Fated to Die to the Player, I'll Live Freely with My SSS-Class Ship!-Chapter 102: U-Turn the Tide

{And we are back, to this year's Aegis Grand Prix! Once again, I am your host, Kamika, hoping to present you a live punch by punch commentary!}

{Ms. Kamika, this isn't boxing, but a race. It's not punch by punch in any way.}

{Mr. Jolo, you're too stiff~! It's a metaphor, you know, a metaphor~!}

"Is there no way to mute those two?"

Eva, who was in a particularly foul mood for reasons unknown, grumbled with a dangerously sharp glint in her eyes. She looked like she was ready to commit murder if given the opportunity—clearly irritated by the commentators' offbeat banter.

"Well, they're just doing their job, trying to liven up the crowd. Let them be."

I shrugged, trying to pacify her rising temper.

"More importantly, double-check all sensors and diagnostic readouts on the ship's parts. If you spot anything that's even slightly below optimal, let me know immediately."

Currently, we were situated in the waiting area, aboard Eva's Hunter Frigate. Very soon, we'd be deployed to the racetrack and line up for the official start of the race.

As such, this was our final window to address any potential issues with the ship—any later would be too late.

"Done minutes ago," Eva sighed, a mix of boredom and irritation in her voice. "I already double, triple-checked everything. That's why I've got nothing better to do now except listen to those two clowns."

"W-What a harsh thing to say..." Cassandra smiled awkwardly, clearly feeling a little bad for the commentators.

"Harsh? They're getting paid to talk and their performance is worse than those freebie commentators from random video streaming sites!"

"W-Well, they probably are doing their best already..."

Eva and Cassandra went back and forth, with one viciously mocking the commentators while the other tried to defend their honor. Either way, the argument served one good purpose—it distracted Eva from her annoyance at the actual broadcast.

*PING!*

A green light blinked to life on the shutter ahead—and it rose quickly. That was our cue. Time to head out to the racetrack.

I took a deep breath and said, "Alright... Let's get this over with!"

{Aaaand here we go! First up, the one who shocked the galaxy! The record-breaking, jaw-dropping team that secured first place during the preliminaries—and guess what? They're not even backed by a single sponsor!}

{Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome... the Knights of Camelot!}

As the commentators hyped up our introduction, I drove the ship forward, following the designated speed limit and staying perfectly aligned with the traced path on the main visualizer.

Since we secured first place during preliminaries, we were given the leftmost spot—the one closest to the starting line.

It didn't make a massive difference in the grand scheme, but even a small positional advantage could count for something in the beginning.

"We're not getting much cheers..."

Cassandra commented softly, her voice tinged with disappointment. Her expression looked deflated. She had clearly expected more.

We couldn't really blame the crowd, though. Officially, we had zero backing—no sponsors, no affiliations. It was no wonder we were being looked down on by the public... just like those smug bookmakers had done.

"Well," I said, giving her a reassuring smile, "we just need to prove how wrong all of them are."

{Up next, we have the reigning champion! The ultimate embodiment of speed, power, and the overwhelming financial force of the Astoria Conglomerate—Grand Hellsing!}

"WOAH!!!"

The moment the favored champion's team was announced, the stadium erupted into deafening cheers. We could even hear the roar through the speakers—which were housed in what was supposed to be a soundproof booth for the commentators.

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They were clearly getting the celebrity treatment.

Following that, the other racers were introduced one by one, each receiving crowd responses at least three times louder than ours. Even if public opinion didn't directly affect our performance, the stark contrast was a little disheartening—enough that even I felt a twinge of disappointment.

"I guess... aside from not having a sponsor, the fact that our pilot is a woman is what's driving our unpopularity." Eva commented, analyzing the situation with her usual bluntness.

Thinking about it, she might be right. In many sports, male competitors still dominate the top levels of competition.

No, I'm not being misogynistic—just stating reality.

It's also true that women shine in some areas, but racing? This was a field largely ruled by men. So having a female pilot? That alone was enough to put us at a disadvantage in public perception.

Though... I may be in Cassandra's body, but I'm a man inside. I wonder which side that counts toward?

Time went on, the commentators continuing to drone endlessly. It was as if they had an unlimited supply of things to say—even though most of it had little, if anything, to do with the race itself.

They even brought up the previous war between Astoria and Meyers. Why? Who knows.

{...And with the introductions concluded, it's finally time to determine who truly reigns supreme among the sixteen elite racers here today! What's your take, Mr. Jolo?}

{Isn't it obvious? This race belongs to Grand Hellsing. The rest are just here to fill the roster.}

{Oh? We can't say for sure yet, can we? Don't forget, the ones who finished first in the prelims—Knights of Camelot—might just throw a wrench in those predictions!}

{That was a fluke. A lucky break. They probably practiced on a track identical to the prelims and timed it just right.}

I frowned while listening to the exchange. This Mr. Jolo guy... he had sharp instincts. Because he wasn't wrong—Cassandra had practiced on the real deal, the actual track, until she brought her time down to perfection.

But this time, things were different. Track mastery?

That was a given for me—someone who had run this course over and over in the game. Over and over, until mastery became second nature.

While waiting for the signals to appear, I began looking around.

The track was wide—far wider than the one used during the preliminaries. Since it was constructed out of luminous rings and crisscrossing laser lights, it gave off an even grander illusion of space than it had during our practice runs.

Each "ring" was about 100 meters in diameter, after all, so the scale was no joke.

I adjusted the cameras, bringing up a rear visual feed that displayed the other racers lining up behind us.

I guess even if all sixteen ships lined up in a perfectly horizontal row, the entire formation still fit on this track with room to spare. That alone spoke volumes about how massive this circuit was.

"Are you getting nervous?" Eva suddenly spoke, glancing at me with a teasing grin. "Now that's rare. Weren't you the one who was all confident, even betting on yourself?"

"Nervous? Who, me?"

I laughed at her jab without missing a beat. "For me, this is like a dad playing tag with his kids. The only thing I'm worried about is bruising their egos so badly they quit racing for good."

"Big words."

Eva shrugged and went silent, the grin fading into a neutral expression.

Wait a minute... Was she seriously concerned that I might be nervous, and actually tried to ease the mood? She, Eva, going out of her way to comfort me? Now that is a rare sight...

*BEEEEP!*

Suddenly, a shrill siren rang out—accompanied by a flashing red light on the starting loop. It was the countdown signal, marking the official start of the race.

I gripped the lever tightly, flashing a fierce smile as I called out to my teammates behind me.

"Sit tight, and watch me dominate this race!"

The red lights blinked down one by one until...

Everything turned green.

The Go signal.

Without a moment's hesitation, I slammed both pedals, and the ship lunged forward. The other racers responded just as fast, their ships bolting ahead almost in perfect sync.

All of them were moving at high velocity right off the bat—a testament to the fact that their ships, like ours, had been upgraded and tuned to peak condition. No one was gaining an early lead just yet.

The first segment of the racetrack was a long, straight stretch—100 kilometers of raw speed. It was designed to test each racer's max acceleration and top-end performance.

But after that came the U-turn—a killer segment notorious for its difficulty. It was a sharp curve that demanded precise control and nerves of steel. Overshooting or misjudging this curve was a frequent mistake, especially in the first lap when tensions were high.

{This is intense! All racers are neck to neck, nobody's giving way!}

{Well, it's just the start. The real decider is definitely the U-turn up ahead—it's going to determine who surges forward and who ends up eating space dust.}

{...You're suddenly talkative, Mr. Jolo. It feels unsettling.}

{Shut it...}

Just as the commentators said, this U-turn was no joke. It tested not only speed and steering, but the pilot's courage and decisiveness under pressure.

The 90 km straight was devoured in just 30 seconds—exactly as anticipated. All ships began decelerating, shifting toward the outer edge of the course to safely round the corner.

All except one.

{W-What is this?! The Knights of Camelot... They're not slowing down at all! Did they forget to brake?!}

{Ah... They're done for. Totally toast.}

The commentators echoed the thoughts of the crowd, and maybe even the racers themselves. But what followed left them speechless.

"Let's—!"

With only a few hundred meters to the turn, I cut off the thrusters instantly and yanked the lever sharply to the right, rotating the ship a full 170° along its z-axis—a topspin maneuver.

As the ship flipped, I hit the pedal hard, decelerating at maximum thrust. The G-forces slammed into us, spiking momentarily above 70G. For an unmodified ship, or unprotected crew, this would've been fatal.

"UGH!"

But to us, it was just another bump in the road. The inertial dampers combined with our specialized Gel Seats absorbed nearly 90% of the force, leaving only a dense pressure weighing us down.

In a fraction of a second, our velocity dropped from over 3 km/s to about 500 m/s in the opposite direction—and we cleared the U-turn flawlessly. The other racers, having begun decelerating much earlier, were now behind us. That gap—just a few seconds—was more than enough to matter.

{T-This...}

{...}

The commentators fell silent, their voices caught in their throats. For a moment, they just sat there, stunned, before the broadcast suddenly regained its energy.

{CRAZY! That was almost a 180-degree emergency maneuver! The Knights of Camelot are maniacs—but holy hell, they actually pulled it off!!!}

{W-Well, if they try that again, they won't survive a second time. The toll on the body is massive! That was suicidal!}

Of course it is.

Why do you think Cassandra can only handle 150 minutes of racing?

Anyway, with this stunt... I'd bet anything the crowd's opinion of us just changed.

"But that's not enough!" I grinned, gripping the lever even tighter. "Let's show them who's boss!"

The race had only just begun!