That morning, inside the classroom at Hillcrest High School.
Brian Marcos sat relaxed at his desk, hands behind his head. Around him, a few classmates—Jayden, Malik, and Emma—chatted casually about homework, games, and cool cars.
Jayden leaned over, "Yo, did you print your paper yet?"
Brian chuckled, "Paper? Man… totally forgot."
Malik, half-bored, swiveled toward the window and peeked outside. His eyes widened as he pointed.
"Yo, is that… Jack down there?"
Brian quickly got up from his chair and moved to the window. Sure enough, Jack O'Conner was standing down in front of the school, leaning casually against his matte-black sport bike, helmet dangling from his hand.
He wasn't in a uniform. Just a half-zipped leather jacket over a plain T-shirt. Calm, cool, unreadable as always. Some students nearby were already whispering about him, especially the girls.
Brian smirked.
"Dude always pulls up like he's in a movie."
Without hesitation, Brian jogged downstairs.
Out front, near the school gate.
Brian approached Jack with a laid-back swagger.
Jack turned slightly and tossed a folder toward him.
"Your paper. You left it on my desk this morning," he said flatly.
Brian caught it and replied in casual slang,
"Yo, you just saved my grade, bro. I was about to get smoked."
Jack just raised an eyebrow, spinning his helmet in his fingers.
Brian stepped a bit closer. "Hey, they already left? My mom, your dad, Letty?"
Jack nodded. "Yeah. Took the first ferry out around seven."
Silence lingered for a second. Jack glanced at his bike, then back at Brian.
"I'm heading out. And don't forget—you owe me."
Brian blinked. "Owe you?"
Jack gave him that cold, half-smirk expression.
"My cap. You crushed it yesterday during that tire-drag race at home."
Brian burst out laughing, "Man, you're the one who left it in the middle of the course!"
Jack shook his head slowly, slid on his helmet, and mounted his bike.
Before starting the engine, he added,
"I came to drop your paper, not clean up your messes."
Then with a soft rev, he rolled away from the school.
Brian stood there for a moment, looking down at the folder in his hand.
"That guy never chills… but always shows up when it counts," he muttered, smiling.
A few minutes later… at Westburn Academy.
The matte-black sport bike rolled smoothly into the student parking lot. Jack O'Conner hopped off, helmet in hand, walking toward the school building without saying a word. Students glanced his way—some out of curiosity, others with quiet respect. Jack wasn't loud, but his presence always drew attention. He wasn't flashy, just real.
Inside the classroom, the atmosphere was still relaxed. The teacher hadn't arrived yet. Students lounged in their seats, scrolling through phones or chatting.
Jack entered and walked straight to the back row, throwing his bag onto his desk. He didn't greet anyone—except for one person.
From the far back corner came a familiar voice, playful and confident,
"Brooo, look who finally decided to show up—Mr. Mysterious Wheels himself."
Jack glanced over and cracked a half-smile. Sitting beside him was a guy in a dark hoodie—Zeke Pearce, son of Roman Pearce, a long-time friend of Jack's dad. Zeke was loud, smooth-talking, and the complete opposite of Jack—but they clicked in their own way.
Zeke slapped Jack lightly on the shoulder and offered a stick of gum.
"Thought you were skipping again. Your folks already left?"
Jack opened his notebook and replied flatly,
"Yeah. Early morning. Took Sofia too."
Zeke chuckled, spinning a pencil in his fingers.
"Alone in the house? Damn, time for a little fun."
Jack shot him a dry look.
"I'm alone. Doesn't mean I'm lonely."
Zeke laughed. "Man, you're like a character straight out of a noir film."
Jack leaned back in his seat, silent. Then Zeke lowered his voice and leaned closer.
"You hear about T-Garage Underground? Tej reopened it. But this time, it's legit—real track, point system, safety protocol… but still intense. A lot of younger racers are starting to train there."
Jack's eyes flicked toward him.
"Thought it was just a garage and a café."
Zeke nodded quickly.
"It was. But Tej is building something different now. He said, 'We don't just need people who can go fast—we need racers with control and purpose.'"
Jack was quiet. Something flickered in his eyes. He knew Tej. The man was a legend in his own right. If he was personally starting something, it wasn't just for fun. It was a message.
Zeke studied Jack's face.
"You might not like the spotlight, but face it, bro—you were born for this. Not everyone's got the O'Conner bloodline."
Jack turned his gaze out the window. Wind shifted the classroom curtains gently. He didn't answer.
Jack kept staring out the window. The sky was turning gray, casting a cold shadow across the classroom. Zeke waited for a response, but Jack suddenly spoke—quiet, firm, without turning his head.
"That's exactly why I want to stay away from anything tied to my family. Crime. Racing. That whole life."
He turned to Zeke, his expression flat but serious.
"If you're looking for someone to pull into that scene, find someone else."
Zeke went quiet. He knew Jack was stubborn, but he also knew there was something deeper behind the refusal.
"Bro... this isn't like the old street stuff. It's legal now. Controlled. Safe. Tej built a system—clean track, real rules."
Jack cut him off, colder now.
"It's not about the system. It's about me."
Zeke tried again, more gently this time, like he was offering a lifeline.
"I get that you wanna be different. But you know you've got talent. You don't have to become your dad. You could make your own road."
Jack slowly stood up, grabbing his helmet from the desk.
Zeke hesitated, then asked carefully, "What if... Brian Marcos joins? Would you still say no?"
Jack froze in place. His jaw clenched. He turned back slowly.
"Don't."
His voice was low, serious.
"Our parents are away. On vacation. Peaceful. Quiet."
He looked Zeke straight in the eyes.
"Please, don't pull Brian into this. He's too easy to tempt when it comes to engines and green lights."
Zeke tried to chuckle. "Come on, man. He's already been learning how to drift—"
Jack snapped, sharper this time,
"That's exactly the problem. I know him. Once he gets in, he won't walk away. Don't make it harder. He's a good kid. Let him stay that way."
Zeke raised both hands in surrender.
"Alright, alright. I was just asking. No pressure. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."
Jack didn't respond. He glanced at the window again and slowly sat back down. Outside, the wind picked up.