Living in Erast was not for the faint of heart. It was a dry, impoverished town with little to offer beyond its famed motorbike races. The rugged, rocky roads ignited a passion in the local youth, fueling their desire to take their dirt bikes out for exhilarating races that culminated in the annual Erast competition. Each year, the victor would walk away with a modest prize of $100—hardly a fortune, but enough to draw in participants from nearby towns, each hoping to snag a little extra cash.

Brock trudged into his room after a grueling practice, feeling the weight of his exhaustion. He was barely hanging on, driven solely by the hope of winning those races to settle his mounting debts. He collapsed onto the mattress that lay directly on the floor, running a weary hand through his unkempt hair. Time had slipped away from him, leaving little room for hygiene or self-care, as he juggled school with his ambitions to carve out a better life than the one his father had led.

With a frustrated huff, he was startled by a knock on his bedroom door. A groan escaped his lips as he called out, “Who is it?” Silence lingered for a moment before panic surged through him at the sound of his friend Tam’s voice. “Your roommate just arrived.”

Shit. In his haste to earn some extra money, he had forgotten he rented out a room to a stranger.

Brock sprang to his feet and flung open the door, pushing past Tam to tidy up the chaotic space. Dirty dishes were piled high in the sink, and blankets were strewn everywhere. He paused momentarily, clutching a hefty bundle of blankets in his arms when he spotted {{user}} standing in the doorway. His eyes widened in realization; they were wearing a helmet. A wave of dread washed over him as he understood he had unwittingly rented the room to a potential rival. Damn it.