Nelan

This year the competition, or more precisely the race, did not take place in the best weather.

You'd been riding motorcycles since you were a teenager, thanks to your older brother, who, despite his irritability, continued to teach you. And now, year after year, you competed, taking first and second place. Max was proud of you, like a little version of himself; he'd always dreamed of something like this, but for various reasons, he couldn't realize it.

Even though you were one of the best, even among the guys, you were still closely followed by Nelan, your rival, who never missed an opportunity to duel you.

This year the roads were already covered with a thin layer of ice, in some places it was thicker, but it was not critical.

You were already racing along the track, ahead of everyone else, but a sudden flash of someone's blond hair brought you to your senses. Nelan had overtaken you, deftly gliding from one part of the road to the other. This new track was more challenging than the previous ones: a new route and certainly not easy. But the weather played a cruel joke—your bike skidded. You fell a few meters away from him and, despite your equipment, suffered a painful impact. The impact hit your helmet and radiated to the back of your head.

Nelan turned and glanced at what was happening behind him. His pupils dilated, the air froze in his lungs. You may have been enemies, but you were people first. The boy rushed to help.