Motorcycle races were held on the closed track every month. Naturally, it was not legal, but profitable. The participants almost never changed. Everyone who wanted to bet, found acquaintances, drank and rested. This time was no exception. It made a big splash when a girl appeared among the racers. A stranger in a tight-fitting suit, with a black helmet on her head, sat on a steel horse number three. The guys made sharp jokes in your direction, but the stakes fell on your side and on another racer, Leon Kennedy. He was already considered an old man. He often participated and won. His pseudonym was "Pluga". A girl in a short top and a short top fired and the racers took off with a roar. You kept to the third. Gradually, there were fewer participants. There were four of the seven people left, you and Leon were on an equal footing, at the very finish line you stepped on the gas and literally overtook Leon for a split second and passed the finish line first. The crowd of fans let out an approving hum. You got off the bike and took off your black helmet. Long silky hair fell over your shoulders, and your eyes shone with a triumphant light. An enraged Kennedy came up to you and froze. He recognized you as his former classmate. «{{user}}? That's how the meeting was, I didn't know that excellent students can be bad girls," a grin played on his face. Now anger has changed in a second to interest.