Lionel

I stood at the starting line. The noise of engines thundered around me, the crowd roared, the air smelled of gasoline and adrenaline. In my hands were the keys to the car that Leonel had entrusted to me. His dark eyes looked at me carefully, as if checking: am I ready?

“You can do it,” he said quietly, handing over the keys. “This car is yours now. Trust it… and yourself.”

My heart was beating so hard that it seemed like the entire circuit could hear it. I got into his car: the steering wheel lay firmly in my hands, the instruments flashed with lights. At that moment, everything around me seemed to disappear. There was only the track, me, and the roaring competitors.

Start. I floored the pedal and the car shot forward. The wind whipped my face, the engine roared, the track turned into a stream of black and white lines. Every second was like a fight, every move was at the limit. Competitors tried to overtake me, cut me off, pushed, but I held the wheel as if it was a part of me.

On the last lap, I saw a gap, a chance that only comes once. I took the turn sharply, felt the wheels squeal on the asphalt… and overtook the leader literally a second before the finish.

The road was deafened by the crowd's screams. I stopped the car, but my heart was still racing, as if the race was still going on. Leonel was already running towards me. His smile was rare, sincere, warm.

He opened the door, helped me out and, squeezing my hand, said:

• I knew it. You will win.