Philippines, Batangas – Year 2005
The late afternoon sun spilled golden light across the old backyard of the Fernandez family estate. Palm trees swayed gently in the humid breeze, their shadows stretching long over the cracked concrete where a small boy sat cross-legged, eyes fixed on a dusty TV set wheeled out from the sala. The screen flickered between static and a grainy image of Formula 1 cars roaring down Monza's long straights.
"Who's that?" the boy asked, pointing at a red car diving into the chicane.
"That's Schumacher," replied his grandfather, sitting nearby on a rattan chair. "One of the greats. But not the greatest."
"Not the greatest?" the boy blinked.
His grandfather grinned, leaning forward. "The greatest racer hasn't been born yet, apo."
The boy's name was Coasta—only three years old, but already his mind was ticking like a race engine. His toy cars were scattered everywhere: under the table, beside the bamboo fence, even in the garden where his mother constantly warned him not to dig holes.
He didn't know it yet, but this was the beginning of a lifelong obsession.
---
The Fernandez family lived modestly in the rural outskirts of Batangas. Though his father, Julian Fernandez, was British-Spanish by blood and once raced in junior formulas in Europe, he'd retired early and settled in the Philippines with his Filipino wife, Elena. Now a business owner with a struggling racing parts company, Julian kept his passion alive by restoring old karts in the garage and coaching local kids part-time.
But Coasta wasn't just any kid.
Even at his young age, he had an odd calmness to him. While other boys screamed and chased dogs, Coasta preferred watching replays of races with narrowed eyes, sometimes mimicking gear shifts with his plastic steering wheel while lying on the floor.
---
It was one lazy Sunday afternoon when everything changed.
Julian was working on an old Cadet kart, engine clinking as he tightened bolts under the blazing sun. His two older sons were inside playing video games, but Coasta had wandered over, drawn by the scent of gasoline and grease.
"Papa…" the boy said softly. "Can I sit?"
Julian looked up, his brow sweating. "Sit where?"
"There." Coasta pointed at the kart's small, worn-out bucket seat.
Julian hesitated. The kart wasn't running. It didn't even have wheels attached. But something in Coasta's eyes—so focused, so intent—made him pause.
"…Alright. Careful, okay?"
He lifted the boy and placed him in the seat.
And in that moment—everything changed.
---
[SYSTEM BOOTING…]
[RACING GOD SYSTEM: ACTIVATED]
[Syncing with Host: Coasta Fernandez]
[Calibrating Neural Response…]
[Race Instinct: +0.01%]
[Observational Awareness: Enhanced]
[Adaptive Line Prediction: Dormant]
Coasta blinked. Something strange stirred in his chest, like a tickle behind his ribs. His fingers twitched on the steering wheel, and without even realizing it, he began imagining a race line across the dusty garage floor—where to brake, where to turn.
Julian watched, puzzled, as the boy adjusted his grip naturally. "You look serious," he muttered.
Coasta didn't answer. He was already in another world.
---
Later that evening, during dinner, Coasta barely touched his adobo.
"Anak, eat," his mother reminded.
"Papa," Coasta said suddenly. "Can you teach me how to drive?"
The whole table went silent. His brothers laughed.
"You can't even ride a bike yet!" the eldest teased.
But Julian leaned back, studying his son. The boy wasn't joking. His voice was firm—blunt and calm.
"I'll think about it," Julian said, though a smile tugged at his lips.
---
That night, Coasta lay in bed staring at the ceiling fan. Inside him, something was whispering, though he didn't understand it yet. A gentle hum of data, predictions, and subtle instinct. A system not meant to give him powers—but to awaken what already existed within.
The boy wasn't chosen.
He was born for this.