The garage was quiet at dawn, save for the occasional chirp of birds and the metallic clink of tools being moved. It smelled of rubber, oil, and damp morning air. Inside, Julian stood near a half-assembled kart frame, arms crossed, watching his son stretch his arms in the dirt.
"You really want to learn, huh?" Julian asked without turning around.
Coasta, still in his oversized slippers and a plain white shirt with small grease stains, nodded with no hesitation. "Yes, Pa."
Julian wiped his hands with a rag and sighed. "Then we'll start with the boring parts."
"Okay."
"No complaints?"
"No."
Julian glanced at him. "Alright. Push this chassis to the other side of the garage."
The boy looked at the frame—it was nearly as wide as he was tall. But without a word, Coasta went behind it and started pushing.
[SYSTEM UPDATE: Observational Adaptation – Active]
[Tracking chassis weight… estimating fatigue curve… optimizing muscle micro-effort]
He didn't notice the data flowing in his subconscious. To him, it just felt natural—like the frame wasn't as heavy as it should be. After a few slow, steady shoves, the kart reached the other side.
Julian raised an eyebrow. "Huh."
He hadn't expected him to finish it without complaining. Most kids he taught gave up halfway and asked to drive instead.
"Fine," Julian said. "We'll mount the tires tomorrow. For now, we're learning positions."
He drew shapes on the dusty concrete using chalk. Arrows. Cones. Circles.
"This is a corner. This is the apex. This is the exit. Most people brake here." He pointed at a mark. "But the best brake here—" he pointed a bit later "—and trust themselves."
Coasta listened, eyes locked in.
---
Over the next few weeks, training became a quiet ritual.
Julian didn't baby him. He trained Coasta the same way he trained adults. Sometimes too hard. But the boy absorbed it all. Even if he fell and scraped his knees, he didn't cry. When he spun during mock turns in the kart shell, he just stood up, brushed off, and did it again.
His siblings noticed too.
"Since when did Coasta stop watching cartoons?" his older brother asked one night.
"He doesn't. He just rewatches old races now," said the other, shrugging. "Weird kid."
Their mom, Elena, worried at first. "Are you pushing him too hard?"
Julian shook his head. "No. If anything… I think I'm holding him back."
---
One Month Later
They finally brought the kart to a nearby open field—just gravel and faded grass. Nothing professional.
Julian had a stopclock, a plastic chair, and a jug of water.
The engine sputtered to life, and Coasta, now 4 years old and wearing a helmet too big for him, gripped the steering wheel tightly. Julian crouched beside him.
"Listen. If you get scared, let off the throttle. Don't try to be brave. Learn first. That's the goal."
"Okay, Papa."
"Hands at nine and three. Eyes forward."
"Okay."
Julian paused. "You nervous?"
Coasta blinked slowly. "No. I feel... ready."
The kart rolled forward.
It was clumsy. Jerky. He oversteered once, understeered the next. But what stood out was that he never panicked. Never locked up. He learned with each corner.
Julian's stopwatch clicked again.
"…Improved again," he muttered. "That's the third run."
---
That night, as they cleaned the kart together in the garage, Julian finally said what had been building in him.
"Coasta," he said. "If we really do this… you'll have to give up a lot. Time. Friends. Maybe even school."
The boy nodded. "I want to."
"Why?"
Coasta paused. Then he looked up. "Because I love it. And… because I want to race for you and Lolo."
Julian's hand froze over the sponge. Then he ruffled the boy's hair.
"Alright. From tomorrow, we train for real."