The Laguna Karting Circuit was nestled between farmland and forest, a humble yet lively track lined with faded tire walls and peeling white paint. It was a 600-meter layout with 8 corners—4 left-handers, 3 right-handers, and one awkward U-turn at the far end that everyone called "The Elbow."
Julian and Coasta stood by the fence, watching as mechanics rolled out karts and young drivers walked the track. Julian pointed toward the start-finish line with his hand.
"That's the grid. It's only one lane wide here, so the launch is tight. Not about power—about timing."
Coasta looked on silently, eyes tracking the curves ahead.
"That first left-hander, you'll want to stay wide, then cut in sharp, but watch your entry speed. If you go in too hot, you'll understeer and clip the outside tire wall."
They began the slow walk. Coasta held a small notebook in one hand, the pages filled with crayon sketches from last night when he tried drawing the track from memory. He compared each corner carefully now, nodding when the angles matched.
"What about the Elbow?" Coasta asked as they reached the far end.
Julian chuckled.
"That corner's where most kids spin out. You brake too late, the rear kicks out. You brake too early, you lose all momentum. So you feather it. Use your body weight. Lean."
Coasta stepped onto the worn curbing and stared down the short straight leading to the Elbow. He crouched slightly, imagining the turn.
A boy nearby was doing the same with his coach. Coasta noticed the boy had a white-and-blue racing suit, with a clean, polished kart beside him. His number was #22.
Their eyes met for a second. The boy smiled politely. Coasta nodded, but his face remained unreadable.
"That's one of the regulars," Julian said. "I've seen him on YouTube. Probably been racing since he was three."
"Then he's ahead of me," Coasta replied, not with jealousy—but focus.
Back at their pit, Julian began working on the kart's settings. The track was slightly damp, so he softened the tire pressure slightly. He also adjusted the rear sprocket to give Coasta better acceleration coming out of corners.
"No rain tires today," Julian muttered. "Track's drying too fast. But your brakes—make sure you warm them up before the first corner."
Coasta, wearing his red gloves and chest protector, stood beside the kart like a statue. Every part of the kart was familiar to him, but today, it felt like a living creature—tamed, but not passive.
"Helmet," Julian said, handing it over. "Let's do a dry run. Push start, feel everything."
Coasta strapped in. Julian crouched behind the kart, placed one hand on the rear bumper, and gave it a powerful shove.
The engine barked to life.
The kart jolted forward down the paddock lane—just a short ride to test the grip, throttle, and brakes. Coasta leaned slightly into the corners, eyes ahead, hands calm. Even in a warm-up, he drove like it mattered.
They returned after a few minutes. Julian checked the tire temp and chain again, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Feels okay?" he asked.
"Smoother than practice," Coasta answered. "But the steering's heavier."
Julian gave a small nod. He liked that Coasta noticed.
"That's normal with low tire pressure. It'll loosen up mid-race."
The track announcer's voice crackled over the speaker system.
"All Rookie Bambino class drivers, please report for briefing at the paddock tower."
Julian tightened Coasta's neck brace and placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Stay sharp. Don't worry about position yet. Just survive the first heat clean."
"Understood," Coasta replied, already walking off.
From a distance, he looked small among the taller, older boys. But he didn't walk like someone new. He walked like someone preparing to take control of something only he could feel.