"Investigate Kart #315!" the race director barked into his radio, his voice crackling over the channel to the stewards.
"Holy shit! What are they doing?" a coach cursed, staring at the monitors.
"What is your son doing?!" another mother asked, turning to the man beside her.
"I... I don't know. Maybe just a mistake?" #315's father shook his head, feigning ignorance.
"Mistake? How is that possible? He drove straight into him!" someone scoffed nearby.
The father of #315 stayed silent, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Liam is in trouble. Judging by the contact, that's at least a five-second penalty for the dropped nosecone."
"What a shame. He had the win in the bag, and now he's screwed."
The coaches and parents were stunned. It was dirty, blatant, and effective.
"That's so mean! He did it on purpose!" Louise shouted, her little face red with anger.
"Wait for the stewards' decision."
Martina patted her daughter's back, but her own eyes were cold. It was infuriating to see such cheap tactics at a junior race. But this was motorsport.
She watched Liam's kart, praying he wouldn't lose his cool. A top-tier driver needed a bulletproof mindset. Without it, you were just a fast driver, not a champion. The track was full of chaos; if you let every dirty move rattle you, you'd never make it.
Once the mind breaks, the driving falls apart.
Click-clack.
Liam heard the distinct sound of the front bumper dropping. The clips had released. That was an automatic 5-second penalty added to his total time.
Calculated quickly: The win gave 0 points. Sixth place gave around 6 points. If he dropped to the midfield, his starting position for the Final would be ruined. Even if he won the Final tomorrow, the combined points might not be enough for the overall title.
Well then. Guess I have to push.
His mindset didn't waver. He checked over his shoulder. Tyler was close—too close. One small mistake, and he'd be overtaken on track, penalty or not.
Whoosh!
"His line changed!"
"Is he driving angry? Did he lose his head?"
The coaches were confused. Usually, to minimize a penalty, you'd drive smooth, qualifying-style laps.
But Liam wasn't driving like he was in qualifying. He was driving like a man possessed.
He felt the track narrow to a single ribbon of asphalt. His body dissolved into the chassis. He wasn't turning the wheel with his hands; the wheel was leading his hands.
The airflow over the nassau panel, the vibration through the frame, the shriek of rubber biting into tarmac, the twist of the crankshaft—it all flooded into him as pure sensation.
Whoosh!
He braked impossibly late, throwing the kart into the corner with violent precision. The chassis teetered on the edge of chaos, sliding, biting, and then rocketing out of the exit on a knife-edge of grip.
Rattle-rattle!!!
He rode the curbs hard, the chassis flexing and groaning as he used every millimeter of the track and then some.
Whoosh!
In just four corners, he had pulled a 0.3-second gap on Tyler.
How?!
Tyler gripped his wheel, despair creeping in.
Why? I'm driving at the limit! I'm hitting every mark! Why is he pulling away?!
Was it the kart? No! They were spec engines, spec tires, spec fuel. It was impossible!
Tyler gritted his teeth. Chase him. But looking at Liam's lines, he knew the truth. If he tried to copy that aggression, he'd spin out.
He checked his six. Zach was right behind him. He couldn't afford to crash. Protecting P2 was the priority.
He had to stay rational.
Ahead, Liam found another gear. He was driving to erase the five-second deficit in real time.
Whoosh!
On the clean track, the timing screen updated.
43.002
"Whoa!"
"Holy...!"
"Is the timing loop broken?"
"Is this really the Cadet Class?"
The crowd erupted. That speed was physically impossible for a restricted 60cc engine! Nobody had ever hit a 43.0 in this class!
"He's a monster. Where did this kid come from?"
Every eye in the venue was locked on the lead kart. It didn't look special, but it was defying physics in every corner. The coaches realized they were watching a generational talent.
People began whispering, asking who his coach was, where he trained.
Mr. Chen swallowed hard. He realized he had invested in something... scary.
"Ms. Cartabia... is he strong? I mean, by European standards?" he couldn't help but ask.
"Yes. Very," Martina nodded, her expression serious. "His kart isn't fighting the track; it's gliding through the corners. He's using 100% of the available grip, but he's barely correcting the steering. That's the terrifying part."
She made up her mind. She had to talk to Arthur. They couldn't waste a year here. He needed to be in Italy now.
Lap after lap.
43.111
43.166
43.123
Liam churned out robotic consistency. Within five laps, he had built a five-second gap over Tyler. He had neutralized the penalty.
It wasn't that Tyler and Zach weren't pushing—they were running low 44s, their personal bests, chewing up their tires to keep up. But it wasn't enough.
"What's the gap to P2?"
Liam spoke out loud before realizing he had no radio. Right. Karting.
He turned his head. The straight was empty. Tyler was just exiting the previous corner.
That's enough.
He backed off slightly to save his tires for the finish. He still had the Final tomorrow.
Even "backing off," he was lapping in the 44s—faster than anyone else's qualifying pace.
Back in the pack, Linus had no idea what was happening. He just saw Liam vanishing into the distance, leaving Tyler and Zach in the dust.
Where is the other one? I paid two people! Crash him out!
Linus's face was twisted in an ugly scowl. If he couldn't win, he needed P2 or P3! If he finished 4th, his starting spot for the Final would suck!
Off-track, Linus's mother looked livid. She'd spent good money, and for what?
She glared at the father of #315. Useless. Your kid didn't even crash him out properly. I'm not paying the rest of the money!
Ptui! Bad luck!
Whoosh!
Lap 12. Liam rounded the final corner and saw the checkered flag. He crossed the line.
Phew. Didn't expect to get ambushed like that.
In his past life, racing in Europe, he'd seen plenty of dirty tricks. This was amateur hour compared to some of the stuff that happened in the Italian championships. He wasn't angry, just... weary.
He took a slow cool-down lap and entered the pits. A scrutineer immediately approached, scraping hot rubber from his tires into a sample box for lab analysis.
As Liam undid his seatbelt, Louise rushed over, grabbing his arm to help him up.
"I'm fine, I'm not that tired," Liam waved her off, hopping out and removing his helmet.
"Liam! Very good!" Louise used simple English, terrified he wouldn't understand her praise.
"Thanks."
"Liam, I need to speak to your father. You must bring this talent to Europe immediately!" Martina said, walking up briskly.
"Kid, you are awesome! Hahaha! After the finals, I'm taking you to the top of the Diwang Building for dinner!" Mr. Chen was ecstatic.
"Cool. I want Coconut Chicken," Liam grinned.
"Done! Whatever you want!" Mr. Chen waved his hand grandly.
Other karts filtered into the pits.
"Liam!" Zach dragged Tyler over. "Don't forget, you promised to teach us! I'm going to ask my mom to pay you for lessons right now!"
"Liam, seriously, how are you that fast?" Tyler looked at him with wide, confused eyes.
On the other side, Linus stormed out of his kart. When he saw the timing screen, he snapped.
"He cheated! He's definitely cheating! He must be using a modified engine!"