Thursday night.
Saudi Arabia. The Jeddah Corniche Circuit.
If Bahrain was a test of heat, Jeddah was a test of madness.
The air here was thick, heavy with the humidity of the Red Sea and the smell of money. The floodlights turned the night into a blinding artificial day, illuminating a narrow ribbon of asphalt that snaked between towering concrete walls.
This track had a nickname among the drivers: "The Graveyard of the Brave."
It was the fastest street circuit in history. Average speeds exceeded 250 km/h. There were 27 corners, most of them blind, high-speed kinks taken at full throttle.
And the most terrifying part?
There were no run-off areas. No gravel traps to catch you if you made a mistake.
Just walls. Cold, unforgiving, reinforced concrete walls.
One mistake, and you didn't just spin—you disintegrated.
[Part 1: The Sabotage]
Inside the Team Hawk engineering room, the air conditioning was blasting, but the atmosphere was suffocating.
The team had just arrived from Bahrain. The high of the victory had evaporated, replaced by the crushing pressure of the GIA's new "Anti-Drift" directive.
Pierre, the Chief Data Engineer, stood at the front of the room. He was a tall Frenchman with thin glasses and a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He was also, notably, a close friend of Esteban—the driver Ye Tian had humiliated.
"Ye, listen closely," Pierre said, tapping a stylus on the digital whiteboard.
"The GIA has issued the ban. 'No unnecessary sliding.' This kills your driving style." Pierre feigned a look of concern. "Because of this, and for your... personal safety... the engineering team has finalized a 'Conservative Strategy' for this weekend."
He clicked a button. A setup sheet appeared on the screen.
Front Wing Angle: Increased by 2 degrees (High Drag).
Toe-In: Increased by 0.5 degrees (Stability focused).
Rear Suspension: Damping softened by 20%.
Ride Height: Raised by 4mm.
In the corner of the room, Esteban was trimming his fingernails. When he saw the numbers, the corner of his mouth twitched into a vicious smirk.
To a layman, this looked like a safe setup.
But to a pro?
This was a death sentence.
On a track like Jeddah, you needed a sharp, responsive front end to flick the car into the high-speed S-curves. Pierre's setup made the car "lazy." It would be stable on the straights, yes.
But the moment you tried to turn at 280 km/h, the soft suspension would collapse, the car would understeer (refuse to turn), and the centrifugal force would throw the driver straight into the barriers.
This wasn't a setup. It was a murder weapon.
Koma, the Team Principal, wiped sweat from his forehead. He wasn't a technical wizard; he trusted his staff.
"Okay, Pierre is the professional. He knows the data. Ye, just treat this weekend like a vacation. Drive slow. Bring the car home in one piece. We can't afford a crash."
The room went silent, waiting for Ye Tian's submission.
"Vacation?"
Ye Tian, who had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them.
He chuckled. It was a dry, humorless sound.
He sat up, crossing his legs, and began twirling a pen in his hand. His gaze locked onto Pierre like a predator spotting a limping gazelle.
"Pierre, right? Tell me, before you came to FX, did you fix tractors in the French countryside?"
Pierre's face flushed a deep crimson. "Excuse me? What did you say? I graduated top of my class from ParisTech! I have a Master's in Aerodynamics!"
SLAM!
Ye Tian moved so fast no one saw it coming.
He stood up and slammed the pen onto the table. The plastic shattered. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.
Koma jumped. Esteban dropped his nail clipper.
"Top of your class? And this garbage is the best you can do?"
Ye Tian walked toward the screen, his shadow looming over the engineer.
"Look at this toe-angle! It makes the steering response slower than a granddad getting out of bed! And this soft rear suspension? In the Sector 1 snake, the rear end will squat so hard the front wheels will lift off the ground! I will lose all steering!"
Ye Tian leaned in, his face inches from Pierre's.
"Do you think I don't understand cars? Or do you think... I won't take your head and stuff it into the exhaust pipe to check the airflow myself?"
"Ye... Ye!" Koma stammered, terrified. "Calm down! You can't talk to the Chief Engineer like that!"
"Engineer? Him?"
Ye Tian scoffed. He looked at Pierre with pure disgust.
"He's not an engineer. He's an assassin."
"Move!"
Ye Tian kicked Pierre's chair. The Frenchman scrambled away, terrified by the violence radiating from the rookie.
Ye Tian sat down at the main control console.
[System Active.]
[Skill: God-Tier Mechanic (Legendary) — Engaged.]
His hands flew across the keyboard.
Clack-clack-clack-clack!
The sound was rhythmic, aggressive, like a machine gun.
"What is he doing?" Gary whispered to a mechanic.
"He's... he's rewriting the entire setup code."
Ye Tian's eyes scanned the complex telemetry data. The car was being stripped and rebuilt in his mind.
"Front Wing Angle: Minus 3 degrees! Cut the drag!"
"Ride Height: Lower it! Drop it by 5mm! I want it scraping the floor!"
"Rear Suspension Stiffness: MAX! Lock it up!"
"Engine Mapping: Mode 8—Qualifying Spec! Unlock the redline to 12,500 RPM!"
Pierre watched the numbers change on the big screen, his eyes bulging.
"You're crazy! That ride height is illegal! It's too low! You will bottom out on every bump! The titanium skid blocks will disintegrate! And the suspension... it's as stiff as a rock! It will snap your spine over the curbs! This is suicide!"
Ye Tian didn't stop. He hit the final key.
[UPLOAD COMPLETE.]
He stood up. His neck cracked.
He turned to face the room of stunned faces.
"Suicide?"
Ye Tian walked to the window. Outside, the black ribbon of the Jeddah circuit waited, lined with those terrifying concrete walls.
"For the weak, for people like you... this track is a graveyard."
"But for me..."
Ye Tian put on his sunglasses, even though it was night.
"This is a hunting ground."
[Part 2: The Fire-Breathing Monster]
One hour later. FP1 (Free Practice 1) began.
The garage door opened.
The Hawk VF-25 sat on the jacks. It looked different.
It sat lower, crouching like a predator ready to pounce. The front wing was aggressive, razor-sharp.
Ye Tian slid into the cockpit.
"Radio check."
"Loud and clear, Ye," Gary said, his voice trembling. "Be careful. The floor is... very close to the ground."
"Release me."
The jacks dropped.
THUD.
The car hit the floor. It was practically touching the ground.
Ye Tian dumped the clutch.
ROAR!
The "Demon Modified" Hawk screamed out of the pit lane.
And immediately, the crowd gasped.
Because the ride height was so low, the moment the car hit a tiny bump in the pit exit, the titanium skid blocks under the floor smashed against the asphalt.
KRRR-SSSSHHH!
A shower of bright yellow and orange sparks erupted from the rear of the car!
It wasn't just a few sparks. It was a flamethrower. The car dragged a tail of fire meters long, looking like a comet flying across the surface of the earth!
"My God!" In the global commentary booth, Martin Brundle gasped. "Look at the Hawk! It's bottoming out like crazy! Ye Tian is spitting fire! Is he trying to grind the floor away?!"
On track.
Ye Tian didn't do a warm-up lap.
"Tires are cold? Don't care."
"Brakes are cold? Don't care."
He shifted up. 7th gear. 8th gear.
320 km/h on the main straight.
Ahead lay Sector 1.
Turns 4 to 10. The Snake.
This was a rhythmic sequence of left-right-left high-speed sweeps. The walls were right on the edge of the track. It was a tunnel of death.
Most drivers lifted off the throttle here to 80% to ensure they didn't drift wide.
Ye Tian looked at the telemetry.
Throttle Trace: 100%.
"He's not lifting!" Koma screamed on the pit wall, covering his eyes. "He's going flat out into the blind corner!!"
Inside the cockpit, Ye Tian's world narrowed.
The G-force hit him. 5G. 6G.
His head was pinned to the side of the cockpit. His vision blurred from the vibration of the ultra-stiff suspension.
The car felt incredibly harsh. Every bump sent a shockwave through his spine.
But it was fast.
Because it was so stiff, there was zero body roll. The car reacted instantly to his inputs.
290 km/h!
Turn 6 entry!
The concrete wall on the left rushed toward him at terrifying speed.
Pierre closed his eyes in the garage. "He's going to crash."
Just as the front nose was about to kiss the concrete, Ye Tian yanked the steering wheel!
SNAP!
The car changed direction instantly.
The downforce generated by the low floor sucked the car into the asphalt. It was glued.
SWOOSH!
The white lightning flew past the left barrier!
It was close.
Insanely close.
On the slow-motion replay broadcast to the world, viewers saw something impossible.
The sidewall of Ye Tian's front left tire was less than 3 millimeters from the wall.
The air pressure wave from the tire literally ripped the corner off a sponsor sticker on the barrier!
RIP!
Confetti flew into the air behind him.
He didn't hit it. He caressed it.
Next, the right turn! Turn 7!
Ye Tian flicked the wheel again!
This time, the rear of the car slid out slightly—not a drift, but a "rotation" controlled by the throttle.
SCREEE!
A tooth-aching sound of friction echoed through the onboard microphone!
The carbon fiber endplate of the front wing scraped the concrete wall!
Sparks flew from the wall itself!
He was using the wall as a reference point!
"He's touching the wall!" The commentator screamed. "He's wrecked... no! He's still going! He didn't crash! He just... kissed it!"
This wasn't driving. This was needlepoint at 300 km/h.
This was dancing on the blade of a guillotine.
Final corner.
Ye Tian crossed the line.
The timing screen refreshed.
P1: YE TIAN (HAWK)
Time: 1:28.500
PURPLE.
It wasn't just fast.
It was 1.2 seconds faster than Max Vesper's benchmark.
In the garage, Pierre, the saboteur, slumped in his chair. His face was gray, his mouth open. His "perfect conservative setup" had been exposed as trash. Ye Tian had just taken a setup that should have been undriveable and turned it into a weapon of mass destruction.
On the radio, Ye Tian's voice came through.
He was breathing heavy, fighting the G-forces, but his tone was pure, distilled arrogance.
"Gary."
"Loud and clear, Ye..." Gary whispered, awe-struck.
"Tell that French idiot in the back."
"The suspension isn't too stiff. It's just right."
"This is how you drive in Jeddah."
Ye Tian glanced at his right-side mirror. The paint was scratched off, revealing the raw carbon fiber underneath.
"Also, radio the Race Control."
"Tell the marshals to go buy more white paint."
"Why?" Gary asked, confused.
Ye Tian smirked as he threw the car into another corner, sparks flying everywhere.
"Because this weekend..."
"I'm going to paint every single wall on this track... with my color."