The door groaned on its hinges, a shrill metallic protest against years of undisturbed slumber. Dust motes swirled in the sudden draft, catching the dim light from the hallway.
Roan instinctively held his breath, expecting the stench of mold and dead rodents.
Instead, he froze.
The darkness of the basement was cut by a clinical, cool-white LED glow. The "dead mouse" smell had been replaced by the sharp, sterile scent of ozone and brand-new rubber. As his eyes adjusted, the derelict storage room transformed into a high-tech sanctuary that looked more like an F1 driver's private training cell than a school basement.
"The 'Bulldozer' doesn't do things halfway," Zack said, leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin. "He had a crew in here over the weekend while everyone was at the track. Total renovation in forty-eight hours. Perks of being a major donor."
Roan stepped inside, his boots clicking on the fresh interlocking gym tiles.
In the center of the room stood a specialized machine—a heavy-duty vertical rack equipped with a 360-degree resistance harness. It was an Iron Neck Pro, the gold standard for cervical spine conditioning. Next to it sat a G-Seat core trainer, designed to tilt and vibrate to simulate lateral loads.
"No more railings for you, Legend," Zack joked, tossing a fresh towel onto a nearby bench.
But Roan's eyes were already locked onto the far corner. There, resting on a raised platform, was a carbon-fiber cockpit. It wasn't the flashy motion rig from the track; it was a static, professional-grade chassis fitted with a Simucube 2 Ultimate direct-drive base—capable of 32Nm of torque. It was a monster.
"My brother figured that if you're going to 'skip grades,' you need to be doing homework that actually hurts," Zack explained, walking over to the rig. "The software is synced to your home account. Your 6200 iRating is already loaded. This is your office until the three-month deadline hits."
Roan walked up to the rig, his fingers trailing over the cold, matte carbon fiber.
In his Mind Palace, the "F-Rank" status bar flickered. This room wasn't just a gym; it was a Hardware Leveling Zone.
He realized now that the "beautiful vision" Justin had mentioned wasn't just about winning a trophy. It was about the terrifying efficiency of capital meeting raw talent. Justin had removed the friction of the real world. No travel time, no equipment shortages, no academic interference (thanks to the board of directors).
"Your mom knows about this, by the way," Zack added, his voice dropping a bit. "My brother spoke to her. They reached an agreement. As long as you stay in the Top 5, this room is 'extracurricular research.' If you drop to 6th... well, I'm the one who has to hand over the key to the Dean."
Roan sat in the carbon shell. It was a tight, unforgiving fit, exactly like the Birel RY30.
He gripped the wheel. The Alcantara was fresh and grippy. For a boy who had spent years fighting a plastic G29 on a wobbly desk, the solidity of this professional setup felt like stepping into a fortress.
"Let's get to work," Roan whispered.
He didn't launch the sim. Instead, he walked over to the Iron Neck. He strapped his head into the harness, set the resistance to a level that would have made a normal person's neck snap, and took a deep, bracing breath.
The "Hell Week" protocol began in silence.
Every time the resistance pulled, Roan's vision swam. Every isometric hold felt like his cervical vertebrae were being ground into dust. But in the quiet glow of the LED lights, he didn't look like a student anymore. He looked like an engineer mid-overhaul.
By 9:00 PM, Roan was a wreck. Sweat pooled on the tiles, and his neck felt like a pillar of fire. But as he looked at the simulator, then back at the gym equipment, a jagged smile cut through his exhaustion.
The hardware was finally catching up to the software.