Ava had just finished wrapping the bandage around her palm when the clinic door burst open.
"AVA!"
Daisy rushed in, still in her school uniform—a red pleated skirt, white long-sleeved shirt, and a neat black bow at her collar. She was small and delicate, only 5'1", with black curly hair spilling down to her waist. Her phoenix-green eyes were bright with worry, and her glossy orange lips were pursed as she hurried over.
"I heard you got injured," Daisy said anxiously.
Then she turned.
Her gaze landed on Asher.
Her expression changed instantly.
"So it was you?" she snapped, stepping forward. "Stealing test papers wasn't enough? How dare you!"
Asher paused.
Slowly, he looked at them.
"If your friend is a sore loser," he said calmly, his voice smooth and almost pleasant, "then just say it."
The room went quiet.
"Making excuses for failure, letting others fight for you, and defaming my name just because I proved you're not that smart?" His lips curved slightly. "Pathetic."
Even his insults sounded gentle.
He picked up the first aid box and turned to the nurse. "I'll return this."
And with that, he walked out.
Daisy stood frozen.
Ava tilted her head and scoffed softly.
"Let's go," she said.
She took two steps, then stopped.
"What I hate more than losing," Ava continued coolly, "is people thinking I can't accept it. That I'm weak and you my friend should know when not to believe rumors it is as being blind not all rumors are true."
She didn't look back at Daisy.
"If he cheated, do you really think he'd still be in school? I already investigated. He didn't cheat. And I'm the student union governor. Do you think I arranged the exam seating for decoration?"
She walked away.
Daisy swallowed and followed silently.
Grade 12, Class 5
The classroom was loud, chaotic, and half-asleep.
"Brother Prim," Michael said, weaving through desks toward the back row, "are you going to the racing club today?"
A group of boys surrounded someone sprawled across two chairs, headphones on.
Michael knocked the desk. "Prim."
Prim lifted his head, running a hand through his hair, hazel cat-like eyes narrowing.
"What fucking race club opens today?" he muttered.
Daniel rolled his eyes. "The underground one. Did you forget?"
"Oh." Prim leaned back. "You should've said race. A guy promised me a million if he lost today. I would've remembered money."
Class started.
Prim read manga under his desk not bothering to take note,the teacher already use to this acted blind as he continues to teach .
After school, they climbed over the back wall and took a taxi.
The entrance was a normal restaurant.
The taxi stopped a street away from the venue.
From the outside, it was just another high-end restaurant—warm yellow lights glowing through wide glass windows, soft jazz playing faintly through the doors. Expensive cars lined the street, couples laughing as they stepped inside, the scent of grilled meat and wine drifting into the night air.
Prim pushed the door open first.
The restaurant was busy. Servers in black vests moved swiftly between tables, balancing trays of food and drinks. Customers chatted, glasses clinked, and laughter rose and fell like background music.
As Prim walked in, a few servers glanced up.
One paused.
Another frowned slightly.
He didn't wear a staff uniform. He didn't ask for a table.
And yet—
No one stopped him.
A server met his eyes, hesitated, then subtly nodded and stepped aside. A couple at a nearby table whispered, curiosity flickering across their faces as Prim passed straight through the dining area, his friends following close behind.
They reached the door marked STAFF ONLY.
Prim didn't slow down.
The door opened, and the noise of the restaurant dulled instantly.
Inside, the narrow hallway smelled faintly of cleaning solution and metal. Staff lockers lined one side, a security camera blinking quietly above. A kitchen worker looked up—then quickly looked away.
Prim stopped in front of what looked like a solid wall.
He pressed his thumb against a barely visible panel.
A soft click.
The wall split open.
Hidden stairs spiraled downward, neon light bleeding up from below, the distant rumble of engines vibrating faintly through the steps.
The door sealed shut behind them.
The deeper they went, the louder it became—engines revving, crowds cheering, bass thumping against concrete.
By the time they reached the third underground floor, the air was thick with smoke, fuel, and excitement.
They entered a private room overlooking the track through reinforced glass. Below, cars roared past in blurs of color and light. Men shouted bets. Girls laughed. Money exchanged hands openly.
James was already there, leaning against the couch.
"Young Master Prim," James greeted with a grin. "Sometimes I forget you're still a student."he said taking note of the uniform
Daniel headed for the bar. Michael sat close to Prim.
"The race started?" Michael asked.
"The other team brought a new driver," James replied. "Ran a background check. Blank like he never existed."
Prim crunched on chips not reacting.
"Wow someone who have a blank background most be young master from a powerful family do you think he is the real deal " Michael asked
Then the door opened.
Music shifted.
Conversation paused.
Girls entered—curvy, confident, dressed in crop tops, denim shorts, and heels. Some served food. Others sat close naturally, like they belonged there elegant smile on their face.
"You look tense," a blonde murmured, fingers brushing Prim's chest. "Want a massage?"
"Sister," Prim said softly, smiling, "I'm still in school."
She blushed—but didn't move away.
James laughed. "Do you think he's a virgin? Want to be his first?"
"Why not?" the blonde purred. "Look at him."
Michael sighed. "We're invisible when Prim's around."
The blonde's hand slid lower.
Prim caught her wrist.
"You're not my type," he said politely.
He stood. "I'm going to shower."he said walking out of the room ignoring the hungry gaze from the girls
The room burst into laughter.
The blonde stormed out, embarrassed.
---
Got it. I'll polish only, add environment, pacing, and subtle tension, and keep it non-explicit and safe while preserving the unsettling, magnetic vibe you want. Third-person, cinematic, quiet menace. No unnecessary exaggeration.
The bathroom was quiet compared to the chaos outside.
White tiles. Dim lights humming softly above. The faint echo of engines and cheers bled through the concrete walls like a distant heartbeat. Water ran steadily from the sink as Prim stood there, staring at his hands as if they didn't belong to him.
He scrubbed once.
Then again.
The door creaked open.
Someone walked in.
Prim sensed it before he saw him.
The boy glanced at Prim through the mirror, lips curling into a lazy smirk, then moved to the sink beside him. He turned on the tap and began washing his hands slowly, deliberately, like he had nowhere else to be.
The silence stretched.
"Can you give me a lollipop?"
The voice was casual—almost playful.
The boy reached out, briefly holding Prim's wrist before letting go, then pointed at the bulge in Prim's pocket where the candy sat.
Prim froze.
For half a second, the world stalled.
Then he smiled—soft, polite, instinctive—and took out the lollipop, placing it into the stranger's hand.
Their fingers brushed.
Once.
Enough.
The boy's smile deepened as he took it, eyes lingering for just a beat longer than necessary.
Prim pulled his hand back immediately and turned to the sink again, scrubbing harder this time. The sound of water filled the space as he rubbed his skin like he wanted to erase the sensation entirely—especially where the stranger had touched.
Beside him, the boy continued washing his hands, completely relaxed, a quiet smile still playing on his lips.
Prim finished quickly and left without another glance.
The door closed.
The boy chuckled softly to himself.
"So cute," he murmured.
He unwrapped the candy and slipped it into his mouth.
"Delicious."
The door opened again.
"Master Luis," Han Min-woo said, stepping inside nervously, rubbing his palms together. "The race is about to start. That kid—Prim—stands no chance against you. He's all bark and no bite."
Luis laughed quietly.
"What's funny?" Han Min-woo asked, confused.
Luis turned his head slightly, eyes glittering.
"I'm laughing at you," he said pleasantly. "Wasn't that obvious? Should I point at you while I do it?"
Han Min-woo stiffened.
"I'm here for fun," Luis continued calmly. "You're here for money. You need me—not the other way around. So don't rush me."
He leaned closer, smiling.
"And let's be honest. You can't do anything to me."
Han Min-woo swallowed and nodded quickly.
"Good boy," Luis whispered.
He stepped out.
The lollipop was still between his lips. He pulled it out, frowned slightly as if it had lost its taste—then shrugged and put it back in.
....
Prim entered the private room reserved for him alone.
The door closed softly behind him, muting the roar of engines and cheers outside. The room was clean—too clean. Dark leather couch, low table, large screen fixed into the wall, air cool and filtered. No clutter. No unnecessary objects.
He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over the screen.
For a moment, he looked like he was about to make a call.
Then his gaze dropped.
The blue diamond bracelet around his wrist caught the light.
It drew attention to his delicate hand—long fingers, pale skin, veins faint beneath the surface.
Prim exhaled slowly.
To anyone else, it was just jewelry. Expensive, sure—but nothing unusual in his world.
In reality, it was the only thing keeping him still.
Prim had a severe obsession with cleanliness—so subtle most people never noticed. The kind that didn't show unless crossed. The kind that lived quietly under his skin.
Only people he trusted were allowed to touch him. People who knew his rules. People whose hands had been washed thoroughly enough to erase entire generations of germs.
If they couldn't meet that standard—
Then don't touch him.
That stranger in the bathroom had crossed the line.
The only reason Prim hadn't called his bodyguard to break the man's hand was the bracelet.
Engraved on the inside was a name.
The name of his late dog.
His therapist had told him to use the name of the person—or being—he loved most. To imagine them when his thoughts spiraled.
And it worked.
That bracelet had saved a life tonight.
Prim lowered his hand.
The urge passed.
He changed into his racing suit with precise movements, pulled on his gloves, fastened his helmet, and slipped on his face mask.
Control restored.
---
The garage was alive.
Engines revved. Mechanics shouted. The smell of fuel and rubber hung thick in the air. Lights flashed as cars rolled into position.
Prim's car waited for him.
A black sports car, sleek and aggressive, its surface reflecting the overhead lights like liquid shadow.
The bell rang.
Cars began lining up.
Then—
The crowd stirred.
Two identical sports cars rolled toward the starting line at the same time.
Same model. Same build.
One black.
One white.
A ripple of excitement passed through the audience.
The massive screen overhead lit up.
10… 9… 8…
Eyes locked onto the cars.
---