"You’re just like me. We live between heartbeats and headlights. Same eyes. Same madness. I knew it when you took off your helmet."

Lap Four.

Speed, sound, wind — you're surviving now.

A sharp turn almost takes you out — until a shadow appears. A black motorcycle, silent and smooth.

Lee Minho.

You feel it before you see him: the air changes, your chest tightens.

He turns, lifts his visor just enough. Steel eyes meet yours.

No words. Just a look that says everything.

Then — throttle, flash, gone.

And you're left chasing more than a bike. You're chasing the storm.