by step. I’d love to retire in the future on a badminton court,” she would set out her next basic goal. “As I said, there is no rush. It is a dream, but not an obsession,” she would add.

Known for her fierce presence on the court, Marin had once defeated Bingjiao from 16-20 down in the decider at a World Championship. Bingjiao had broken down into tears that day, unable to stem Marin’s menacing maraud. But Bingjiao belongs to the golden generation because she fought over and over again, after that, and lined up for the Olympic final a few years later.

Marin though felt gratitude. “I know Chinese culture well. And it’s not easy what she did, having me in mind in that moment. Being on the Olympic podium with silver medal, and showing the pin all the time. I will never forget that moment. I will never forget that moment and be forever grateful,” she said.

For Bingjiao, always authentic, it all came naturally. “She is Olympic champion and three-time world champion. She showed me how fast you can be. Out of court, she showed me, showed us, how strong mentally you can be. So I will always cheer for her,” she would say.

Hearts got broken for sure – Bingjiao didn’t land the gold, Marin didn’t make the podium. Neither won technically. But Marin said they now share a unique bond, that doesn’t need a disc of gold. “Everyone saw it worldwide, and when I saw it for the first time, with my own eyes, I was very shocked,” Marin says. The disbanding wasn’t ideal, the ending wasn’t perfect – but it was the start of the most unlikely friendship.