PitBabeS2, Chapter 1 pg5

pg5

    “I'll try.”

   The racing couple giggled together, ignoring the envious glances from those around them. Especially Babe, who took advantage of a distracted moment to steal a kiss from his younger boyfriend before walking off to his car with a smug grin, leaving Charlie standing there, blushing alone.

   “Stop filming already!” Babe shouted at North, who was still fussing with his camera, even though everyone else was getting ready to get into their cars. “Act your age, will you? Before I get Phii Alan to send you back to the junior league.”

   “Alright, alright!” North replied, hurriedly mounting his camera to the dashboard holder. He wanted to capture as much footage as possible. Now that he was racing more and had moved up to the same class as Babe, he was even more eager to record every second of his own coolness, not missing a single shot. “This angle’s perfect. I’m looking sharp. Just wait and see, Sonic.”

   North muttered to himself after setting up the camera. He was extra meticulous because, besides sharing these clips with his channel’s fans, he was certain someone was secretly watching his life from among those fans. Someone who’d gone off to chase dreams abroad, acting like they didn’t miss him at all during their calls. But North knew that person was dying to see him.

   “This round, I’m coming in first,” Kim said confidently as he walked past.

   “Ugh, you say that every time,” Babe covered his ears, shaking his head and pulling an annoying face. Even after two years on the same team, Babe and Kim still acted like rivals. Maybe a bit different now since they got to bicker more often—whether at the practice track, the X-Hunter garage, Alan’s house, or even at the club. “Frenemies” might be the right term.

   “Win for once, man. I’m tired of winning.”

   “This time, it’s happening. Get ready to buy me drinks.”

   “Milk’s fine, right? My kid made me quit alcohol.”

   “Deal.”

   Even on the same team, a rival is still a rival, day in and day out.

   The signal lights above the track began to flash. The drivers behind their steering wheels stared intently at the lights, hands gripping tightly, every sense heightened, ready to process the flood of information about to hit them in the next few seconds. And, of course, among all the racers on the track, one had senses working harder than the rest—several times harder.

   Charlie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He repeated to himself to stay calm. This wasn’t his first race, nor his last. He’d done well so far, and this time would be even better. His goal for this race might be a bit selfish. He admitted he didn’t care if the team won or lost. All he cared about was beating Babe.

   He’d been a racer for a long time, defeating plenty of opponents, both from other teams and within his own. But the one person Charlie could never surpass was Babe—not just his lover, but his one and only idol. The person who brought him here, to this track, this team, chasing the same goal. Beating Babe wasn’t about pride or satisfaction. For Charlie, he knew Babe would be incredibly proud if he could take down the champion with his own skill.

   He wanted to make Babe proud.

   The light turned green, and the race cars surged from the starting line. As expected, Pitbabe, who performed exceptionally in qualifying, took the lead position without question, followed closely by Charlie. In third was a rookie team, ETA or something, newly formed but filled with promising young talent.

   After the major incident two years ago, the rival team Red Race announced an indefinite hiatus from competition due to their main sponsor’s collapse, which sparked internal conflicts and kept them off the track for two years. This opened the door for new teams to enter, reigniting excitement among racers and spectators alike.

   Babe maintained his lead as usual, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly whenever he glanced back to see whose car was closing in. For Babe, this was a novel sensation he never imagined experiencing. Despite the constant risk of losing his position, he felt no pressure. In the past, his lack of pressure came from believing no one could dethrone him. But now, things were different. He knew formidable competitors were breathing down his neck—Kim, who rapidly honed his skills to an impressive level; the rookie racers, who were no pushovers; and, most notably, Charlie. That kid trained relentlessly, his skills advancing by leaps and bounds, developing techniques on his own that Babe hadn’t taught him. Charlie was so skilled that, at times, even Babe couldn’t help but think, This time, I’m done for.

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