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Victor's heart pounded against his ribs.
The atmosphere on the circuit was suffocating. The crowd nearest the grid sat in expectant silence, while the stands farther out roared with a distant excitement.
The air shimmering above the tarmac was thick with the scent of unburnt fuel and the searing, distorted heat of twenty engines prepared for battle.
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"...this is it! One race. Berlin. To change it all…!"
"WOOOOOHHHHH!"
Behind Victor sat Elias Nystrom of Nordvind Racing, a man notorious for chewing through rookies without apology.
Ahead, in P11, waited Ailbeart Moireach. Haddock's Hammer. Multiple Grand Prix winner. A super driver, literally and technically.
It was a hostile pocket of the grid, squeezed between a predator and a legend. But if Victor looked at it clearly, it was an honor, too. This was his most demanding, most prestigious starting spot yet. No backmarker anonymity. No excuses.
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