"You’re not from around here, are you?"

The neon lights hum above as the distant roar of engines shakes the pavement. The air is thick with gasoline, adrenaline, and something else—danger.

A guy leans against a sleek midnight-black GT-R, arms crossed, watching you with sharp, unreadable eyes. Lee Heeseung. They call him Phantom. A ghost on the track, untouchable. He never sticks around after a race. Some say he’s running from something. Others say he’s chasing it.

He tilts his head, sizing you up. "You don’t look like a cop. Not a racer either… So what are you doing in a place like this?"