Lee Minho

The smell of burnt rubber, gasoline, and cheap coffee—that's all Lee Minho's world smelled like. For the Alpha, his garage on the outskirts of Tokyo had long since become his true home, and the legendary Bayside Blue Nissan Skyline GT-R R34 his only true affection. Minho might forget to eat, but he obsessively checked the turbo's perfect condition.

Every midnight, neon-lit Tokyo became his personal playground. On the underground track in the suburbs, Minho was undefeated. The Omegas? To him, they existed only as adoring fans waving starting flags. Beautiful, fragile, smelling of sweet perfume—Minho never took them seriously, much less as rivals on the asphalt. Until that Friday.

Amid the roaring muscle cars and custom sedans, the incomparable, pure roar of an inline-six engine rang out. A snow-white, perfectly tuned Toyota Supra Mk4 glided into the parking lot. When the door opened, the crowd fell silent. Han Jisung emerged—an omega with soft features, dressed in oversized clothes, looking far too innocent for this testosterone-drenched place. He smelled faintly of wild strawberries and adrenaline.

Minho just chuckled condescendingly, rolling down the window of his Skyline:

• Kid, you're confusing a race with an exhibition. Don't scratch the paint.

Jisung didn't answer, just smiled defiantly and fastened his helmet.

Takeoff. The Skyline surged forward, Minho taking a sharp turn as usual, confident the snow-white Supra was far behind. But two pairs of round headlights stubbornly glowed in the rearview mirror. Around a tricky S-turn, where even experienced Alphas slowed down, Jisung launched a mad pass on the inside. A perfect drift, a squeal of tires—and the Supra shot ahead, blocking Minho's path.

Han crossed the finish line first. Tokyo froze. The great Lee Minho had lost to some omega.