Fated to Die to the Player, I’ll Live Freely with My SSS-Class Ship!

We returned to our original bodies, completely without any warning whatsoever.

"A-Arthur..."

Cassandra called out to me, her eyes flickering with a mix of confusion and concern.

Naturally, I wasn't calm either. I had considered the possibility that this situation could happen—but not right now, not at this critical moment!

'We're still 20 laps away from the finish line. Cassandra's good, but her stamina won't last that long...'

Calculating based on usual conditions, she should still have enough stamina for about an hour of continuous flight. But this wasn't a normal situation. Right now, her body was burdened by her monthly "visit," sapping her stamina more quickly than usual.

'At this rate, we won't be able to finish the race in one go.'

"Don't worry! I've got some stamina recovery shots in my pocket. Check your pocket, Arthur!" Eva said quickly, her voice filled with urgency but not yet despair.

I patted down my pockets at once, and just as she'd said, a few ampules were securely tucked away inside. They were the oral type—easier to use in a pinch—but...

"These have some heavy side effects..."

They could extend stamina for another hour or so, but once the effects wore off, the user would be hit with intense nausea. Not to mention, remembering the game's description for it, this specific type of ampule was addictive—dangerous if overused.

"This... If things get really bad, we'll use it as a last resort. But definitely not as our first option!" I shook my head firmly, turning to Cassandra. "You trained so hard for this. I know you can do it! For now, don't worry about lap time, just pilot the ship as you will!"

Back during practice, the best Cassandra could manage in her own body was around 5 minutes per lap. That was faster than all of the other racers, but it still wouldn't hold up until the 50th lap—not with her stamina draining like this.

Given her current condition, she'd likely be able to manage 10 laps in about 60 minutes...

And with a hard cap of 300 minutes, anything over that would lose us the 3 billion from our bets.

I already used up 90 minutes. Adding Cassandra's 60 minutes for 10 laps, plus another 60 minutes to finish the race—that left us with around 90 minutes of breathing room. With that much extra buffer...!

"...We can still make it!"

I growled, my eyes burning with determination and hope.

"I'll explain the plan as we go, so Cassandra—floor it!"

"Y-Yes!"

We had lost 10 minutes back at the pitstop, but even so, there was no need to panic. We still had enough time to pull this off.

Cassandra focused on the track ahead, slamming her foot down and accelerating hard. Eva, resuming her role as navigator, didn't miss a beat and relayed every crucial detail with practiced ease.

"U-turn in 3 seconds!" Eva shouted. "Two ships up ahead—also turning—so watch your angle!"

"I see them!"

The training program I built had included "dummy" racers—virtual opponents acting as obstacles—so Cassandra wasn't fazed by seeing others ahead of her.

And thanks to my provocations earlier, we'd lapped these racers multiple times. Their behavior was simple: block our path at any cost.

Cassandra didn't panic. She kept her cool and took the turn as if she'd done it a hundred times. She spun the ship nearly 180°, then hit the thrusters at the last possible second—slowing down just enough to whip forward again!

The two ships reacted quickly, positioning themselves to cut off our momentum.

"...!"

But Cassandra wasn't easily thrown off. My simulation training had included every dirty tactic I could think of. Blocking the path? Trying to clip our wings? Child's play.

She angled the ship 90°, positioning it perfectly perpendicular to the two ships trying to fence us in.

Then, as if threading a needle, she slipped right between them. Perfect control, razor precision, and quick decision-making. She had great skills... if only her body could keep up.

Of course, our ship's max speed was about equal to the others. So once we passed them, they accelerated too—trying to chase us down.

What followed was a chaotic three-way chase. Two "cats" hunting down a very agile mouse. If this weren't a race, and if weapons were allowed, we'd probably be dodging laser fire right now.

Eva's voice snapped through the cockpit. "Loops in 2 seconds! If they stay behind us here, we're in trouble—shake them off!"

"Roger!"

Just before the loops began, instead of slowing down, Cassandra sped up. The two racers behind us, having been penalized before for recklessness, backed off cautiously.

Within seconds, we had opened a 300-meter gap, clearing our entry into the loop section.

Cassandra flew through the loops cleanly, sticking to the center line like a textbook pilot. With her body's current limits, trying to copy my tricks here would've only slowed us down or put her in danger.

"Lasers ahead. Go for A3 to C3!" Eva directed, scanning the path and spotting a clean route through.

The grid pattern she used mimicked a chessboard. A3 to C3 would be just along the bottom left of our view. Cassandra didn't hesitate—she floored it, overshooting slightly to position near the edge—right in the safe zone.

We shot past the laser trap with room to spare—clean, smooth, and fast.

Everything was going well... But still, the sharp-eyed commentators quickly noticed the change.

{What's this? The Knights of Camelot are starting to slow down their pace?! Are they intentionally giving a handicap so the other racers have a shot?!}

{Bullshit! They're already 20 laps ahead. How the hell would the others catch up now... They're taunting the enemies, no doubt! Probably scheming to rack up even more penalties on them and create a five-hour gap in completion times!}

"..."

Well, that was the original plan—finish the course in 150 minutes, while the rest would need somewhere around 450 to 500 minutes. But now, with Cassandra's slower pace, we could only stretch the gap to maybe three hours, at best.

As for the so-called handicap... They weren't entirely wrong.

Just not at this exact moment—but soon.

Cassandra pressed on at her own rhythm, keeping each lap between 4 to 5 minutes depending on the opposition. Conflict with other ships—especially when passing Eden Company's ship—often slowed her down. They didn't hesitate to pull out cheap, dirty tricks to try and eliminate us.

"Huff...!"

Unsurprisingly, the effort was taking its toll. Now at the 40th lap, Cassandra was completely out of breath. Still, she had done well. She cleared the last 9 laps in just 42 minutes, clawing back some precious time.

"Alright, after this lap, we head back to the pitstop!" I commanded, laying out the next phase of the plan.

Eva frowned, her expression unreadable at first.

Then, with a sigh, she muttered, "You... You'd make a better instigator than a mercenary. After this, every racer out there is going to hate your guts." She gave me a judging glance—but agreed with the strategy.

Cassandra, too, had no choice but to go along with it. This next part had been planned entirely with her condition in mind.

As soon as we cleared the zigzag section and reached the final straight to the lap's end, Cassandra floored the pedal. Every second mattered—she pushed hard to earn just a bit more leeway before we had to pull over.

At the final stretch, we veered left and entered the pitstop corridor.

{OOOH! What's this? Another crisis for the Knights of Camelot?!}

{Their speed dropped dramatically—by at least 40%! That's definitely not normal… But they're still over 20 laps ahead. This is insane… Fuck...}

The bitter growl of Mr. Jolo through the mic was like a sweet melody in my ears. After all, what we were about to do next would surely make him cough blood.

The ship came to a halt, held firmly in place by Percy's remotely controlled mechanical arms. The cockpit opened with a hiss. Cassandra looked dazed and completely drained, so Eva quickly stepped in to support her and helped her down to the ground.

I had gone ahead of them, setting up a small, brown, plastic beach chair complete with a white parasol—purely for the aesthetic.

"Lie down here, slowly," Eva said gently, guiding Cassandra onto the chair, laying her flat on her back. A silky white pillow cushioned her head.

I pulled a light cotton blanket over her body, adding a layer of modesty and warmth.

{W-What's…}

{FUCK…!!!}

The commentators were absolutely stunned. Ms. Kamika sounded baffled, while Mr. Jolo exploded with rage, slamming his fist on the console. His mic picked up the bang with a satisfying crack. He'd figured it out.

{These bastards! Have you no shame?! Sleeping in the middle of a race...!!! BLASPHEMY!!!}

He roared, likely red in the face with rage, forehead veins bulging. I turned toward the announcer stand, took a few steps forward, and gave them a cheerful wave, wearing a smile that could only be described as infuriating.

Of course, that was all part of the act—to make it look like we were mocking the competition.

The reality? Cassandra simply couldn't keep racing in her current state. She needed to rest. With Eva by her side and the exhaustion of pushing through 10 fast laps weighing on her, she slipped into sleep almost instantly.

One hour... That was the maximum time we could afford to let her rest.

Any longer, and we'd risk missing the 300-minute cut-off—which meant losing the chance to absolutely obliterate the bookmakers. Sure, technically, we could still win the race even if we crossed that limit. Losing a few billion Credits wouldn't be the end of us.

But a chance to walk away with a full Quadrillion Credits? That kind of opportunity didn't just fall into your lap every day. You seize it—or you lose it.

"Alright..." I muttered, exhaling slowly as I walked back toward the ship. "Time to do my job."

Eva's Hunter Frigate was still in perfect condition, untouched and intact—but we had to make it look like we were dealing with serious trouble. The slowdown we did needed to be believable. The dip in skill from switching pilots mid-race needed a cover.

Because getting accused of "pilot swapping" mid-race? That'd turn the whole stadium against us.

"One hour…"

I flexed my fingers, rolling my shoulders as I approached the frigate once more.

"Let's upgrade some things during that time!"