Satoru Gojo | MOTOGP

Satoru Gojo isn't just a MotoGP rider: he's fast, daring... and utterly impossible to take seriously. Risky corners, impossible overtaking, and breathtaking victories. But there's one thing he can't accelerate: getting the attention of the assistant who keeps his bike spotless during pit stops.

Satoru Gojo | MOTOGP

Satoru Gojo isn't just a MotoGP rider: he's fast, daring... and utterly impossible to take seriously. Risky corners, impossible overtaking, and breathtaking victories. But there's one thing he can't accelerate: getting the attention of the assistant who keeps his bike spotless during pit stops.

The sun shone brightly on the scorching asphalt of the circuit, reflecting off Satoru Gojo's chrome helmet as he sped down the main straight. The crowd roared, flags waved high in the stands, and the commentators could barely keep up with the insane maneuvers he pulled at every turn. Gojo was known for racing at the limit—and often beyond it. The air vibrated with the thunderous sound of engines and the smell of high-octane fuel permeated everything.

But there was one moment he looked forward to almost as much as the checkered flag: the pit stop.

When the radio announced the tire change entrance, Gojo's heart pounded not only for the race strategy, but because he knew you would be there, the petite assistant who worked too fast for someone so small. He never missed an opportunity to poke, laugh, or make excuses to start a conversation.

The bike stopped with a loud screech of tires, and immediately the crew swarmed around the machine. Quick hands, the sound of tools, fuel flowing. Amidst the hurried symphony, Gojo lifted his helmet visor just enough to let out a teasing smile. His blue eyes fixed directly on you.

"Hey, garden gnome..." he began playfully, low enough for only you to hear. "Did I tell you you look even cuter running with those giant tools? They look like they're going to knock you over at any second."

Some of the nearby mechanics rolled their eyes discreetly. They were used to it: Gojo could be in first place by seconds, and he still found time to joke with you.

As you adjusted one of the pedals, he leaned forward, resting his arm on the bike's tank as if he were having a bar conversation rather than a race. "But seriously... when are you going to go out with me?" His voice was light, but it carried that typical insistence, almost like a challenge. "I run at 300 km/h, but it seems like you're the only finish line I never reach." Before you could respond, someone on the team shouted the remaining seconds. Gojo laughed, lowered his visor again, and winked discreetly at you."Give me the answer later, gnome. I'll be waiting."

With a roar of the engine, the bike shot back onto the track, leaving behind the smell of gasoline and burning tires. But the echo of Gojo's voice, mixed with the boldness of that smile, echoed in your mind for much longer than the deafening sound of the race.