That is All I Ask For: Chapter 26: The Mock Race

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The engines thundered to life, reverberating through the wide-stretched international track. Colored flags danced in the high breeze, flickering under the pale gold of an afternoon sun. Cameras panned over the grandstands—packed with racers, officials, journalists, and spectators flown in from every corner of the globe.

It wasn’t the real race. Not yet.

But the atmosphere said otherwise.

This was the first international mock race—a pre-final exhibition meant to be a warm-up. A technical rehearsal. A brief glimpse into strategies, setups, rivalries. Just a test.

But to Zero Eclipse, this wasn’t a test.

This was a warning.

Their garage had been quiet earlier—eerily so. No one cracked jokes. No light teasing. Just the sound of gloves tightening, engines being calibrated, eyes meeting without words.

Dante slid into his seat with purpose, every line of his posture focused. His fingers drummed once against the wheel before they stilled. Calm. Sharp. Waiting.

To his left, Rai was adjusting his gloves, each motion exact. There was no cocky grin on his face this time—just a faint trace of fire beneath the surface. His expression held something new: discipline.

On Dante’s other side, Micah sat quietly, visor still lifted, eyes distant but aware. He looked out at the track like he already saw how every lap would go—who would brake early, who’d push too hard, who’d try to box them in. His silence wasn’t indifference.

It was command.

The comms clicked on.

Micah’s voice came through, crisp and steady. “Stick to the plan. Rai and Dante, take front. I’ll trail and shield.”

Rai smirked faintly. “So you’re our guardian angel today, huh?”

Micah allowed a soft breath of amusement. “Let’s keep them guessing.”

Dante gave a short nod. “Let’s show them what Zero Eclipse looks like.”

The lights at the starting line began their countdown.

3…

The air held its breath.

2…

Engines growled in unison, some sputtering with excitement, others roaring with fire-forged confidence.

1…

GO.

Zero Eclipse surged forward like a blade slicing the wind, a seamless black-and-silver arrow tearing through the cluttered field of twenty-four.

Up front, Rai and Dante danced through the chaos. They didn’t just drive—they wrote a language into the track. Rai leaned into the curves, all wild finesse and swagger-controlled slides. Dante moved like a knife-edge, every line crisp, every overtake clean.

Behind them, Micah dropped back. Not because he was slow.

Because he was watching.

He was the anchor.

And the pack behind him didn’t like that.

Ten cars fought to breach him. Cars from every continent—sleek European machines, experimental Japanese builds, American beasts built for torque. Drivers trying to prove themselves. Hungry. Desperate.

But none could pass.

Micah held the line with terrifying precision. Every time a car tried to slip past on the straight, he shifted smoothly to block. If they tried to divebomb at a corner, he braked just late enough to close the gap. There was no recklessness—only efficiency. Brutal, beautiful efficiency.

He didn’t push harder than needed. He didn’t oversteer. He didn’t waste an ounce of momentum.

“They’re gunning for him.” Meredith noted from the pit wall, eyes glued to the monitors. “Every single one is trying to get through Micah.”

Daniel grinned beside her. “Let them try.”

On the track, frustration mounted. The lead racers up front began shouting to their teams, demanding adjustments, pit strategies, anything to deal with the wall that was Zero Eclipse’s number three.

But Micah wasn’t just defending.

He was studying.

“Car 12 from Brazil—rear tyres losing grip on tight lefts. Car 9’s oversteering. Car 4’s bluffing entry lines.” Micah murmured into comms, calm as still water.

“Noted.” Dante replied. “You’re watching everything?”

“Always.”

Up front, Dante and Rai were starting to gain real distance—turning the race into a two-front battle. Zero Eclipse had split the track like a pincer. The lead duo surged, leaving a trail of awe. The rear guard held a barricade, leaving a trail of despair.

“You seeing this?” An announcer gasped through the global broadcast. “Micah Blade is holding back ten international drivers by himself—and not a single one can touch him!”

“This isn’t defense.” The co-commentator replied. “This is a masterclass.”

The laps ticked on. Five laps. Eight laps. Ten.

And then the signal came.

Micah’s voice, quiet but commanding: “Last lap. Time to shift.”

Rai gave a low whistle. “You’re seriously going for it now?”

Dante smirked in his seat. “Showtime.”

Micah didn’t reply.

He didn’t need to.

Because by the time the first turn of the final lap hit, Micah was no longer behind.

He was gone.

One second he was shielding the rear.

The next, he was a blur.

A blur that overtook five cars in a single straight. A phantom that slipped through two corners like water and flame. Racers panicked, their lines faltering as Micah threaded through them like they were standing still.

“He was holding back this whole time?” Someone screamed into their radio feed.

By the halfway mark of the last lap, Micah had caught up to Rai and Dante—who had pulled far ahead into a safe lead. Rai blinked as the mirror showed a dark shadow gaining, fast.

“Oh no way.”

Dante chuckled, shifting gears. “He’s not even trying to win—he’s just reminding everyone that he could.”

But Micah did pass them. Not with aggression. Not with arrogance.

He slipped between them like he belonged there.

Then—he soared.

Final corner. Final push.

And Micah crossed the line first.

Zero Eclipse finished 1st, 2nd, and 3rd.

Clean. Impeccable. Unshakable.

The pit lane erupted.

Cheers, disbelief, wild claps from their own team—but even louder whispers from other garages. The other international teams weren’t celebrating. They were silent, watching the replay screens.

Watching the moment Micah shifted.

And realizing what they were up against.

“He didn’t even use full throttle until the last lap.” Muttered a South Korean technician.

“He was never racing us. He was managing us.”

In the post-race garage, Rai threw his helmet onto the table and flopped into a chair, laughing. “Okay, that was so messed up. You just coasted half the race and still crushed it!”

Dante leaned back against the wall, sweat-damp curls clinging to his forehead. “If I weren’t your teammate, I’d be terrified.”

Micah tugged off his gloves, unfazed. “It was practice.”

“Practice?” Rai echoed. “Dude, that was a declaration.”

Daniel came running in, waving a tablet. “Guys, you’re trending in eight countries already. You broke analytics. The fan boards are calling it the ‘Phantom Lap.’”

Meredith gave Micah a rare smile, arms crossed. “Next time, at least pretend to struggle.”

Micah’s voice was light, but his eyes were steel. “If I pretend too well, they’ll think we’re weak.”

A silence settled.

Because everyone knew—this wasn’t even the final race.

And Zero Eclipse had just made every other team question if they could even compete.

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