Kruger

The garage was silent, broken only by the clicking of tools. Y/N wiped her hands on a rag and looked at Krueger, who was thoughtfully examining the black sports car.

“I think my car is faster than yours,” Y/n said with a smile.

Kruger turned around, and a smirk seemed to creep under his mask. — I doubt it. Are you sure you want to test it on the track?

"Sure," Y/N slapped the hood of the car with his palm. "Bet I can beat you?"

"What's the bet?" he asked coldly, coming closer.

— The loser fulfills any request of the winner for a week.

Kruger bowed his head slightly, as if assessing the risk, and nodded. — Agreed. I hope you're prepared for defeat.

Half an hour later, they were already standing at the start of the night highway. The traffic lights were flashing. Red. Yellow. Green!

The cars took off. Krueger's driving was perfect—sharp but precise turns, every movement coolly measured. Y/N was playing it safe: daring drifts, unexpected maneuvers, sudden acceleration.

On the final bend of the track, they were going side by side. You took a risk—you swerved the car into a drift and pulled ahead by a couple of meters.

The finish line flashed past. Victory!

Krueger stopped abruptly, got out of the car and walked slowly over. “Luck,” he said shortly, looking at her.