THE REAL PROTEGE Chapter 222: THE NASCAR OVAL

Fatty audibly gasped. Chatty’s eyes darted between the bridge and Pharsa’s Ferrari, his heart hamring against his ribs. Four Eyes gripped the railing so tightly it hurt.

Pharsa didn’t falter.

She slamd the accelerator again.

The Ferrari surged forward, the weightlessness of the mont stretching eternity as the car flew off the edge.

It was airborne.

Ti froze. Gravity had no say in her fate.

Then — the impact. The tires hit the tal with a force that sent sparks flying. The Ferrari wobbled for a fraction of a second, its back tires nearly slipping, its balance trembling on the knife’s edge of oblivion.

Then she corrected it. Instinctively.

The car stabilized, shooting forward once more, devouring the rest of the track as if the near-fatal mont had been nothing but a minor inconvenience.

In the VIP lounge, the three n exhaled in unison — only then realizing how long they had held their breath. Fatty wiped at the nonexistent sweat on his forehead, his skin cold despite the heat of his own nerves. Chatty, for the first ti, was utterly silent. Four Eyes let out a strangled laugh, not because it was funny — but because it was the only thing his brain could process.

Down below, Pharsa wasn’t even smiling.

This was just another run.

Another mont where she defied fate itself.

The roar of the engine faded into a deep, guttural purr, and then — silence. Only the ticking of cooling tal remained, a rhythmic pulse as Pharsa stepped out of her car, the sound of her boots hitting the pavent and cutting sharply through the thick, electrified air.

She moved with deliberate ease, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the weight of what had just transpired. To her, it was nothing. A re demonstration. The blistering speeds, the death-defying turns, the hanging bridge that had swallowed racers whole — it had been just another drive.

But to the three n watching from above, it had been sothing else entirely.

Four Eyes, Chatty, and Fatty remained rooted in place at the VIP lounge, their bodies stiff, their lungs still struggling to recall how to breathe properly. Fatty had a hand clamped over his face, his chest rising and falling unevenly as if he had just been the one behind the wheel. Chatty, usually the one to have a cocky remark ready, found his smirk absent, replaced by sothing dangerously close to awe. Even Four Eyes, ever composed, let out a low, breathless chuckle — half amusent, half disbelief.

Pharsa flicked her gloves off with a casual snap, not even sparing them a glance as they dropped onto the hood of her Ferrari, its deep crimson paint shimring under the bright sunlight. The color suited her perfectly — bold, striking, untad.

She lifted her gaze toward the VIP lounge, her expression unreadable except for the hint of satisfaction dancing in her eyes. She had seen them tense, seen them grip the railing, seen the nonexistent sweat forming on their brows as they had watched her tear through the mountain as she owned it.

And she did.

Then, with a sharp, dismissive snort, she turned away, her movents carrying a subtle air of challenge.

‘You thought that was intense?’ her gesture seed to say. ‘You haven’t seen anything yet. You haven’t seen Madam Ling Li.’

The three n remained frozen, struggling to process everything they had just witnessed. Fatty exhaled shakily, running a hand over his face. Chatty, despite himself, felt his pulse still hamring in his ears. Four Eyes laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

Pharsa had proven her point.

And none of them would ever doubt her again.

The tension still lingered in the air like the remnants of burning rubber on the track. Pharsa stepped into the VIP lounge with the sa effortless confidence, her racing suit still clinging to the adrenaline of the mountain track. She didn’t bother changing—not when the energy of victory still buzzed beneath her skin.

Goldie was the only one breaking the silence, his chuckling soft but amused. He had seen this kind of reaction before — the kind where people were so stunned that words failed them.

Chatty, however, couldn’t bear the awkward stillness. He straightened abruptly, running a hand through his hair in so attempt to shake off the lingering shock. “Didn’t you say there’s a NASCAR Oval at the back? Let’s go,” he blurted out, his voice uneven — his usual arrogance faltering.

Chatty didn’t wait for a response. He just turned on his heel and strode out of the lounge, his pace just a little too hurried, as if trying to outrun the mory of what he had just witnessed.

Pharsa watched him go, her lips curving into a smirk, arms crossed. She had seen this before — soone trying to regain their footing, their composure, after having their world shaken.

Without much discussion, the rest followed. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable — it was contemplative, weighted by the mory of her race. As they slid into the car, the scent of burning asphalt and gasoline still hung in the air.

This ti, they weren’t watching from the lounge.

They were heading straight for the next challenge.

The NASCAR Oval awaited.

They drove for ten minutes before arriving.

On the opposite side of the mountain race track lies a state-of-the-art NASCAR oval, a thunderous coliseum of speed where precision and raw power collide. The circuit boasts a perfectly banked oval, designed for high-speed drafting, intense side-by-side battles, and edge-of-your-seat finishes.

The track itself is a hybrid masterpiece, offering varying degrees of banking — steep enough to allow cars to maintain montum without losing grip yet technical enough to challenge the most experienced drivers. Two long straights lead into daring turns, where speeds soar, and tensions rise with every lap. The surface is engineered for maximum durability, ensuring grip remains consistent from the first lap to the final showdown under the stadium lights.

As for the spectator experience, fans are treated to unmatched visibility, with grandstands that rise like walls of energy packed when roaring crowds during the race. The VIP suites sit above the front stretch, offering bird’s-eye views of the action, complete with luxury seating, private catering, and interactive real-ti race data displays.