It was a quiet Sunday morning when Coasta Fernandez and his family arrived at the parking lot of the small provincial kart track in Laguna. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, and a gentle mist rolled over the green hills nearby. Coasta was just five years old, but his expression was calm, almost detached—he looked more like a boy preparing for a piano recital than a kart race.
Julian Fernandez, his father, parked the family van beside a few other early arrivals. His voice was steady but warm as he turned around in the front seat to face his son.
"We're here. This is your first one, son. Just do your best," he said.
Coasta nodded.
"Okay, Dad."
In the backseat, his mom gently adjusted his small racing gloves.
"Don't forget to smile, nak. It's your first race. Enjoy it."
His sister, Samantha, only two years old, was still asleep in her mother's arms, her soft snoring barely audible over the chirping birds.
The kart sat in the rear of the van, secured with cloth straps and a thin layer of plastic. It had a red-and-black livery—nothing fancy, just colors they picked together the month before. Coasta had helped paint the nose himself with a brush too big for his small hands.
The family unloaded quietly. Julian rolled out the kart and began checking the tires and engine. His face was serious. He wasn't just Coasta's father today—he was his mechanic, coach, and team principal, all rolled into one.
They walked to the registration booth, a simple white tent with a printed banner reading:
"Laguna Mini Karting League – Round 1"
Inside, a few staff members sat behind a folding table, scribbling names on clipboards. A woman in a red polo greeted them.
"Name of the driver?" she asked, pen ready.
Julian stepped back and let Coasta answer.
"Coasta Fernandez," the boy said, clearly but softly.
The woman blinked, surprised at his composure.
"Age?"
"Five."
"You've raced before?"
"Only practice."
"Alright. First-timer. That's fine," she said, giving him a small smile. "You'll be in the Rookie Bambino class. Heats start at 10:30, but briefing's at 9. Here's your number—#17. Helmet check's down that way."
Coasta took the number card from her hands like it was a sacred scroll.
Back in the paddock area, Julian and Coasta set up their little space—no tent, just a foldable chair, a tool kit, and their kart sitting proudly under the rising sun. Around them, other families and racers—some obviously more experienced—had full tents, spare tires, engine stands, and even branded team shirts.
Coasta looked around. Some boys were already joking and laughing with their dads or teammates. Others were silently reviewing notes with coaches. One kid had a wireless headset on and was talking to someone on a radio. Coasta didn't feel out of place, just... new.
Julian crouched beside him, speaking quietly.
"This is the starting line of a long road, Coasta. Today isn't about winning. It's about learning how to race with others. Learning how to finish. You ready?"
Coasta nodded again.
"I'm ready, Dad."
The pre-race technical inspection was a blur of unfamiliar adults and metal tools. A marshal crouched beside Coasta's kart and ran a quick checklist—tire wear, brakes, fuel, chain tension. Everything passed. The marshal gave a quick thumbs up and scribbled something on a small sheet.
Afterwards, Coasta sat on the grass with his dad beside the kart, sipping water from a bottle. The morning briefing would start soon.
And inside him, beneath the calm surface, something began to stir.
[RACING GOD SYSTEM – ACTIVATED]
[Status: Low-Level Initialization]
[Condition: First Official Event Detected]
[Passive Boosts Unlocked: Reaction Refinement I, Focus Clarity I]
Coasta blinked once. He didn't hear anything. He didn't feel magic or electricity. But for some reason, the noise of the track faded just slightly. His fingers gripped the bottle more confidently. The warmth in his chest wasn't nervousness—it was a quiet fire, something subtle but alive.
His journey had officially begun.