The gates were still rising when Raizen moved.
He ducked under the half-open bar, boots hitting concrete, and sprinted straight for the left lane – the one with tight corners, low ceilings, and bad visibility. The kind of place where speed and angles decided everything.
Behind him, the arena was still roaring. The host was still shouting into a hundred microphones, voice exploding through hidden speakers, turning the exam into a carnival. Cameras drifted like insects in the air, trying to catch faces, trying to catch fear, trying to catch someone making a mistake big enough to sell.
None of it mattered. Raizen didn't look up. He didn't wave. He didn't posture for the scoreboard.
He just ran. As fast as he could.
