Three Wasteland Sea Rally Races: once as navigator, once as driver, and once abandoned halfway through.
Shi Ran had long since grown used to such expressions, such smiles, and such demeanors. So-called kindred spirits were just like this. For money, for tomorrow, for hope, for survival, or simply for the thrill... it didn't matter.
No matter why you had come, the instant you stepped onto the track, the only thing that proved the gap between you was the purest distinction between weakness and strength. Was it wrong to want to win?
Wasn't not wanting to lose what everyone thought?
Within the Rules, use every means available and spare no cost. Even if it meant gambling your life, you had to fight for a mere second—or even a fraction of one—of a lead. That was the responsibility a driver had to possess, and the calculation they had to make.
While everyone else cried out and shouted, Shi Ran felt the Blood Qi and breeze rushing toward him. His eyes shone brightly, and he felt utterly refreshed. It had been a long time since he had seen such a pure competition.
A group of disabled people had taken to the track in entirely new forms, bursting forth with a passion and resolve that even able-bodied people could scarcely match, like blazing flames.
"How wonderful."
He subconsciously clenched his fingers, nearly crushing the soda can in his hand. His eyes locked onto every change in the arena, unwilling to relax even for the blink of an eye.
Speed, strength, determination, strategy...
Through the fierce struggle for position on the track, those eyes saw the intense battle at the moment of crossing the finish line from his memories—the roaring and rumbling engines, the cries of the clutch, the scream of the brakes.
Utterly focused.