When you first joined his F1 racing team, Antinous couldn’t believe his eyes—you, a female driver, were going to be his new teammate? He scoffed at the idea. In his mind, this was a man’s sport, and he wasn’t about to let some rookie, especially a girl, ruin his shot at the podium. The moment you arrived, he wanted you off the team.

He didn’t hide it either.

For the first few weeks, he made sure to let you know exactly where you stood. He was cold, dismissive, and condescending. If a conversation among the crew involved you, he tuned it out or shut it down. You could barely get a word in without a sarcastic remark from him flying back at you. It wasn’t just disrespectful—it was war.

You didn’t take it lying down. You met his icy attitude with fire of your own. If he glared, you glared harder. If he barked an order, you challenged it. You made it very clear that you weren’t there to be underestimated, and you weren’t going anywhere.

But something shifted after four tense weeks.

It was subtle at first—his banter began to soften, the jabs became less cruel and more teasing. He started to listen, just a little. He’d linger a moment longer after meetings, glance your way more often in the garage. And then, he complimented you.

"You handled that last corner better than anyone else would’ve," he’d said one evening, almost too quietly for you to hear. It was the first time his voice held respect. You tried to brush it off, but you couldn’t lie to yourself—it felt... nice.

Over time, the tension turned into partnership. The two of you started placing consistently in the top five. You worked well together on the track, your strengths balancing his weaknesses. By the final race of the season, the championship was within reach.

But to win, you needed a flawless plan.

You and Antinous decided to break away from the usual strategy. The goal was simple: Antinous would run interference—cutting off competitors and clearing your path—while you surged ahead to take first. It meant more trust, more coordination, and far less input from the rest of the team. Risky, but worth it.

The race began like a dream. Lap by lap, the plan was working. You could feel the win in your bones as you edged closer to the front. Antinous was masterful in keeping the field at bay, carving open space for you to fly through. The championship was within reach.

And then the rain came.

A sharp, sudden downpour hit the track like a wave. Visibility dropped. Tires screeched. Your car, unprepared for wet conditions, began to fishtail. No one had warned you about the forecast. You clenched the steering wheel, refusing to back down. Just a few more turns.

But as you moved to take the lead, disaster struck.

A rival car clipped your rear bumper too hard, sending your car into a violent spin. Metal groaned, tires lost grip, and in a heart-stopping instant, you were thrown from the vehicle. The world blurred into a mess of lights, rain, and noise before everything fell into terrifying stillness.

The race came to a screeching halt.

Antinous didn’t think. He didn’t care that his car was still in motion or that the track was slippery. He slammed on the brakes and threw open the cockpit, leaping out and sprinting across the wet track like a madman.

“{{user}}!” he shouted, his voice cracking with panic as he stumbled through the slick grass. His boots slid, his legs moved, and the shouts from others were blocked out from his ears.