1 “Fiftieth test run, and we’re still number one! The data is solid!” Mitch slapped me on the back so hard I stumbled forward. I wasn’t a paralyzed husk in a hospital bed. I was reborn. “You earned this, man!” Mitch grinned, thinking my daze was from the thrill of the car’s performance. He urged me to get ready for the race tomorrow. “Wait!” I shouted, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t submit the car’s specs yet. I need to check something!” As I sprinted towards the garage, I pulled up the preliminary data Kane had already posted online. It was completely different from mine, which was why, last time, I suspected nothing. But as I stood before my own car, the webpage on my phone suddenly refreshed. “Blaze! What the hell is going on? Kane just updated his specs—they’re identical to ours!” Mitch’s face was ashen as he ran in after me, already dialing to complain to the race organizers. My own expression was grim, but I held up a hand to stop him. “The submission deadline is midnight. We have time.” In my past life, Kane had “accidentally” leaked the two identical spec sheets online, siccing his fan army on me. It all hinged on this single moment. My frantic posts of my build videos were drowned out by their sneering comments. “Wow, technology is amazing. You can even deepfake videos now.” “Everyone knows the real competition is in the custom builds. Why don’t you just steal Kane himself and have him drive for you?” “Kane was putting his entire legacy on the line for this race, and you rich bullies just had to cheat. Is there no justice in the world?!” My team was harassed, pelted with rotten eggs in the street, afraid to even go home. My only recourse was to prove my skill on the track. But the moment I hit the ignition, my car exploded right on the starting line. Kane was the only one untouched by the blast. He coasted to victory, basking in the glory. The investigators, professional engineers, they tore my car apart and found nothing. No faulty parts, no explosives. Nothing that could have caused the detonation. So Kane’s fans spun a new narrative: I had done something terrible, and this was divine retribution. I deserved to die. Even as a comatose patient, I was subjected to a decade of quiet torment and neglect. I couldn’t even call for help. I could only pray for someone to grant me the mercy of a quick end. My parents, broken by the public hatred, eventually took their own lives. And then my fiancée, Bella, walked into my hospital room on the arm of Kane, disguised as a grieving fan, and unplugged my life support. The official story was that the comatose patient, wracked with guilt, had finally given up. I died with my eyes wide open, a silent scream of injustice trapped within me. But now… now heaven had given me a second chance. And I would make damn sure the ones who were truly guilty paid the price. 2 “A race of this caliber happens maybe once in a generation! This is your shot, Blaze, you can’t just give up because of this!” “Forget about Kane. Just double-check the car. We’re racing, no matter what!” Mitch snatched the phone from my hand and locked me in the garage with the car. I clenched my jaw and began a meticulous inspection, stripping the car down, piece by piece. Even if someone had leaked my design, the performance data would be wildly different if even a single component was off by a fraction of a millimeter. How could Kane possibly have found parts identical to mine when my own were still installed? And even if he did, under the exact same conditions, why did my car explode? I wracked my brain, replaying that day in my mind. Kane was a master of self-promotion, always surrounded by a swarm of fans. He never had a chance to get near my car. But the person on his arm at that time… It was my fiancée, Bella. An invisible hand squeezed my heart. Eight years together. I was so sure we were going to exchange rings. Instead, she had stood by the man who framed me and cut short my life. I couldn’t dwell on it now. I shook my head, clearing the chaotic thoughts. I began disassembling the car, removing every custom part. I had poured three years of my life into this machine. I loved these cold, metal components. It wasn’t easy to let them go. But then the image of my parents flashed in my mind—leaping from my hospital window, with me powerless to even claim their bodies. My hands moved faster. Once the parts were removed, I pulled a dusty collection of components from a storage locker. This was my original design—a masterpiece in its own right. But my obsession with perfection had led me to dream up a new, nearly flawless version, the one I had just dismantled. Even with my stolen specs, Kane couldn’t match my skill on the track. He’d need a rocket ship to beat me. Within minutes, the car was reassembled with the older parts. I’d made a few tweaks, and the overall performance had jumped significantly. It was a panther, coiled and ready to strike. Elated, I sent the new specs to Mitch. The situation had developed too quickly, and I was the only one in the garage. Not even a master thief could copy me this time. I had just started to relax when Mitch appeared again, his face bone-white. A terrible premonition washed over me. “Kane…” Mitch’s voice was strained. “He just posted online about his ‘original concept.’ The specs… they’re identical to the version you just built.” “Impossible!” I snatched his phone. On the screen, Kane was speaking with a wistful look on his face. “Honestly, when I first reached this stage, I thought it was perfect. But then… someone stole a key component. I had no choice but to create the newer, more flawless version you see today.” I refreshed the official race page. Kane’s vehicle specs had been updated to match my new build. His fans lauded him as a resilient genius. My face grew paler with every comment I read. How could this be? A significant portion of the parts in this build were vintage, off-the-market components I had found in a rural junkyard. I had spent months grinding and lubricating them, and only a few had become usable. I’d picked the best one. A part that, by sheer chance, had its edges perfectly rounded by a rainwater leak while in storage, allowing for a seamless fit with the machinery. The odds of replicating that were astronomical. And the part Kane had… its specs were identical to my single best one. A statistical impossibility. I opened the hood and carefully removed that very component. It felt warm in my palm. Could this be it? The source of the explosion? The memories of the endless nights spent perfecting it, and the lonely curses in the hospital room, swirled in my head. I walked silently to the furnace, the component clutched in my hand. As the workshop crew watched in dismay, I tossed it into the flames. Hearing the sound of it melting, I turned without hesitation and went back to my garage. This time, I would only choose the path that gave me the advantage. 3 Mitch watched me do it all, his eyes brimming with tears. After all, I had just personally destroyed the only two working designs I had left. “Blaze… what do we do now?” I took his phone and glanced at the screen. As expected, fans were already swarming my comments section, parroting Kane’s bravado. “Not so tough now, are you? Kane released all his specs. You’re hiding yours because you know you can’t compete. Just drop out!” “This guy’s style was always a cheap knock-off of Kane’s. He probably copied his way to the top and is panicking now that the specs have to be public!” … In minutes, they had tried and convicted me online. Then, my own phone buzzed. A message from Bella, who hadnt spoken to me in days. My brow furrowed. “Stop messing with those machine parts. Come out and have some fun with me tonight.” I hadn’t told her what I was doing. And she knew I needed absolute focus before a race; she never bothered me during this time. But now, she was spamming me with a chain of messages, using every excuse to lure me out of the garage. A voice message came through, her tone laced with a sob. “Blaze, give up. If you keep going like this, you’re going to die!” I simply closed my phone and said to Mitch with a faint smile, “It’s fine. There’s still time. I’ll make another one.” I took a deep breath and set my phone to Do Not Disturb. I sat back down at my workbench. I started from scratch, designing and building based on the standard parts I had on hand. This was, by far, the simplest build I had ever done. It took only two hours. As I compiled the data to send to Mitch for review, I lit a cigarette and collected my thoughts. On the surface, this was an intermediate, entry-level build—the kind a rich kid would buy to get into the sport. But I had altered one crucial aspect. This was a sleeper build. It looked basic, but once it hit a professional track, its performance would surge to its absolute maximum in an instant. It was a dangerous, high-risk technique—a masterpiece of desperate genius I had conceptualized during my ten years of torment in that hospital bed. Kane had never lived my hell. He would never see the secret hidden within the design. The next second, my phone buzzed with a notification. A "special feature" from Kane's team. "We've heard some of our fans want to get into racing! As a special treat before the championship, Kane has designed this exclusive starter model. For anyone interested, now's your chance!~" My hands started to tremble. I couldn't even bring myself to open the message from Mitch confirming my fears. It was impossible. It couldn't be this coincidental. I had just finished it. Kane, who had been out and about all afternoon, had somehow instantly produced an identical design, right down to its functions and its strengths and weaknesses. Clenching my fists, I tapped open the detailed specs. The same. The same. Everything was exactly the same. A sliver of hope remained. As long as Kane hadn't discovered the final, crucial secret of the build, he would use my previous, more powerful design in the race. If he did, I could clear my name. With that thought, I immediately opened the official race website. The data flashed before my eyes for a second, and then—the site went down for maintenance. CRACK! Mitch slammed his fist into the wall. “Damn it, Kane!” he roared. “It has to be him, pulling some strings again!” “Once the data is uploaded, it can’t be changed! How is the committee letting him get away with this over and over again?! I’m gonna go find someone and take him down!” I looked up from the sea of scattered parts on the floor, my face a dark mask. “No. The organizers… I have to see them myself.”
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