Listening to them argue, Qadir pulled out his phone and sent a message to Juniper: [Leave slip signed.]


    Just as he hit send, a notification from the official F1 racing channel popped up on


    his screen.


    [Driver Kurt has been injured in an ident. Orient Country has requested a substitution. The recement driver is pending.]


    “Damn,” Qadir sighed. It didn''t matter who they substituted. Unless it was J, it was hopeless. And that was clearly impossible.


    ...


    Twenty minutester, Juniper arrived at the racetrack.


    A crowd of doctors stood outside Kurt''s private lounge. ording to reports, after inspecting his car, he had been walking past another team''s area when he identally slipped and fell into a maintenance pit. A heavy piece of equipment, weighing dozens of pounds, hadnded directly on his legs. Both were fractured instantly, the bones severely disced. He couldn''t even move, let alone race.


    But Kurt was obsessed with the race and refused to give up. No matter how much Ghoul pleaded, he wouldn''t leave. If he got into that car with those legs, he might not survive the race.


    "Can''t you get your priorities straight?" Ghoul yelled, his own heart aching. “Life is more important! I''m trying to contact other drivers..."


    "What''s the point of bringing in someone else?" Kurt gritted his teeth, his forehead slick with sweat from the pain. "If I''m going to die, I''ll die in that car."


    He was carrying the hopes of his family and the entire future of racing for Orient Country. He couldn''t back down.


    He nced over and saw several foreign drivers across the way, arms crossed, smirking at him. It clicked. If he ced in the top five, those very drivers would be eliminated. This wasn''t an ident; it was sabotage.


    "Those sons of bitches," Kurt snarled, his fists clenched and his eyes red. "Ghoul, help me to the car."


    If he withdrew now, every racer from Orient Country would be aughingstock for years toe. He would not let anyone look down on his country.


    "Stop this madness," Ghoul said, trying to restrain him. He swallowed hard. "Ms. Payne said she''sing. She told us not to worry. She said... Orient Country will not lose."


    But there were less than ten minutes until the race started. Where was she? Five minutes before the start, if a driver wasn''t in the prepne, they would be automatically disqualified.


    “Juniper?” Kurt clutched his broken legs, his face pale. “She can''t do anything. She has no points, no license topete."


    Ghoul fell silent. It was true. Even if Juniper had the skill, she couldn''t legally get on the track.


    As the clock ticked down, Orient


    Country''sne remained empty. On the broadcast, fans from Orient Country


    began to tower their heads


    and silently put away their gs. Some were already heading for the exits. The race... was truly over. Cóntent


    Meanwhile, Melvin stood by his car, his brow furrowed as he stared at the empty tenthne. He hadn''t expected such a disaster. With Kurt injured and J refusing to appear, Orient country''s racing legacy was about toe to an abrupt end.


    "Final ten seconds..." the announcer''s voice boomed.


    Once the countdown finished, the prepne would officially close. Orient Country''s driver had failed to appear, meaning they had forfeited. Their score would be zero. "Five... four... three..."


    The announcer''s voice was like a series of daggers plunging into the hearts of the spectators. They had been prepared to lose, but they never imagined they wouldn''t even get topete. There was no point in cheering now. It was better te leave than stay and be humiliated.


    "Let''s go, let''s go," fans muttered, turning to leave.


    "Two..."


    Before the final number could be spoken, another announcer''s voice, trembling with excitement, cut through the air: "Orient Country''s substitute driver is in position!"