The question hung in the air, thick with tension. Minho jolted to his feet, a nervous tremor betraying his voice. "Y-yes! I want to compete against you." he stammered, the words a desperate plea echoing the silent hope that this might be his only chance. Seo-Jun's smirk was a predatory curve of his lips as he turned around, the words "Come with me" a command that sliced through the whispers of the other members.
Minho, heedless of the murmurs, pursued him, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. Inside Seo-Jun's tent, the air crackled. "So now, you really want to compare against me?" Seo-Jun's voice was a silken challenge. "Yes!" Minho's answer was sharp, a blade against the tension. Seo-Jun's smirk widened, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Hm, and what will I gain from that race?" he drawled, leaning closer.
Minho's cheeks flushed, a confession of vulnerability. "If you compete against me and win, I will... sleep with you tonight, and we can do as many rounds as you want… " Seo-Jun's grin was a predatory delight. "Can't I get this for free as my birthday present?" Minho's gaze fell, a wave of guilt washing over him. Seo-Jun, unconcerned, pressed his advantage. "And if we race and you win? What do you want?" Minho met his gaze, the guilt hardening into resolve. "If I win, I want to become part of your racing team!"
Seo-Jun's sculpted brow lifted, a dark arch against the harsh light, as he straightened, his voice a low caress. "And what makes you think you can beat me?" he murmured, the words a silken thread of challenge spun into the charged atmosphere. Across from him, Minho's face underwent a subtle transformation, the playful lines around his eyes hardening into a mask of focused determination. "I am sure I at least stand a chance." he replied, his voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil that churned beneath the surface. Seo-Jun's smirk, a slow unfurling of predatory delight, answered him. "Confident, aren't you?" he purred, the words a caress of danger. "Then, let's see what you can do. Prepare yourself, the race will start in five minutes." With a graceful turn, he vanished into the shadowy depths of the tent, the rustle of his clothes a fleeting whisper in the sudden silence. Minho's smile, a fragile thing, bloomed across his face, a mixture of excitement and fierce resolve. "This is it! This is my chance to be part of his team! I have to win!" he vowed silently, the words a lifeline in the gathering storm of his emotions.
As he stepped out, he almost collided with Sam, who stood like a sentinel at the entrance. "Oh, Sam hyung! You scared me." Minho chuckled, the sound a nervous tremor that broke the tension. Sam, his face a careful study in neutrality, had heard the exchange, the unspoken stakes of the race echoing in the close space. Despite his misgivings, he could not disobey Seo-Jun. A gentle smile touched his lips as he gestured towards the back. "Let's get you a suit." He moved forward, the weight of unspoken expectations pressing down on him, the silent promise of the race hanging heavy in the air.
The air crackled with anticipation, thick with the metallic tang of gasoline and the roar of a thousand expectant hearts. At the starting line, Seo-Jun, a study in controlled intensity, methodically tugged on his gloves, the leather whispering against his skin. A slow, predatory smirk played upon his lips, a silent taunt directed at Minho, who stood a few feet away, a whirlwind of nervous energy. The roar of the crowd, a cacophony of cheers and shouts, seemed to amplify Minho's unease. His gaze darted from the sea of faces to the familiar forms of Seo-Jun's teammates, a silent plea for reassurance lost in the din.
Sensing his growing anxiety, Sam approached him with a rare flicker of warmth in his eyes. "Don't let it get to you." he murmured, his voice a low rumble against the surrounding noise. "Worrying will only mess you up. You showed courage just by challenging him to race." A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he crossed his arms, his gaze locking with Minho's. "I must admit, I've never seen anyone like you before." A brief pat on the shoulder, a silent acknowledgment of the challenge ahead, and then he was gone, melting back into the throng of the team.
Minho took a deep breath, the air filling his lungs with a mixture of fear and determination. "Okay, you can do this!" he muttered to himself, the words a mantra against the rising tide of doubt. With a decisive movement, he secured his helmet, the visor closing off the world, a shield against the impending storm. Across the line, Seo-Jun, already astride his motorcycle, watched with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Let's have some fun, shall we?" he seemed to be thinking, the smirk etched on his face a clear indication of the games he had planned.
The referee's voice, amplified by the loudspeakers, cut through the tension, a sharp command: "GET READY! GO!" And with that, the world exploded into a blur of motion. The roar of engines intensified, the starting line vanished in a rush of speed, and the race began.
The air crackled with anticipation, the scent of high-octane fuel thick in the atmosphere as Minho and Seo-Jun revved their engines. The starting gun fired, and they were off, a flash of chrome and color against the track. For the first few laps, it was a brutal exchange of dominance, each rider pushing the limits of their bikes. Minho, a whirlwind of controlled aggression, would seize the lead, his bike a snarling beast unleashed. But then, with a flick of the wrist and a surge of power, Seo-Jun would glide past, his movements fast, his presence a study in effortless control.
The relentless pace began to take its toll. Minho's body screamed in protest, his muscles burning with the effort. Beads of sweat traced paths down his face, stinging his eyes as he wrestled with the bike, fighting to maintain control at breakneck speeds. "COME ON! JUST A LITTLE MORE!" he roared internally, the words echoing in his mind, driving him onwards. He could feel the burn in his lungs, the pounding of his heart, and the raw, primal need to win.
Meanwhile, Seo-Jun remained unbothered by the speed, his focus unwavering, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. He navigated the turns with a surgeon's precision, his movements fluid and quick. There was an almost unsettling serenity about him, as if he were detached from the chaos around him. A faint smile played on his lips, a subtle acknowledgment of the challenge, a quiet confidence that bordered on arrogance. The crowd roared with each near miss, their cheers and gasps a constant soundtrack to the unfolding drama. But as the final lap began, it became clear that neither rider was willing to yield. They crossed the finish line, their front wheels aligned, a perfect tie. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the hum of their engines and the collective breath of the spectators, each person trying to process the impossible outcome.
It was not just any tie but one against Seo-Jun, the reigning champion, the untouchable champion of this very track. The crowd, a seething mass of humanity, erupted.
A voice, raw with disbelief and laced with awe, sliced through the bedlam. "NO ONE HAS EVER DONE THIS BEFORE! MINHO IS THE SECOND CHAMPION ON THIS RACETRACK!" The words were a spark, igniting a bonfire of emotion. Cheers ripped through the air, a cacophony of sound that shook the very ground. Minho, still strapped into his bike, lowered his helmet, his face a mask of conflicting emotions: frustration, disbelief, and a flicker of something akin to triumph. He hadn't won. He'd come so close, yet failed to secure the ultimate prize. The team, their faces alight with pure joy, swarmed him, hoisting him onto their shoulders, their cheers a deafening roar. "What are you doing?! I lost! I didn't win!" he shouted, his voice swallowed by the celebration. He felt a surge of confusion.
Sam watched the unfolding scene with a knowing smile. He turned and approached Seo-Jun, who was gracefully dismounting his bike, the picture of controlled composure. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Sam asked, his voice low, the question a mere whisper against the surrounding noise. Seo-Jun, his eyes gleaming with amusement, met Sam's gaze. "Of course. I told you I wanted to have fun." With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed his helmet to Sam, the gesture a final, elegant flourish before he turned and strode away, leaving a trail of stunned silence in his wake. Sam shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips as he made his way back to the team, who were still celebrating their near-victory. He approached Minho, still perched atop their shoulders, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and elation. "Welcome to our team, Minho!" Sam announced, his voice barely audible above the din. Minho's jaw dropped. "What?! But I didn't win, it was a tie." A teammate clapped him on the back, his face beaming. "Oh, please, ending with a tie is like a win if it's against Seo!"
"Yes, it is basically a win!" someone else bellowed, and the collective elation surged anew. Minho, however, remained a solitary island in the sea of jubilation, his confusion a stark contrast to the prevailing joy. He knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his gut, that the tie was a carefully made on purpose by Seo-Jun, a deliberate concession. But the "why" remained a shrouded mystery.
Seizing a moment of relative anonymity, Minho slipped away from the throng, his path leading him towards Seo-Jun's tent. He found Seo-Jun in the midst of undressing, his back to the entrance. "You let me have a tie, didn't you?" Minho accused, his voice laced with a mixture of anger and bewilderment.
Seo-Jun, unfazed, continued undressing. "I might have done that, yes." he replied, his words measured and devoid of any inflection.
"Why?" Minho pressed, his frustration mounting with each passing second. "You could have just won without making my part of the deal happen." The tie, he knew, was a catalyst, ensuring the fulfilment of their agreement in its entirety.
Finally, Seo-Jun turned, a slow, deliberate movement that revealed a chilling smirk. "I wanted both parts of the deal to happen."
The words hung in the air, a venomous promise that stole the heat from Minho's anger, replacing it with a chilling wave of confusion. He stumbled backward, the question a mere whisper on his lips, "W-What?"