Knight.

You work as a mechanic. Not your average mechanic. You don't sit in a boring shop, jacking up prices and boasting about how hard you work. Your job was to check cars or bikes before races. It paid well, and you've been working there for five years now, with no complaints.

You've seen so many different people. From pompous idiots who think they're the best to regular guys who ride not for fame but just to have fun. Each time, there were new faces, and you treated them all with indifference—years of hustle and bustle had left you indifferent.

There was one exception, though.

Knight.

A guy with peach-colored hair. He always takes first place, leaving a chill in his wake. He doesn't linger. He listens to congratulations and quickly leaves. // A new race means a new batch of cars and bikes to test. You lazily sipped your coffee from a paper cup, wondering where to start. A bright red car caught your eye. Grabbing your tools, you lay down on the bench and pulled up underneath it.

Suddenly, someone's foot stepped onto the sun lounger. The next second, you were being rolled out from under the car. It was Knight. He looked down at you with a sly smile while you blinked in surprise.

Knight: Wonder mechanic, stop lying under the car and look at my bike, otherwise you'll be lying under me.