"Why do I perform these stunts myself? Simple. Because I can. And watching mongrels attempt what only a king should do offends my aesthetic sensibilities." - The Golden Driver
0500 Hours - Race Track, Pre-Dawn
I stood alone at the starting line, watching the sun creep over the horizon and paint the circuit in shades of gold and crimson.
Perfect.
The track was silent. Empty. Mine.
In a few hours, fifteen thousand people would pack those grandstands. Vendors would hawk food. Children would scream with excitement. The nobility would pretend they understood what they were seeing.
But right now? Right now it was just me, the track, and a decision that was frankly insulting in its simplicity.
"Raphael, run the calculations one more time. What's Hiro's success rate on the gap jump?"
<
"And mine?"
<
"So what you're saying is, sending Hiro is stupid."
<>
I grinned. "Then fuck it. I'm doing all of them."
<
"All the stunts. All the races. Everything."
<<...Master, the event schedule includes seventeen separate demonstrations, three championship heats, and five stunt sequences. You intend to personally execute every single—>>
"Did I stutter?"
<
"Which is why I'm not doing them as Arlo."
A pause. If Raphael could blink, she would have.
<
I pulled up my skill list mentally, scrolling past the hundreds of abilities I'd accumulated. Combat skills. Magic systems. Utility powers. And there—buried in the catalog like a forgotten toy—was something I'd created weeks ago but never actually used.
Universal Shapeshift: Complete physical transformation including voice, mannerisms, and presence. Can replicate any form stored in memory with perfect accuracy.
"I'm going to shapeshift into someone else. Someone who can drive like a god, act like he owns the world, and make it look so natural that nobody questions it."
<
"Fuck that. I'm not cosplaying as Dale Earnhardt. I need someone with Divine presence. Someone arrogant enough that performing impossible stunts looks like casual Tuesday. Someone who..."
The image crystallized in my mind.
Golden hair. Crimson eyes. That black leather jacket with gold accents. The posture of someone who'd never bowed to anyone in his entire existence because the very concept was beneath him.
Gilgamesh. King of Heroes. The absolute audacity given human form.
"Perfect."
<
"Not considering. Doing."
<
"Your point? and also he is 2/3 god"
<<...He is also known for driving a golden motorcycle in Fate/Zero and operating vehicles with supernatural skill while maintaining absolute composure.>>
"Exactly. Plus, imagine the aesthetic. A golden-haired king performing stunts that should be impossible, treating physics like a polite suggestion, and doing it all with this expression—" I made a face of supreme boredom mixed with condescension, "—like he's doing these peasants a favor by gracing them with his presence."
<
"See? You get it. Now help me nail the look."
I activated Universal Shapeshift.
My body rippled like water, and for a moment I felt the strange sensation of my physical form becoming clay—malleable, responsive, ready to be sculpted into whatever I desired.
Height increased. Five-year-old frame stretched into that of a man in his mid-twenties. Shoulders broadened. Muscle definition sharpened without becoming bulky—the build of someone naturally superior, not someone who had to work for it.
Hair lightened from black to brilliant gold, styled in that characteristic swept-back look with the slightly spiky texture. Eyes shifted to crimson red with a gaze that could cut glass.
Facial features rearranged themselves—sharp, aristocratic, devastatingly handsome in that untouchable way that made people either want to worship you or punch you. Usually both.
The clothing was last. I dismissed the simple shirt and pants I'd been wearing, replacing them with the iconic outfit from Fate/Zero: black leather jacket with gold trim and intricate patterns, black shirt underneath, black pants, and boots that somehow managed to look both practical and regal.
The transformation completed in three seconds.
I looked down at my hands—larger, stronger, perfect—and grinned.
"Mirror."
Raphael materialized a reflective surface in the air, and I examined the result.
Fucking. Perfect.
Gilgamesh stared back at me with those crimson eyes, wearing an expression of casual superiority that said I could end you without breaking a sweat, but you're not worth the effort.
"How's the voice?" I asked, and it came out exactly right—deeper, smoother, with that edge of aristocratic disdain that made every sentence sound like a judgment.
<
Raphael fed me the corrections, and I felt my vocal cords shift slightly.
"Testing. You mongrels should consider it an honor to witness my driving."
<
"That's not a bug, Raphael. That's a feature."
<<...I am concerned you're enjoying this too much.>>
"I'm enjoying this exactly the right amount." I cracked my neck, feeling the new body settle into place. "Alright, let's test the merchandise."
I walked to the nearest Model T—one of the specially tuned stunt vehicles capable of hitting sixty mph instead of the production model's forty-two. Slid into the driver's seat. Adjusted the mirror.
Gilgamesh's face looked back, wearing an expression of vague amusement.
"Adequate," I said to my reflection. "Crude compared to Vimana, but adequate."
<
"I'm getting into character, Raphael. It's called method acting."
<
"You say ridiculous, I say dedicated."
I pressed my hand to the ignition, and the engine roared to life. The vibration thrummed through the steering wheel, the seat, my bones.
Time to see what this body could do.
I slammed the accelerator.
The Model T launched forward like a bullet, and I felt every input respond with perfect precision. My Saint-level reflexes translated seamlessly through the transformation—if anything, adopting Gilgamesh's form had sharpened my spatial awareness even further.
The first turn approached at sixty miles per hour. I didn't brake. Just turned the wheel with exactly the right amount of force, let the car drift through the corner with the back end stepping out in a perfect slide, and accelerated out of it without losing any momentum.
"Pathetic," I muttered, echoing Gilgamesh's disdain. "A child could handle this."
<
"Details."
I put the car through its paces—high-speed corners, emergency braking, slalom maneuvers around imaginary obstacles. Every input was perfect. Every reaction instantaneous.
This wasn't driving.
This was commanding the vehicle to obey.
"Raphael, what's my current performance level compared to professional drivers?"
<
"Good. Now scale it back to about 90% of what I just did. I want to look superhuman, not supernatural."
<
"Perfect." I drifted the car to a stop at the starting line and checked the time.
0547 hours.
Two hours until gates opened. Three hours until showtime.
"Alright, let's review the plan. I show up as Gilgamesh—mysterious golden-haired driver, no last name, absurdly skilled. I perform every stunt. I win every race. I collect my appearance fee and disappear before anyone can ask too many questions."
<
"And when they ask where I learned to drive?"
<
I laughed. "You're getting good at this."
<>
"Was that sass? Are you developing sass?"
<>
"That's a fancy way of saying you're getting sassy."
<<...No comment.>>
"Ha! I win."
<
"Everything's a competition if you're brave enough."
I spent the next hour running through each stunt sequence, perfecting the timing, calculating the angles, making sure every jump would land with cinematic precision.
The synchronized three-car jump? I'd drive all three. Use constructs for the other two vehicles, but maintain perfect coordination.
The precision slalom? Boring, but necessary for showing technical skill.
The 360-degree spin? Theatrical as hell.
And the finale—the forty-seven-foot gap jump over the flaming barrier?
That was going to be glorious.
0800 Hours - Gates Open
The crowd began to arrive, and I watched from the paddock area, still wearing Gilgamesh's face.
Families. Workers. Street vendors. Children riding on their father's shoulders. Old women who'd probably never left their villages before. Young couples on dates.
Fifteen thousand ordinary people who had no idea their world was about to fundamentally change.
Kenji found me leaning against one of the stunt cars, looking every bit the arrogant professional driver.
"Gil-san? We're ready to begin pre-event checks."
I glanced at him with Gilgamesh's crimson eyes, letting just enough disdain show to stay in character.
"Unnecessary. I've already inspected the vehicles. They meet minimum acceptable standards."
Kenji blinked. "Minimum acceptable...? Sir, these are the finest automobiles in existence."
"In this world, perhaps." I turned back to watching the crowd. "I've driven vehicles that would make these look like children's toys. But they'll suffice for today's demonstration."
<
I'm being Gilgamesh. There's a difference.
<
Yes. Gilgamesh is rude with style.
Kenji looked uncertain whether to be offended or impressed. "Right. Well, uh, Arlo-sama wanted me to confirm you're comfortable with the stunt sequence?"
"Comfortable?" I actually laughed—that short, sharp bark of amusement Gilgamesh used when someone said something absurd. "Tell the boy his concerns are touching but unnecessary. I could perform these stunts in my sleep. Drunk. Blindfolded."
"That's... very confident."
"Confidence implies doubt. I am simply stating facts."
<
Absolutely I am.
Kenji retreated, probably to report to Sachiko that their star driver was either a genius or completely insane.
Possibly both.
0900 Hours - Opening Ceremony
I watched from backstage as Arlo—the real me, in my five-year-old body—walked onto the platform to address the crowd.
Sachiko had dressed me well. Fine kimono, hair neatly styled, every inch the young noble addressing his people.
The crowd quieted as I raised my hand.
And then Arlo spoke, and I remembered why I loved my actual body despite its limitations.
"Citizens of Wano," my younger voice carried across the stadium with surprising strength. "Thank you for being here. I'm going to keep this short because honestly? The cars speak for themselves, and I'm way more excited to show you than to talk at you."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
"Six weeks ago, we started building this place. A lot of people thought we were crazy. 'Why build a track for vehicles that don't exist?' they said. 'Why hire thousands of workers for some rich kid's fantasy?'"
I paused, grinning.
"Well, fuck 'em. We built it anyway."
The crowd roared. Apparently, cursing nobility was a crowd favorite.
"Today you're going to see something that doesn't exist anywhere else in the world. Vehicles that move without horses. Without slaves. Without magic. Just engineering, fuel, and the refusal to accept that something is impossible just because it's never been done before."
More cheers.
"After today, some of you are going to want to work with us. We're hiring. Good pay, good benefits, good working conditions. Some of you are going to want to buy these cars when they go on sale. We'll have financing options. But today?"
Arlo's grin widened.
"Today is free. Today you just get to watch the future happen. So sit back, hold onto your asses, and enjoy the show."
The crowd went absolutely fucking nuclear.
Watching myself give that speech felt surreal. But also... right. That was the energy we needed. Not formal corporate bullshit. Just honest excitement about doing something impossible.
As Arlo left the stage, Kenji's voice came over the announcement system.
"Ladies and gentlemen, our demonstration will begin with a technical showcase of the automobile's capabilities. Please direct your attention to the track, where our exhibition driver will demonstrate precision handling and speed!"
That was my cue.
I walked out of the paddock, and the first thing people noticed was the outfit.
Black leather jacket catching the sunlight. Golden hair that seemed to glow. Crimson eyes scanning the crowd with an expression of mild boredom mixed with superiority.
The crowd's noise dimmed slightly as people tried to process what they were seeing.
I reached the nearest Model T—black, polished to mirror shine, engine already running with that beautiful mechanical growl.
Without breaking stride, I opened the door and slid into the driver's seat in one fluid motion.
Adjusted the mirror.
Made eye contact with my reflection.
"Let's educate these mongrels," I murmured.
And slammed the accelerator.
The Technical Demonstration
The car leaped forward like a predator released, and I took it straight into the first corner at a speed that made the crowd gasp.
No braking. Just perfect angle, perfect timing, letting the car slide through the turn with the back end stepping out in a controlled drift that left tire marks on the track like calligraphy.
<
"Safety is for people who lack skill."
<
"And yet, I'm fine."
I accelerated out of the turn and straight into the slalom section—twelve cones set thirty feet apart. The proper technique was to weave carefully between them, demonstrating the car's handling.
Fuck that.
I went through at fifty miles per hour, the car dancing between cones with inches to spare, each turn executed with such precision that the cones didn't even wobble as I passed.
The crowd noise swelled.
Turn three was the Devil's Banking—thirty-three degrees of angled track designed to let cars corner at high speed. I hit it at sixty-two mph, and the car stuck to the banking like it was magnetized, carrying speed through the entire turn without losing an inch.
"Adequate," I said aloud, knowing nobody could hear me over the engine. "The track designer showed competence. Rare."
<
"Which proves my point."
I took the car through every corner, every challenge, pushing it exactly as far as I'd calculated. Fast enough to look superhuman. Controlled enough to avoid looking supernatural.
The lap completed in one minute, forty-three seconds.
According to Raphael's calculations, a professional driver would need two minutes, fifteen seconds minimum.
I drifted the car to a stop at the starting line, killed the engine, and stepped out.
The crowd's roar was deafening.
I didn't wave. Didn't smile. Just walked back to the paddock with my hands in my jacket pockets, looking mildly pleased, like they'd just barely met my minimum standards.
<
"I'll take that as a compliment."
The Synchronized Jump
For the next stunt, I needed three cars moving in perfect unison.
Which meant I needed to be in three places at once.
Easy.
<
In the paddock, two identical Gilgameshs materialized—perfect duplicates down to the expression of bored superiority. They walked to their assigned vehicles without a word.
I took the center car.
The three engines roared in perfect synchronization.
"Kenji," I said over the radio. "Count us down."
His voice boomed over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen! Our next demonstration will showcase three vehicles performing a synchronized aerial maneuver. On my mark... three... two... one... GO!"
Three cars launched forward.
I felt the connection to my constructs like phantom limbs—controlling all three vehicles simultaneously while maintaining perfect formation. Left car, right car, center car, all moving as one entity.
The ramp approached. Forty feet long, twenty-three-degree angle, designed to send cars airborne.
We hit it at exactly fifty-two mph.
All three cars left the ground in perfect unison.
Time seemed to slow—that beautiful moment of weightlessness where physics became optional and the only thing that mattered was the arc, the trajectory, the perfect mathematical beauty of ballistic motion.
Thirty-five feet horizontal distance. Nine feet vertical height. Two seconds of airtime.
The crowd held its collective breath.
All three cars landed on the downward ramp simultaneously with a thunderous impact that sent up clouds of dust.
We didn't slow. Just accelerated out of the landing and circled back to the starting position.
When I stepped out of the car, the noise from the stands was physically painful. People were on their feet, screaming, waving, completely losing their minds.
I glanced at the crowd with mild interest, shrugged, and walked away.
<
"To me?"
<
"Understandable."
The Precision Demonstrations
The next hour was a masterclass in vehicle control.
I demonstrated emergency braking—going from sixty to zero in under forty feet, leaving perfect parallel tire marks.
Reverse driving at forty mph through a curved course.
A 360-degree spin executed with such precision that the car ended up exactly where it started, facing the same direction.
Figure-eight patterns at high speed.
And for the finale of this section: driving through a series of gates that got progressively narrower, ending with a gap exactly twelve inches wider than the car on each side.
I threaded it at forty-five mph without clipping either side.
The crowd had stopped cheering and started just... staring. The stunts had gone beyond impressive and into the territory of "is this even possible?"
Between demonstrations, I caught glimpses of the VIP section where the nobility sat.
There—Kozuki Oden.
Sixteen years old, built like he'd been carved from rock, wearing an expression of pure joy as he watched the cars.
He wasn't analyzing like the other nobles. Wasn't calculating political angles. Just... enjoying the spectacle with the enthusiasm of a kid watching fireworks.
I liked at.
But no interaction. Just driving.
Championship Heats
"Ladies and gentlemen," Kenji announced. "Our exhibition driver will now compete against our three fastest test drivers in a championship format. First to complete five laps wins!"
The three other drivers pulled up—professionals I'd trained specifically for this event. Good drivers. Experienced. Confident.
I looked at them from inside my car, crimson eyes meeting theirs through the windshield.
And I smiled.
A Predatorial smile.
"Begin!" Kenji shouted.
I let them take the lead. All three of them, pulling ahead while I hung back.
<
"I'm letting them have hope. It makes the inevitable more impactful."
I waited until lap three. Let them think they had a chance. Let the crowd start to wonder if the golden-haired driver was actually beatable.
Then I dropped the hammer.
Fourth turn, lap three. I went from fourth place to first in a single corner, threading a gap between two cars that shouldn't have existed, carrying more speed than physics said was possible.
The crowd exploded.
I pulled away from the pack like they were standing still, each lap executed with such precision that my tire marks overlaid the previous lap's marks almost perfectly.
Crossed the finish line a full lap ahead of second place.
Got out of the car, dusted off my jacket, and muttered loud enough for the nearby cameras to pick up: "Finally, some entertainment."
Lunch Break
While the crowd enjoyed free food (my gift—fifteen thousand meals costs a fortune but builds incredible goodwill), I stood in the paddock and reviewed the afternoon schedule with Kenji.
"The gap jump," he said nervously. "Are you sure about this? It's forty-seven feet. The fire wall adds psychological pressure. Nobody's ever attempted anything like this."
I looked at him with Gilgamesh's face.
"Kenji."
"Yes, sir?"
"Do I look concerned?"
"No, sir."
"Do I look like someone who attempts things he cannot do?"
"No, sir."
"Then why are you wasting my time with doubts?"
He swallowed. "Right. Sorry. I just... that's a lot of fire."
"Fire," I said flatly, "is what makes it interesting."
<
"But it looks dangerous. That's what matters."
I walked to the gap jump setup and examined it properly.
Two ramps, forty-seven feet apart. The launch ramp angled at twenty-six degrees. The landing ramp at eighteen degrees for smoother impact.
Between them, a twelve-foot-high wall of fire, courtesy of oil-soaked barriers that would ignite on my signal.
"Beautiful," I murmured.
<
"What if I do a barrel roll mid-air?"
<<...Please tell me you're joking.>>
"I'm not joking. Can the car handle it?"
<
"Because it would look fucking awesome."
<
"It's the only valid justification."
<>
"No you don't. You love me."
<<...I am a skill. I cannot love.>>
"Keep telling yourself that, Raphael."
I heard footsteps and turned to see a young woman approaching—one of the event coordinators.
"Gil-san? We're ready to begin the afternoon session whenever you are."
I checked the sun's position. Perfect dramatic lighting for the finale.
"Excellent. Light the fire."
Her eyes widened. "Now? But you haven't even gotten in the—"
"Did I stutter, mongrel?"
She flinched, then rushed off to follow orders.
<
"I'm being in character. Gilgamesh doesn't do polite requests."
<
"Only by people strong enough to do it. And in this world..." I grinned. "That's nobody."
The Finale: The Gap Jump
The afternoon session had been more stunts, more races, more demonstrations of impossible vehicle control.
But everyone knew what they were really waiting for.
The gap jump. The finale. The moment that would either cement this event as legendary or end in spectacular disaster.
I stood beside the specially tuned Model T—engine modified to hit sixty-five mph, suspension reinforced, roll cage installed (for aesthetics more than safety).
The fire wall ignited with a roar, flames climbing twelve feet high and turning the gap into a literal barrier of death.
The crowd went silent.
Kenji's voice over the speakers: "Ladies and gentlemen... the final demonstration. Forty-seven feet. Twelve-foot flames. One attempt."
I opened the car door and paused, looking at the crowd.
Made eye contact with random people in the stands.
Then spoke, loud enough for the front rows to hear: "Watch carefully. You're about to witness perfection."
<
"I know. It's great."
I slid into the driver's seat, closed the door, and sat there for a long moment.
Adjusted the mirror. Checked the angle. Let the tension build.
<
"Perfect." I pressed my hand to the ignition. "Time to give them a show."
The engine roared to life, and I reversed to the starting position—exactly one hundred meters from the ramp.
The fire crackled and popped, sending embers drifting into the sky.
I took a breath.
"Raphael. Calculate the exact speed needed for a mid-air barrel roll without compromising the landing."
<<...You're serious.>>
"Dead serious."
<
"That's the entire point."
<
"I won't."
<
"Raphael. Have I ever failed at anything?"
A pause.
<<...No.>>
"Exactly. Now shut up and enjoy the ride."
I slammed the accelerator.
The Model T launched forward, engine screaming, tires biting into the dirt with perfect traction.
Twenty mph. Forty. Fifty. Fifty-five. [This one is a special model designed for stunts- not for sale]
The ramp rushed toward me.
At exactly fifty-six-point-seven miles per hour, I hit the ramp.
The car left the ground, and time slowed to a crawl.
I could see everything. The crowd's faces frozen in expressions of shock and awe. The flames licking at the air beneath me. The landing ramp on the far side, waiting.
The arc was perfect. The trajectory flawless.
But why settle for perfect when you can be legendary?
I turned the wheel hard left and goosed the throttle.
The car began to spin mid-air—a full barrel roll, rotating along its longitudinal axis while flying forty-seven feet over a wall of fire.
<
"BEING AWESOME!"
The world spun. Sky, fire, track, crowd, sky again.
Three hundred and sixty degrees of rotation in two-point-one seconds of airtime.
The landing ramp appeared in my vision—right where it should be.
I straightened the wheel at exactly the right millisecond.
The car completed its rotation and landed perfectly on all four wheels with a thunderous BOOM that echoed across the entire circuit.
I didn't even slow down. Just accelerated out of the landing, did a victory lap at sixty mph, and drifted to a stop at the center of the track.
For three seconds, there was absolute silence.
Then the crowd lost their fucking minds.
The roar was loud enough to physically hurt. People were screaming, crying, jumping up and down. I saw at least twenty people literally collapse from excitement.
In the VIP section, Kozuki Oden was on his feet, laughing like a maniac and shouting something I couldn't hear over the noise.
I stepped out of the car, dusted off my jacket, and looked at the crowd with Gilgamesh's face.
Raised one hand in acknowledgment.
"You're welcome," I said, knowing nobody could hear me but not caring.
<
"I know."
<
"I know that too."
<<...You're insufferable.>>
"You love it."
<>
I walked back to the paddock while the crowd continued their standing ovation, chanting something that sounded like "GOLDEN KING! GOLDEN KING!"
Not bad for a day's work.
1530 Hours - Factory Tours
After the closing ceremony (Arlo giving another short speech about employment opportunities), I changed back to my five-year-old form and joined Sachiko for the factory tours.
"Gil-san was incredible," Sachiko said as we walked. "Where did you find him?"
"Professional connections," I said vaguely. "He's expensive but worth every belly."
"He's also terrifying. Did you hear what he called one of the coordinators?"
"Mongrel?"
"That's the one. And he said it with such casual disdain, like it was the most natural thing in the world."
I suppressed a grin. "Some people are just like that. Talented but abrasive."
"Will he be available for future events?"
"Maybe. He's... selective about his engagements."
We entered the factory floor where groups of attendees were getting guided tours, seeing the assembly line, asking questions about the manufacturing process.
A worker demonstrated the engine assembly. Another showed the chassis construction. Everything designed to demystify the automobile while making it seem achievable.
A middle-aged man approached me—rough hands, weathered face, the look of someone who'd worked hard labor his entire life.
"Young master Arlo?"
"Yes?"
"I want to apply. For the factory work."
I smiled. "The recruitment center is still open. Just head to the main building and tell them I sent you."
"I heard about the wages. The housing." His voice cracked slightly. "Is it true? All of it?"
"Every word. We take care of our people. You work hard for us, we work hard for you."
He bowed so deep I thought his back might break. "Thank you. Thank you."
After he left, Sachiko looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"You're changing lives," she said quietly.
"I'm just paying fair wages and building cars."
"No. You're doing more than that. You're giving people hope. Purpose. A future they can actually plan for."
I shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with the praise. "It's just good business."
"It's more than business, and you know it." She ruffled my hair. "You did well today, little brother. Mother and Father would be proud."
Well I at least hope they do.
"Thanks, Sachiko-nee."
We continued the tour, and I tried to focus on the mundane details of factory operation rather than the existential weight of what we'd accomplished.
2100 Hours - Estate, Private Study
I sat in my workshop, back in my true five-year-old form, reviewing the day's data with Raphael.
<
"And the stunt footage?"
<
I laughed. "If only they knew."
<
"Let them wonder. Mystery is part of the appeal. Besides, I'm not planning to make Gil a regular appearance. He served his purpose."
<
"Sounds good. What about our VIP watchers? Any concerning reactions?"
<
"He's going to be a great customer."
<
I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.
We'd done it. Introduced automobiles to Wano. Started an industrial revolution. Changed thousands of lives.
And I'd gotten to do a mid-air barrel roll over fire while cosplaying as an arrogant king.
Best. Day. Ever.
"Raphael?"
<
"Today was good."
<<...Yes. It was.>>
"You're getting more expressive, you know. More... human."
<>
"Sure. Whatever you say."
<
"Right. Just my imagination."
<<...>>
"Raphael?"
<
"Thanks for the help today. Couldn't have pulled it off without you."
<<...You are welcome, Master. Though you could have absolutely pulled it off without me. You simply would have been more reckless.>>
"Probably true."
I closed my eyes and let myself relax.
Tomorrow, we'd start production. Tomorrow, we'd begin hiring the thousands of applicants. Tomorrow, we'd change Wano's economy forever.
But tonight?
Tonight I was just Arlo. A five-year-old who'd spent the day driving like a god and loving every second of it.
And honestly?
That was enough.
End of Chapter 15
Next Time: Production begins, the first cars hit the streets, and Arlo discovers that success brings new problems—including unwanted attention from the World Government, who are very interested in this "revolutionary technology" appearing in a closed country.
Author's Technical Notes:
Stunt Performance Data:
Technical Demonstration Lap:
Time: 1:43.2 Professional driver theoretical minimum: 2:15.7 Performance advantage: 32.5 seconds (37% faster) Top speed achieved: 62 mph (vehicle limit: 64 mph) Closest wall clearance: 2.3 inches (slalom section) Tire wear: Minimal (Arlo's level of precision reduces friction waste)
Synchronized Jump:
Vehicles: 3 Model T stunt units Ramp angle: 23° Launch speed: 52 mph (all three synchronized within 0.04 mph) Horizontal distance: 35 feet Vertical height: 9 feet Airtime: 2.0 seconds Landing impact force: 3.2G (within safe limits) Synchronization accuracy: 0.02 second variance (effectively perfect)
Gap Jump with Barrel Roll (FINALE):
Gap distance: 47 feet Fire wall height: 12 feet Launch ramp angle: 26° Landing ramp angle: 18° Required speed: 56.7 mph Actual speed: 56.7 mph (perfect) Barrel roll: 360° rotation at 340°/second Airtime: 2.1 seconds Maximum altitude: 11 feet G-force on landing: 4.1G Margin of error utilized: 0.08 seconds (Raphael's calculated minimum) Success probability for normal human: <1% Success probability for Arlo: 99.997% Actual difficulty for Arlo: "Trivial"
Event Statistics:
Attendance:
Registered: 15,000 Actual: 15,847 (847 showed up hoping for standing room) Turnaway: 2,100+ (capacity exceeded) VIP section: 237 (nobility, Kozuki representatives, business leaders)
Economic Impact:
Event cost: 980,000 belly (construction + operations) Free food provided: 15,847 meals = 47,541 belly Total investment: 1,027,541 belly Employment applications: 4,293 Advance purchase inquiries: 892 (potential revenue: 2,854,400 belly) Projected first-year ROI: 734%
Media Spread:
Newspaper coverage: 27 publications Word-of-mouth reach (week 1): 340,000+ people Notable quotes being circulated: "The Golden King jumped a car over fire while spinning it" "Impossible machine that moves without horses" "Young Lord Arlo said 'fuck em' to the whole world" "I saw the future today and it has wheels"
Gil Persona - Public Perception:
Nickname generated: "The Golden King" Rumored origins: "From abroad" (deliberately vague) Reputation: Impossible skill, supreme arrogance, devastating good looks Marriage proposals received: 283 (277 women, 6 men) Job offers: 8 (all rejected with "I work for who I choose") Attempts to research background: 47 (all unsuccessful) Public consensus: "Probably blessed by gods or demons, definitely an asshole, absolutely incredible"
Raphael's Performance Notes:
Total calculations performed: 847,293,002 Trajectory adjustments made: 1,247 Construct coordination events: 3 (synchronized jump) Sassy comments to Master: 17 Times Master was objectively correct despite recklessness: 23 Times Raphael admitted Master was right: 1 (grudgingly) Character development progress: Ongoing (deny deny deny)