That is All I Ask For: Chapter 16: The Calm Before the Roar

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The Zero Eclipse garage had never been this alive.

Mechanics moved in choreographed chaos, voices bounced off metal walls, data fed through open monitors like a digital heartbeat pulsing with anxiety. The upcoming tournament loomed like a thundercloud — seven days out, and the air was already thick with anticipation.

Every footstep echoed with purpose. Every voice carried tension.

Micah stood just outside the pit bay, arms crossed, watching Dante's car scream down the straightaway on the simulation test track. His visor was down, his form tight, his style... better. Sharper. Focused.

Micah didn't say it out loud, but he was proud.

"He's getting faster." Meredith murmured beside him, her arms also folded. "Not quite your level. But give him another month and he'll start closing the gap."

Micah snorted. "You're saying that like he wasn't already biting my heels in the last race."

"He wasn't." Meredith said. "You just felt bad about it."

Micah didn't reply. He simply continued watching.

Daniel zoomed past seconds later, a burst of energy and noise, clearly pushing the car too hard in the corners. He still hadn't mastered subtlety, but his instincts were maturing.

"Team's coming together." Meredith said, quieter now. "We're solid. Fast. But you know what we're missing."

Micah didn't answer. He already knew.

In the conference room, Dante, Daniel, Meredith, and two race engineers sat around the circular table. Micah stood at the board, marker in hand, going through final testing notes.

"We've optimized the third-gen calibration system." He said, drawing a new curve. "No more RPM overkill on exits. Tire wear's balanced across soft and medium compounds. Cooling ducts are—"

"—still a nightmare." Daniel groaned. "We were overheating last time after twelve laps."

"I'm working on it." said Juno.

Micah kept going. "Race-day deployment plan is scheduled for next Thursday. We'll do one final high-speed full-load test two days before."

"Are you racing it?" Dante asked suddenly.

Micah turned. The room fell silent.

"I—" He hesitated. "No. I'll tune it. Run test laps."

Daniel leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Why not race?"

Micah stared at him.

"We know why you left." Daniel said, softer now. "We know what happened with Vex. You could've walked away for good, but you're still here."

"I'm not a sure bet anymore." Micah replied. "You need consistency. I'm a liability."

"You're not." Dante said. "You're a part of this team. We want you here. I want you here."

Micah looked at him — saw no hesitation in Dante's eyes.

"I'll think about it." He said at last.

But something had already shifted in his voice.

Meredith watched Micah from the window overlooking the garage. He was walking between cars, clipboard in hand, eyes distant.

When he entered her office a few minutes later, she already had two cups of coffee ready.

"You know," She said, handing him a cup, "we never actually celebrated your return."

Micah blinked. "Return?"

"You may not be on the official roster yet, but you're back. Fully. Heart included."

Micah leaned against the desk. "Still feels like I'm on the outside sometimes."

"You're not." Meredith took a slow sip. "You ever think that maybe the only person keeping you there... is you?"

Micah smiled bitterly. "You sound like Julian."

"Good. That means I'm doing something right."

They shared a long silence.

Then Meredith said, "So. You gonna race?"

"I'm thinking about it."

"Think faster."

Zero Eclipse was buzzing when the convoy rolled in.

Three matte black haulers with gold insignias pulled into the lot like they owned the place. Sleek, custom-built, and polished to a mirror shine, they bore the proud crest of Falcon Apex Racing—the team currently ranked second in the regional circuit, just behind the reigning champions.

"They're early." Meredith muttered, watching from the mezzanine.

Micah stood beside her, silent.

Daniel whistled low. "That's a hell of a flex."

Dante crossed his arms. "So, who sent the invitation?"

"No one." Meredith said, stepping away from the window. "They requested a match."

"Why?" Daniel asked. "They don't need a test lap with us."

"They do." Micah said softly. "They're trying to gauge the threat."

The Falcon Apex team entered like a corporate army—perfect uniforms, clean-cut engineers, managers with digital tablets, and their golden boy in tow.

He was tall, lean, in his mid-20s, with dark, slicked-back hair and sunglasses that stayed on even indoors.

"Wyatt Creed." Meredith muttered under her breath. "Of course."

Wyatt strutted in like he owned the room. "Pleasure to meet you, Zero Eclipse. I've heard a lot... mostly rumors."

Dante stepped forward first. "This isn't an official meet."

"Relax." Wyatt smiled. "Just a little friendly mock race. I wanted to get a feel for the local heat before we head into the fire."

Daniel scoffed. "You always this theatrical?"

Wyatt turned to him. "Only when I'm being underestimated."

Micah hadn't spoken yet. He stood behind the tuning bench, arms folded, unreadable.

Wyatt's eyes finally landed on him. "And who's this? The sponsor guy?"

Daniel grinned like a kid about to watch someone get wrecked. "Yeah. Something like that."

They gathered at the track briefing circle. Meredith held a stopwatch. "Three laps. Clean run. No contact. This isn't for showboating—it's for data."

Wyatt smirked. "Everything I do is for show."

Falcon Apex rolled out their prototype car—low clearance, precision-tuned, engineered for near-perfect balance.

Micah stood beside his own car. He hadn't driven it outside of tuning in months. He glanced at the crew—Dante, Daniel, Meredith—each giving him the same look:

You got this.

He climbed in.

The helmet clicked shut.

Something in his chest unlocked.

No more holding back. No more proving. Just the road.

Wyatt lined up beside him, cocky grin behind the visor. "Hope you can keep up, old man."

Micah didn't respond.

Meredith raised her hand, watching the lights.

Red.
Red.
Red.
Green.

They launched.

Wyatt took the early lead, pushing hard into Turn 1. His car hugged the line with machine-like precision.

Micah didn't flinch. He let Wyatt have the front—for now. The engine purred beneath him like an extension of his thoughts. His hands moved with fluid control. Corners came and went. His mind sharpened.

Second corner: Micah adjusted his throttle mid-turn—most drivers wouldn't dare. Wyatt maintained pace, but Micah was setting the tempo.

Dante and Daniel watched from the pit wall, jaws slack.

"He's not even trying." Daniel muttered.

"No." Dante whispered. "He's dancing."

Turn six came fast—an unforgiving curve with brutal exit loss. Wyatt hit it hard.

Micah hit it harder.

Brake.

Throttle.

Drift.

Snap-turn exit.

Wyatt jerked as Micah overtook from the outside, tires kissing the edge of the tarmac.

"What the hell?" Falcon's pit crew leader shouted.

Meredith smiled. "That's Micah at 60%."

Micah widened the lead. Every motion was poetry in physics—steering input balanced perfectly with body roll and gear ratios. Wyatt tried to force errors. Micah responded with grace, never panic.

Last turn.

Micah shifted late, engine howling—downforce pinning him as he blazed through the apex like gravity itself had turned traitor.

He crossed the line nearly four seconds ahead.

Wyatt spun out 30 meters later, losing traction.

Silence.

Then—

Cheering.

Daniel, Meredith, and Dante surged onto the track. Daniel laughed breathlessly. "That was—you destroyed him!"

Dante reached the car first. Micah pulled off his helmet, face flushed, eyes bright.

"You're back." Dante said.

Micah exhaled. "No."

He looked up at the track. "I never left. I just needed to stop running."

Wyatt Creed stormed out of his car, helmet under his arm, lips pressed in a thin, trembling line.

Falcon Apex's lead engineer approached hesitantly. "What happened?"

Wyatt didn't answer. His eyes were locked on Micah, who stood beside his vehicle, calm, sweat-slicked, and silent.

He finally spoke, almost to himself.

"Why didn't anyone tell me he was Micah Blade?"

Micah blinked, slightly surprised.

Meredith raised an eyebrow. "You knew the name, but not the man?"

"I thought he was just a CEO." Wyatt's voice was shaky, anger covering embarrassment. "Just another suit funding fast cars."

Dante stepped forward, voice like steel. "That's our CEO. And our fastest driver."

Wyatt's gaze flickered to Dante. Then to Meredith. Then Daniel.

They weren't gloating. They weren't mocking.

They were proud.

Wyatt shoved his helmet into his engineer's chest. "We're done here."

His crew followed, tail between their legs, as the haulers started up again—retreating from a battlefield they never expected to lose.

The sun was beginning to dip, casting a golden-orange hue across the compound. Eclipse's crew began wrapping up for the day, but the laughter didn't stop echoing across the space.

Micah leaned against the side of his car, unzipping his suit halfway, when Daniel approached with two cold cans of something fizzy.

"Tried to find beer, but we're still under 'pre-tournament hydration protocol.'" He made air quotes and handed one over.

Micah cracked the can open. "Thanks."

Daniel leaned beside him. "That was insane."

Micah took a long sip. "Felt good."

"Looked unfair." Daniel laughed. "Even I felt bad for the guy."

Dante joined them a second later, shirt damp with sweat, but his eyes full of fire.

"You looked like yourself again." he said to Micah.

Micah raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know I'd lost myself."

"You didn't. But we almost did."

That made Micah smile faintly.

They lounged on the overstuffed beanbags Meredith had insisted on keeping in the rec room. Music played low. A playlist someone had built during long tuning nights weeks ago.

Micah was seated with his feet up, still in his racing suit but stripped down to the waist, a black Eclipse tee sticking to his skin. Meredith walked in, tablet under one arm.

"Well." She said, "Falcon Apex just updated their social feed."

Daniel perked up. "What? What did they say?"

She showed them the screen.

A single image: Micah, mid-corner during his overtaking move.

Caption:
"Turns out the ghost was real. Respect."

Daniel whistled. "Okay, that's kind of badass."

"They're scared." Meredith said with a grin. "Good. Let them be."

Micah looked at the image for a long moment. He didn't respond—just set the tablet down and leaned back.

Dante, seated across from him, finally said what no one else had.

"Are you racing the tournament?"

Micah didn't respond immediately.

Then, in a voice quiet but firm:

"Yeah. I am."

Meredith exhaled softly, like she'd been holding her breath for weeks.

Daniel whooped. "Finally!"

Micah chuckled. "You're the only one who gets more excited about me racing than racing yourself."

"I'm a man of the people." Daniel said, thumping his chest.

Meredith grinned. "And now the people finally have a chance."

The team eventually dispersed, sleep calling after weeks of prep. But Micah lingered, walking the track under the stars, hands in his pockets.

The circuit was quiet, humming only with echoes.

He paused at the apex of the final turn—the one where he'd made his move.

Julian had loved that turn. Had taught him how to own it.

Micah whispered into the night, "We're back, brother."

The wind stirred in answer.

From the shadows near the pit wall, Dante watched him—didn't interrupt, didn't step closer.

Just watched.

Because some moments belonged to the ghosts that made you.

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