The air inside Seo-Jun's tent was thick with the scent of gasoline and anticipation. Seo-Jun's movements were precise as he pulled on the form-fitting racing suit. The fire-resistant material whispered against his skin as he meticulously fastened each clasp, the pressure of the upcoming race a tangible thing in the close space. Suddenly, the tent flap was drawn back, and Sam entered, his face etched with a familiar mix of enthusiasm and determination. The question hung in the air before he spoke, a silent understanding passing between them. "Do you want me to keep an eye on him?" he finally asked, the unspoken name, Minho, a heavy weight in the sentence. Seo-Jun didn't turn, his voice a low, chilling response, "No need."
Sam's brow furrowed, a crease of confusion appearing between his eyes. "But what if those problematic guys find him and do something to him?" he pressed, his voice laced with a hint of concern. A slow, predatory smirk stretched across Seo-Jun's face as he turned, his eyes now alight with a dangerous, almost feral gleam. He leaned against a nearby table, his posture relaxed. "Then, he will show us what he has." he replied, the words laced with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. He reached for the helmet resting on the bench, his fingers tracing the smooth curve of its surface. It was a final, decisive gesture. Seo-Jun then strode out of the tent, the setting lights casting long shadows behind him. Sam sighed, the weight of the situation settling heavily upon his shoulders. "Given his attitude… we will see a show tonight." he muttered, shaking his head. He followed Seo-Jun, the rumble of engines and the roar of the crowd beckoning them toward the impending chaos.
The roar of the crowd was a physical presence, a wave of sound that crashed over Seo-Jun as he settled onto his bike. The other racer, his rival, was completely focused on the road, his eyes narrowed behind his helmet, ready to go. Seo-Jun could feel the tension radiating from him, but he remained calm and unconcerned. Up ahead, the team members stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their faces a mix of anticipation and barely-contained excitement. Sam and Minho stood a little apart, closer to the bikes, their positions a stark contrast to the rest. Sam was grinning, a picture of unwavering confidence. Minho, however, was a different story. He looked kind of nervous, his eyes darting between Seo-Jun and his rival. The question tumbled out of him, a plea for reassurance, "He will win, right?"
Sam turned, his smile widening as he responded, his voice firm and steady. "Ha, of course. He is the best out of all of us. He always wins." He spoke with such conviction that Minho couldn't help but feel a flicker of relief. His gaze returned to Seo-Jun, who was now making a final adjustment to his helmet. Sam, noticing Minho's lingering doubt, patted him on the shoulder, a reassuring gesture. "Don't worry, Tiny Guy. He will win, for sure!"
Minho turned, a confused frown creasing his brow. "Tiny Guy? Where did you hear that from?" Sam looked momentarily taken aback, then recovered with a shrug. "Oh, that? Seo told us to call you that way earlier. He said, it suits you, and you like it." Minho's face darkened, a mix of annoyance and disbelief washing over his features. "He did?" he growled, his voice tight with frustration. Sam simply nodded, still smiling, as Minho let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Of course, he did." he muttered to himself, the worry completely replaced by a surge of anger. The race was about to begin, and any doubts he might have had were now completely overshadowed by the anger he felt for Seo-Jun.
The world sharpened, the roar of the crowd a tangible thing as the referee's voice sliced through the air. "GET READY! GO!" The command was a catalyst, a starting pistol that unleashed a surge of raw energy. Seo-Jun and his opponent rushed through the line, a dance of power and speed. The crowd was a blur of faces.
Minho, caught in the excitement, strained to capture the entirety of the race. His eyes darted, his body constantly adjusting, trying to find the optimal view of the track's intricate curves. Finally, he turned to Sam, who was a seasoned observer and racer himself, knew the track intimately. Sam stood firm, his gaze fixed on the unfolding race, his body a picture of serene focus.
A smile touched Sam's lips as he acknowledged Minho's query. "Hey, Sam hyung! I'm going over there." Minho declared, his voice carrying a hint of determination as he pointed to a higher vantage point. "I want to see more of the track." Sam's smile broadened, and he nodded, a silent invitation to go there. With a shared understanding, Minho began his ascent, driven by the desire to witness the full spectacle of the race.
Having found the perfect vantage point, Minho smirked, crossed his arms and settled in to watch. The entire racetrack lay before him, a panorama of speed and skill. But his peace was shattered as two men nearby began to speak loudly, their voices grating against the symphony of the race. The man on the left, a burly figure with a sneer permanently etched on his face, snorted, "Ha, this asshole Seo-Jun. He's not as good as I expected." He let out an evil laugh, a sound that seemed to claw at the air, mocking Seo-Jun's prowess. Minho's attention was immediately caught, his eyes narrowing as he subtly turned his head to listen, a sense of unease settling in his stomach. The man on the right, a leaner figure with a predatory glint in his eyes, added, "Yeah, right! When I heard about him, I thought he was much bigger and stronger. But it turned out he is just an ordinary guy. Ha, he's just some stupid, boastful guy."
Minho's blood boiled. The words were like a physical blow, each syllable a fresh insult against Seo-Jun. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white, his mind racing with a storm of furious thoughts. "Ha, what do these idiots want? Insulting Seo-Jun like that. If he were here, he would have already beaten them up. Besides, he is so much more than what they said. Ordinary, my ass! I am sure he can beat them with only one hand." He fought to keep his composure, remembering his promise to Seo-Jun, a silent vow to avoid trouble. He took a deep breath, the air feeling thin and constricting, and focused on the race, trying to shut out the venomous words that still echoed in his ears. The race, for now, was a distraction, a shield against the rising tide of his anger.
The roar of the racetrack faded into a dull hum as Minho could help but narrow his focus again, the insults hurled at Seo-Jun like poisoned darts. "Yes, and his racing skills are not even half as good as ours." the man on the left had sneered, the words igniting a firestorm of fury within Minho. His vision swam, the world turning a shade of crimson as he turned around, the laughter of the tormentors a grating soundtrack to his mounting rage.
He advanced, a monolith of controlled fury, his size a silent declaration. He stood taller, broader, a physical manifestation of the superiority they so readily dismissed. "You must be pretty dumb to insult the champion and the owner of this track." he drawled, his voice a low, chilling rumble, his gaze a relentless, icy stare that promised retribution.
The man on the left, emboldened by arrogance, bristled, "What did you say?" Minho's lips curled into a predatory smirk. Leaning back, hands casually slipping into his pockets, he responded, "Oh, you're deaf? My apologies. I assumed someone who could spew such garbage about someone who is out of their league could also hear. Seems I was mistaken." The man, fuelled by pride and fear, erupted, "YOU SON OF A B-" before his words were choked off; he tried to pitch Minho. However, Minho's hand, a vice of muscle and bone, clamped around the man's hand, the force undeniable. A cruel smirk twisted his lips as he gauged the man's struggling strength. "Ha, weak." he breathed, the contempt palpable. Silence descended, the other man frozen, his bravado shattered. Minho, still gripping the man's hand, continued, "Where did your mouth go? It wouldn't shut up before. It was so annoying." With a swift, decisive movement, he twisted the man's hand, the scream that ripped from his throat a testament to Minho's brutal control.
Then Minho leaned in, his face inches from the faces of the guys. His expression morphed, the playful smirk vanishing, replaced by an icy mask of seriousness and cold calculation. "I suggested you not talk like that about a senior. Where are your manners?" he questioned, a predatory glint in his eyes. One of the guys, emboldened by arrogance, lunged with a clumsy fist, but Minho was a phantom, easily evading the blow. His response was swift and brutal. With a cruel smirk, he seized the attacker's hand, twisting it with practiced ease and delivering a sharp, calculated strike that sent the man crashing to the ground and pitching the other guy's face hard. He loomed over the fallen figure, a sigh escaping his lips, laced with a mixture of disdain and grim satisfaction. "Problematic, aren't you?"
The other man, witnessing the swift display of violence, scrambled to his feet, helping his fallen comrade. The right side of his face bloomed with angry red, a testament to Minho's precise pitch, and both men trembled. Minho straightened, his posture radiating cold power, his face now emotionless. His hands disappeared into the depths of his pockets once again, and his voice, a low, menacing whisper, cut through the air. "Get out of my sight before I beat you more." The threat was a command, and the men, understanding the dire implications, didn't hesitate. They vanished in an instant, their hasty retreat echoing the crushing weight of Minho's dominance.
He stood alone, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the racetrack, a stark contrast to the violent storm he had just unleashed. He watched them run away, a sigh escaping his lips, and a smirk playing, he muttered, "Ha, pathetic." Then the sound of the referee's whistle pierced the air, marking the end of the race. His frustration flared, "And now because of those two assholes I missed the race. Idiots!" With a frustrated growl, he turned and stormed away from the platform, heading towards Seo-Jun's team, his anger still simmering.