My Second Chance
Copyright© 2026 by BillMax
Chapter 16: Seen Head, Not Tail
Before long, with the roar of engines, eight motorcycles started one after another, ascending along the winding mountain road.
Once they reached the summit, the race would officially begin. Whoever first burst through the parking lot at the base of the ridge would be the champion.
The organizers stationed observers with handheld cameras near most of the curves and relayed commentary via walkie-talkies, so the spectators at the base could stay fully involved and not get bored.
Marcus returned to the parking lot, and Serena handed him a bottle of ice-cold beer. “You know that female rider?”
“You suspecting me of pulling some trick again?” Marcus countered without answering.
Serena shook his head. “If you knew the Ducati rider, I might have suspected something. But if that female rider isn’t up to par, no amount of trickery on your part would make any difference.”
“Who knows? Maybe I’ve already colluded with Blake Calloway. I know both the Ducati and Yamaha riders, and I can decide who wins,” Marcus said, taking a sip of his beer, looking unconcerned.
Serena gave a wry smile. “My bad, bro. Stop teasing me. Even if Blake had the brains to scheme such a conspiracy, he doesn’t have the spine for it.
The nickname ‘Piss-Pants’ has already spread. If he still dares to stoop so low as to sabotage my bike by stripping parts off his own, then I’d accept being tricked.”
Finally Marcus cracked a smile. “That’s the right way to think. Seeing isn’t always believing. Learning to think independently is important for your future.”
Serena nodded earnestly. “I’ll remember that.”
Marcus didn’t ask who Serena had bet on to win, nor did he care.
After all, he had already made his statement. As long as Elena Shaw was the ultimate champion, he would be the winner that night.
At the summit, a bra was tossed high into the air. The moment it hit the ground, Elena Shaw released the clutch and gunned the throttle, rocketing to the front.
Marcus had told her that at the very beginning, she absolutely must not fall behind.
She didn’t understand why. When she took the first curve, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw the spectacle of a motorcycle tilting too far and sliding out, causing two other motorcycles to topple over as well.
Did that guy already know something like this would happen?
Elena couldn’t help but gasp in shock. In that moment of distraction, a Ducati and a Honda raced past her on either side.
She instantly fell from first to third place.
Damn it, that asshole is counting on me.
Elena dared not get distracted again. She fixed her eyes on the two bikes ahead and the road conditions, focusing on the race.
When the image of the three-bike crash appeared on the big screen set up in the parking lot, most people booed—except Serena and his group of wealthy friends, who were silent as sparrows.
This is so weird.
It must be a coincidence. They couldn’t bring themselves to believe it, nor did they want to, so they comforted themselves with that thought internally.
Soon after, amid the screams of many girls, a Kawasaki crashed through the guardrail and its lights quickly dimmed in the forest.
The rich kids looked at each other. Derek Chang swallowed hard and asked, “Which ... which curve was that?”
“Seems like it was the sixth ... right?”
The voice replying was uncertain, but no one doubted it, because the voice from the walkie-talkie commentary couldn’t be fake.
A little while later, just as the screen showed the status of the top three motorcycles, every walkie-talkie in their hands blared the announcer’s shout.
“Crashed into the mountain! Crashed into the mountain! The Suzuki rider, in fourth place, failed to turn adequately on the ninth curve. The front wheel scraped the guardrail, then overcorrected, slamming into the mountain—out of the race...”
Those who hadn’t bet on that rider cheered loudly, while those who had sighed deeply with hands on their wrists, unaware that Serena and his group had collectively turned to stone.
Marcus had only mentioned five things before, and now three of them had been confirmed with no discrepancy whatsoever.
If the last two were also predicted correctly, then the so-called ‘liar’ would be rendered a farce.
Because that would require all the riders to cooperate with him at the risk of their lives.
A sheer fantasy.
At this very moment, Elena Shaw had surged into second place.
She was unaware of what had transpired behind her, focusing solely on following closely behind the Ducati, while the fifth-place Honda was only a half a bike length behind her.
The longer she watched the Ducati, the greater her sense of helplessness grew.
Because the other rider managed the timing of easing off the throttle, the entry into the curve, the angle of lean, and the acceleration out of the curve so perfectly that it seemed as if it had all been measured with a ruler.
Anyone could drive a motorcycle, but the gap between professional and amateur riders lies in these subtle details. It’s these ‘minor’ aspects that can create a huge chasm between them.
A miss is as good as a mile.
“Sorry, asshole. I’ve done my best. There’s just no way to win,” Elena said silently to herself, filled with despair.
Now they were approaching the final curve. The Ducati made a mistake upon entry, easing off the throttle too late and having to brake harder, which not only shifted the bike to the outer line but also slowed its speed slightly.
The opportunity arrived.
Elena’s eyes suddenly brightened as she prepared to move forward and claim the advantageous inside line.
Suddenly Marcus’s voice echoed in her mind: Don’t pass on the inside. Don’t be impulsive. Don’t rush.