Jeddah Corniche Circuit.
Q3 (Qualifying Final Session).
Countdown: 3 Minutes Remaining.
The air over the track felt solid, heavy with tension.
On the giant screens, two terrifying lap times hung over the grid like a guillotine:
P1: Max Vesper (Crimson Energy) - 1:27.400
P2: Louis Hamson (Scuderia Fire) - 1:27.550
It was a wall of despair.
Vesper's lap was nearly perfect. He had grazed the walls, sparked the floor, and squeezed every ounce of performance from the Adrian Newey-designed rocket ship.
Back in the pits, Vesper took off his helmet. He looked at the timing screen and smirked. He looked up toward the Royal Box, where Prince Salman sat.
He raised an imaginary glass.
Cheers.
The bet regarding the "Chinese Flags" seemed like a joke now. Nobody could bridge a gap of 1.5 seconds in a Hawk.
"Ye, listen."
On the radio, Gary's voice was shaking. It was the sound of a man who saw a ghost.
"You have one shot. But... it's a disaster out there."
"What is it?" Ye Tian asked. He was closing his eyes, syncing his breathing with the System. The soul of The Magic Sen was waking up inside him.
"Traffic," Gary said, looking at the GPS tracker with horror. "It's a parking lot in Sector 1. Lance (Aston Martin) and George (Mercedes) are doing slow cool-down laps in the Snake (Turns 4-10). They are weaving to warm tires. They are right on your racing line."
In Jeddah, a slow car in the blind S-curves is a death sentence. The track is narrow. You can't pass. If you encounter traffic, you have to abort the lap.
"Abort it, Ye," Koma sighed on the pit wall. "It's bad luck. P5 is good enough. Don't risk your life for a bet."
Inside the cockpit.
Ye Tian's eyes snapped open.
The pupil was gone. It was just a black abyss burning with golden fire.
The arrogance of the God of Qualifying took over.
"Abort?"
Ye Tian curled his lip into a cruel smile. He flicked the rotary switch on his steering wheel.
Engine Mode: INFINITY (Suicide Mode).
"Tell them."
"If they don't want to die..."
"Move."
BOOM!
The Hawk VF-25 let out a scream that tore through the night sky. It launched out of the final corner to start the flying lap.
Sector 1.
The Snake.
Lance, the billionaire son driving the Aston Martin, was cruising in the middle of the track.
"Engineer, is anyone coming?" Lance asked lazily.
"Yeah, the Hawk is on a push lap. But don't worry, it's a single lane here. He can't pa..."
FLASH!
Before the engineer finished his sentence, Lance's mirrors exploded with blinding LED lights.
It wasn't a car.
It was a white lightning bolt.
A normal driver sees traffic and lifts off.
But Ye Tian, possessed by the spirit of Senna, didn't know what "lifting" meant.
To him, Lance wasn't an obstacle.
He was a traffic cone.
"MOVE!!!"
Ye Tian roared inside his helmet. He didn't brake. He didn't steer away.
He aimed for the gap that didn't exist.
Between Lance's car and the concrete wall on the inside, there was a strip of drainage covers.
It wasn't tracked. It was bumpy metal and jagged concrete.
Ye Tian drove straight onto it!
BANG! CLANG!
The suspension hammered violently. The car launched into the air, two wheels off the ground!
Like a lizard running on water, the Hawk flew through the tiny gap, squeezed between the Aston Martin and the wall!
WHOOSH!
The shockwave of air from Ye Tian's car hit Lance.
The green Aston Martin wobbled.
"HOLY SH*T!"
Lance screamed, his soul leaving his body. He yanked the wheel in panic, diving into the tiny runoff area, nearly crashing into the barrier.
"He's crazy! He overtook me on the drain cover! He's a maniac!"
But Ye Tian was already gone.
Next victim: George (Mercedes).
George was in the middle of Turn 9.
Ye Tian arrived.
He didn't slow down. He used the momentum from landing the jump to flick the rear of the car out!
[Skill: The Pendulum Swing!]
The rear wing of the Hawk swept across the track like a scythe, swinging inches from George's front nose.
It was aggressive. It was terrifying.
It looked like Ye Tian was going to slap George with his rear tire.
George flinched. Instinct took over.
He slammed on the brakes!
The road opened up.
Ye Tian vanished into the distance!
In the commentary booth, Nico Rosberg stood up, clutching his head.
"My God! Is this FX or Bumper Cars?! He didn't lift! He bullied them out of the way!"
"Look at the time! He overtook two cars and... PURPLE! Sector 1 is PURPLE!"
The crowd felt goosebumps erupt on their skin.
This wasn't driving. This was a massacre.
Ye Tian was a ghost weaving through the living, reaping souls at 300 km/h.
Sector 2.
Clear air.
The Magic Sen Card was burning at maximum efficiency.
Ye Tian could feel every grain of asphalt. He was the car. The car was him.
Ahead: Turn 22.
The "Widow Maker." A blind, ultra-high-speed left hander.
Max Vesper had lifted here. He went through at 285 km/h.
Ye Tian charged.
The speedometer climbed.
290... 295... 300...
305 km/h!
"He's not lifting?!"
In the Crimson Energy garage, Vesper dropped his water bottle. "At that speed, the lateral G-force will snap the tires! He's going into the wall!"
But Ye Tian did something that made physicists want to burn their textbooks.
Just as the car was about to wash out wide into the barrier, Ye Tian turned in early.
He aimed for the high, jagged curb on the inside.
He used the incredibly low ride height (from Chapter 12) and the stiff suspension to hit the curb hard!
WHAM!
The left front tire smashed the curb.
The car didn't bounce up. Because of the ground effect suction, it stayed glued.
But the impact "kicked" the car's nose to the left!
He used the curb as a pivot point!
"This..."
Louis Hamson watched the onboard feed, his face pale. "He's using the curb to rotate the car? That's rally style! A carbon suspension shouldn't survive that impact!"
But the Hawk suspension—reinforced by Ye Tian's modifications—held on.
It groaned. It creaked. But it didn't snap.
Sparks showered the camera lens as the car shot out of the corner!
Sector 2 — PURPLE!
He was 0.5 seconds ahead of Vesper!
"Impossible! IMPOSSIBLE!"
In the Royal VIP Box, Prince Salman crushed his wine glass. Red liquid stained the expensive Persian carpet.
He stared at the white dot on the screen, his face turning the color of liver. "Cheating! He must be cheating! How can a Hawk be that fast?!"
Sector 3.
The final straight.
Ye Tian's neck screamed in agony. He had been sustaining 6G loads for ninety seconds. His vision was tunneling. Red veins popped in his eyes.
But he didn't let go.
"Break... FOR ME!!!"
He roared, his voice cracking. He stomped the gas pedal so hard he almost snapped the carbon plate.
VROOOM!
The engine wailed at 12,500 RPM.
He crossed the line!
And then...
Maybe it was the sheer intensity of the crossing. Maybe it was Jeddah's notoriously bad power grid.
The moment the Hawk crossed the sensor...
Zzzzt!
The giant timing tower at the finish line flickered.
Then... BLACK SCREEN.
"What?!"
"Did the power go out?"
"What's the time?!"
The crowd of thousands gasped. The global broadcast feed froze.
For three seconds, the world stopped.
In the Hawk garage, Koma stopped breathing.
Snow Jiang covered her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes.
Then.
Buzz.
The screen flickered back to life.
It showed one giant, purple number.
At that moment, Max Vesper slumped in his chair.
Louis Hamson took off his cap in respect.
Prince Salman fell back onto the sofa, sitting amidst the shattered glass.
And Snow Jiang let out a sob of relief.
Because the number was: 1:26.600
It wasn't a close fight.
It wasn't a photo finish.
Vesper was 1:27.400.
Gap: +0.800 seconds.
It was a slaughter.