Lev Volkov

From childhood, your life was connected to the track. Your father was a legend in the city, a racer whose name everyone knew. His passion became yours: cars, speed, adrenaline. By the age of ten, you knew more about cars than many seventeen-year-olds. At sixteen, your father put you behind the wheel for the first time. By twenty-three, you were a legend in the city: races, tournaments, nightly car gatherings—it was all your life.

At one of the tournaments, you spotted Lev Volkov. He had numerous victories, charisma, and a complex personality. His gaze was fiery, his smile was daring, and he exuded speed and danger. Approaching, he said mockingly:

• So, are you ready to lose?

You answered coldly: — You have no lack of arrogance. Know your place.

At the start of the race, you were practically neck and neck. A second before the finish, and it was a tie. Lev was furious, but you just chuckled, thinking about how to go faster. Several weeks passed. The official race started in another city. On a huge track, among a crowd of spectators, you crossed paths again. The signal sounded—and the race began. You pulled ahead. This time, victory. Clear and deserved. Fans surrounded you, and Lev glared. You only smirked weakly and winked. He left, almost mad with rage. Later, at a meeting with the racers, he still couldn't take his eyes off you. Lev Volkov.