✓ UNLIKELY MATCH | HEESEUNG

16 - On Thin Ice

HEESEUNG'S POV

For the third time today, I almost lose my cool. There are about two months left for the Grand Prix and yet, the Ferrari team is still struggling with the pit stops and strategy planning. It's frustrating to watch, especially when I know we have the potential to win. But with the constant setbacks and the constant conflicts within the team, it feels like we're fighting a losing battle.

"I said don't touch a fucking thing in my car unless you know what you're doing!" I lash out, not because I'm truly angry at the crew member who made the mistake, but because I'm frustrated with the entire situation. It's been forever since we discussed what really needs changing, but they just seem to be going in circles. The more they touch my car, the more she refuses to cooperate. And that's not good at all, I need her to be fully functioning during the Grand Prix.

The mechanics flinch at my outburst, but I don't have the patience to apologize. Instead, I storm away from the pit, needing a moment to collect myself before I say or do something I'll regret. Taking off my helmet, I run my fingers through my hair and sigh for the umpteenth time today. I lean against the wall, taking out my phone to take Junseok's lap time. I don't even have time to be frustrated, for fuck's sake.

"Are you seriously taking his lap time right now?" A voice interrupts my thoughts, and I glance up to see Lorenzo, one of the coaches, approaching me with a clipboard in his hands.

"Of course, I am," The dry chuckle that escapes my lips is laced with frustration. "I need to keep track of everything, especially with how things are going today. I know what you're about to say, we're on the same team and it doesn't matter who wins as long as Ferrari is at the top, but I'm not fucking letting him outperform me. I can't afford to fall behind, not in the championship race. Every point matters."

"How was your effort test?" I watch as he looks down at his clipboard, his tone casual as if we're discussing the weather and not my performance on the track. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, knowing that Lorenzo means well, but sometimes his laid-back attitude can be frustrating, especially when I'm in the middle of a crisis.

"It was fine," I reply curtly, not bothering to elaborate. I'm not in the mood for small talk or idle chitchat. I need to focus on fixing the issues with my car and getting back on track. Literally. Plus, I need to work out more so I can perform better on the track. Maybe that's why my effort test wasn't as good as it could have been.

Lorenzo nods, seemingly unfazed by my brusque response. He's used to my single-minded focus when it comes to racing, even if it means I'm not the most sociable person in the paddock. "Alright, well, let me know if you need anything," He says, offering me a small smile before turning to head back to the pit wall. Well, what I need is a fucking working car and a team that can get their shit together, but I refrain from vocalizing that frustration. There's no point in taking it out on Lorenzo, who's just trying to be supportive.

I watch him walk away, the noise of the pit echoing around me. Junseok's lap time is much longer than mine and that's why a wry smile curls on my lips. It's a small victory, but I'll take what I can get. "The pit stops today have been a disaster." I hear my crew chief and I roll my eyes. Oh, tell me something I don't know. "We have to figure out what's causing the delays and address them before the Grand Prix." He's frustrated and I can't blame him; the last thing we need is to be dealing with these issues during the race itself.

"I'll be working out while you figure out what to do with her. And again, make her more aerodynamic, less drag," I say, gesturing towards the red beauty parked in the pit. I can feel the eyes of the entire team on me, but I don't care. This car is an extension of myself on the track, and if it's not performing at its best, neither am I.

Once inside the gym area, I take off my racing suit and change into more comfortable workout clothes. The familiar routine of lifting weights, cardio, and core exercises helps to clear my mind from today's frustration, but does it help to make me forget about Sena? Fuck, it doesn't. I'm rolling my legs and all I can think about is her, her smile, her laughter, the way she looked at me with those big doe-like eyes. Sweat drips down my face and yet all I care about is her, the way she's been consuming my thoughts ever since that night at my apartment.

And suddenly the image of her beneath me flashes in my mind, making me freeze. Why am I thinking of her while rolling my legs? My heart races at the memory, my pulse quickening with the vividness of the image. I shake my head, trying to banish the thought from my mind, but it lingers like a stubborn stain. "Fuck," I mutter under my breath, squeezing my eyes shut as if that would erase the intrusive image. Sena is like a stubborn ghost, refusing to leave me alone. This is ridiculous. I'm a professional racer, not some love-struck teenager.

I manage to finish up my workout and as I towel off the sweat from my brow, I stalk her account in an attempt to see what she's up to. I remember she went to some event a few days ago, but that's the last thing I've seen from her. It's been two days since she last posted or updated her social media, and it's so not like her. The woman really loves sharing everything about her life online, so this sudden silence is unusual. But why should I care? She's just my fake fiancée, nothing more.

Still, as I scroll through her posts, I can't help but feel concerned. What if something happened to her? What if she's in trouble? No, don't be ridiculous, Heeseung. Sena can take care of herself. She's a strong, independent woman.

I toss my phone in my locker and wear my racing suit again, ready to get back on the track and focus on what really matters: winning races. But as I zip up my suit and slide on my helmet, I can't shake the nagging feeling that something isn't right. "Is she ready for a ride?" I ask the mechanics who step aside to let me see my beautiful car. I've been riding her for a decade, of course, I know every inch of her, every sound she makes, every vibration she sends through my body. But today, even the familiar rumble of her engine doesn't soothe me.

As I speed around the track, pushing myself to the limit, I'm barely able to control it. I've been briefly informed about the changes they made to the car setup, but anything they've done is so damn wrong. I can't control it the way I used to, and it definitely doesn't feel like an extension of myself anymore. Suddenly, it's just a damn car and I'm having a hard time connecting with it. And so, when I turn a corner, I completely lose control of it and the car is sent spinning off the track, gravel spraying into the air as I slam on the brakes. But it's too late and I end up crashing onto the barrier, the impact jarring my whole body.

For a moment, everything is a blur of noise and confusion. Then, as the car comes to a stop, silence envelops me, broken only by the sound of my heavy breathing. The dust settles and I realize what's happened. I've crashed my car, my beautiful machine, the one thing that has always been a constant in my life.

The mechanics rush towards me, their voices a distant echo as they check if I'm okay. Physically, I'm fine, just a few bruises and sore muscles. But mentally, I'm a wreck. I'm a fucking mess. I'm supposed to be the best, the one everyone looks up to, and yet here I am, a failure on the track. I climb out of the car, my legs feeling like jelly as I stand on shaky ground. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? You-"

"I told you not to fucking touch it!" I snap, cutting off one of the mechanics mid-sentence. My voice is sharper than I intended, laced with frustration and self-loathing. They fall silent, taken aback by my outburst. "I knew it didn't feel right but none of you listened. Are you trying to get me killed? Well congratulations, you've just ruined the entire race."

With that, I storm off, my whole body tense with anger and disappointment. Every step I take is painful, and when I reach the edge of the pit area, I stop and lean against the barrier, my chest heaving with exertion. I'm on the edge, I'm too close to the edge, too close to breaking. I ask myself what's wrong with me, but deep down, I know the answer.