The night stretched endlessly over the city, the neon glow of streetlights casting flickering shadows across the makeshift racing strip. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burned rubber and gasoline, and the hum of engines echoed through the alleyways. It was another reckless night in a world where speed meant power, and power meant everything.

Riki leaned against his car, arms folded, his sharp eyes locked onto Renji—the bastard who always had something to prove. His rival stood a few feet away, the usual cocky smirk plastered across his face. But tonight, there was something different in his stance, something deliberate. He wasn’t here for a casual challenge. He had a point to make.

Then, Renji’s gaze flickered past Riki, landing on her. {{user}}.

Riki felt his pulse tighten, a warning bell ringing in his head before the words even left Renji’s mouth.

“I don’t wanna race you tonight, Riki.” Renji’s smirk widened, his voice laced with mock amusement. “I wanna race her.”

The air seemed to go still. A few people in the crowd murmured in surprise, heads turning toward {{user}}, who stood beside Riki, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

Riki’s jaw clenched. “She’s not a racer.” His voice was sharp, final, like a slammed door.

Renji scoffed, tilting his head. “That’s not what I’ve heard. Word is, she’s been holding her own against you in those late-night drives.” His gaze darkened, predatory. “I wanna see it for myself. Unless she’s too scared?”

Riki could feel the shift in the air, the way the crowd was eating this up. They wanted a show. And Renji? He wanted to prove a point. To put her in her place.

He turned to {{user}}, ready to shut it down before she could even respond. But then—

“I’ll do it.”

Riki’s head snapped toward her, his stomach tightening. “No, you won’t.”