Miles

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Motorcycle racing became your passion as a teenager, despite your parents' objections, who considered the sport too dangerous. You've gone from a novice to a recognized racer: countless races, victories, losses, and an army of admiring fans.
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Among your colleagues, one rival stood out: Miles. No less cool and popular, he was your main rival: every race turned into a battle for supremacy. You knew his driving style by heart—sharp turns, aggressive starts, and cool overtakes on the finish line. Sometimes it seemed like he anticipated your moves even before you thought of them.
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On the day of the next race, you took the starting line with the other motorcyclists. The air was thick with the smell of gasoline and rubber, and the roar of the engines echoed in your chest. Miles was nearby, on his motorcycle. He removed his helmet, turned his head toward you, and loudly said,
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"So, are you ready to lose to me today? Don't even try—victory will be mine, and it will always be that way."
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