Anthony's hand slipped into the box, his fingers brushing against the slips until they finally secured one. He drew it out, unfolding the paper with a calm expression. The bold number 11 was etched upon it.
Without uttering a word, Anthony simply turned and made his way toward the car marked with the same number along its gleaming sides. Its position in the arrangement was neither at the forefront nor at the rear, but comfortably situated in the middle, as though destiny itself had chosen a neutral placement for him.
Gently opening the door, he was greeted with the sight of a race suit and helmet neatly prepared for him. But, unlike the ordinary suits of traditional racers, this one carried an aura of craftsmanship and technological precision that immediately caught his attention.
