Page 39 of Knot So Lucky
Would I even want that spotlight?
Would I want millions of people watching my every move, analyzing my driving style, scrutinizing my personal life? Would I want the pressure of carrying a team's hopes and dreams on my shoulders every time I strapped into a car?
What would it achieve, really, besides satisfying some deep-seated need to prove I'm more than my designation?
The green light flashes.
GO.
My hands move on instinct, muscle memory taking over as conscious thought takes a backseat to pure reaction. The virtual car launches forward with acceleration that presses me back in my chair even though physics says that shouldn't be possible.
The first corner arrives faster than I expect in VR—depth perception is different when you're fully immersed—but I brake at the right marker, turn in at the apex, and accelerate out with practiced efficiency.
ThorneCrowntries to outbreak me into Turn 3. I defend the inside line, force him wide, and hear his frustrated curse through the voice chat.
"Fucking hell, how is he?—"
I tune it out.
Focus on the track. On the rhythm. On the perfect execution of each corner that builds into the next like a symphony of controlled violence.
Lap after lap, the VR experience becomes more natural. My brain adapts to the three-dimensional environment, stops trying to reconcile the disconnect between what I'm seeing and what my body's actually doing. The immersion is so complete that I can almost smell the rubber and fuel, can almost feel the G-forces pulling at me through the corners.
This is what Roran experiences.
This rush, this focus, this absolute clarity of purpose where nothing else exists except the track and the race and the desperate drive to be faster than everyone else.
The final lap arrives with a notification in my peripheral vision.
I'm still in first place, butVelocityKinghas been gaining ground. He's in my slipstream now, close enough that I can see his car in my virtual mirrors, waiting for me to make a mistake so he can capitalize.
I won't give him that satisfaction.
The track winds through a series of fast sweepers that require commitment—you have to trust your setup, trust your line, trust that the grip will be there when you need it. Hesitation means losing time. Overconfidence means ending up in the barriers.
I thread the needle between those two extremes, carrying more speed than I probably should, asking the simulation to give me grip that's right at the threshold of what the tires can provide.
It holds.
Barely.
VelocityKingtries to follow my line but doesn't commit fully—he lifts off the throttle just slightly through the final sweeper, and that microsecond of hesitation creates a gap that I immediately exploit.
The final corner approaches. A tight hairpin that leads onto the main straight and the finish line.
This is where races are won or lost.
Brake too early and you lose time. Brake too late and you'll miss the apex, run wide, give up position. It's a calculation measured in centimeters and milliseconds, where confidence and precision have to exist in perfect balance.
I brake at my marker—later than would be safe in real life, but this is a simulation and I know its limits—and turn in hard. The car rotates beautifully, pivoting on the front wheels as I trail brake to rotate the rear end around.
My right hand slams the acceleration key at the exact moment the car straightens.
The virtual engine roars. The tachometer needle climbs. The speedometer blurs upward as I catapult out of the corner with momentum thatVelocityKingcan't match.
For a moment, I'm able to tune into something deeper than the competition.
The silence.
