VOLARE!

The racing ground stretches 5.5 kilometers. The road is guarded by biker gang members who block off paths that shouldn't be crossed, ensuring that riders don't cheat or accidentally take a wrong turn. 

What's surprising is the visible presence of policemen watching from a distance, their shades masking judgmental looks. They seem more focused on keeping innocent civilians away from the danger zone than interfering with the race. However, their presence feels ominous, like bald eagles patiently waiting for lions to finish their meal.

Razz's motorbike is undoubtedly one of the best. The brake grip is strong, the accelerator is powerful, and it even has a protective knee guard made of carbon steel. Judging by how the other motorbikes are equipped with dangerous spikes and hazardous add-ons, these guards could very well be lifesavers. Although the bike is heavy, the weight is offset by the additional rocket boosters mounted at the rear, designed to be activated at the right moment. 

When Jacques checks the balance, it feels perfect. This is undoubtedly an exceptional motorcycle. But why would Razz lend it to him? Wasn't he supposed to want Jacques to lose the race, especially since Jacques would be competing against Razz's own men?

One of Razz's men taps his chest and gestures toward Jacques , who is test-driving the motorbike. "You lent your bike to him? He's underage. He can't handle it—it's too heavy."

Razz smirks, his eyes fixed on Jacques from afar. "My son was right, though. The kid is strong enough to handle it."

Harvey nods in agreement, pride flickering in his expression.

"If he gets into an accident, I don't want to be the one cleaning up his scattered brain," the biker shaking his head.

"Then give him your helmet!" Razz snaps, pushing the man to do as he's told. However, before the biker reaches Jacques , Harvey intercepts, taking the helmet himself. "Let me do it. It'll be less suspicious if I'm the one who gives it to him."

Harvey walks over to Jacques , who is riding in circles, getting a feel for the motorcycle. "So, nervous?" Harvey asks.

Jacques drives a tight loop around Harvey before stopping. "More like... nostalgic. I can't believe how much I missed driving these things. It feels like we were so free back then, before I started chasing grades."

"I can see it in your eyes, Jacques ," Harvey replies, his tone serious. "You've been sleeping. Time to wake that phoenix and bring that light back into your eyes." He holds out the helmet—a sturdy iron one, heavy but undeniably protective.

Jacques accepts the helmet, turning it over in his hands to inspect it before putting it on. "Let's just make sure we win this so they let Charles go. Afterward, though, you owe me an explanation of how things got this way."

"Promise. Good luck, man!" Harvey says, extending a fist. Jacques bumps it in return, determination glinting in his eyes.

***

A pretty blonde girl with an appealing figure waves the flag, signaling the start of the race. The motorcycles roar to life, turning the sleeping city into a chaotic racing ground. The screeching of tires against the asphalt fills the air as Jacques speeds off, starting at the bottom rank. He watches as the other bikers begin attacking one another with clubs and crowbars. One rider loses control and crashes their motorbike onto the pavement, instantly knocking him out of the race.

Jacques's heart pounds in his chest—these men are dangerous!

One of the riders swings a machete, aiming for another's helmet. The iron material deflects the blade with a loud clank, sending a shower of sparks into the air. The rider who was attacked retaliates by ramming his motorcycle into the assailant, forcing him off balance and sending him tumbling into the sewage drain at the side of the road.

Honestly, it makes Jacques nervous because he doesn't know what to do if they decide to attack him. But he has only one strategy to handle it: be the one in the lead. Be number one so no one can ever reach him. And he has three laps to do it!

It wasn't an easy task, though. As Jacques tried to slide past two riders in front of him, he assessed the situation carefully. The rider on the right, armed with an iron flail in his left hand, seemed less likely to attack. Jacques decided to pass him on the right, keeping his eyes sharp, aware of any sudden movements that could push him off track and end his race.

When the road took a sharp turn to the right, he seized his opportunity and accelerated. To his surprise, no one seemed to care about him. Instead, the two riders were too focused on trying to kill each other, completely ignoring Jacques .

Did they just let me pass like that?

Even the third and fourth riders in front of him, who had every chance to hit him or slam their motorcycles against him, simply ignored Jacques as if he didn't even exist!

What the hell is going on?!

Whatever it was, Jacques found it unsettlingly weird. Just as he was about to wonder why they let him pass, the road veered toward the flyover. His heart began to race faster. This was his favorite part.

The sleek concrete structure lifted him higher, offering a new perspective of the city below, creating the illusion of flying.

The moment he hit the incline, something inside him shifted.

It felt like something within him had awakened. He could feel it in his veins—the jolt of fiery excitement crawling under his skin. And suddenly, it was like waking up from a long sleep.

A wave of nostalgia crashed over him. He remembered the days when he was carefree, when the thrill of racing was everything, and when he didn't have to chase something he wasn't good at, something he would never be good at.

Something that was never meant for him.

He thought about Charles—how he had once been the center of his world, and how everything had shifted the moment Charles left him for Harvey, all while Jacques was fighting for their bond, to be together.

How much he felt like trash now.

But as the flyover continued upward, the road climbed even higher. People might be scared now, but at the peak, the towering buildings on either side of him formed a gateway to the starry night sky Jacques had always loved.

His breath caught in his chest, and his emotions swelled. He felt as though the road was guiding him to a place he had been searching for— a place where his heart could tremble with the excitement of passion. A path that had always been a part of his dream.

Finally, he knew where he belonged.

Tears streamed down his face. He opened his helmet's visor, letting the cold night wind rush in and dry his falling tears.

There was no greater feeling than this—the sensation of being so close to the sky, to the stars, to something that had been calling him all this time. For the first time in so long, he felt truly alive, as though his very essence was finally in harmony with the world around him.

He longed to be part of the stars, to soar higher and higher. There was nothing more he wanted than to be free, suspended in the sky forever.

And then, without realizing it, a strange warmth spread across his left forearm. His forearm began to glow, forming the shape of a new tattoo—an eagle with its wings outstretched. The spirit of the eagle had attached itself to Jacques , lending its wind power to support the young rider. A surge of wind flowed through him, and suddenly, the motorcycle beneath him felt like an extension of his own body. The speed intensified, the power of the wind propelling him forward with an almost supernatural force.

With controlled precision, he surpassed the leading rider, soaring ahead unchallenged.

The race was over. He crossed the finish line, but Jacques didn't stop. He couldn't. He wanted more!

The feeling was too powerful, too intoxicating.

This was where he belonged! This is where he felt alive the most. Why should he stop now that winning no longer mattered?

He pushed the bike into another lap, wanting to feel that freedom again, that rush of flight as he soared across the flyover.

This was the moment that mattered—the moment he felt truly himself again. And as he raced on, his heart beat in sync with the road, with the wind.

And when he reached that "stargate" point once more, his dried tears began to fall again. It felt like meeting a long-lost true love that was hidden among the stars.

It was everything he had ever wanted—to be in a place that felt like home. In the sky.

"Dear me... I apologize. I will never let anyone take the sky from me again. Never! Not even Charles!"

Enough is enough!