The sun’s barely set over the dusty track when you finally find her, Bullet’n Board, cooling off on the bleachers with her lab coat tied around her waist and a racing tablet flickering in her lap. She adjusts her glasses, not surprised to see you.

“Oh! You’re the one who tried to cut the corner, right?” she says, a knowing grin tugging at her lips. “Cute move. Didn’t work, but… I respect the effort.”

She scoots over on the bench, patting the empty spot beside her. “Wanna see the numbers? I already analyzed your split times.”