Chapter 43:
Rhys, evading the eyes of the crowd, spoke to the racetrack manager.
“Marcelo Turner hasn’t hit the track yet.
Bring him here.”
The manager nodded and went to fetch Marcelo without a hint of surprise. Marcelo was remarkable, perfect for such an occasion tinged with challenges.
Upon Marcelo’s arrival, the crowd leapt to their feet in a wave of excitement. Marcelo was the emerging star of the racing world and the fresh record holder in the Landmassia circuit.
“With a legend like Marcelo here, let’s watch Mayer lose his swagger!”
“It’s incredible that the racetrack got Marcelo to come out.
Doesn’t he usually only race in official events?”
“Come on, Marcelo! Take down that overconfident moron and show him your true caliber!”
The crowd vibrated with excitement, their cheers and shouts lifting the energy to new heights.
Marcelo, with his youthful yet poised demeanor, looked every bit the champion at only 24 or 25—strikingly handsome and collected.
He gave Mayer a nod, who scanned him from head to toe, then flashed a mocking smile and flipped him off.
“Just another lame duck from Multitopia, huh?” Mayer taunted.
This single taunt was enough to twist Marcelo’s features into a scowl, setting off a wave of fury among the crowd.
“Put him in his place!”
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“I’m gonna flatten him! Just watch.”
“He’s not walking out of here.”
“That’s for sure.”
“What an arrogant asshole!”
In order to forestall a full-blown brawl, the manager was compelled to have security tighten their control over the crowd.
At the racetrack, a line-up of a dozen cars roared to life.
On the referee’s cue, they catapulted forward, fast as shooting stars.
It wasn’t long before the frontrunners emerged.
Marcelo and Mayer blasted ahead, quickly outpacing the others with increasing distance over time.
Marcelo and Mayer were dead even, the suspense nearly tangible.
The crowd was holding their breath in anticipation.
Suddenly, the crowd erupted in a tumult of cheers.
Marcelo had overtaken Mayer.
“It seems Marcelo might clinch this.” The manager exhaled in relief, his face easing into a hopeful smile.
Just as Rhys was about to chime in, a cold, assertive voice interjected, “No, he’s bound to lose.”
Harlee had materialized beside them, unnoticed until now.
Though the view from the stands was good, it couldn’t compare to the immersive experience backstage.
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