THE REAL PROTEGE

Fatty frowned, but Four Eyes complied immediately, mimicking the motion. Pharsa observed them critically.

"You're too stiff, QuanYe. At 200 miles per hour, your movements need to be fluid. Try again."

Fatty grumbled but did as instructed.

Pharsa nodded. "Good. Now, lean forward slightly and feel your balance shift. That's what happens when acceleration kicks in — you'll be pressed back into your seat. You need to anticipate it."

Fatty and Four Eyes both adjusted their posture, a flicker of understanding crossing their faces.

"Now, let's do a Hands-On Demonstration," Pharsa said as she walked back to the car, gesturing for them to step closer. "Before you start the engine, you secure your harness properly. It's a five-point belt — no exceptions. Your helmet is snug. Your HANS device locks in place to protect your neck from extreme G-forces during impact."

Pharsa stepped into the car herself, demonstrating how to strap in, tilting her head back slightly to mimic the force drivers experience when speeding.

"Your instincts will scream at you to tense up, but that's how people get injured in crashes. You want to move with the car, not against it."

Fatty and Four Eyes exchanged uneasy glances, their nonchalance thinning under Pharsa's precision.

"Alright, alright," Fatty muttered, eyeing the seat skeptically. "I get it — don't die."

Pharsa chuckled. "That's a good start."

She motioned for Four Eyes to get inside first. He hesitated, shifting his weight awkwardly.

"It's tighter than I expected," Four Eyes murmured.

"NASCAR cockpits are built for efficiency, not comfort. You're cocooned in the frame, designed to withstand high-speed crashes. Get used to the snug fit — it'll save you."

Pharsa secured his belt tightly, ensuring the straps were locked into place.

"Next is Mental Preparation," Pharsa said. "Now close your eyes," she instructed.

Fatty snorted. "I don't see how this helps."

"Exactly," Pharsa replied dryly. "You're going to feel overwhelmed the moment you hit the gas. So before that happens, visualize it. Picture yourself gripping the wheel, taking each turn. Know what to expect before you're caught off guard."

Four Eyes obeyed. Fatty sighed before reluctantly following suit.

Pharsa let the silence settle for a moment before continuing. "Good. Now grip the steering wheel."

Both did as instructed.

"This isn't an ordinary car. At high speeds, the steering is hyper-sensitive. A slight movement can send you into a drift. You need absolute control."

Four Eyes nodded stiffly, his grip tightening.

Fatty huffed. "Sounds like a damn science."

"It is — but one where failure means wreckage."

"This time is the Fear Management Drill. Before you even start the engine, let's get your hesitation out of the way," Pharsa said, stepping back. "Both of you — on my mark, I want you to slam the gas pedal down as if your life depended on it."

Four Eyes swallowed. Fatty looked doubtful.

"Three. Two. One. Go!"

Fatty reacted first, jerking forward instinctively despite sitting still in the car. Four Eyes hesitated, pressing down slowly.

"You see what happened?" Pharsa pointed out. "Fatty went in too fast and lost control. Four Eyes hesitated — doubt got in the way. Neither of those things can happen behind the wheel. Speed isn't the issue. Hesitation and lack of control are." Pharsa patiently explained, but her voice was firm.

Fatty and Four Eyes both looked more serious now.

"Last is the Competitive Challenge," Pharsa smirked. "Alright, boys, let's make this fun. Whoever maintains the best lap trajectory without skidding wins. If you crash or stall, you lose."

Fatty raised a brow. "What do we win?"

Pharsa tilted her head. "The right to not be humiliated."

Fatty snorted but straightened his posture. Four Eyes adjusted his grip with a new focus.

Pharsa stepped back, her arms crossing. She put on her earphones and held the radio the staff handed her. She didn't forget to call out on Chatty, "Murphy, Young Master and Quan Ye are going out on the race track, don't collide with them. This is also an opportunity for you to train with them."

"Roger that." Chatty briefly replied.

"Now! Start the engine." Pharsa instructed Fatty and Four Eyes.

The deep, guttural roar of twin engines rumbled through the garage as Fatty and Four Eyes fired up their NASCARs. The vibrations thrummed through their bodies, demanding attention, forcing reality upon them. This was no longer a theoretical lesson — this was real, and they were about to unleash machines built for nothing short of sheer speed.

Pharsa stood at the edge of the track, arms crossed, watching intently as the two sat stiffly in their cockpits.

Fatty inhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders, trying… and failing… to shake off the tension gripping his limbs. "Alright," he muttered, barely audible over the engine's growl. "Let's do this."

Four Eyes, his knuckles white against the steering wheel, swallowed hard. His glasses had begun to slide down from the vibrations, but he didn't dare lift a hand to adjust them.

Pharsa smirked. "Throttle lightly," she reminded him over the radio. "You don't want to spin out right at the start."

Fatty tapped the gas — and the NASCAR jerked forward like an untamed beast, its raw power nearly throwing him back into his seat. "Holy Sh*t — !" He barely kept the wheel steady as the car surged ahead.

Four Eyes, more hesitant, pressed the accelerator in a controlled motion, his vehicle gliding smoothly onto the track. His brows furrowed in fierce concentration. He remembered Ling Li's reminder this morning, 'It only takes a second to accelerate to 400km/hr.' That is why he didn't dare to be reckless.'

Pharsa tracked their movement, her expression unreadable. "Good," she murmured into the radio, watching how each reacted differently. "Quan Ye, ease into it. Don't fight the car — work with it. Let the momentum build."

Fatty exhaled hard, adjusting his grip. "Yeah, yeah—working on it."

They rolled onto the straightaway, and the track stretched before them like an endless road of possibility and danger.

Then — came the turn.

Pharsa knew this was where the real test began.

"Banked turns aren't like driving a normal curve," she warned. "The angle of the track helps guide you, but it will also fight you if you take it wrong. Let the car lean into it."