To hear about the phenomenon that was Mindy Verlopen's red army was one thing. To see them was a spectacle. The crowd back in Oa had been wild, but the Zoutelanders took their passion for the sport to the next level.

The fans were many, and they were everywhere, covering every inch along the Duinvoort track, in their Scuderia shirts, waving their homemade flags, cheering on their beloved driver, or singing songs to honour her name. Whether she was in the car or out, a continuous scarlet smoke wafted over the grandstands and large parts of the track. Nothing could dampen their spirits, neither Zoutelande's infamous strong winds nor sudden cloudburst. If anything, the fickle weather made them even more zealous.

Their devotion to Mindy was something Nio could admire; the flares—not so much. 

Despite the federation ordering a ban, people kept igniting them.

Red was all Nio could see. Driving around Duinvoort was like driving into a thick fog. He knew when he got in, but not if and how he and the car would get out.

Many had crashed; retirements were happening by the dozens. After driving half a sprint under yellow flags, at reduced speed, the race was on once more.

"Nina is leading. Vincuña is right behind you," Edge said over the voicebox. "Don't do anything crazy."

Nio breathed out, pretending he couldn't hear his racing engineer; that she was out of reach.

"Nio, do you copy?"

He remained silent. Not doing anything crazy was code for maintaining positions, for him to not go after Nina, and focus on Ruben. He had no intention of honouring the team's wish.

After the disaster in Grunnwald, he needed to get ahead of his teammate if he wanted to remain in the lead. If Nina managed to block Ruben for the remaining twenty-ish laps, Nio's gap to the number two would grow by four points, which didn't seem a lot, but could mean the difference between winning and losing the title. Nina also would do anything to keep the Malachite behind her; it was in her best interest too to remain as close to Nio as possible.

He had to be careful, but, as long as he and Nina didn't crash out of the race, Mister Steinnemann would be pleased with the outcome. A victory was a victory; in the end, it didn't matter whether he claimed it or his teammate.

He completed another lap. While catching Nina was relatively easy, keeping Ruben at bay was not. A pass on Nina would leave him vulnerable for the Porti-Janon to strike. Best-case scenario, he would lead the sprint, but if he made a mistake, he risked ending up in third place.

He braked late, allowing himself that fraction of a click longer at his top speed, and slid into the corner. He hit the apex, going a little wide over the curb. Slamming the acceleration, he steered back to the ideal racing line.

But instead of speeding ahead, the car wobbled and jerked. 

A loud, unusual sound erupted from the engine, too high-pitched to be normal.

A scream. Panicked. Animalistic.

For a fraction, the speedometer remained stuck at one point six hurricanes.

"Edge, did you hear that too? I'm losing power."

While waiting for the static to clear up, Nio glanced at his dashboard. The car was stable, and he was making good progress; two hurricanes... two and a half... three. He braked lightly to take the chicane, then sped up again.

"It's okay, Edge," he said. "Whatever it was, the issue's gone."

"Nio, can you hear me?" Edge asked with a certain urgency. "Please confirm."

"Copy, loud and clear," Nio said as he steered the car into the hairpin, hard on his brakes. The green Malachite flashed into his mirrors.

"Nio, we'll have to retire the car. I'm so sorry."

"I can continue." 

Foot on the throttle, he steered his SRT right in the middle of the main straight, giving Ruben no space to overtake him. This is where he had to close the gap. Four hurricanes... five... five and a half...

For two long clicks, the car vibrated. He felt the tremors in every bone of his body.

"Nio, you..."

The scream returned, louder and shriller than before, drowning out Edge's voice. It was so loud, his ears hurt.

A combination of dread and envy engulfed him. His race couldn't be over. If Nina won and Ruben became second, he would tumble down the leaderboard. No, he had to keep the battle on. He had to keep fighting.

"Nio," his boss came over the voicebox too. "Park the car."

"I'll box. You can fix it," Nio said as Ruben came side to side. The Malachite flew past him.

"No, park where you can," Edge said.

"But..."

"Stop the fudging car!" Mister Steinnemann shouted.

"Balls, no!" Nio yelled over the noise of the engine. He punched the steering wheel.

Knowing when to obey team orders, he flung his car onto the gravel strip, bouncing over the crushed rocks. He headed towards the barrier. Out of nowhere, the pungent smell of something burning filled the cockpit, and his seat grew hot, the heat blazing through his racing suit.

As quickly as it had come, the screaming stopped. 

At the edge of the track, less than a car's length from the barrier, he came to a complete standstill, engulfed in a mix of black and red smoke. Right away, marshalls appeared with copper vessels, spraying a white liquid over the smoking car as he pulled out the steering wheel and got out.

He shook his head, his heart pounding in his throat; it seemed too unreal. His beloved, reliable SRT had been reduced to a smouldering wreck.

In the grandstands, the crowd started cheering and igniting more flares. A few clicks later, Seraphina Bani and Mindy Verlopen zoomed past. 

Nio resisted the urge to punch or kick something or someone. With the red army of Mindy Verlopen watching his every move, he knew he had to maintain his composure. Deep down, all he felt was the raging fuel of anger. Why did his car fail? Why couldn't it have been Nina's? Deep-fried balls of a slobbermouth! He could have won, should have won.

Back in the pitlane, Edge approached him to say she was sorry, that they would fix the issue and that they would try again next race with a new car. 

Mister Steinnemann was less apologetic. The man kept on sticking his pointy finger in Nio's face, complaining that he had to learn to follow orders, that they were a matter of life and death, and that the team was only looking out for him.

Nio bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from lashing out. Since Ruben told him all drivers were their team principal's slaves until they won the title, Nio regarded everything the man said as nothing but an attempted justification to keep him in line. Of course, Steinnemann wanted to win, but Nio wanted each victory to be his, and he was willing to go against team orders to accomplish that.

"So when Edge tells you to stop the car, you stop the car. There is no negotiation," Mister Steinnemann continued his rant.

Barely listening but nodding along, Nio handed his racing gear to Hewie, his eyes fixated on the mechanical board indicating each racing position. Nina was still in first place, then Ruben, then Bani and Verlopen. With this outcome, he would drop to fourth place in the standings. 

Mother of a ball-less guzzler! He would no longer be the team's number-one driver.

He would have to prove himself all over again.

When Steinnemann and Edge returned to the pitwall, Nio didn't follow them. He went straight to his caravan, kicked out his shoes, flopped onto his bed, and punched his pillow; then the wall. His knuckles bled, but he didn't care for the pain; he didn't care for anything.

He was shaking, a headache pounding in the back of his head. He was unsure of what to do with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. If he had a gun, he would shoot things to release the tension. But he didn't.

Whatever the consequences, he wasn't going to leave his caravan. Let the world talk and write about his absence. He wouldn't attend the podium ceremony. If the team couldn't provide the material he needed to win, he wasn't going to pretend to be all happy for Nina when she claimed victory once more. He would do pictures and interviews on the way to Romagnia, but not now. Tonight, he wanted to be left alone, wallowing in his misery, replaying the sprint from when the lights went out until that damned noise ruined it all.

Massive cheers and trumpets blaring marked the end of the sprint. When Edge came to fetch him, he pretended to be asleep. 

Thankfully, she didn't try to wake him and left.

The late afternoon turned to evening. Slowly, the red army and their celebrations fled to the heart of Duinvoort City, away from the track. Away from him.

Light, quick footsteps resounded on the wooden step to his caravan.

The door opened. "Nio?"

It was Nina. 

She fumbled around, switching on the gaslight, which illuminated his tiny, messy and dust-covered hole. Her nose scrunched up as she sniffed. "Hobblers in the sky, you smell like baked flapwing."

Nio pulled his blanket over his head. "Have you come to gloat?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you jumped over me in the standings. Who won—you or Ruben?"

"Seraphina," Nina said, resigned, "Then Mindy, then me."

"You didn't win?" He scrambled up, doing the math in his head. Even with a Scuderia one-two, Nina would still have a point over him.

She shook her head. "Because of your retirement, the team told me to adapt my driving style, to not go flat out and to break more subtly. I had to let the Scuderia girls pass, but third place is better than nothing."

"You're welcome." Nio huffed. "I'm glad my sacrifice made your day."

"I led the sprint for the most part—this result doesn't make me happy. Nor Gunder for that matter," she said, as though that would mean more to him.

It didn't. The anger had faded and had made room for the panging hollowness of disappointment.

"The engine problems cost the team precious points," she continued. "We got lucky that the Malachites had the same issue. Ruben's engine gave out four laps after yours. Vitaly crossed the line in fourth place, his car smoking like an Oan sailor." She giggled at the joke, which was neither funny nor made sense. Oan sailors didn't smoke dreampowder; they traded or smuggled it. "I had hoped this news would cheer you up."

"Why do you care?"

She rocked back and forth on her feet, pretending to be more interested in the heaps of clothes on the floor than him. "We're supposed to meet the owner of Queen's Egg for dinner, and it would help if you weren't sulking the whole time."

"I'm not going."

"Come on, Nio. You have to."

"I can't," Nio croaked, his voice more emotional than he intended to show. "Tell them I'm unwell. I'll do anything in return, whatever they ask, but not tonight. I can't bring it up to pretend to be in love with you, Nina. We're not even friends. I... I..."

Her gaze flicked upwards. "It's fine. I'll cover for you."

"Just like that," Nio asked. He wasn't used to anyone giving him exactly what he wanted, especially not anyone he was in direct competition with. "No strings attached?"

"You may not think much of me, but I'm the only one on this team who understands what you're going through. The highs within this sport are ecstatic, the lows bring you to the brink of depression."

"I owe you." He gave her a slight smile. "Anything but victory."

She snorted a short-lived laugh; then her features grew more serious. "If you do fancy company tonight, there's one more man in the paddock in need of a friend tonight. Last I saw him, he was walking up the dunes."

Ruben.

"Just be back before Gunder catches you," she said.

"I will. You're a good teammate," he said reluctantly, rubbing his painful knuckles. "Thanks."

"We're only rivals on track. Remember that."

"I'll try," Nio said. She was already gone.

He changed into a long-sleeved white shirt, a buttonless black waistcoat, and tight trousers. The thin suspenders dangled at his knees. Waiting for the team to leave, he contemplated between wearing a top hat or a simple cap.

He ended up with nothing on his head, trudging through the vast dunes, his footsteps sinking deep into the soft sand. 

Duinvoort City lay on the other side of the bay; this side of the track belonged to nature. The setting sun was casting a glowing path across the sea. In its shadows flickered the magical lights of water hobblers hovering above the water. There was no sound but that of a light breeze and the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore.

He wandered around for a while, before finally spotting a figure sitting on the crest of the largest dune, arms clasped around his body and staring into nowhere.

Not wanting to startle him, Nio approached him slowly. When Ruben turned his head, his otherwise warm eyes appeared puffy and red.

"Hey, Nio," he mumbled

"It'll be hard to find some Dauro wine around here," Nio said as he sat down next to Ruben, the long, prickly grass poking him in the back. "But the view surely makes up for it."

"The hobblers are returning," Ruben said, sniffling slightly. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah, shame it was such a shit sprint."

"It was shit as soon as I stepped out of bed. I should have won here. It would have been perfect. I could have..." He let out a deep sigh. "Gazzo di merdi."

Nio scratched the back of his neck. What should he say? All he could think about was a quote from a famous Valian reporter. "To finish first, you first need to finish."

"And to win the Speed Sprints, you have to survive." Ruben's voice cracked as he wiped his face. "I'm sorry. I don't normally get this upset over a lost race."

"That's alright—this sport is brutal."

The two men sat in complete silence next to each other, taking in the scenery. The hobblers seemed to multiply and glow even brighter as night fell. As time passed, their hands moved closer to each other. Looks were exchanged, fleeting, building tension. 

A tad nerve-wracking.

Ruben shifted, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. The palm of his hand brushed over Nio's as he placed it back in the sand. Instantly, he pulled back.

"This morning, Laurence told me that Julio passed away," Ruben said, his lip quivering. "It didn't come as a surprise. His spirit left his body not long after that crash in Oa, and there was nothing doctors could do for him, but, man, did that news hit me hard."

"I'm sorry. Did you know him well?"

"Quite well. He is... sorry... was from San Mauro, like me, just a few years younger. We bonded, and became friends even. There was this pact we made. As soon as I brought Malachite the title, I would help him take my place so he could win the next year. Then we would return home, start our own company, driving important people around town, making sure they wouldn't accidentally end up in the wrong place. Though Julio always joked that he would take certain politicians straight into Gamorra territory." Ruben shook his head, looking upwards. His jaw was set, but it didn't stop the tears from rolling down. "Stupid boy, and his urge to stir chaos. Not a bone of patience in his body."

"I'm sorry I didn't get to meet him. He seemed like a nice guy."

"Not sure the world would have been able to handle that," Ruben rubbed his cheeks. "You attract chaos too."

Nio lifted his shoulders. "I don't do it on purpose. It's second nature. Wherever I go, I end up ruining things."

"But you have a marvellous time doing it, haven't you?" Ruben cast him a sideways glance, his expression shifting from sad to somewhat amused. He hiccuped. "If only you could reign in your impulses, wait for the opportune moment to present itself. Go for that gap when it forms."

Nio's stomach fluttered, his throat tightening as he moved closer, their eyes meeting once more. Not a glance this time, but deeper, longer. Behind the sadness lay desire, passion, lust—whatever the name. Nio knew what he wanted, what he needed.

And Ruben seemed to want it too.

So he went for the gap. 

Leaning forward, he placed a gentle kiss on Ruben's lips; it was hesitant, uncertain even, with a hint of salt, a reminder of the sea breeze that ruffled through his hair.

Ruben reached to cradle Nio's face, deepening their kiss as Nio responded by wrapping his arms around Ruben. They held each other, lost in time, lost in each other, in their own little world where nothing mattered, and everything was possible.

Nio pulled away, taking off his jacket, his face flushed with excitement, eager to carry on, in pursuit of the ultimate rush. He wanted to discover every patch of Ruben's body and become one with these dunes, rolling down into the water; the hobblers buzzing around their heads. He wanted it all, and he wanted it now.

He pulled his shirt over his head and pushed Ruben back, climbing on top of the Porti Janon. Ruben rolled him over, planting kisses along the scar across his chest.

They looked at each other, smiling.

Nio ran his thumb over Ruben's cheek, wiping away that last tear.

"I'm here for you," Nio whispered. "I want to be your friend."

"Or more?"

"More, definitely more."

There was no pretending; Nio meant every word from the bottom of his heart. He would be the one to love Ruben, to make him forget his troubles, his past, or his future. 

Ruben surely did the same to him.

Right here, on this beach, they weren't rivals; they were lovers, free to explore the depths of their passion, the two of them in united their little cocoon where only the salty taste of their kisses and the touch of their heated bodies against the cool sand consumed them.

Together, they were unstoppable.

Together, they were the best of the best.

Together, they would conquer the world.