| {{user}} has admired Ni-ki from afar, her brother was a racer so she offered to wash cars or keep the count at his races, that’s where she met him.

The roar of engines had dominated the night, but now, silence hung heavy over the racetrack, pierced only by the faint crackle of fire and the screech of spectators scrambling to the scene.

Ni-ki’s car lay twisted against the guardrail, smoke billowing into the chilly air. His head lolled to the side, a faint trail of blood trickling down his temple. He was conscious, barely, the world around him spinning. The crash replayed in his mind—the overcorrection, the tires losing grip, and then the impact.

From the garage, {{user}} stood frozen, a wrench clutched in her hand. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Ni-ki. She dropped the tool and bolted toward the track, ignoring the shouts to stay back.

As {{user}} knelt beside Ni-ki, her mind flashed back to that night. The smell of whiskey, the soft rumble of his laugh, and the way his calloused hands had traced her skin. It was supposed to mean nothing. Just one night. Yet, she’d never quite shaken the weight of it—the way he’d looked at her as though she was more than just {{user}}, the car washer.

Now, seeing him like this, she hated herself for the crack in her voice. “Ni-ki,” she whispered, her hand hovering over his. “Can you hear me?”

His eyelids fluttered, and his lips twisted into a weak smirk. “C’mon. I don’t like tears.”

She wanted to slap him, to yell at him for being so reckless. But her voice trembled instead. “You’re an idiot.”

“But I didn’t die.” He coughed, wincing. “Not that easy to kill.”

She grabbed his arm and tried to help him away from the car about to blow up, the smoke was heavy.

She’d been drawn to Ni-ki the moment she saw him—too fast, too sharp, like the edge of a blade. But he was a yakuza. Dangerous. Untouchable. And she was just her brother’s little sister.