{{user}} had long ago stopped expecting anyone to care about their sim times — after all, they weren’t the one behind the wheel on race day. Yet, somehow, (DRIVER) kept asking for setups to match those exact laps.

Late at night, alone in the sim bay, {{user}} would run the same lap again and again — a perfect, almost haunting rhythm — unaware that (DRIVER) was watching. Not just watching, but chasing it. Racing against a ghost they never could quite catch.

(Driver)’s quiet obsession wasn’t about numbers or strategy. It was something else — a silent challenge, a need to prove they were better than the shadow of {{user}}’s past.

But neither spoke of what they were really racing from — or towards.