Chapter 78

Chapter 78:

With the brake failing, Fernanda realized she couldn’t stop or even reduce her speed.

She didn’t dare shift up to accelerate further, but downshifting was out of the question—it required slowing down first, which she could no longer do.

Gripping the handlebars tightly, she focused intently, her mind racing for a solution.

If she cut the throttle, the engine would stop feeding fuel, and the bike would coast on momentum until it gradually slowed.

At that moment, Fernanda wasn’t concerned about her standing in the race—only her safety mattered.

As the next curve approached, she made the decision not to overtake anyone.

Just ahead, the racer who had been in second-to-last place lost control on the turn and crashed, likely due to nerves or unfamiliarity with the track.

Luckily, the motorcycle didn’t slide far, and the rider managed to get back on his feet and resume the race.

Fernanda seized the opportunity and carefully passed him.

The road ahead wound through a rugged mountain path, with jagged peaks looming in the distance.

Behind her, the track stretched more than ten kilometers from the starting line.

She had already eased off the throttle, and with the incline now slightly uphill, her speed had gradually dropped from a hundred kilometers per hour.

While this wasn’t exceptional for a motorcycle race, on the winding mountain roads it still felt fast.

She tightened her grip on the handlebars, fighting to keep the bike steady as the front end wobbled from the loss of power, demanding all her concentration.

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A roar of an engine reached her ears—it was the rider who had fallen earlier, now closing in.

Another curve loomed ahead. Fernanda moved to the outside of the road to give him room, but instead of passing through the gap she created, the rider in the green suit swerved to the outside as well, pressing dangerously close.

Fernanda frowned beneath her helmet; his face was unreadable. He edged closer, forcing her toward the roadside trap.

The bend narrowed to a half-meter dirt shoulder before a steep drop-off. If she fell there, the slope below would spell disaster.

“Move!” Fernanda yelled, though her voice was almost lost in the engine’s roar.

He pressed in, their legs nearly brushing as they raced side by side. Her motorcycle began to shake violently, teetering on the brink of control.

Suddenly, the man raised his boot and kicked at her bike’s fairing, sending a jolt through the frame…

Fernanda’s motorcycle shuddered violently as it lost power. Already struggling to maintain balance, she veered off the smooth pavement onto loose dirt and gravel. The tires began to skid, and she felt control slipping further away.

The rider in the green suit kicked the motorcycle with brutal force, sending both Fernanda and her machine crashing backward. Weighing over two hundred kilograms, the bike was impossible for her to manage at that speed.

The man watched indifferently as Fernanda and her motorcycle tumbled down the steep slope. Below lay a dense forest whose thick foliage concealed the valley floor. In seconds, Fernanda and her bike vanished into the greenery, leaving only faint tracks on the dirt path as evidence.

The rider glanced coldly over his shoulder, flicked his wrist to shift gears, and sped away—leaving no one the wiser.

Meanwhile, farther along the winding road, Cristian leaned into a turn and glanced back at the racers behind him. But something felt wrong—Fernanda was nowhere to be seen.

He frowned. He had ridden alongside her in the city before. Although speeds had been limited there, her posture and control had clearly shown she was experienced. With the skill she had displayed, there was no reason for her to lag so far behind on mountain roads. At the very least, he should not have lost sight of her entirely.

A cold unease settled over him.

Distracted by his thoughts, Cristian unintentionally slowed down, allowing two racers to pass him. Then a flash of red caught his eye—it was Bobby.

“Hey, why are you slowing down? Keep moving!” Bobby shouted as he passed, his words barely audible over the roar of the engines.

Cristian didn’t answer. His grip loosened as he slowed even further. When Bobby glanced back, he saw Cristian waving him on, signaling him to go ahead.

Bobby shrugged, shifted gears, and accelerated, wondering if his cousin wasn’t feeling well. He knew how much Cristian adored motorcycles—racing was something he had always taken seriously. Even during his years abroad, Cristian had never let go of his passion for racing. This was his first competition since returning, and he had approached it with fierce dedication. Could Cristian really be faltering now, of all times?

Curiosity got the better of Bobby. When he looked back again, his eyes widened in disbelief. Cristian had completely turned his motorcycle around. He wasn’t just slowing down—he was riding back in the opposite direction.

Bobby’s jaw dropped. Motorcycle racing was all about speed, timing, and crossing the finish line first. Yet here was Cristian, heading toward the starting line. Why was he going the wrong way?

A wave of confusion washed over Bobby. Cristian had clearly lost his focus, but Bobby knew he couldn’t afford the same. He had to keep racing, no matter what. Yet he couldn’t put his feelings into words—he was completely thrown off by what was happening.

Meanwhile, Cristian, without hesitation, sped back toward the starting line. It wasn’t for any strategic advantage but driven by one need: to find Fernanda and check on her position. If she lagged because of her skill, fine. But he feared something worse. Racer after racer zoomed past him, and with each one, his heart sank—he still hadn’t seen Fernanda.

He remembered her powerful acceleration at the start, making it impossible to believe she wasn’t on the track. Desperate for answers, he pressed on until he reached the starting line.

The race official, startled to see him return so soon, called out, “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell p>

Cristian removed his helmet and asked, “Has anyone come back yet p>

She shook her head. “No one has returned. Why do you ask p>

“Has contestant number 3 returned?” Cristian pressed, anxiety tightening his voice.

“She left to race but hasn’t come back yet,” the official replied. “Is something wrong p>

A heavy dread washed over Cristian. He hadn’t spotted Fernanda on his way back, nor had she passed him on the course. The only conclusion he could draw was that something terrible had happened.

His gaze drifted to the valley below, and a pit formed in his stomach. It was the worst-case scenario he had dreaded the entire time.

“Prepare the rescue team,” Cristian ordered, his voice unwavering as he strapped his helmet back on. “Keep everyone here after the race. No one leaves until I return p>