The lights snapped out. Engines roared in unison, thirty beasts unleashed down the straight.
Cruz launched clean, his car hooking up perfectly, surging forward. The two cars alongside him jostled for space, sparks flying as wheels brushed. Behind them, Leo reacted a split second later — just enough to feel the pressure, just enough to feed the narrative.
But then the fire inside him took over. He dropped the clutch harder, threw the car into the gap on the right. Two rivals hesitated, and he slipped past, slicing into third place before the first corner.
The commentators erupted.
"Leo Lastname with an incredible launch! From fifth to third before Turn 1!""But can he keep it? This track is narrow — there's no margin for error!"
The first corner was chaos. Cruz braked late, holding the inside line. The second-place driver tried to muscle him wide. Leo saw the gap — a hole no sane driver would take. He dove anyway.
The car twitched, tires squealed, metal kissed metal. Gasps echoed from the grandstands as three cars barreled through the corner side by side.
For a heartbeat, it looked like disaster. Then Leo emerged, sliding through with impossible reflexes. He was in second. Cruz ahead. The world watching.
Lap after lap, Cruz controlled the pace. His car looked untouchable, gliding through corners like it was on rails. Leo's machine fought him, twitching under braking, squirming in high-speed bends. The sabotage was still there, hidden in the setup, sapping precious tenths.
But Leo didn't care. He matched Cruz blow for blow, clawing back every inch with raw aggression. Where Cruz was smooth, Leo was violent. Where Cruz was calm, Leo was chaos.
The duel lit up the broadcast.
"This is extraordinary! Cruz, the reigning champion, against the rookie who refuses to play by the rules!""Look how much Leo's fighting the car — and still he keeps the gap alive!"
Then the politics bled onto the track.
On lap 15, the call came over Leo's radio."Box, box. We're switching strategy. Repeat: box this lap."
Adrian's voice broke in instantly, sharp as a blade."Negative, Leo! Stay out! That's a trap — they'll hold you in traffic!"
Leo hesitated. Seconds mattered. But the trust in Adrian's voice tipped the scales."Staying out."
He flew past the pit entry, ignoring the team's official order. The pit wall erupted in angry chatter, but Adrian just smirked."Good call, kid. We're not playing their game."
By lap 20, Cruz pitted, rejoining just ahead of Leo. The fresh tires gave him a surge of speed, pulling a gap. The commentators declared it decisive.
But Leo had saved his fuel, saved his tires. When he finally pitted two laps later, his out-lap was savage. He pushed so hard the rear nearly snapped in every corner, sparks spraying as he scraped curbs.
He rejoined just behind Cruz — closer than before.
The tension boiled. Fans screamed with every lap. Some cheered Cruz's precision. Others chanted Leo's name like a war cry. The cameras captured it all: Cruz cool as ice, Leo's car writhing under his hands like a wild animal.
On lap 32, the attack came.
Down the main straight, Leo tucked into the slipstream. The air roared around him, the engine screaming at the limiter. He pulled to the inside, late-braking into Turn 1.
Cruz defended hard, slamming the door. The two cars touched, carbon fiber shattering into the air. The crowd erupted — half in cheers, half in horror.
"Contact! They've made contact!"
Leo caught the slide, dirt flying as two wheels ran over the grass. He didn't lift. He forced the car back onto the track, still side by side with Cruz.
Turn 2. Turn 3. The battle raged wheel-to-wheel, millimeters apart. Sparks flew in the dusk like fireworks.
Finally, into Turn 4, Leo braked later, deeper, crazier. His car twitched sideways, smoke pouring off the tires. For a moment it looked like he'd lost it.
But he didn't. He held it. And he emerged ahead.
The grandstands exploded. The commentators screamed."Leo Lastname takes the lead! Against all odds, against the system, he's done it!"
But Cruz wasn't finished. He tucked into the slipstream, biting back immediately.
For lap after lap, they fought like gladiators, trading blows with inches to spare. Cruz's precision against Leo's ferocity, champion against wildfire. Every corner was a war.
By the final lap, they were still nose-to-tail. The entire paddock was silent, sponsors holding their breath, journalists already rewriting their headlines.
Through the last sector, Leo's car twitched dangerously, tires shredded, the sabotage setup biting harder. Cruz loomed in his mirrors, waiting for the mistake.
But Leo didn't give it. He forced the car through the final corner, sparks exploding from the floor, engine screaming to the line.
The checkered flag waved.
Leo crossed it first.
The circuit detonated in noise. Fans screaming. Commentators losing their voices. Fireworks in the night sky.
Leo screamed into the radio, his voice cracking with adrenaline."YES! YES! They can't stop me! They can't f***ing stop me!"
Adrian shouted back, laughing and crying at the same time."That's how you burn them, kid! That's how you burn them all!"
In the garages, Cruz slammed his helmet against the wall, his cool facade cracked at last. In the sponsor suites, arguments broke out, voices raised, deals threatened.
But none of it mattered in that moment. Because the world had just seen it:
The Wildfire had won.
Leo's car crawled through the cooldown lap, engine heat shimmering into the night. His hands shook on the wheel, adrenaline still surging. Fans leaned over the fences, waving flags, screaming his name.
The Wildfire. They were chanting it now, thousands of voices in unison. It rolled over the circuit like thunder.
In his helmet, he laughed, half disbelieving, half feral. For one night, he had burned through their walls, their lies, their sabotage. He hadn't just won a race — he had stolen their script and set it on fire.
Cruz, trailing back to the pits, didn't wave to the crowd. His visor stayed down. His hands gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles whitened. He had never been beaten like this — not by strategy, not by machinery, but by raw defiance.
The camera caught his expression as he parked: rage barely contained beneath the polished surface. It was the first crack in his perfect armor, and the world saw it.
In the garages, chaos reigned. Leo's mechanics — the ones still loyal — leapt into each other's arms. Others stood stiff, eyes darting nervously toward the executives pacing like trapped animals. Adrian ripped his headset off and stormed toward the pit wall, shouting:
"Try to spin this one! Go on, I dare you!"
Marlow turned on him, venom in his voice."You think this changes anything? One win doesn't make a champion."
Adrian leaned in close, his smile sharp."No, but it makes the people believe. And belief is something you can't sponsor into existence."
The podium ceremony was a battlefield dressed as a celebration.
Leo stood on the top step, arms raised, champagne spraying into the night. The crowd roared with him, chanting his name, drowning out the anthem. He pulled off his cap, pointed it at the fans, then at the camera.
"This is for you," he mouthed, the words clear enough to ignite another wave of cheers.
Cruz stood one step below, jaw clenched, clapping stiffly. The cameras lingered on his face, searching for the crack. He knew it. And he hated it.
When the champagne bottles popped, Leo didn't just spray his crew — he turned deliberately and soaked Cruz, drenching him in defiance. The crowd erupted. Cruz didn't smile.
The press conference after was a war zone.
"Leo, how do you respond to critics who said you couldn't handle the pressure?""Leo, was the contact with Cruz reckless or deliberate?""Leo, are you racing for the team or against it?"
He leaned forward, eyes blazing."I race to win. That's the only answer that matters. You all saw the track. You all saw the fight. You decide what you want to call it. But me? I call it the truth."
The room went electric. Reporters whispered, fingers flying over keyboards. He hadn't given them safe soundbites. He had given them fire.
Cruz's turn came. His smile was thin, his words controlled."It's easy to be reckless when you've got nothing to lose. But championships are about control. About thinking bigger than one race. Some people still need to learn that."
The dig landed. But for the first time, it didn't dominate. Because the headlines weren't writing themselves about Cruz anymore. They were writing about Leo.
That night, the sponsors gathered in private rooms, voices raised.
"This kid's uncontrollable!""He's dangerous!""He's a goldmine — look at the engagement metrics! He's bigger than Cruz already!"
Deals trembled. Alliances cracked. The political machine groaned under the weight of something it couldn't fully suppress.
Because one truth had become undeniable:
Leo wasn't just a problem anymore. He was a movement.
And in his hotel room, away from the noise, Leo sat on the floor with the champagne bottle still in his hand, staring out at the city lights. His body ached, his mind buzzed, but his chest felt light for the first time in weeks.
They would come for him harder now. He knew it. The sabotage, the politics, the lies — none of that was going away.
But neither was he.
He took a long drink, wiped his mouth, and whispered to himself:
They tried to bury me. But I was wildfire all along.