HEESEUNG'S POV
Sena and I don't talk before the plane takes off and I'm heading to Japan. We don't have a chance to sort things out, to mend the broken pieces of our relationship, but if it's space that she needs and my presence would only uneases her, then giving her that space is the only decent thing I can do.
I try to distract myself during the flight, burying my nose in reports and pretending that everything is normal. But the truth is, nothing feels normal anymore. The distance between Sena and me feels insurmountable, like a vast ocean separating two distant shores. Sleep eludes me, her tear-filled eyes, the tremor in her voice as she shut the door—these images haunt me. Every justification I crafted for my actions crumbles under the weight of her pain. Sena deserves the truth, the whole truth, but how can I offer it without causing further damage?
Landing in Tokyo feels surreal. The vibrant city, a kaleidoscope of neon lights and towering buildings, pulsates with life and mocks the hollowness I carry within. I find myself in a state of numbness, going through the motions without really feeling anything. Fans, a sea of them, surge forward upon exiting the plane, their excited screams a deafening roar. The familiar frenzy that usually fuels my adrenaline feels muted, a distant echo. I stare at the faces through my dark visor, a forced smile plastered on my lips as I wave mechanically at the cameras. This isn't a victory lap, it's a descent into a personal hell.
Bodyguards whisk me away in a sleek black car, the city a blur of neon lights as we race toward the hotel where I'll be staying. Junseok gets into another car because they know the two of us will most likely kill each other before we even reach the lobby.
Lorenzo turns to me from the passenger seat, making me tear my gaze off the passing scenery. "Are you alright?"
I force a nod, the movement feeling robotic and detached. "I'm fine," I mutter, my voice hollow even to my own ears. I'm anything but fine. Anything but focused on the upcoming race, anything but energized by the roar of the Tokyo crowd that will undoubtedly greet us tomorrow. Right now, the only thing that races through my mind is the hurt etched on Sena's face, the way her voice trembled when she shut the door. But admitting that feels like conceding defeat, and I'm not ready to confront the full extent of my mess yet. "Look, it's just a bit of pre-race jitters. Happens to the best of us, right?"
Lorenzo narrows his eyes. "Not to you. I've known you for years and I can sniff out a lie faster than a mechanic can change a tire. This isn't just jet lag, and you know it. Talk to me."
"It's something I need to figure out on my own." I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. "Do I need to attend the press conference tomorrow?" My question is a desperate attempt to deflect, to focus on anything but the emotional mess within.
He nods, his lips turning into a thin line. "And they're going to ask you personal questions because that's just the media's way. You know the drill."
"And they're going to expect some heartwarming, happy-couple story," I mutter, the taste of ash in my mouth. "A story I can't give them."
Lorenzo's gaze softens slightly. "Look, Heesung, I'm not here to pry. But whatever's going on, don't let it mess with your head during the race. You're Ferrari's only shot at the championship this year. We need you focused, laser-sharp. She wouldn't want you to throw away your dream because of this." His words hit a nerve. Sena wouldn't want that. Racing is more than just a career for me, it's a passion, a fire that's burned brightly since I was a kid. And the dream of becoming World Champion, of etching my name in the history books, that dream has been intertwined with the vision of sharing it with her. And yet, now, the trophy seemed to tarnish in my mind.
Reaching the opulent hotel, I barely register the plush surroundings. The sterile luxury of the penthouse suite does nothing to ease the gnawing emptiness within. Every corner screams emptiness and I find myself sinking onto the edge of the king-sized bed. Exhaustion finally catches up to me, but sleep offers no comfort. My mind replays the fight with Sena on a loop, her hurt echoing in the silence. At some point in the night, I wake up with a jolt, sweat dripping down my face like tears, the image of her tear-stained cheeks flashing behind my eyelids. I'm going insane.
The morning arrives painted in hues of orange and pink. The pre-race routine feels mechanical, a series of practiced motions that do little to distract from the knot of dread tightening in my gut. I throw myself into simulator sessions and when the practice session starts, I'm wearing my racing helmet so tightly it feels like it's squeezing the thoughts out of my head. The roar of the engine, the blur of the track—it's usually a balm, a focus. But today, every corner feels like a precipice, every decision a gamble. Is this how I'm supposed to race, knowing I might lose everything, even if I win the championship?
When I stop my car in the designated pit after the practice session, Lorenzo is already waiting, folding his arms over his chest as he stares at me. "You're driving like a possessed man," I take off my helmet and lean against the barricade, trying to catch my breath.
"That's a good thing, isn't it?" I let out a humorless laugh, the sound echoing hollowly in the pit lane. "Fast, focused, that's what wins races, right?"
"There's a fine line between intensity and recklessness," He says, his voice low. "And right now, you're teetering on the edge."
"Relax, I'm not about to crash," I snap, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. My heart thumps a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a counterpoint to the steady thrum of the engines in the background. Lorenzo's concern is valid, but right now, all I crave is control. Control over the car, control over the race, control over the mess I've made with Sena. From the corner of my eye, Junseok is approaching us and I clench my fists, the wound in my stomach starting to throb. "Here we go again."
"You seem distressed," He says, chuckling as if as if the tension around me is some kind of personal joke. "I mean, you should be. After all, I'll be the one leaving you in the dust today." My fists unclench and I shake my head in disbelief. His words no longer register as taunts, merely background noise. Who does he think he is to tell me what matters?
"I thought you were still at the start, considering how I couldn't even see your car. But I guess that's expected of you, isn't it? You're always kissing our asses while we bring home the glory," I walk past him, shoulders brushing as I laugh, amused by the way he scowls and clenches his fists.
"Seems like someone's got a pre-race case of nerves. Maybe missing your little cheerleader back home?" I stop in my tracks, his words now starting to make me think of committing murder. For a terrifying moment, I see red. The urge to lash out, to silence him permanently, is a physical thing, a hot coal scorching my insides. But this is exactly what he wants—to see me lose control.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms. "Why?" I breathe, forcing a smirk to plaster itself on my face. It feels brittle, like a cracked mirror reflecting a distorted version of myself. "Why even try to get under my skin, Junseok? Deep down, are you just scared I might actually win this time? Because I will fucking do." I turn to him, a twisted amusement glinting in my eyes. "I will take away victory from you every time you're as close as sniffing it. You attempted to end me. I will not hesitate to return the favor."
"Is that a threat?" Junseok's expression darkens, a flicker of unease crossing his features before he quickly masks it with a smirk of his own. "Because last time I checked, threats don't win races."
"No, Junseok, it's a promise." With that, I turn on my heel and stride away, leaving Junseok fuming in my wake while I get back to practice. And when I do, P1 belongs to me. The red and white checkered flag in the distance confirms my dominance on the track and the cold satisfaction in my chest twists into something sour. Each perfectly executed lap feels hollow. There's no shared satisfaction, no celebratory fist bump with my Sena, no warmth of her presence to mark these milestones. Even the praise from the team principal falls flat, their words echoing in the vast emptiness of my success.
Victory tastes like ashes without her by my side.
YOU ARE READING
✓ UNLIKELY MATCH | HEESEUNG
Fanfiction❝You're infuriating, you know that? But damn if the rebellion isn't seductive.❞
