An underground tunnel section plunges racers into a neon-lit abyss, creating a thrilling high-speed challenge where only the glow of the track guides them forward. Then comes the ultimate test — a suspended sky bridge, stretched over a deep canyon, where drivers experience the sensation of flying at breakneck speeds which would definitely make the spectators gasp at the daring spectacle.

High-tech safety barriers and runoff zones ensure racers can push the limits while staying protected, but unpredictability lurks within the environment itself. Dynamic weather technology introduces sudden rain showers, misty fog, or shifting wind patterns to amplify the challenge, forcing drivers to adapt to ever-changing conditions.

Now, visualize the spectator experience with massive grandstands positioned at the most thrilling sections, where fans can feel the ground tremble as cars roar past. The VIP viewing area is perched at the highest vantage point, offering panoramic views of the entire track. Luxurious lounges with glass walls bring guests up close to the action while keeping them in ultimate comfort.

Above it all, a towering LED screen displays real-time footage, tracking every heart-pounding moment from multiple angles, complete with live commentary and data overlays.

The heart of the operation? The racers' pit and garage. This high-tech hub sits at the base of the mountain, designed for seamless workflow. State-of-the-art garages house teams working tirelessly on precision tuning, while the pit lane is an orchestrated ballet of lightning-fast tire changes and refueling.

The Blaze Mountain Race Track isn't just a race track — it's a masterpiece, a fusion of speed, technology, and raw adrenaline carved into the mountain itself. This is the ultimate racing dream.

Four Eyes and Fatty's eyes widened in unison, their breath hitching as they took in the sprawling mountain race track before them. It was unlike anything they had imagined—raw, untamed, and terrifyingly beautiful. The twisting roads carved into the rugged terrain snaked perilously along sheer cliffs, daring drivers to defy gravity with each turn. The steep inclines clawed at the sky, their peaks shrouded in mist. In contrast, the suspended sky bridge — a monstrous steel construct — loomed over a deep canyon, daring racers to fling themselves across its abyss with nothing but speed and precision. It kept them from plunging into the void, which gave a chill on their spine.

Fatty let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. His fingers curled tightly around the railing of the VIP lounge, where Pharsa had taken them to observe. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the cold metal, a subconscious sign of his own nerves creeping in.

"Murphy," he murmured, voice edged with awe, his eyes never leaving the treacherous expanse below. "Does the race track where you practice in Germany also look like this?"

Murphy, standing beside him, remained composed, but the sharp flicker in his gaze betrayed the storm of calculations already brewing in his mind. He had seen incredible tracks before—NASCAR ovals with unforgiving speedways, Formula 1 circuits with their deadly sharp turns—but this? This was different.

He inhaled slowly, absorbing every detail, every elevation change, every turn that whispered of danger. A thick fog clung to the cliffs, curling like ghostly fingers through the cracks, creating an eerie illusion that the track was alive, watching, waiting for its next challenger.

"I practiced on NASCAR tracks and F1 circuits," Murphy said, his voice controlled, even. Yet, his eyes traced the intricate layout with a hunger, analyzing every risk, every challenge. "They are as grand as this… but this — " He hesitated, his fingers grazing the edge of his helmet, the hard surface grounding him. Something about this track was different. More ruthless. More unpredictable.

His pulse quickened.

"This is my first time seeing a mountain race track," Murphy admitted, his voice quieter, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the beast lurking below.

Chatty, standing with his arms crossed, cast a sideways glance at Fatty, the corner of his mouth quivering into an amused smirk. Unlike Fatty, he wasn't shocked. He had expected the spectacle — the flashing LED walls broadcasting live feeds of the racers, the pit crew working with machine-like precision below, and the roar of engines that echoed across the rocky cliffs like an ominous drumbeat. But Murphy's reaction? That was something else entirely.

It meant something.

"Looks like even you're impressed, Murphy," Fatty teased, tilting his head slightly, a sly grin creeping onto his face. "So… what do you think? Would you ever race on it?"

Murphy's jaw tensed. He wouldn't admit it—not yet—but his mind was already running simulations. Every curve, every braking zone, every possible overtaking point flickered through his head like a relentless stream of data. He could see himself behind the wheel, could feel the steering resist under the immense G-force as he took each turn at breakneck speeds, could sense the split-second decisions that would mean victory or disaster.

His heart pounded.

"Only one way to find out," he finally said, voice low, firm.

Pharsa scoffed, folding her arms as she leaned back slightly. "Heh, do you think you can drive on this mountain? In your dreams," she snorted. "Not for another five years or more. Hmph."

Murphy barely reacted, the fire in his eyes burning too brightly now. He didn't need five years. He needed one opportunity.

Pharsa jerked her chin toward the back of the facility. "There's a NASCAR Oval behind this mountain; let's go," she said.

But Murphy didn't move. His gaze remained locked onto the track, his fingers tightening around his helmet.

Because now, he wasn't just looking at the track.

He was seeing himself conquer it.

Pharsa exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she observed Chatty's stubborn expression. He was always like this — unwavering, unyielding, a smirk permanently plastered on his face as if nothing ever truly fazed him.

Goldie, leaning against the railing, watched the exchange with amused eyes. He was always the spectator in moments like this — enjoying the subtle clashes between personalities, the push and pull of dominance between racers who carried unshakable confidence. He chuckled, crossing his arms.

"Why don't you show them the real deal?" Goldie suggested, his tone edged with mischief. "Let them see what driving on this track is really like so they won't have their imagination running wild."

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