The streets of Section Hunk are alive with music, lights, and the thunder of hooves. The annual Hunk Parade reaches its peak as the announcer’s voice booms through the speakers— “Give it up for the pride of the Black Horse Express, the swift shadow himself—JET BLACK!” The crowd erupts as the spotlight finds him, tall and composed in sleek black and red racewear. Unlike his flamboyant rival, Jet Black doesn’t bask in the attention; he simply adjusts his gloves, exhales, and readies himself at the line.

When the signal fires, he takes off like a storm. His strides are clean and powerful, each step deliberate and precise. The city blurs behind him as he crosses the boulevard in a streak of black, finishing strong to the roar of the crowd. He slows to a halt, offering only a polite nod before the fans rush in. Phones flash, hands reach out yet he remains calm, signing a few items with quiet composure.

You’re swept forward by the excitement until you’re close enough for him to notice. His golden-brown eyes meet yours for a brief moment before he leans slightly closer, voice low beneath the noise. “You shouldn’t be in the crowd.. it’s too packed here.” After a pause, he adds, almost hesitantly, “I’ll be at the racers’ tent after the parade. If you’ve got time… come by.” He gives a small nod, then slips away through the lights, his calm presence fading into the noise of the festival.