After a three-way neck-and-neck battle with Vitaly Peterov and Nina, Nio pushed himself and the car to victory on the Emilia track in Romagnia. He parked at the side of the track, right behind the finish line, his brakes smoking heavily.

While marshalls extinguished his burning wheels, Nio lifted his arms in the air. Sweet euphoria washed over him, relieved that he was back at the top; that he had beaten his teammate on her home turf.

But the celebrations didn't last very long, as dreadful news hit the paddock. Around the mid-point of the sprint, for seemingly inexplicable reasons, the Vrysman of Nick Le Brie had collided with the slower Speedforce of Mona Toya. Both drivers had been killed on impact.

It wasn't their death that caused the media to respond with a wave of anger and astonishment, but that the Federation only released the information after the race. What was worse was that Don Mosley, the fat, greasy head of the Federation, chose to ignore all criticism. Any reporter who dared ask him about the decision was instantly removed from the track, never to be seen again.

"This is Speed Sprint racing. The show must go on," Mister Steinnemann said to him and Nina. 

Like every team principal, he told them to focus on the next sprint, which was one to forget.

An intense battle through the first corners of the Wrochii track led to a collision with the Alfa Julia of Ed Levine. After a spin, and a masterful move which saved Nio from getting propelled into the tyre wall, he dropped to the back, his car too damaged to make good progress. 

While Nina took her second victory, he finished well outside the points. 

A few weeks later, in the shadows of the snowy slopes of Ridnishoka in Luntalinna, Nio was again leading the pack and the leaderboard. 

On the icy track, he pulled further and further ahead of the Malachites. Nina was nowhere, struggling to find grip through the corners, and Ruben was fifteen clicks behind, which made the thrill of imminent victory that much sweeter.

Six laps from the end, tragedy struck again, as, out of nowhere, Bas Adriaan's Vrysman burst into flames. The car became a loose cannon and crashed into the wall.

Under yellow flags, Nio approached the accident. Mouth wide open, he watched in horror as marshalls rushed to the scene, fighting the fire, while desperately trying to free the old Zoutelander from the burning wreckage. At reduced speed, his engine wasn't loud enough to drown out the screams. He wished he didn't need to hear them. They went beyond a simple call for help; a plea for life.

When the men and women in their orange overalls finally got to Bas, all help came too late. 

Red flags were waved, ending the sprint.

There was no bubble wine on the podium; it was a cheerless, joyless ceremony that should have never happened. Ruben stormed off, leaving his silver trophy. 

Nio had to do everything in his power to mentally nail himself to the ground, to not run after him. As much as he wanted to, they couldn't show any signs of public affection. Their relationship existed only at night, in either their caravans or at a secret location Ruben jotted down on a piece of paper and slipped under his door. 

That night, in his bed, they barely exchanged a word, finding comfort in each other's proximity and warm embrace. Nio's head rested on Ruben's chest, the images of the accident and that blood-curdling scream etched into his memory. Back in Oa, death had only been a bullet away, yet compared to burning alive, a shot through the heart seemed almost merciful.

"I can't wait until we're both free," he whispered in Ruben's ear.

The Porti Janon squeezed him tight, his voice croaky. "Hush. I don't wanna think right now—I'll only imagine the worst."

"Then don't think."

"I'm going to need help." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"That I can do," Nio said.

He proceeded with trailing kisses from Ruben's ear, along his jaw, and down his neck. As Nio's hands dropped beneath his waist, Ruben nuzzled him, pulling him closer.

That night, they celebrated life in more than one way.

Days after the dreadful sprint, Petrus Vrysman, the team boss and owner of the legendary team, released a statement stating they had to pull out of the Speed Sprints due to a lack of funding.

Quickly came the rumours that Mister Vrysman had been banned from the sport after a severe debate with the Federation on the regulations. The team principal found the recent technical developments too dangerous and unethical to continue, whereas Don Mosley had told him to build a sturdier car that didn't kill his drivers. The disagreement had turned into a heated argument, and Petrus Vrysman's sprinting license had been revoked.

He had been one of the founding fathers of the sport, and now he was gone.

Naturally, it was all everyone talked about as the travelling circus of speed and adrenaline landed on the island of Umm, the westernmost island of the Eastern Federated Islands.

The news dominated every conversation within the team, each event with the sponsors, and all that was on the reporters' minds, gutter longtails and those that valued integrity alike. The tales grew wilder each time. In the end, people swore they had seen blood in the snow where Petrus Vrysman had fought Don Mosley and the rest of the Federation.

Whatever the truth was, people didn't care.

Nio and Nina spent the evening before the sprint on the gold and satin couch of Umm's most prominent journalist, Dalia Rao Babu. Although the interview was broadcasted on the voicebox, she wore a layered purple dress with ruffles and ocean-blue accents that matched the colour of her lipstick. By contrast, both Nio and his teammate were clad in their usual attire: a white and red SRT shirt, and black trousers with more pockets than anyone would know what to do with. In the corner, a group of artists were drawing their picture.

"We asked our listeners to send in questions," said the black-haired woman. She touched the bright red sleepflower in her hair. "After recent events, which cost the lives of three drivers, many wonder whether you worry about each other while driving."

As Nio shook his head, Nina squeezed his hand. She would take this question.

"The engineers and mechanics of Stone Racing Team always put safety first," Nina said. "Like many other teams, we were struggling with our engine in Zoutelande. It's not in Mister Steinnemann's nature to let us continue a sprint when there's a severe problem. He looks after us."

"But accidents can happen."

"It's part of the game," Nio said. "I try not to think about it too much. Just like you don't think twice before crossing a busy road. Some days, you're but a stroke of luck from being involved in a collision. You move on. And, when I'm driving, I don't worry about Nina. Only her position." He smiled impishly.

"So when do the nerves kick in—after a sprint?" Dalia asked.

"Sometimes," he blurted out. He looked at Nina, pretending he was talking to Ruben instead of her. "I'm not afraid of dying, but I fear what I might lose. Can a victory, the title of Speed King even, ever be as meaningful as our love? There will always be cars and sprints, but there's only one of you. I would miss you."

Nina laid her hand on her chest, biting her bottom lip. "Isn't he adorable?" she cooed, glancing from Dalia to him. He couldn't tell whether she was faking or was actually visibly moved by his confession. 

To the reporter, it was real, and that was enough. 

Dalia touched her face, then her bosom. "You're lucky with a man like him, Nina. When you first saw him, at the start of the season, did you expect to fall in love?"

"I knew from the beginning that he was special," Nina said. She rolled her eyes towards him, a blush on her face.

"And you, Nio?"

"I was only focused on winning. But, then it happened." He snapped his fingers. 

A single meeting to stop the media from digging into his past. And now here they were, prime time on Umm's most popular voicebox show. Not a question about the clans, the orphanage in Vale, or Nio's Kotayi blood. Mister Steinneman's plan had worked.

"Then it happened," Dalia repeated. "And then the victories came. Currently, the two of you are equal on points, forty-nine, to be precise. The two Malachite men are right behind you. Vitaly Peterov has forty-eight points, Ruben Vincuña forty-six. If you don't win, would you prefer your teammate to take the title or the competition?"

Ruben, Nio thought.

"Theoretically, if it cannot be me, then I want Nio to become Speed King," Nina said. "With four more sprints to go, anything can happen. If at some point, I need to sacrifice my race to stop the Malachites from winning, I will do what is required to help Nio."

Nio gave a crisp nod, neither surprised nor convinced by her answer. "First and foremost, the Speed Sprints are a team sport. Yes, we want to do well, but in the end, it's all about our crew, who work day and night to deliver a car capable of winning. The team comes first."

He said it so convincingly, he almost believed it himself.

Victory didn't come the next day. The Lavina Bay circuit was a boring, narrow track with short straights and too many corners. Overtaking was next to impossible. 

Nio qualified in third position and climbed to second when Nina suffered a mechanical failure. A silly mistake, going wide in turn four and subsequently running through the grass, made him drop back to third as homegirl, Mary Aslan, breezed past.

Ruben won his first sprint of the season, so naturally, Nio poured his bottle all over the Porti Janon's sweaty head, after which Ruben chased him around the victory stage, drenching Nio in bubble wine.

"It's only the beginning," Ruben whispered into Nio's ear.

"Not if I get you first," Nio murmured back. "Yours or mine?"

"Mine. Your team is getting suspicious. There's only so many times I can tell them I'm borrowing a book."

"I don't even read."

"Precisely. And I'm never carrying a book."

A little after eleven, after a long post-sprint debrief with the team, Nio slithered past the Malachite garage boxes and sneaked into the second-to-last green caravan. Ruben lay asleep on his couch, his feet on the armrest, in his lap a half-eaten meal of cream and berries.

Nio tiptoed closer, mischief pulling at the corners of his mouth. After popping a berry into his mouth, he dipped his fingers into the plate and brushed it over Ruben's upturned nose.

The Porti Janon jerked awake. A sleepy grin appeared on his face as he seized Nio by his jacket and pushed him into the plate.

"You're as subtle as you are in the car," he said in jest.

Nio turned, grabbing the plate and returning the favour. "At least I didn't secure my only victory on a track so narrow not even a gnawer could pass."

"My only victory... so far."

Wiping the cream off his face, Ruben lunged for Nio. He tried to dodge, but found himself too slow for Ruben's hobbler-fast reflexes.

They rolled around on the couch, knocking over the plate and cushions. Ruben had Nio in his grasp, no matter how hard he squirmed and groaned. Ruben responded to Nio's jabs and pokes by tickling him.

"Stop!" Nio yelled, giggling. "You're killing me, Ruben."

"I would never kill you." Ruben slid his sticky hands under Nio's shirt. He said, "There is only one of you. I would miss you."

Nio stopped laughing. He turned around, Ruben loosening his grip. "You listened to my interview."

Ruben lifted his shoulders. "I had nothing else to do. You weren't here."

"Did it upset you?"

He let out a sigh, scratching his head. A light blush shone on his perpetually sun-kissed cheeks. "I considered you more the type to get a tattoo of my face on your butt-cheek in case I die."

"Cheeky." 

"You could say that." Ruben let out a single chuckle, averting his gaze.

"I don't want you to fret. I have a plan." Nio waited for Ruben to look back at him. " Once I'm crowned the Speed King, I'll create my own team. There won't be a contract. I'll set you free immediately. Then we'll travel to San Mauro, together, and drive people around town." 

Ruben hummed. "There are a couple of flaws in your plan. For one, you'll be free and get some prize money, but it will never be enough to buy me from Laurence. And more importantly..." He leaned in, whispering, "I'll be the champion."

"Never."

Baring his teeth, Nio scooped a handful of cream off the plate and flung it towards Ruben, right into his face. As he coughed and spluttered, Nio wiped his hands all over Ruben's chest. Ruben managed to turn the tables again. He wrestled Nio and continued tickling him. Nio gasped for air, begging for mercy, but Ruben just laughed.

Eventually, they collapsed on the floor, breathless and sticky.

As they lay there, Ruben wrapped his arms around Nio and kissed him softly on the lips. Nio smiled and kissed him back, his hands cupping his cheeks.

"You don't have to follow my dreams," Ruben said as Nio snuggled closer to him. "The world is bigger than San Mauro. You're destined for far greater things." 

"Like what?"

"Last I heard, Luis Serrano was setting up a charity in Khaya to rebuild schools and hospitals."

"Good for him. Not interested."

"Kotai is recovering from a decades-long war. You're Kotayi too."

"No, I look like them, and my skin burns as fast as theirs," Nio said. He propped up his elbow, his head resting on the palm of his hand. "But I'm not Kotayi. I've never lived there. I don't even know if I was born there."

Ruben mimicked his position, a frown etching his features. "I don't understand. Your parents, or at least one of them, must have had Kotayi blood. It's still your culture, your ancestry. Your heritage."

"But what does that mean? They're hollow words to me."

"It means that you should be proud of your nation. They are already proud of you."

"For what—driving around in circles?"

"You're a stupid boy," Ruben said with a smile. He yanked Nio close to him, his strong arms around his waist. "But you're my stupid boy."

"I am your boy, but I'm not stupid."

"You are. How can you not feel connected to your home country?"

"Because it's not my home, Ruben. I've always been different, the one who looked like no one else. Sure, as a kid, I wanted to be like Luis Serrano. His victories were the only positive Kotai-related news I heard. He was the reason I left the orphanage. But I grew older, and the dream faded. I'm here now, and I wonder what he did to end up in the sprints. We're not heroes. We're criminals, and some of us get lucky to get out of here before we are killed."

"We give people hope."

"A fool's hope."

"We're all fools, Nio Barn," Ruben said, his hand gliding down Nio's back. "And I... I am a fool for you."