The next race was on the Sudschleife, a circuit situated in the foggy heart of the Grunnwaldian evergreen forest. With its sixty-seven corners of various lengths and elevations, the track was incredibly tricky under the best conditions. If there was one place, Nio could have benefited from a thousand practice laps, it would have been here. But even if the team had the budget, time was a luxury he didn't have.

From the moment the circus on wheels arrived in Grunnwald, he was rushed from one interview to another. Every night, there was a ball organised by one of the many local sponsors of Stone Racing Team. For a reason Nio didn't want to comprehend, the distinguished Herrer and Damen found it amusing to dress him up like a little lordling, with white gloves, polished black shoes and a costume with an unnecessary amount of lace. They cared little about his driving skills. After exchanging a handful of rehearsed words, they spent the rest of the evening with a glass of expensive sweet wine in their hand, occasionally gaping at him and Nina, as though they were a rare piece of live art they had acquired for their collection.

Worst of all—his teammate was the queen of keeping up appearances. Whether for the media, sponsors, or simply to appease the fans (who always seemed to find them), it was she who initiated conversations, who reminded him to smile, and who forced him into public displays of fake affection. She made it seem so natural, so effortless. He hated it, hated himself even more. Whatever he said or did, he couldn't shake off the awkwardness of weighing each word, his movements restrained and stilted, as though anyone at any moment could burst their bubble of lies.

Nina, in contrast, was thriving. Not only off-track, but also on the track. During qualification, she switched from sitting on his lap, flirting and teasing him, to driving the fastest lap, and then back to gushing about him to some gutter longtail reporter.

Nio was only the tenth fastest.

Disappointed as he was, it made him more eager to prove himself. One of the biggest advantages SRT had over the other teams was the straight-line speed, and he had to make use of that power when it counted. 

At the start of the race, he pushed the car to the limit. He dived into a gap created by a slower-moving Lapino, then swooped past two other cars like a torpedo. He drove around in seventh place for a few laps. Aided by a collision between Le Brie and Gigakubica in lap eleven, and mechanical problems for the Scuderia of Mindy Verlopen not much later, Nio climbed to fourth position.

"The car in front of you is Vincuña," Edge said. "Six clicks ahead, but he's struggling with an overheated brake."

"Is my car alright?" Nio asked.

"I confirm—the car is ok."

Creeping up to the Malachite wasn't hard. With every low-speed corner, he gained ground as Vincuña had to brake earlier and less forcefully. But whatever Nio tried, he couldn't get past the Porti Janon. Whenever he thought he had an opening, he made a tiny mistake. He bounced over kerbs, damaging the floor of the car, ran too wide, or completely missed the apex of relatively easy corners.

In the Speed Sprints, it was as easy to be the hunter as the hunted. Other cars were breathing down his neck. If he wanted any chance of standing on the podium with Nina, limiting the damage to his championship lead, he had to make a move, or others would make a move on him. 

Suddenly, a thought hit him, so terrible, he wished he could unthink it. If he didn't end up in the top three, he didn't need to face the media or the fans. At least for tonight, he wouldn't have to play Nina's loving, supportive boyfriend. He wouldn't have to be forced to celebrate while he wished it could have been him up there on the victory stand.

His desire to win trumped his desire for peace of mind, as it had done before. He broke late and turned his car into turn fifty-two, making a lunge around the outside of Vincuña. Although he was passing his opponent at the speed of three hurricanes, everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

The distance between them was closing. He was getting the better exit but was far from passing Vincuña. 

BAM!

His right front tyre had hit the Malachite's side.

A fraction of a click later, less than a blink, Nio's front was back, and his back was front as he spun out of control, barely keeping the car on the track. 

Vincuña, miraculously, was long gone; others flew past him.

"Balls!" he yelled. 

He was too far from the pitlane for the voicebox communication to pick up his signal, which he was glad about. As supportive as Edge was, he didn't need anyone to tell him what to do. Though he was close to punching the steering wheel, he knew he had no one but himself to blame. 

He turned the car around and continued the sprint. 

Three laps from the end, he overtook Bas Adriaan in a smoking Vrysman. Another victim of the relentless Sudschleife.

Nio crossed the finish line in fifth position, which Edge said wasn't bad, considering his struggles. She was right. Given his inexperience and the mistakes he had made, he could have easily ended up last. But when your teammate took victory, fifth place was simply not enough.

Envy gnawed at him, as from the sidelines, he watched Nina receive her golden trophy. She was beaming, raising a clenched fist at a horde of photographers. 

Since he didn't want to seem like a bitter loser, he focused his attention on Ruben Vincuña instead. Despite their fierce battles, he couldn't help but smile whenever he saw the Porti Janon. 

Sweaty as he was—he looked even more ridiculously handsome than before. The outline of his muscles in the tight racing suit, glistening cheekbones, and his signature jawline accentuated by a hint of stubble.

The things he would do to that man!

Before accepting his bronze trophy, Vincuña ran his hand through his damp, wavy brown hair. He stared into the crowd, as if searching for anyone. 

Their eyes met. Not for long, a quick glance that had the same impact as when their cars had touched.

Nio averted his gaze, trying to ignore his cheeks growing hot. He bit his lip. It was a fantasy, an illusion, a fool's dream. First and foremost, they were competitors. Secondly, how big was the chance Ruben Vincuña wanted anything to do with him?

That very night, circumstances brought SRT and Malachite onto the same airship to Zoutelande. 

While the crew and Nina went to bed soon after lift-off, Nio stayed behind in the dimly lit bar, sitting by himself in a corner of the otherwise empty room, sipping on a spicy concoction the Grunnwaldians called Huntmaster. The drink, in combination with the hissing of the steam-powered engine, created a soothing ambience that allowed him to consider his mistakes. He shouldn't have hesitated before his lunge on Vincuña. He should have pushed harder. He should have braked even later. He should...

A mechanical clockwork bird hanging down the ceiling cooed twelve times. Midnight.

A shadow wearing leather pants, a beige waistcoat, and a deep green shirt flashed in the corner of his eye.

Instantly, his heart skipped a beat.

It was Ruben Vincuña! 

With rapid strides, the man passed every single empty table and walked up to him.

"Another lost soul of the night," he said mysteriously as he sat down opposite Nio. He lifted the nearly empty glass and sniffed, scrunching his face. Without asking or saying anything to Nio, he turned to the burly man in a leather apron behind the bar. "Do you have Dauro wine?"

"Only the one-year-old."

A charming smile and dimples appeared on Vincuña's face. He gesticulated wildly, pointing his finger at the man. "A real shame. You should get the five-year-old next time you land in Forta Horizonta, but, fine. We'll take what we can have. Make it two—I'm not going to drink alone."

"You don't have to. I'm good,' Nio said, half gasping. He had spent the last money he had the glass of Huntmaster. Whatever Dauro wine was, he couldn't afford it.

Vincuña laid his hand on Nio's shoulder, a certain warmth radiating in his eyes. "It's my treat. Well... Laurence's treat, but the guy swims in money. He's not going to notice. If you want to drown your sorrows, do it right." He winked.

Nio stammered. "Th...thanks."

"And if you pass out again, I'll bring you back to your team."

"I don't intend to," he mumbled. If he had the power to turn into a puddle of water, he would sink beneath the table and slither away before Ruben Vincuña figured out how big of a fool Nio was.

The bartender put two brass mugs onto the plate of a large mechanical arm; then pushed a button. The copper with its myriad of gears sprung to life, its inner workings clanking and whirring, as it glided over the tables, delivering the drinks.

Vincuña raised his mug. "To better races."

"To victories," Nio said, mimicking his opponent's movement. 

While the Porti Janon practically downed the drink, Nio took a hesitant sip. The taste of the Dauro wine didn't matter. It could be the vilest thing since fat fish blood, he wasn't going to say no to sharing drinks with Ruben Vincuña!

"Do you like it?" he asked enthusiastically.

"Yeah, it's good." Nio smiled, his eyes focused on his reflection in the mug than on his contender. A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind, each more embarrassing than the one before. Great slobbermouths, he was a besotted buffoon.

The Porti Janon cocked his head, pursing his chapped lips. "You don't mind me being here, do you?"

"It's fine." Nio cringed at his own awkwardness. "I mean—"

Vincuña let out a chuckle, interrupting him. "I'm not here to spy on you, despite what your team principal may think."

"I don't know why we both ended up on this airship, but I don't care." Nio shrugged.

"Neither do I. From what I gathered, there were some issues in the harbour, a dispute about the transportation of life goods. Laurence told me it was either this ship or the one next week. We would have had an issue."

"I wouldn't have had a problem with you not racing," Nio blurted out, grinning. "Without you and Peterov, it would be very easy to increase my lead in the championship."

"Unless you take anyone out with your reckless driving."

Nio frowned. He couldn't tell whether his opponent was joking. "Weren't you the one who told me that the races are marathons instead of sprints, despite the name? You could have backed off, but you didn't. We could have both spun off."

"Oh, Nio. Back in Oa, I figured you got lucky, that you were just a rookie stealing some of my limelight, that you would surely drop off in the next sprints. Now, you're leading the championship. If I wanna catch you, every point counts. Every wrong move you make is an opportunity for me. So, yes, I'll build up pressure and force you into a mistake, or two. It's nothing personal... it's racing. I want to win."

"I want to win too."

"You, me, and eighteen other people," Vincuña said with a certain nonchalance that was just as annoying as it was charming.

"I have a better reason to win."

"I don't think so."

"I do... it's a long story. You wouldn't understand."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, wouldn't I?"

"No, you wouldn't."

All nonchalance gone, the Porti Janon leaned over and whispered, "Let me guess. They set you up, threw you into jail, where they let you stir for a while before coming with a miraculous offer."

Nio's breath hitched. "How do you know?"

"You and I are not so different, Nio. For you, it might have been Oa City, but I learnt the tricks of the trade on the streets of San Mauro. Between the Speed Sprints and getting drafted to fight in West-Kotai, the choice was easy. It's been six years, and I am desperate to get out."

A tightness settled in Nio's chest. He could barely grasp that the best speed sprinter currently racing was a prisoner of the system, just like him.

"Are there others like us?" he asked.

"Everyone of us. There are two ways out. Either we win or—"

"We die," Nio finished the sentence. He shook his head. "But not everyone does. Joao Nanda never became a Sprint King, nor is he dead."

"They've got Nina now, don't they?"

"There are others. Nicky Hulk, Filipi Massino, Davide Kohlrat—they've all had long careers. One day, they simply stopped racing."

"Some are better negotiators than others. And contracts can be broken, in one way or another. But, don't be mistaken, Nio. The odds are against us. We drive to survive."

"But why?"

"The Speed Sprints were formed to keep thugs like us off the streets and to distract people from political turmoil. If we die, we die. We're expendable. With the rise of steamcars, the world is full of skilled thrill seekers."

"Is that why you decided to talk to me? To warn me? To scare me, hoping that I'll back off so you can cruise to victory?"

If anything, he was more determined than before. Nio's heart pounded in him like a hobbler trying to break free from a bag. Ruben touched his arm, their eyes meeting, a lingering stare that was intense yet thoughtful.

"I wanted you to know the truth," he said. "You deserve to know."

"Why?"

Ruben's lips curled into a small smile. He breathed in slowly, as if weighing his words. "You remind me of myself when I was younger. There's something about you. Yes, you're racing for your freedom, and maybe also for the fame, and the glory. But there's more. Racing is in your blood. It's who you are... fiery... passionate... hungry."

Feeling Ruben's breath prickling his skin, Nio didn't know whether to punch or kiss the man, or both. Either way, he would make a scene. And if the bartender started blabbing, the whole world would know within days. Holly Hobblers, the sponsors would find out. Mister Steinnemann would lose his funding. He would drive at the back of the grid; everyone would blame him for the downfall of the team. He would be mocked, ridiculed, his name dragged through the mud.

"We shouldn't," Nio murmured. "You and I... we drive for opposing teams."

"Just because we're rivals, doesn't mean we can't be friends," Ruben said. "And you look like you're in dire need of a friend."

Not knowing what to do with himself, Nio drank all of the Dauro wine in one gulp, barely registering anything but the bitter aftertaste. He rose from his chair, suddenly aware of the airship's motions, the engine trembling beneath his feet. This was all too much, too quick, too confusing. He had to be in a fake relationship with Nina, not develop feelings for Ruben Vincuña, not when the man himself clearly had feelings for him too.

"Sorry, I need to go." 

"I didn't mean to frighten you."

Ruben reached for Nio's hand, but Nio was quick to dodge him.

"You didn't... I... I'll have to think about it."

Ruben nodded, his expression neutral but with a hint of disappointment. "Of course, take your time. It's not like every click counts."

Nio stormed off, overwhelmed by the revelations and his own emotions. He had to forget what he had learnt tonight, had to forget about Ruben. No more mistakes. Winning was all that mattered. 

And to win, he had to beat the others. Ruben included.