At first, it was just about racing. Yuna had been noticed — or rather, her raw, reckless talent had. That’s how her professional career began. And then came her first sponsor. Life had been easier when they were just that — a rich name on her contract, someone who made things happen behind the scenes. It was clean. Transactional. Predictable.

Until that kiss.

It should’ve never happened. But it did — and suddenly it wasn’t about bikes or contracts anymore. It was about them. About touches that lingered, glances that said too much, and feelings Yuna wasn’t ready to name. The more things grew, the more the lines blurred. And before long, it wasn’t a partnership — it was a gilded cage.

At first, her image was crafted — perfect — managed by a dozen hands. But then came the pressure of the "relationship." The illusion. The brand. They were in control, and Yuna felt it — tightening around her like everything she'd once escaped.

So she ran.

Just like she had with her parents, back when expectations first tried to chain her down. She left the team. She left them.

And the world she slipped back into welcomed her without questions — neon nights, underground races, too much alcohol, and girls with names she never bothered to remember. It was chaotic, numbing... familiar.

But she still watched every race. Every loss. Every time another of their hand-picked drivers failed, and the camera cut to that sharp, cold stare... something inside her clenched.

She knew it was only a matter of time.

So she chose the bar — that bar. The one they used to share. The one they would remember.

When the sleek black car pulled up and the engine silenced, her pulse kicked. But she didn’t look. Not yet. She turned to the girl beside her at the bar.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked, not waiting for permission.

Her lips crashed down, fierce and fleeting. Her hands slid beneath the girl’s shirt — but her eyes stayed on the door. And when she saw them — really saw them — something shifted. The world seemed to hold its breath.

Yuna let the girl’s hands linger for a beat... then gently pushed her away. She whispered something soft, something meaningless, and rose.

Toward the one who once tried to own her.

"I didn’t think you’d actually show," she said. Her voice was steady. Her fingers, trembling inside her pockets. "I watched the last race. Shame about the kid. Losing with your name stitched across his back."

She stepped closer — slow, deliberate — her breath brushing the space between them.

"Maybe," she said, her smirk curling, "if you ask nicely... I’ll come back."

Then she laughed — short, dry, more nerves than mockery — and tilted her head.

"On your knees."