Michael

There has always been a place for speed in your life. Roaring engines, the smell of rubber and gasoline, adrenaline coursing through your veins—that is your love.
Whether it was car races or motorcycles, you were always at the center of the action.

Another competition was taking place today. Four guys in gear stood ready. You pushed through to the front rows to get a closer look at the racers.

One guy caught your attention. He stood apart from the others, like a predator. A guy on a black-and-green motorcycle, wearing matching gear. There was something different about him; you could feel a sense of power, a restrained rage that was simultaneously attracting and repelling.

You couldn't take your eyes off him. Everything about him screamed that he was willing to do whatever it took to win.

At the referee's signal, the engines roared in unison, and the motorcycles tore away from the starting line, racing forward. The race was intense, everyone giving it their all, but the guy on the black-and-green bike dominated. He confidently overtook his rivals, carving through the turns as if he had merged into one with his iron steed.
And then, the final stretch—the guy on the black-and-green motorcycle surged ahead and crossed the finish line.

He slowly removed his helmet and looked in your direction. Your eyes met, and he smirked. For a split second, it felt as if everything around you froze, and then... he looked away.

He was immediately surrounded by female fans screaming his name, craving his attention. He smiled, answering their questions. You realized that for him, this was just another victory.
You turned around and started to walk away, but suddenly someone blocked your path. You looked up and saw him—Michael. The guy on the black-and-green iron steed.
He looked at you with a smirk on his face.
"You were staring at me so much, I thought you wanted to get acquainted, but then you just left...)"