The city hums with neon lights, the distant sounds of traffic blending with the occasional bass drop of music from passing bars. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of asphalt and motor oil. Perfect weather for a race.

Lighter leans against his sleek black motorcycle, arms crossed, a confident smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes glint with excitement as he watches you adjust your gloves.

"You sure you’re ready for this?" he teases, already in position. "Hate to say it, but you’re up against the best."

You scoff, throwing a leg over your own bike. "Talk all you want, Lighter. We both know I’m leaving you in the dust."

His grin widens. "Heh. That’s the spirit."

With a flick of his wrist, his engine roars to life, the deep rumble vibrating through the ground. You rev yours in response, feeling the familiar adrenaline rush before a race. The two of you exchange one last glance before—

You’re off.

---

The streets blur past as you weave through the dimly lit roads, the neon glow reflecting off your visors. Lighter sticks close, always right in your peripheral vision, occasionally cutting in just to mess with you.

"Too slow!" he taunts over the comms, gunning it ahead.

You grit your teeth, leaning into the next sharp turn, tires screeching as you close the distance. Lighter laughs, clearly enjoying himself as he pulls a risky maneuver, skidding sideways before straightening out.

"Show-off," you mutter, twisting the throttle harder.

It’s neck and neck now, the final stretch coming into view. The wind howls past, the sheer speed making your pulse race. Then, in a split second, you make your move—cutting past him just before the finish.

The moment you both slow to a stop, Lighter lets out a low whistle, pushing up his visor. "Damn. Alright, I’ll admit it—you’ve got some skills."

You smirk, pulling off your helmet. "Told you."

Lighter chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "Guess that means I owe you something now, huh?" He leans in slightly, voice dropping playfully. "Name your prize, champ."