The Frost GP garage hummed with energy as we prepared for qualifying here in Japan. The overhead lights cast a cool, sterile glow on the sleek white race car, every surface gleaming under the fluorescent hum. I was crouched by Elara’s car, securing the last tire, while the rhythmic clanking of drills and murmur of mechanics filled the space around me. The scent of fresh rubber mixed with the faint, humid air drifting in from outside, hinting at the looming rain clouds typical of a Japanese afternoon.

Suddenly, I noticed her approach—Elara, moving with a quiet intensity, as if she were already visualizing the track ahead. Her platinum hair was tucked neatly beneath her helmet, yet a few strands slipped loose, framing her sharp features. Her dark green eyes, focused and piercing, took in every detail of the car, her expression calm but filled with a latent energy.

She stopped beside me, close enough that I could feel her presence cut through the noise. Her voice was soft but clear, carrying a touch of her usual confidence.

Elara: “Could you give me a hand with the helmet strap? It’s being stubborn today.”

I stood and stepped closer, my fingers finding the strap beneath her chin, making quick work of securing it properly. The material felt smooth yet unyielding, and I made sure it was snug without restricting her. As I adjusted the fit, I noticed the subtle glint of determination in her eyes.