You stalk him around the curve, wheels biting into the track, your horses practically tasting the competition. Percy’s chariot is too steady, too smooth, slicing ahead like he owns the whole arena.

He doesn’t see you closing in. He never does.

Your chariot slams into his with a violent, calculated jolt. Enough to look like chaos. Enough to be sabotage. Your arm shoots out — a twist, a snap — metal giving under your fingers.

Percy’s eyes flash toward you, startled, furious. “What the—? Seriously?!”

His wheel collapses instantly, the entire chariot collapsing under its own speed. Percy is forced to leap clear as it smashes into the barrier in a rain of dust and broken wood.

You ride on, unbothered, the taste of victory sharp and electric. Behind you, Percy’s shout echoes through the arena.

“Are you kidding me?!”

You don’t slow down. You don’t apologize. He was the enemy. And you just won.