"Whoo..."
Patricia exhaled a shaky breath, standing at the mouth of the tunnel that led into the roaring arena.
The sound of the crowd hit her like a wave—cheers, chants, the thunder of anticipation vibrating through the walls.
"You can do this... you can do this..." she whispered, trying to steady her breath.
A gentle nudge pressed against her side.
It was Speed.
He could feel her nerves.
Patricia turned to him, her hand finding the familiar warmth of his head.
"It's okay, boy. We're going to win this. Come on."
She mounted him in one fluid motion, settling into the saddle with practiced grace. Her hands gripped the reins, though her fingers trembled slightly.
"We're going to do this. Yeah."
A voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"You can pray and calm yourself all you want..."
Patricia turned.
A man in a sleek black derby uniform sat atop a jet-black stallion. His face was obscured by a dark mask, but his large, round eyes locked onto hers with unsettling intensity.
"You're still going to lose, little lady," he sneered.
"Better swallow your pride and go home. This place ain't for someone like you. You'll find that out soon enough."
Patricia's jaw clenched. She opened her mouth to retort when—
"And now, ladies and gentlemen!"
"The rider everyone's been waiting to see! The woman who made history just by stepping onto this track! The late great Simon Milton's daughter! The reason this year's derby arena is packed to the brim—Miss Patricia Milton!"
The crowd erupted.
The roar was deafening.
Patricia urged Speed forward, exiting the tunnel and stepping into the blinding light of the arena.
Her breath caught.
The stands were overflowing. Every seat filled. Every eye on her.
The world was watching.
Her heart pounded. Her stomach twisted. A bead of sweat slid down her temple. The cheers around her warped into a muffled hum, like voices underwater—slow, distant, disorienting.
She knew this feeling.
Fear.
And its cruel twin—anxiety—rushed in behind it.
Her vision blurred. Her grip on Speed's reins loosened. Her balance wavered.
She was losing control.
Until...
"Dad..."
A memory flickered to life in Patricia's mind, soft and golden.
---
They were sitting on the porch swing at the ranch, swaying gently as the late afternoon sun dipped toward the horizon. The open field stretched before them, dotted with wildflowers and tall grass swaying in the breeze. The sky was painted in hues of orange and violet, like a watercolor dream.
"Yes, sweetie. What's up?" Simon asked, his voice calm and warm.
"Don't you ever get scared?" a younger Patricia asked, her legs swinging beneath the bench.
"When you walk into the arena and see all those people watching you?"
Simon chuckled softly.
"Mmm... yes. Of course I get scared. I mean, all those people—coming from all over the world just to watch me race. That kind of pressure can really get to you."
He paused, his gaze distant.
"And then there are the crows."
"Crows?" she blinked.
"Yeah. The demoralizing ones. They squawk at you with their doubts and insults, trying to make you feel like you're nothing. Like you'll lose. Like you'll disappoint everyone who believed in you."
He sighed.
"They got to me once. My first derby season. I let the fear in... and I lost. I disappointed a lot of people. Lost a lot of fans."
Young Patricia's face fell.
"Oh no... that's horrible. There's nothing I hate more than being a disappointment. I'd rather just give up and go home than let people down."
Simon turned to her, his eyes kind but firm.
"Then you'd be an even bigger disappointment. Because giving up without trying? That's the only real failure. If you fall after giving it your all, that's not defeat—it's a step toward victory."
"But what if you keep failing? What if you keep disappointing people?"
"I won't," he said simply.
"Because my enemy isn't failure. It's fear. Fear is the real enemy. And once I learned to face it, I found my way to victory."
"Okay... but how?" she asked, eyes wide.
Simon smiled.
"First, I take a deep breath. I calm my nerves. Then I scan the arena—not for the crowd, but for the faces of the people I care about. I focus only on them. Their presence reminds me why I'm racing. For them. That gives me courage."
He reached down, miming a gentle stroke.
"Then I calm my horse. I let him know we're in this together. That we're a team. And with that... I ride. I ride until I cross that finish line."
"And then—victory!" young Patricia beamed.
Simon laughed.
"Yes. Victory. So remember, Patricia—whether it's a race or any other challenge life throws your way: take a deep breath, calm your heart, and think of the people you love. That's where your strength lives."
The memory faded like mist in the setting sun.
Patricia took two deep breaths, steadying the storm inside her chest.
When her heartbeat slowed, she lifted her gaze and scanned the arena—searching for the faces that mattered.
There, in the VIP booth, sat Mr. Saccoth. Beside him, Bernard. Both were watching her with quiet pride, their smiles full of encouragement. The fear began to melt away.
She looked further and spotted Carlos and Steven, nodding at her from the sidelines.
And then—near the edge of the VIP section—she saw him.
Isaac.
The love of her life.
His piercing blue gaze was fixed on her, unwavering. Their eyes met, and in that instant, the roar of the crowd faded into silence. The world narrowed to just the two of them.
Isaac mouthed, "You can do this," and gave her a firm, grounding nod.
A soft grunt broke the moment.
Speed.
Patricia smiled and stroked his neck.
"Don't worry, boy. It's okay. We're okay. We're going to do this. Together. Alright?"
Speed grunted again, as if in agreement.
"Good boy."
"Racers, on your marks!"
The crowd's roar dulled to a distant hum as Patricia focused on the track ahead.
"Three..."
Her heart pounded like a war drum.
"Two..."
She tightened her grip on the reins.
"One..."
Boom!
The gates burst open.
The horses thundered onto the track.
"And they're off! Leading the charge is the reigning Speed Race champion of the South-West region—the masked Eldorado!"
Patricia's eyes locked onto the rider ahead—the same man who had tried to rattle her in the tunnel. He was already in front, his black stallion slicing through the wind.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Speed Race! Racers must cross the finish line and break new records!"
"Hyaah! Speed! You can do it!" Patricia shouted, urging her horse forward.
"Incredible! Milton is gaining speed—she's just passed two contestants! Remarkable for a first-time racer!"
"Hyaah! Come on, Speed!"
"She's now just one rider behind Eldorado! Milton is showing real skill—could she be going for the victor's cup?"
The finish line loomed ahead, shimmering in the distance.
Patricia smiled, leaning forward to gain momentum, her body moving in sync with Speed's powerful strides.
But then—
A flash.
A blinding light.
It seared into her vision, white-hot and disorienting. She squinted, trying to focus, but the glare was too strong.
She turned her head—just in time to see the source.
A beam of light, coming from the arena stands.
And then—darkness. The light vanished.
But it was too late.
Patricia's eyes widened in horror.
She was barreling straight toward the rider in front.
"Haa!"
Gasps erupted from the crowd as she hurtled forward, seconds from a devastating collision.
But Patricia acted on instinct.
She pulled her own trick.
Leaning back in the saddle, she yanked Speed's reins with force, causing him to rear up on his hind legs. In one fluid motion, she steered him hard to the right—toward the bend near the finish line—then surged forward the moment his hooves hit the ground.
For a terrifying second, she felt him stumble.
She closed her eyes, bracing for the fall.
"Neigh!!!"
Speed's cry rang out—sharp, defiant.
Time seemed to freeze.
Patricia felt him rise again, his front legs lifting as if to catch the wind.
But instead of falling, Speed landed cleanly.
And stopped.
She opened her eyes slowly.
There was no one in front of her.
Just open track.
And silence.
Until—
"YEAH!!!"
A thunderous roar erupted from the crowd.
"She won!! Patricia Milton has won the race!! Did you see that finish?! Ladies and gentlemen, that was incredible! And not only that—she's shattered her father's record by forty-five seconds! Patricia Milton is the new champion of the Speed Race!"
Stunned, Patricia sat up straight in the saddle, blinking in disbelief.
She turned—and there was Eldorado, fuming atop his black stallion, just a few paces behind her. His masked face was unreadable, but his posture radiated fury.
Still dazed, Patricia looked up at the massive screen above the arena.
The replay played in slow motion.
She watched herself maneuver Speed out of harm's way, steering him toward the bend where there was just enough space. She saw herself lean forward, urging him on as his hooves struck the ground. He stumbled—just slightly—but then surged forward like a bullet.
They passed Eldorado in a blur of dust and thunder.
And crossed the finish line.
Speed reared up in triumph, his front legs slicing the air as they came to a halt just beyond the line.
Patricia stared at the screen, her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide.
'Did... I do that?'
Just then, her attention was yanked away as flashing lights exploded in her face.
Cameras. Reporters. Chaos.
"Miss Milton! Miss Milton! Over here!"
"Where did you learn that incredible trick you just pulled?"
"How do you feel about winning?"
"You just broke your father's record for the short-distance Speed Race! What does that mean to you?"
"Miss Milton! Miss Milton!"
The questions came like bullets—fast, loud, relentless. Patricia couldn't get a word in. Speed shifted beneath her, growing uneasy from the noise and flashing lights.
And then—
"Okay! Okay! Enough! Now give my doll some space, will ya?"
Her throat tightened.
That voice.
That sickeningly smooth voice.
Jethro Morales pushed through the crowd, flashing his signature smile as if he owned the moment. Patricia's stomach churned. Rage simmered beneath her skin, barely contained. After what his monstrous brother had tried to do to her sister, it took every ounce of her self-control not to lash out.
So much self-control.
"Mr. Morales!" a reporter called. "Is it true Miss Milton is under your sponsorship? How do you feel about her incredible win?"
Jethro turned to the cameras, beaming.
"Proud, of course! My beautiful doll here has proven to be worth every cent. She's leaving those judgmental, segregating narcissists in the dust with her champion skills. She's proving that the track isn't just for men anymore—and I fully support her mission. It's about time history changed. And my beautiful doll is making it happen."
Patricia rolled her eyes.
Then, with practiced poise, she stepped forward.
"Thank you for the support, Mr. Morales. I truly appreciate it."
The cameras turned to her.
Her voice was calm. Clear. Commanding.
"But I wouldn't be here without my late father, Simon Milton—his mentorship shaped me. And I owe this victory to the people who helped me reach this moment. I promise to continue breathing life into my father's legacy, to honor his memory by racing with everything I've got."
She paused, her gaze sweeping the crowd.
"And to every woman out there—this is for you. We can chase glory. We can make history. No matter what society says, we belong on this track too. Thank you all for your support."
She gave a graceful nod.
"Now, if you'll excuse me—my horse is tired. And so am I. We'd like to rest."
She turned and gently guided Speed back toward the stables.
The reporters surged forward again, but security stepped in, forming a barrier. Their attention quickly shifted—drawn once more to Jethro, who had launched into another of his sponsor-chic monologues, all charm and flash.
Patricia didn't look back.
Patricia arrived at the stables, her adrenaline still humming beneath her skin. A stable boy stepped forward to help her dismount and take Speed away.
She ruffled Speed's mane and leaned close to his ear.
"You did so well, boy. Rest up—we've got more to conquer tomorrow. I'll swing by later with some special snacks for that stellar performance. Mmm..."
Speed neighed softly, as if pleased with himself, before the stable boy led him away.
"Looks like I underestimated you, Milton."
The voice slithered in from behind.
Patricia turned slowly.
Eldorado stood there, leading his black stallion into the stables. Even without his mask, he radiated something... wrong. Something cold and crawling. Just looking at him gave her goosebumps.
He stepped closer, his movements deliberate.
"Think you can beat me again tomorrow?"
Patricia took a breath, steady and sure.
"You think I won't?"
Eldorado laughed.
Not a normal laugh.
A low, eerie, unnatural sound that made her skin crawl.
Then he stopped.
And stared.
His eyes—completely black. No whites. No light. Just void.
Patricia's stomach twisted. She had never seen anything like it. And despite herself, a flicker of fear crept in.
"Listen to me, you bitch," he hissed.
"The only reason you won today is because I let you. Don't think you'll get that lucky again. Tomorrow, I'll drag you to hell—and we'll see if your little pride can claw its way out alive."
He turned to leave.
But then—
"I'll beat you again."
He froze.
"And again."
He turned back, slowly.
"Until you beg me for mercy."
Eldorado stared at her.
But this time, Patricia didn't flinch.
She met his gaze head-on.
No fear.
Only fire.
Eldorado snorted.
"You said what?"
Patricia stepped closer, her voice steady and sharp.
"I said I'll gladly beat you again. And again. Leave you choking in my dust every time I cross that finish line. Yeah, that's right."
She leaned in, locking eyes with him.
His gaze looked normal now—no trace of the black void she'd seen earlier. She blinked, wondering if it had been a trick of the light. A hallucination born of fear.
But now?
She felt no fear.
Only fire.
And she didn't know where this boldness came from—but she welcomed it.
"You thought you could scare me with your little threats?" she said, her voice rising.
"Let me tell you something, Mr. Eldorado. I didn't spend the past few months waking up at 3 a.m., training until my body ached, my hands blistered, and my legs gave out—just to be scared off by a coward in a mask."
She stepped even closer, her breath brushing his cheek.
"I came here to win. And I will win—whether you like it or hate it to your rotten core!"
Eldorado's jaw clenched.
"You want to send me to hell?" she scoffed.
"Don't worry... your hell is coming. And this time, it'll be permanent."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Vel'thar niraek dosh (I am coming for you)."
His breath caught.
Her eyes—glowed blue.
A cold, ancient blue.
Eldorado gasped, stumbling back as if struck. His body prickled with invisible needles, his lungs constricting. He couldn't breathe. A sharp trickle slid from his nose.
He touched it.
Blood.
"Aaaah!" he cried out as the blood turned black—then sizzled, burning his skin like acid.
"Mr. Eldorado!"
A man burst into the stables, rushing to his side.
Eldorado's finger was already blistered, the skin melted like wax. The man recoiled in horror, then turned to Patricia with fury.
"Bitch! What have you done?!"
Patricia blinked, dazed.
"Wha...t? I didn't do anything—"
"Playing innocent, huh? You're gonna pay for this!"
He lunged at her, hand raised to strike—
Thwack!
A flying kick slammed into his chest, sending him stumbling backward.
He looked up, stunned.
A man stood between them—black shirt, black denim, black sneakers. A mask covered his face and hair, but his sapphire-blue eyes blazed with fury.
Isaac.
He glanced at Eldorado, writhing in pain, then at the man's melted finger. His eyes widened.
The attacker recovered, ready to strike again—but a firm hand stopped him.
"Stop. Leave them." Eldorado's voice was hoarse but commanding.
"But sir, she attacked you! I'm not leaving until we get justice!"
"I said don't, you idiot!" Eldorado snapped.
"Get me to the hospital. Now."
The man hesitated, then helped Eldorado to his feet.
"Mark my words," he growled at Patricia.
"The Derby Council is going to hear about this!"
He stormed out, supporting his injured boss.
Silence fell.
Isaac exhaled, then turned to Patricia—just in time to catch her as she swayed.
"Hey... hey, easy. I've got you," he whispered, steadying her.
Patricia's body trembled. Her vision blurred.
"Isaac..." she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Without hesitation, Isaac scooped her into his arms and carried her out of the stables—toward the hotel where the racers were staying.
Isaac entered the room and gently laid Patricia on the bed. He crossed to the mini-fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and returned to her side.
Crouching beside her, he helped her take a few sips.
After a moment, she paused to breathe.
"There... better?" he asked softly.
Patricia nodded.
"Yeah... I think so."
She took a few more sips as Isaac removed his mask and rested a hand on her thigh, gently caressing it.
"I don't know what happened," she murmured.
"I suddenly felt so weak. And that man—he tried to attack me. But I don't know what I did wrong."
Isaac's expression darkened.
"What happened? How did... Eldorado end up like that?"
Patricia pinched the space between her eyebrows, trying to piece it together.
"I don't know. I can't remember. The last thing I recall is him threatening me—trying to scare me into quitting. He turned to leave... and then everything went black. The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of him, and he was screaming in pain. His finger was... melted. Bleeding. Before I could even process it, that man showed up, accused me of hurting him, and tried to hit me. Then you arrived... and I felt like all my strength drained out of me. That's all I remember."
Isaac rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed.
"J3, send me the security footage from the arena stables—timestamped a few minutes ago. Thanks."
He turned back to her.
"Don't worry. We'll figure this out."
His phone buzzed.
"It's the footage."
Patricia leaned in as the video played.
It showed Eldorado entering the stables, handing off his horse, then approaching Patricia. They exchanged words. He turned to leave.
"This is it," Patricia said.
"This is when everything went black."
On screen, both Eldorado and Patricia froze mid-step.
Then—without warning—Eldorado was crouched on the ground, howling in pain, clutching his melted finger. Patricia stood before him, unmoving.
Moments later, the other man burst in, and the chaos unfolded.
Isaac replayed the moment again. And again.
No glitch. No cut. No visible transition.
"What the fuck..." he muttered.
"This can't be right. How the hell did I just appear in front of him? It doesn't make any sense." Patricia's voice was shaky.
Isaac narrowed his eyes, watching the footage frame by frame.
Then he saw it.
A horse in a nearby stall shifted during the exact five-second freeze. It moved naturally—unaffected by whatever had just happened.
'What the hell...' Isaac thought, pausing the footage.
"That doesn't make sense, right? Someone must've tampered with the video before it got to us."
He turned to her, his voice low and protective.
"Don't worry, Sweeches. I'm going to figure this out. But be careful. If that bastard tries anything again, I want you safe. I'm posting tight security around your room while I investigate."
He looked her in the eyes.
"I promise—I'll get to the bottom of this."
He kissed her gently on the lips, then her forehead.
"Now rest. I'll see you soon, okay?"
Patricia nodded.
"Okay."
Isaac smiled, stood, and pulled his mask back on.
"I'll be back soon."
As he exited the room, his phone buzzed again.
He opened the message:
'Captain. We've located the old McCoy mansion. It's in ruins. Looks abandoned. What should we do?'
Isaac typed back:
' Wait for me there. Get a team on standby. It could be a hidden lair for our most wanted.'
' Affirmative.'
He pocketed the phone and stepped out into the night.
"I hope this time... we finally get a grip on what's real—and what's not."
He muttered the words to himself as he walked toward his car and drove off into the shadows.