The red lights above the track blinked in rhythm. Coasta's gloved hands tightened on the steering wheel. His heart calmed—not because the nerves disappeared, but because the world outside the kart fell away.
Just the engine's thrum. The weight of his helmet. The scent of burnt rubber.
Five lights on.
Lights out.
Go!
Coasta launched off the line with a clean start. His kart's tires gripped just enough to shoot ahead as chaos unfolded behind. Two drivers collided lightly at turn 1—nothing serious, but enough to throw the grid into early turbulence.
He took the inside line, precise and aggressive. Like he'd practiced hundreds of times.
Kart #5 leads out of turn two!
Julian stood at the fence, arms crossed but eyes sharp. Lucas and Javier clenched their fists. Even Samantha, half-asleep earlier, was now standing beside their mother, watching wide-eyed.
Lap 3 – Pressure Mounting
Behind him, kart #12—Ramon Laxa, a tall, lanky kid from Cebu—closed the gap. Ramon was more experienced, smoother in his exits, and wasn't afraid to brake late.
Coasta felt it.
At turn 5, Ramon tried the outside, but Coasta cut the apex clean. At turn 6, Ramon faked a dive inside. Coasta didn't flinch.
Stay calm. Trust your rhythm.
He blocked the line without looking back. The kart obeyed every instinct. His tires began to heat up, traction peaking.
Lap 4, then lap 5. Still in the lead.
Lap 6 – Mistake
A momentary slip.
On turn 7, Coasta braked half a meter late—just enough to go slightly wide. Ramon dove in. Wheels nearly touched.
He's got the inside.
But Coasta didn't yield. He held the outside with precision, inch for inch. The crowd roared as both karts exited neck and neck.
Then—Coasta did something bold.
At turn 8, he lifted the throttle for just a second, letting Ramon slip an inch ahead. Then, he darted back to the inside on turn 9 with perfect timing.
Back in front.
It wasn't brute speed—it was calculated. Tactical. That was racing.
Final Lap – Controlled Fire
By lap 10, Coasta had rebuilt a slim lead. Kart #6, a girl named Rica Mallari from Davao, now chased in third. The rest of the pack had fallen behind after early scrapping.
Coasta hit every apex. Every shift was smooth. He wasn't faster by sheer power—but by consistency.
Final corner.
He didn't celebrate. Not yet.
He crossed the line—first place.
After the Race
Julian was waiting by the pit lane, arms still folded.
"You braked late in lap 6," he said first.
"I recovered," Coasta replied calmly, removing his helmet.
Julian finally smiled. "Yeah. You did."
Lucas grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "That was insane!"
Even Javier admitted, "I didn't think you could hold off Ramon."
Coasta just looked up at the sky. The sun was higher now, the heat rising. But the fire inside him felt cooler—controlled.
He wasn't racing with panic. He was racing with clarity.
One race down. One final to go.