I sent her a message: [I'm at Oray's track. Let's talk after the race.]

I admitted to myself that I still couldn't let go, but I wasn't sure if it was her I couldn't let go of or the ten years we spent together.

I prayed to the heavens—if I could win, maybe we could go back to how things were. I'd be willing to overlook all this pain.

Kate arrived, but she was accompanied by Vincent.

She was as stunning as ever, the kind of beauty that drew every man's gaze like a magnet.

I was no exception.

When Kate saw me on the track, her beautiful eyes widened with surprise.

Strangely, though, I felt an unexpected calm inside.

I thought, "I know her well, but does she really understand me?

Does she grasp that I am this wild, stubborn, and impulsive person?"

I didn't linger on her face; it seemed to unsettle her.

But I didn't turn back.

The starting gun fired, and I took off like an arrow from a bow, leaving Vincent far behind.

Rebecca had told me that Vincent was the favorite to win, but I just smirked.

The record I set ten years ago still stood unbroken.

Vincent and I charged towards the finish line, neck and neck.

I braked in time, but Vincent came speeding at me full throttle.

What a lunatic.

After a deafening crash, I felt a searing pain. The crowd gasped and screamed around me.

My vision blurred with blood, but I fought to open my eyes, searching for her.

Finally, I saw her by the side—Kate, holding Vincent's hand, her face etched with worry.

At that moment, I remembered her sitting by my bedside when I was sick, holding my hand and saying, "If we hold on tightly, I can share my health with you, and you'll get better sooner."

That was the young Kate, the one who loved me.

But where did she go?

No matter how hard I tried to find her now, she seemed to have vanished.

I thought, "Heaven, if you can hear me, please bring her back."

I lay in the hospital bed, awaiting the doctor's final verdict.

"Mr. Moore, the fracture in your leg has damaged the nerves. You might never be able to stand again."

As I realized I couldn't control my legs, a creeping fear began to set in.

But I'd been raised with the belief that men should never shed tears easily, so I urged myself to stay strong.

Yet, when the doctor delivered the final blow, my mind went blank.

I still wanted to stand up.

I had spent my life mastering horseback riding, skiing, skydiving, and racing—better than anyone else.