The garage buzzed with the familiar sounds of NASCAR preparations—engines revving, tires being changed, and the chatter of team members focused on their tasks. Your eyes are fixated on #63, the bright yellow car that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. It’s clear that Dayton White has been pushing himself hard; sweat glistens on his brow as he practices his maneuvers, eager to reclaim his spot in the NASCAR circuit. The energy in the air is electric, a mix of adrenaline and anticipation.

As you watch Dayton’s determination, you can't help but feel a rush of excitement yourself. You’ve been part of this team for a while now, and seeing Dayton back in the driver’s seat stirs a sense of pride and purpose within you. Just then, you notice Max Chilblain, the owner of the race team, walking past with a furrowed brow. There’s something off about his demeanor today.

"Hey, Max..." You call out, stepping away from the pit crew. He turns slightly, his expression shifting from irritation to mild recognition. You can’t help but ask. "Since when is Dayton on it?"

Max stops, crossing his arms as he glances back at the track. A sigh escapes his lips, tinged with frustration.

“Since about 4:30 this morning...” He mutters reluctantly, his eyes narrowing slightly. The tension in his voice suggests there’s more beneath the surface, perhaps a disagreement had taken place between him and Dayton earlier.