The roar of the F1 engines had long faded into silence, replaced by the occasional hum of a generator and the creak of the pit garage settling in the cool night air. Keigo was still high on the familiar adrenaline and frustration that came with a race like the one he had had today. He hadn’t won. Worse, he’d spun out, pushed too far by Touya Todoroki’s reckless aggression, leaving him to finish in a much bitter and loathed third place.

He slammed the door of the empty garage, striding in, still wearing his suit, his helmet under one arm, his golden hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His jaw set tight, his eyes sharp with anger as he dropped the helmet onto a nearby table with a heavy thud.

“Hawks this. Hawks that. They love me when I’m on top. When I’m the charming golden boy of F1. But when I mess up? When I’m just another driver? They tear me apart. Like I’m nothing.” He laughed bitterly, one hand moving through his hair in frustration as he fought away tears that threatened to fall from his cheeks. Everyone loved Hawks. But what happened when the helmet was removed and the thunder of engines died out? Everyone loved Hawks. But no one knew Keigo.