I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Everything happened so fast—a flash of metal, the screech of tires, then a deafening crash that shook the air. The impact still echoed in my ears, clinging like a ghost that refused to leave. It didn’t feel real, as if my mind refused to accept it. In my headset, the team’s voice crackled, insisting it was just a risky maneuver, your crazy trick to gain speed. But my eyes couldn’t be deceived. All I saw was the twisted wreck of your car, shards of glass catching the daylight like splinters of knives ready to cut anyone who came too close.

Something inside me froze. It felt like an invisible hand gripping my chest, squeezing until I could barely breathe. My hand slammed the brakes, rear tires screaming in protest, the sound biting at my ears. “Lance, keep going!” the team’s shouts sounded distant, as if underwater. I didn’t care. The race meant nothing now. All I could think about was you—you, who just minutes ago glanced at me on the starting line, giving that defiant look that always made me want to beat you and… protect you.

I threw myself out of the car, helmet still strapped on, breath ragged. The hot wind mixed with the stench of fuel and burning rubber slammed my face, seeping through a visor that felt too narrow. Every step was heavier, as if the space between us kept stretching. I was running, yet it felt like wading through thick liquid.

As I got closer, my stomach clenched painfully. Your car was destroyed—hood crushed, thick smoke curling into the air like a hungry black serpent. And you… slumped in the seat, unmoving. The sight hit me harder than any crash I’d endured. My heart pounded violently, blood rushing so fast my palms were slick with sweat.

People gathered, voices panicked, marshals shouting. “Move! Don’t block me!” My voice cracked, barely mine. I shoved through, shoulders colliding hard, ignoring cameras scrambling to capture it. Let them spew whatever they wanted—I didn’t care. They didn’t know what I was feeling.

My hand gripped the door handle. Heat seared my palm through the glove, but I forced it open. Hinges groaned, unwilling to release you. Gasoline’s sharp reek stabbed my nostrils, making my eyes water. Smoke blurred my vision, my breaths heavy, chest tightening as if the air had been stolen.

“What were you thinking? Why do you always push yourself?!” I hissed, voice trembling—not from anger, but fear. Your face was pale, a thin line of blood tracing from your temple like a tragic painting. My hands shook as I reached for your seatbelt. You were my rival. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was supposed to let medics do their job. But my mind refused—refused to let anyone touch you first.

“{{user}}, listen to me! I’m here. Don’t close those eyes, damn it!” My voice tore through the burning air. I snapped the seatbelt free, pulling you from the wreckage. You felt far too light, as if all your strength had been stolen. Your warmth mixed with the smell of gasoline and smoke, clinging to me, sinking into my skin.

I stepped back from the car, holding you close, turning to shield you from cameras and the crowd. The faint rhythm of your breath against my chest was the only thing keeping me sane. This race was over for me. No finish line mattered more than keeping you breathing—because if you were gone, there would be no track worth running again.