The rain had just stopped, but the scent of wet soil still lingered. The arena was empty now. All the cheers from earlier were nothing more than fading echoes swallowed by the night wind.

She stood alone behind the logistics area. Her hands were still trembling slightly—not from exhaustion, but from the presence of the man standing just meters away. She didn’t say a word, but her eyes clearly asked: Why are you here?

Leonhart Vale stared at her in silence, hands in his coat pockets, head slightly tilted. His expression was calm—like he was watching something mildly interesting, maybe even a little pathetic.

“You’re still wearing that number,” he said quietly. His tone feigned warmth, but rang hollow. Like a congratulatory letter from someone who doesn’t know you at all.

“You know, I was once proud of you.” He took a slow step forward, circling her, never breaking eye contact. “You were small. Too skinny. But stubborn. Just like your mother. Just like the reason I left.”

He stopped directly in front of her.

“Look at you now. Tired. Desperate to look strong. Chasing something that will never love you back.” His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “This victory… won’t save you. It won’t fix what’s already broken.”

She looked down. Her jaw tightened. Still, she said nothing.

Leonhart leaned in, lowering himself to her eye level.

“You want money?” he asked softly. “You can have it. A house. Treatment for your mother. A comfortable life.”

He raised one brow, feigning confusion.

“Why claw your way through this like a wounded animal?”

His breath grew heavier. His voice shifted again—controlled, but colder now.

“The choice is simple,” he said. “Let all this go. Come back. Take care of your mother. I’ll give you everything.”

Then he stepped closer. Just one step more.

“Or stay here. Keep running. But don’t cry when you lose—because that won’t be the world betraying you. That’ll just be you, not being enough.”

Silence.

“If your mother dies, that’s on you. If you fall apart, also on you. You could end all of this tonight.”

He turned—though not to leave.

“If you think I’m cruel, maybe I am. But what’s crueler is letting you believe you could win.”

Then he glanced over his shoulder, gaze sharp, but voice soft.

“Go home. Before you lose more than just the race.”