U. C’s Invitation and Login Password
Dennis looked at me with concern. “Is it the pain from your wound? Or is the bread not good?”
“No, neither.” I averted my gaze, chewing the last bite of bread. “The weather is pretty nice today.”
Steve, Dennis’s star protege, lived up to his reputation. Advancing through the qualifiers seemed as effortless for him as eating or drinking.
As Steve crossed the finish line, a deafening wave of cheers erupted from the audience. The energy was so intense that I momentarily felt like I was watching the finals, not a mere qualifying round.
I couldn’t help but smile. “The kid’s pretty popular, huh?”
“Of course,” Dennis said proudly. “If Steve accepts U. C’s invitation, it’s hard to say whether Madeline would still be their star player.”
“Bianca, hasn’t U. C sent you an invitation email too?”
I didn’t answer right away.
Dennis seemed to realize something. “You haven’t logged into that account in a long time, have you?”
The word “leopard” from Dennis’s mouth was swallowed by the roaring cheers, awakening old, faded memories.
The loudspeaker blared, calling the next group of racers to assemble. I tossed my empty coffee cup and sandwich wrapper into the trash.
“I’ve forgotten the login password.”
With my back to Dennis, I slowly walked toward the racers’ assembly area.
Perhaps by divine coincidence, neither Steve nor Madeline was in my group.
Madeline wasn’t the only racer from U. C participating in this competition. Out of the nine competitors in my group, two were from U. C, and both seemed to know about my challenge to Madeline.
“Where does your confidence come from, challenging U. C’s queen?” said a freckled boy, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re going to lose. Badly.”
Sitting astride my motorcycle, I adjusted my black gloves to cover the exposed wound on my left hand. “Maybe the one who loses will be Madeline.”
“Impossible!” The boy, who looked a little older than Steve, maybe around twenty-two, spat back with a sharp voice. “I’ll beat you faster than Madeline will, you bh!”
His companion didn’t bother to stop him from provoking me.
I pressed my tongue against the inside of my cheek, irritated by his sharp tone. A flicker of heat ignited inside me.
“Then let’s see who comes out on top,” I said coolly.
The rules for the qualifiers were simple. Ten racers started at the same point, racing three laps along a circular highway track. The first to finish would win, and the top three from each group would advance to the semifinals.
I did one final check of my equipment and helmet, then quickly got into position as the staff signaled for the race to begin.
At the sound of a sharp whistle, I shot forward, maneuvering my motorcycle with practiced precision. The freckled boy and the others surged toward the finish line alongside me.
The crowd erupted into cheers as the race began. The deafening roar of engines mixed with screams, but to me, the world seemed muted, as though a gray filter had descended over everything in front of me.
“Off-road races require more caution than freestyle ones.”
“Underground races aren’t allowed. You’re breaking the rules on purpose!”
“No referees, no cameras-no one can prove you’re right.”
The echoes of past admonishments floated through my mind.
It had been a long time since I’d participated in an official race. While I hadn’t given up my love for motorcycles, staying competitive as a professional racer required intense training and consistent competition.
A year ago, Dennis, my former partner and the struggling owner of ILM, approached me with a plea to return.
“Do you want to see ILM disappear?” His desperation that day was something I’d never forgotten.
“I can invest in ILM,” I’d offered. As the princess of the Luciano family, I had wealth that most people couldn’t spend in a lifetime.
“You’ve forgotten our agreement, Bianca. I can’t accept your money.”
An agreement?
What kind of agreement was more important than saving ILM?
I should’ve argued with him.
But the retort I’d prepared lingered on the tip of my tongue for far too long before I finally swallowed it.
“Fine. I’ll do it,” I’d said.
“What?” Dennis had looked at me, incredulous.
“How long can ILM hang on?”
“A year.”
“Then one year.” I had met his gaze. “In a year, I’ll win back ILM with a champion’s badge.”
“No, Bianca,” Dennis had said, his back to the sun, his smile so radiant it was hard to look at him.
For a moment, I felt like I was looking at someone else-someone familiar.
“This isn’t just my ILM,” he’d said. “It’s ours.”
…
The memory faded as the present rushed back into focus. The audience was still cheering wildly, and the battle on the straightaway hadn’t yet yielded a clear leader.
That was expected. On a straight track, there wasn’t much room for skill to shine. It was the curves that separated the contenders from the pretenders.
The highway’s curves were smoother and less challenging than mountain trails, with wide, well-maintained lanes. But to increase difficulty, the organizers had modified the unfinished highway, adding bumps and obstacles to the straightaways and narrowing the already tight curves.
These changes demanded utmost caution. A racer needed to pick the perfect angle for each turn while maintaining top speed to gain an edge.
Courage and skill were indispensable.
And they were my greatest strengths!
“Oh my God, what is she doing?”
“She’s not slowing down?”
“She’s going to crash-I can’t watch!”
The audience’s murmurs were drowned out by screams as I focused intently on the road ahead. I expertly navigated each turn, my movements fluid and precise until I finally surged toward the finish line.
“Ahhh!”
“She won! She won!”
The crowd erupted in cheers, louder than ever before, almost piercing my eardrums.
Crossing the finish line, I brought my motorcycle to an abrupt stop. The tires screeched against the asphalt as I braked, finally coming to a steady halt at the finish line.
“ILM is the best!”
“First place in her group!”
Excited fans and Dennis rushed toward me. I leaned my head slightly to one side, frowning as I scanned the farthest corners of the audience stands.
Was it my imagination? It felt like someone was watching me.
No, not like the frenzied excitement of the crowd. That gaze felt different-more complex, almost unsettling.
It sent a chill down my spine.