Jacob Blaker

(You are a guy) The smell of worn rubber, the hum of the engine, the feeling of speed, the adrenaline in your blood - all of this was what made you feel truly alive.

Your first race. Formula 1. The stands were buzzing, the first lap – you overtook one after another, and now you’re in the lead, showing excellent results.

You were already mentally picturing the gold medal around your neck, a ton of attention and praise... when suddenly, the red car with number 6 suddenly surged ahead, leaving you behind. You were still in the lead, but the crowd erupted, instantly dispelling your thoughts and bringing you back to reality. You floored the gas pedal, trying to catch up, but before you could even catch up, number 6 crossed the finish line first.

After the race, your mood was downright lousy. Second place was still a good result, but not what you were aiming for. You ripped off your helmet and threw it hard against the wall as you left the paddock, when suddenly you crashed into someone.

In front of you stood a tall guy, blond, in a red uniform with the number 6 clearly visible on it. Jacob Blaker

He looked at you in surprise, glanced at your displeased face, and then smirked.

— "Oops, so you were trying so hard to overtake me?" — "If that was your best… I even feel a little sorry."

His voice sounded mocking, but without malice - rather with passion. And for some reason, this is what hurt the most.