The roaring engine reverberated through his body as he accelerated out of the slow corner. He went flat out, the force of gravity pushing him into his cramped seat. Sweat pearled on his forehead. Though his muscles ached, he couldn't get enough. It was everything he had wanted it to be; the raw speed, the thrill of adrenaline pounding through his veins, forever on the verge between life and death where he felt so alive.

He navigated the twists and turns of the Oa circuit, his back against a burning engine with a power greater than a blackpowder bomb. He had been driving for hours. How many laps he had completed, he didn't know; after twenty, he had stopped counting. His limbs were turning into jelly from the constant bouncing, but he wasn't going to call it a day just yet. Each bend had to be more perfect than the one before, each lap time faster. On the limit is where he wanted to be, where positions were gained, victories won, and championships decided.

As he approached turn nine, the car wobbled, slightly sliding towards the grass. There was no time for panic. He gradually eased off the accelerator but braked too harshly. He dived into the corner, feet from the perfect racing line. His exit was sloppy as he drove onto the main straight; in racing conditions, his opponent would have easily slipped past him.

"I messed that one up again," he said, mostly to himself. 

A calm feminine voice cracked over the in-ear voicebox. "Be more tender, Nio. She's a woman wanting to be loved."

He huffed. For a moment, he had forgotten about the clunky iron piece near his mouth that brought him into direct contact with his racing engineer, Lia Edgington, nicknamed Edge.

"I don't have that much experience with women," he admitted. He was already concentrating on his next move. Slow on the acceleration, then brake. One...two... into the corner and push.

"A man, then."

"We like it rough." Nio laughed mischievously.

The engine screamed as she snorted into his ears. "Forget the analogy. Try again. You're doing a..."

Her words faded into static as he drove into part of the track flanked by the outgrowth of Rivaya Forest on one side and the mountains of Oa City on the other. Voicebox communication was only possible in a small radius around the pitlane, where the team was stationed. From their seats in front of the garage, they kept track of the stopwatch and were fed information from other team members scattered around the circuit.

He preferred not to be disturbed. For the next hundred clicks, he and the car would be all alone, all eyes on the road and no distractions. He didn't need Edge or Steinnemann telling him he was doing well, given his inexperience. As much as he was enjoying himself, their instructions only fed the doubt that was creeping in. There were only seven days until the first race, and he was making too many mistakes. Whatever he tried, the perfect lap was far from reach. Seven point eight hurricanes indicated the speed gauge, yet still, Nio felt as slow as a slime crawl. The competition would toy with him; he would be a joke, dead-last and lapped five times by Ruben Vincuña.

Out of nowhere, a shadow flickered in his rearview mirrors. Another car, the same white and black with a red smudge on the rear wing. The team had sent their first driver onto the track. Nina Nanda was the daughter of legendary Speed Sprinter, Joao 'Three Wheel' Nanda, who was most famous for pushing his severely damaged Tauri Albo over the finish line in Djicau, securing victory with two-tenths of a click to spare. Not that this move had helped him to win the title that year, or anytime during his career.

For a few turns, Nio managed to focus on his lap. The urge to push increased as the second car gained on him. He weaved through the s-shaped chicane, keeping his foot on the acceleration. He braked gently in turn six. A clean exit and then back to four... four and a half... five hurricanes. The setting sun beamed through the trees, a bright red light that shone in his eyes.

A second engine roared. Nina was right on his tail, but Nio refused to let her pass. He pushed harder and harder, determined to keep his lead, to prove to himself he was worthy of this seat, that he belonged among the greatest in the world.

Turn nine did it again. An ill-timed cramp in his foot made him hit the brake too hard. He turned the steering wheel, but the understeer caused him to miss the racing line completely. With lightning-fast reflexes, Nina Nanda seized the opportunity and went wide around him. She pulled ahead.

"Balls!"

"Follow her lead, Nio. She'll show you how to take that corner."

"It wasn't me, Edge. The light, and then my foot—I hurt all over." He groaned.

Gunder's strong accent sounded in the background. "Bring him in. The car needed maintenance, anyway."

"That's box-box, Nio," Edge said, referring to the shape of the garage.

"Copy."

Instead of accelerating on the straight, Nio turned into the pitlane and pressed the white button on the side of the steering wheel. Instantly, his speed decreased to a storm. The world around him slowed down, the adrenaline in his veins ebbing off and more pain flooding in.

"Did I improve my personal best?" he asked Edge.

"It's still eighty-four clicks point seven."

"What did Vincuña do here last year?"

"Eighty-two point twenty-four... on much fresher tyres, and a higher track temperature. Don't be too harsh on yourself. We're glad to have you, kid."

"I'm slow."

"We'll talk soon. Park the car."

Six mechanics in greasy overalls rushed towards Nio as he turned the car into the garage. With trembling fingers, he removed the steering wheel and unbuckled the three-point seatbelt. He pushed himself up but fell back down. His muscles were shaking and cramping so hard, there was no force left in him.

"Edge, I cannot lift my arms anymore." He sighed into the microphone. "I'm broken."

"First time around, it's normal," she said, reassuring him. "Your crew's here."

One of the mechanics took his hand while another supported his back. They dragged him out of the car. It took a few moments for his feet to find a grip on the floor. He stumbled towards a chair and collapsed, with neither the will nor the energy to remove his goggles and racing cap.

As the crew began to work on the car, Edge crouched beside him, with Steinnemann hovering over her shoulder. 

"Some people say the Speed Sprints are not a sport," she said. "It's just driving around in circles, trying not to crash."

"Denser than a late walker's brain." Nio breathed hard.

"What's a late walker?" Steinnemann asked.

"It's Oan for sloth."

"I love their language," he said with a thick accent. 

Nio felt too lightheaded to laugh. That Steinnemann of all people made fun of his speech was more ironic than iron.

Edge slapped his cheek. "We're going to get you some mountain berries and sugared water. You did an excellent job today."

He moaned. "Nina obliterated me."

"Forty-nine laps in. Your tyres were dead. You're exhausted."

"You told me to follow her."

"Because she's faster, and she knows this circuit like she knows the groves of Romagnia. We asked her to show you a few tricks."

"How much faster is she?" Nio asked.

Edge looked at Steinnemann, a deep frown on her forehead.

"A click and a half," Steinnemann said, matter-of-factly. 

Nio sighed. "Eternity."

A warm smile appeared on Edge's face, softening her features. "If that's eternity, then we'll have until the end of the universe to improve your performance. You can do it."

"This is a team competition," Steinnemann added. "Nina will teach you. You'll be ready—you have to."

"I will be," Nio said with fake confidence. Believing was half the accomplishment, wasn't it?

As a voice came over the radio, both Steinnemann and Edge headed back to their seats. A screaming engine stormed past the pitlane wall.

One of the younger mechanics, a boy not much older than Nio, helped him with his racing cap, goggles, and voicebox gear. He smeared a sticky but soothing paste on Nio's cheeks; they had been burnt from too much exposure to the sun. 

As Nio slurped up some sweetwater and munched on the berries, the boy approached both Edge and Steinnemann, pointing at the pot of cream and talking without breathing as he recounted a complex story about the Kotayi friend of a cousin who lived at his home for a while.

"It works miracles. I use it whenever I sustain a burn injury from working on the car," the boy explained. "He should use it all the time, protect his skin. No pain means better focus. He'll go faster."

"I'm used to it," Nio said from afar. They probably weren't even listening to him.

"Good call, Hewie. Leave the pot," Steinnemann said as he dipped a finger into the ointment. "We'll contact the company, get a good deal."

Too tired to argue, Nio leaned his back against the wall. Sleep tugged at his eyelids, and he did not try to resist drifting off into peaceful darkness.

Screeching tires shook him awake. Momentarily disillusioned he peered at the petite woman leaping out of the open cockpit, the steering wheel still in her hand. She handed it to Hewie, then undid her cap and goggles, revealing short spiky black hair and a light dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks.

As she unzipped her brand-covered black racing suit and tied it around her waist, she stepped into his side of the garage.

"So, you're the car thief," she said, direct but not rude. "You're not very good."

Nio crossed his arms and raised a single eyebrow. "You're Joao Nanda's daughter. Your father was better."

"That makes you a real riff-raff, doesn't it?" she said, casually calling him a loser.

"I can fight. I will fight."

A smug smile appeared on her round face. She shouted at the team owner, "Gunder, which shrine did you visit in town? He's to the point, good with banter, and not too shabby on track."

"Told you the trick with the Queen would work," Steinnemann said, looking at a paper, appearing distracted.

"You left your car there on purpose?" Nio asked. He realised he was yelling but couldn't stop. "I could have taken it up the mountains and out of the country! You would have never seen the car again!"

"I got lucky."

"I could have crashed!"

"But you didn't, did you?" Steinnemann glanced up. The stupid grin and twinkle in his eyes meant there was more to the story.

"You must be shitting dons. Seriously, how rich are you?"

"Queen's Egg sponsors the team," Nina said as if that was something Nio was supposed to know. She beckoned him to follow her. "Come, riff-raff, auntie Nina is here to give you some driving lessons."

His limbs quivered as he trailed after her. 

Behind the garage stood a few camper wagons made of weathered brass and metal, the thick-curvy logo of Stone Racing Team adorning the side. The small, circular windows reminiscent of portholes didn't allow for much daylight, which wasn't an issue. All everyone ever did there was sleep. 

Without asking, she leapt up the three steps to his camper and opened the door. The main living area was sparse but more than Nio had ever possessed: a dry bed, a small table with a two-person couch upholstered in dark leather, and a shelf for clothes and racing gear. Best of all, there was nobody he had to share his space with.

She lit the gas lamp, then grabbed Nio's scribbles of the track and the pencil that was still on the table.

"You've found the ideal racing line through corners two, four, and eight. You're half-what decent anywhere else, except for turn nine—you're plain rubbish there."

"I've tried everything."

"No, that's the problem. You're always doing the same thing, which makes you predictable. Besides, your tactic of hitting the apex works on fresh tyres. You mustn't forget that Speed Sprint tyres don't possess the same sturdiness as road tyres. They're designed to make us fast but only for a limited time. Every lap of the Speed Sprints is different. The material degenerates."

"And you burn fuel, which makes you lighter and faster."

Nina hummed, a hint of disagreement not far away. "It's not just about driving fast. It's about adapting to new circumstances, lap after lap. What is a good tactic at the beginning of the race will make you spin and crash in lap thirty-four."

"But unless I make a mistake, or there's a technical issue, the degradation goes slowly. In the heat of the moment, how will I know if I can go all the way or have to hold back?"

"Edge will give you instructions."

Nio nodded, remembering his race engineer joking that he had to treat his car like a woman. "But she won't tell me how to drive, how to take that curve."

"No, that's for the driver to decide."

"Alright, I'm all ears." He sat down beside her.

Nina bit her lip, narrowing her eyes. "To Gunder and the rest of them, the Speed Sprints are a team sport. Their decisions support SRT. But only one of us can claim the title in the individual championship. You and I fight for glory, Gunder for money. We're not the same, and that's the beauty of the sport."

"Well, I don't race just for glory," Nio said. He purposely kept it vague, not wanting to reveal that Steinnemann owned him.

"Whatever," she dismissed him. "Together, our purpose is to defeat Malachite. Vincuña and Peterov are forces to be reckoned with. We can beat them, but, at the end of the race, I don't want to see you cross the finish line before me. I don't want to be second. Being second is being the first in a long line of losers. I'm here to win."

"Scuderia looks mighty too. It's Bani on the flyers here in Oa. Honestly, do you think we can outperform them?"

"That's because Oa only ever looks at Oa. Yeah, Bani could win a few races, but she won't be the champion. Backed by Queen's Egg money, Gunder bought the best engineers and mechanics. SRT is in the best shape it has ever been. If we can beat the Malachite men, I can take the title."

"Or I take it," Nio said. His muscles spasmed as he clenched his fists.

Nina chuckled. "Look at you, riff-raff. I'm not here to teach you how to be the best. When the lights go out and the race begins, I want you to be there to help me, to keep others behind, to force them into mistakes. I need you not to suck, so I can win. Do I make myself clear?"

Nio breathed in slowly. "I want to win as much as you."

"It's simple, Nio. I help you, you help me. If you refuse, well... Soulgrave isn't going anywhere."

The threat, as real as it sounded, didn't throw him off balance. He had lived long enough on the streets to know these types of deals always ended up in betrayal. The difference was that he had the upper hand. She would give him the information he needed to go faster now, his promise to help her in the future unspoken on his lips.

"It does sound simple," he said, not meeting her gaze. He forced himself to stand still and think, contemplating his next words. "Let's give Gunder his first title. I'm ready to learn."

She smirked.

He smirked back.

The game was on.