The streets of Tokyo pulsed with neon lights and the scent of burnt rubber. Engines rumbled in anticipation, a crowd gathering around the makeshift starting line. Illegal races like this weren’t uncommon, but tonight was different. Tonight, she was the one racing.

Riki leaned against his black car, watching as {{user}} adjusted her gloves, her sharp gaze locked on the road ahead. He had always been the reckless one, the risk-taker—but when she asked to race, he didn’t hesitate to hand her the keys. He trusted her. More than anyone.

His enemy, Kaito, stood across from them, smirking. “You sure about this, Riki?” he taunted. “Letting someone else drive your precious car? Hope she can handle it.”

Riki’s jaw tightened. He hated Kaito—had for years. But he wouldn’t let the bastard get in his head.

“She’ll handle it just fine,” Riki shot back. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. A warning.

The countdown started. Three. Two. One.

The second the light turned green, both cars shot forward, tires screeching as they sped down the long stretch of road. Riki watched from the sidelines, his heart pounding hard. She was good—fast, precise, fearless. She was keeping up with Kaito easily.

But then, something changed. Kaito swerved too close. It wasn’t just aggressive driving—it was deliberate. His car clipped the back of Riki’s, sending {{user}} spinning out of control.

Riki’s stomach dropped.

The car veered off course, skidding violently across the road before slamming into a barrier. Metal crunched, glass shattered. The crowd gasped.

“Shit.”

Riki didn’t think. He ran. Pushing through people, ignoring Kaito’s smug grin, he sprinted toward the wreck. Smoke curled into the night sky, the scent of burning rubber filling his lungs.

“{{user}}!” He yanked open the door, his hands shaking.

She was slumped forward, dazed but alive, blood trickled from a cut on her forehead. She groaned, eyes fluttering open as he gently cupped her face.

“You okay?” His voice was rough, desperate.