Pit Babe Season 2 | ENG TRANS |

TONY

The nauseating stench of blood still lingered, pooling on the expensive marble floor. Part of it belonged to the traitor, now lifeless in the arms of betrayed friends who were foolish enough to shed tears for him. The other part came from the still body of the villain, barely breathing beside a piece of art now stained with vivid red.

The only one shedding tears for me was Kenta, a young man raised like a loyal dog. My final thought was one of pity, mockery, and dark humor—that this servile dog suddenly wanted to play hero after mindlessly following orders like a brainless creature his whole life. He betrayed me unforgivably, yet sobbed uncontrollably, calling me “Father” without shame. What a joke.

They say in the moments before crossing into the afterlife, the clever brain processes every bit of data accumulated from birth to death, projecting it in sequence. Events flash through your awareness quickly but completely—every sensation, emotional experience, and feeling, categorized into joy, sorrow, excitement, and regret, even the memories you’d most want to forget. It’s like a Spotify Wrapped at the end of the year, but this is the summation of my entire life. Part of it, I suppose, is to make you appreciate the life you’ve lived, and part is to make you reflect and grade yourself one last time on just how miserably you’ve lived.

For me, I think this is just a process, nothing significant, like a momentary rest, temporarily setting down the burdens on my shoulders, returning to being a useless old fool who no longer yearns for anything in this world. I’m Tony, the mistake of parents who, even now, I don’t know if that old couple feels any pride. But so what? I don’t care. All I know is that I’m prouder of myself than anyone else. From a kid with nothing to a billionaire. If this isn’t pride, then what is?

I never knew what I was capable of until I tried dying the first time. Ah… yes, that first time is always terrifying, even at this age. But when I think back to the taste of death at fifteen, it still sends shivers down my spine. The smell of blood filled my mouth and nostrils, feeling like I was teetering between sleep and wakefulness. The simplest thing, breathing, became impossibly difficult. Even without ever dying before, I knew instantly this was death. In those few seconds, I prepared myself. Though I was scared to the point of madness, I also felt relieved that I’d no longer have to endure pain or struggle tooth and nail to survive. Beyond death, there’s only light ash, far lighter than this heavy world.

But perhaps because I’m a sinner, my hardships didn’t end so easily. Suddenly, the rusty water I’d swallowed over and over turned sweet, no longer nauseating like before. My body, which seemed to be shutting down piece by piece, flickered back to life. The pain gradually subsided, leaving only a numb sensation. That first time, I was so scared I nearly pissed myself, but the times after? They felt miraculous. I felt reborn each time, refreshed and invigorated, as if I’d chosen a new body, as if I’d been given another chance to make things right. After facing death time and again, I realized I had something others didn’t.

I am… the greatest.

BABE

The roaring crowd at the racetrack still feels as chaotic as ever. The spectators and fans are as excited as if it’s their first time stepping into the arena. They animatedly discuss past races and place bets on the next one. Throughout this season, X-Hunter has performed as expected. Even though two years ago, a massive storm nearly tore the team apart, making everyone think it was the end for X-Hunter.

Of course, no one expected them to rise again so quickly after losing their key player, Way. Though he never clinched first place, it’s undeniable that Way was one of the crucial figures who brought X-Hunter to the pinnacle of the racing world. Pitbabe couldn’t stand proudly on the podium without the solid foundation provided by Way and Alan.

On top of that, they lost their young, rising star, Dean, to misguided ambition. Dean’s story is a deep wound for Alan. As team captain, Alan always blames himself first, no matter how much his teammates stray or damage the team. He believes he’s solely responsible for those mistakes. Alan has governed his team with the word “family” from day one, so sending a family member to prison isn’t a wound that heals quickly.

X-Hunter was directly impacted by Tony’s death. The upside? No one has to suffer or fear that old dog’s power anymore, especially his adopted children. They’re like birds freed from cages, their shackles shattered. Now, they can choose which direction to fly. But within that freedom, they’re still bound by new, invisible chains. X-Hunter is under more scrutiny than ever, not just in the racing world but in society at large.

Even those who never cared about racing before are starting to pay attention. Babe, the team’s sole star, has been thrust into the spotlight. Some admire his talent, looks, and dangerously captivating personality. Of course, there’s no shortage of opposition either.

Babe was labeled as using his special ability as a tool to outshine other racers. The extraordinary sense, once just a rumor in the racing world, was exposed to the public. Some accepted it, viewing the special sense as a form of talent, while others opposed Pitbabe’s participation in races, arguing it was unfair to racers born without such abilities. This debate has persisted since the day Tony’s news broke and continues to resurface. However, thanks to Alan’s connections and the influence of the main sponsor, Pitbabe was still able to compete. It was confirmed that Babe no longer possesses the special sense, though some groups remain skeptical, as Babe’s consistently strong performance makes it hard to believe he has no lingering special powers.

Charlie and the other adopted children were fortunate not to have their special senses exposed. Only the famous Pitbabe couldn’t escape the unethical media scrutiny. On the day Tony died, Babe’s image dominated every news headline, making him the frontline figure absorbing the public’s reactions during that intense period. Not everyone saw Team X as heroes; many still believed Tony’s death stemmed from internal conflicts involving X-Hunter from the start (despite police clarifying they were victims, who doesn’t love a conspiracy theory?).

Even though the senses of others were kept secret, society couldn’t help but speculate that they might possess something special like Babe. However, with no clear evidence to confirm these suspicions, the hatred directed at Team X remained mere rumors, dependent on what people chose to believe.

“The race is about to start. You still have the mood to sit and read something, Charlie?” Alan flopped onto the old sofa across from Charlie, who was engrossed in reading something on his tablet, so focused he seemed to forget he was in a racing suit, sitting in a chaotic pit surrounded by busy staff. In just a few minutes, the final race of the season would begin.

“Just a bit more,” Charlie replied calmly, eyes still glued to the screen, scanning lines like a nerd obsessed with their passion, oblivious to the world. “I’ve checked the car already. Have you made the adjustments for me yet?”

“Would I miss it? No way,” Alan chuckled, glancing at the tiny kid in a mechanic’s outfit, pointing and directing the other mechanics with a serious expression, looking like the leader of a stray cat gang. “The garage owner’s got it covered. I don’t need to get my hands dirty with something this small.”

“You’re working Jeff too hard,” Charlie said.

“Me?” The Team X captain made a mock grimace, pointing at himself, incredulous at the absurd accusation. “Your little brother’s the one overworking himself. I just sat down!”

“When you asked to take my Phii under your wing, I thought you’d let him chill a bit.”

“Huh? What made you think that? No—”

Before Alan could finish, a voice interrupted.

“Where’s Charlie?”

No one needed to turn to know whose voice it was. That teasing, annoying tone belonged to one person only.

“Here,” Charlie replied softly, still not looking up from his tablet.

“There you are!” Pitbabe’s voice brightened the moment he spotted his target sitting on the sofa, looking stressed. The famous racer plopped onto the armrest, slung an arm around his young partner’s neck, and planted a loud kiss on his cheek. The recipient of the surprise attack remained unfazed, as if Charlie had long grown used to this grumpy cat’s antics. “Hi, Papa.”

“Where’ve you been?” Charlie asked, his hand slowly dragging the stylus across the tablet screen, scribbling something in his messy handwriting.

“North begged me for an interview for his channel.”

“So you finally let him film you?”

“He said his views were dropping. How could I not help?” Babe grumbled, exasperated. Charlie gave a small, fond smile. Despite Babe’s outward annoyance, Charlie knew deep down how much Babe cared for the younger team members. He prioritized and worried about them just as much as Alan, the team captain, even doing things he disliked to make them happy, only to complain about it later. That was classic Pitbabe. “What’re you doing anyway… reading research again?”

“A little. I’ve still got some time.”

“If you’ve got time, shouldn’t you be preparing for the race?” Babe leaned closer to his boyfriend, pressing a kiss to his ear, nibbling lightly before whispering teasingly, “Need help… focusing?”

“No need. I’ve got it under control,” Charlie tilted his head to dodge Babe’s touch. Though Babe’s senses were still linked to him (since the suppressant’s effects were only temporary), their bodies were different. Over time, Charlie found he could manage his heightened senses better, no longer needing sex as a crutch like Babe did. Meditation or reading was enough to calm the sensory chaos. “You go prep, Babe. I’ll…”

Suddenly, Charlie’s voice trailed off mid-sentence. The young man set down his stylus and looked up at Babe for the first time. He stared intently, brows furrowed like a police dog sniffing out something suspicious in a traveler’s bag.

“What?” Babe raised an eyebrow, confused by Charlie’s odd behavior.

“Did you smoke, Babe?”

Babe’s eyes widened like a kid caught sneaking candy before dinner. Still, he tried to play it cool, answering in a tone that strained to sound normal. “Uh… no?”

“I can smell it,” Charlie narrowed his eyes, leaning closer to Babe and sniffing like a dog to confirm. “I didn’t smoke. It was Alan—he smoked and blew it in my face… Go deal with him, Papa!”

“What?!” The accused yelped, mouth agape, stunned by his cheeky little brother’s shameless lie. “I just finished checking the car and came to sit here. I’ve been sitting… here the whole time. Are you nuts?”

“Then why’re you acting so jumpy, Alan?” Babe, who’d only meant to tease, lost interest when he saw Alan’s guilty behavior, acting like he’d actually done something wrong.

“This guy’s like Jeff when he’s interrogating—scared the hell outta me,” Alan muttered, rubbing his chest to calm himself, completely dropping his tough-guy team captain facade. In front of others, Alan was intimidating, like a mafia boss. But with the younger guys, he was just a grumpy old uncle—especially when Jeff was around. Total pushover.

“Why’s your face all sour?” Babe lightly shoved Charlie’s head, noticing the kid still staring at him.

“If you’re gonna keep smoking, Babe, I’ll smoke too.”

“What?” The famous racer yelped. “Why would you smoke? Are you crazy?”

“If you don’t quit, Babe, it doesn’t matter whether I smoke or not, does it?”

Babe was at a loss for words. Truth be told, he felt guilty for breaking his promise. He had told Charlie he’d quit smoking and cut down on drinking for the sake of their health. Babe had been trying to quit for a while, but he had to admit it wasn’t easy for someone like him. Especially in an environment where everyone still drank and puffed away as usual, a weak-willed guy like him easily gave in and couldn’t go cold turkey.

“Okay, okay, I won’t smoke anymore,” Babe said softly, ruffling the head of his “puppy” before messing up the other’s soft hair until it was all fluffed up. He couldn’t help but smile when he saw Charlie’s pouty face. This image of Pitbabe might have been historic two years ago, but now it was something everyone was used to seeing—the great King completely defeated by a kid. “Sorry.”

“Saying sorry means you have to follow through,” Charlie sighed lightly, gathering his tablet and other things before standing up and walking off. Babe didn’t follow to coax him further. He chuckled softly, watching his young boyfriend disappear behind the pit, unbothered, as if he’d seen this scene a thousand times.

“Not gonna go make up with him?” Alan asked. Babe plopped down in the spot Charlie had just left, leaning back and crossing his legs casually.

“He’s not that upset, just pouting as usual. He’ll get over it.”

“You don’t care at all, do you?”

“I have my own way of making up,” Pitbabe shrugged, making an annoying face. “Don’t worry, Papa, my Charlie isn’t a barking dog like your boyfriend.”

“Calling others a dog? That’s not nice,” came a voice. As if on cue, the person mentioned strolled in, Jeff swinging a toolbox just centimeters past Babe’s head. The racer dodged in the nick of time, then glared at Alan, who was giggling with delight, not at all concerned about how serious it would’ve been if that heavy metal toolbox had actually hit him.

“So, who’s the one with sharp ears, Charlie or Jeff?” Babe grumbled, his face a mix of fear and irritation.

“Garage owner’s senses,” Alan laughed heartily, standing up to join the “real garage owner,” leaving the King, who’d nearly been ambushed, to sulk in annoyance.

The announcer’s voice grew more intense as the final race was about to begin. The racers made their last checks on equipment, as well as their physical and mental states.

“Excited?” Babe asked Charlie, who was slipping on a new pair of gloves with practiced ease. He couldn’t help but feel proud. Today’s Charlie was a far cry from the stumbling kid who’d once come begging to borrow a car. Charlie was calmer, more composed, no longer the frantic, startled chicken he used to be. The X-Hunter racing suit seemed to meld perfectly with his identity, no longer looking like he was just borrowing someone else’s gear.

Charlie had really grown up.

“A little,” Charlie replied with a smile. Though he said he was excited, his demeanor was so calm that Babe couldn’t help but think this kid was kind of intimidating. “What about you, Babe? Excited?”

“Nah, I’m used to it,” the King shrugged, helping adjust his boyfriend’s racing gear. “Focus, stay sharp.”

“You too, Babe. Don’t just sneak glances at me and get overtaken.”

“When have I ever done that, huh?”

“Yesterday”

“Okay, then try to look less handsome too.”

“I′ll try.”

The racing couple giggled together, ignoring the envious glances from those around them. Especially Babe, who took advantage of a distracted moment to steal a kiss from his younger boyfriend before walking off to his car with a smug grin, leaving Charlie standing there, blushing alone.

“Stop filming already!” Babe shouted at North, who was still fussing with his camera, even though everyone else was getting ready to get into their cars. “Act your age, will you? Before I get Phii Alan to send you back to the junior league.”

“Alright, alright!” North replied, hurriedly mounting his camera to the dashboard holder. He wanted to capture as much footage as possible. Now that he was racing more and had moved up to the same class as Babe, he was even more eager to record every second of his own coolness, not missing a single shot. “This angle’s perfect. I’m looking sharp. Just wait and see, Sonic.”

North muttered to himself after setting up the camera. He was extra meticulous because, besides sharing these clips with his channel’s fans, he was certain someone was secretly watching his life from among those fans. Someone who’d gone off to chase dreams abroad, acting like they didn’t miss him at all during their calls. But North knew that person was dying to see him.

“This round, I’m coming in first,” Kim said confidently as he walked past.

“Ugh, you say that every time,” Babe covered his ears, shaking his head and pulling an annoying face. Even after two years on the same team, Babe and Kim still acted like rivals. Maybe a bit different now since they got to bicker more often—whether at the practice track, the X-Hunter garage, Alan’s house, or even at the club. “Frenemies” might be the right term.

“Win for once, man. I’m tired of winning.”

“This time, it’s happening. Get ready to buy me drinks.”

“Milk’s fine, right? My kid made me quit alcohol.”

“Deal.”

Even on the same team, a rival is still a rival, day in and day out.

The signal lights above the track began to flash. The drivers behind their steering wheels stared intently at the lights, hands gripping tightly, every sense heightened, ready to process the flood of information about to hit them in the next few seconds. And, of course, among all the racers on the track, one had senses working harder than the rest—several times harder.

Charlie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He repeated to himself to stay calm. This wasn’t his first race, nor his last. He’d done well so far, and this time would be even better. His goal for this race might be a bit selfish. He admitted he didn’t care if the team won or lost. All he cared about was beating Babe.

He’d been a racer for a long time, defeating plenty of opponents, both from other teams and within his own. But the one person Charlie could never surpass was Babe—not just his lover, but his one and only idol. The person who brought him here, to this track, this team, chasing the same goal. Beating Babe wasn’t about pride or satisfaction. For Charlie, he knew Babe would be incredibly proud if he could take down the champion with his own skill.

He wanted to make Babe proud.

The light turned green, and the race cars surged from the starting line. As expected, Pitbabe, who performed exceptionally in qualifying, took the lead position without question, followed closely by Charlie. In third was a rookie team, ETA or something, newly formed but filled with promising young talent.

After the major incident two years ago, the rival team Red Race announced an indefinite hiatus from competition due to their main sponsor’s collapse, which sparked internal conflicts and kept them off the track for two years. This opened the door for new teams to enter, reigniting excitement among racers and spectators alike.

Babe maintained his lead as usual, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly whenever he glanced back to see whose car was closing in. For Babe, this was a novel sensation he never imagined experiencing. Despite the constant risk of losing his position, he felt no pressure. In the past, his lack of pressure came from believing no one could dethrone him. But now, things were different. He knew formidable competitors were breathing down his neck—Kim, who rapidly honed his skills to an impressive level; the rookie racers, who were no pushovers; and, most notably, Charlie. That kid trained relentlessly, his skills advancing by leaps and bounds, developing techniques on his own that Babe hadn’t taught him. Charlie was so skilled that, at times, even Babe couldn’t help but think, This time, I’m done for.

Yet, he wasn’t scared in the least. His heart pounded with excitement, the thrill so intense it was almost maddening. It felt like the early days when he first fell in love with racing, when Alan taught him techniques to mold him into a racer—times of learning, failing, improving, and learning again. Because of this, it could be said with certainty that Charlie had reawakened Pitbabe’s racing spirit.

In a split second of carelessness, Charlie overtook Pitbabe, seizing the lead. The crowd roared, and even the commentators couldn’t stay seated. The final race of the season had become an X vs. X showdown, with the top two spots held by the same team, neck and neck, evenly matched. Gamblers who bet on other teams could only clutch their heads in despair, as there was no sign the top two would leave any opening for others to catch up.

It was unclear whose heart was pounding harder—the king about to be dethroned or the loyal knight eyeing the throne. The final corner would decide who was superior. Both Pitbabe and Charlie were on edge, leaning into the moment. Defeat might not be the end of everything, but why be the one to lose? A victor wants to keep winning, while someone who’s never crossed the finish line first yearns to taste that experience. That’s the selfish beauty of all competition.

The racing couple locked eyes in the final second before their cars crossed the finish line.

“Pitbabe!!!”

The commentator’s voice boomed, followed by the deafening cheers of speed-hungry fans. The race result wasn’t exactly unexpected, but calling it entirely predictable wouldn’t be quite right either. For a fleeting moment, as the cars sped around the track, everyone likely thought, Today, there might be a new king. And trust me, it wasn’t just the spectators— even the racers themselves were thrilled to the point of goosebumps.

“Congrats,” were Charlie’s first words. The young man stepped out of his car, helmet in hand, kissed his senior’s cheek, and flashed a proud smile, as always.

“Almost had me,” Babe ruffled the kid’s hair with a playful grin. “Regret it?”

“A little,” Charlie answered honestly. Of course, he was disappointed that he still couldn’t beat his boyfriend by the end of the season. But since the one he lost to was Pitbabe, it didn’t sting too much. To Charlie, it was just a mountain he hadn’t climbed yet—not that he’d never conquer it. “I got a bit distracted, though. I knew from that moment I’d lose.”

“Distracted by what?”

“Just wondering what I’d ask from you if I won.”

“Oh?” The skilled King laughed, delighted by his boyfriend’s response. “Did you figure it out?”

“I did, but I lost, so I don’t get to ask anymore.”

“Why not try asking anyway? Maybe I’ll be generous.”

“Hmm…”

While Charlie was mulling it over, Kim, who had just gotten out of his car, trudged over and gave Babe a light pat on the shoulder, speaking in a flat tone.

“King almost got his legs sawed off out there.”

“And it wasn’t even you doing the sawing,” Babe shook his head, clearly unimpressed with Kim’s performance this round, which wasn’t far from how Kim felt himself. Kim shook his head, discouraged.

“My legs were there, but my heart wasn’t. Sucks.” Everyone knew this about Kim—his ambition and hard work were always admirable, but lately, his motivation seemed to have withered. “It’s tough without the same drive as some people around here.”

“You want motivation from me, big bro?” Charlie, noticing Kim’s glance, immediately offered himself, tilting his head with an innocent, sweet smile. Babe had to raise a hand to cover that silly face, unable to handle Charlie’s overly charitable grin.

“No need to butt in. He’s not fishing for your attention.”

“I’d take it, though,” Kim teased.

“Hey!” Babe whipped around at Kim’s cheeky comment, making his eternal rival burst into laughter. Pitbabe’s one weakness was so easy to exploit, and teasing him always worked like a charm. “If you want motivation, go find it somewhere else. Don’t mess with other people’s stuff.”

“Just kidding,” Kim smirked before heading off to join North, who was loudly bragging to the camera about X-Hunter retaining their championship title—despite barely contributing himself. “Later, Charlie.”

But not without throwing one last jab to rile up Babe.

“See you, bro!” Charlie waved with his usual bright smile, a stark contrast to the guy beside him, who was baring his teeth like he was about to transform any second. To others, it might seem intimidating, but to Charlie, Babe’s expression was perfect—like a cat, no doubt. “Why’re you making that cat face?”

“’See you, brooo,’” Instead of answering, Babe pursed his lips and mimicked in a high-pitched voice, mocking his overly friendly boyfriend (at least in his opinion).

“What?” Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Making fun of me?”

“Nope, but ’You want motivation from me, big bro?’” Babe kept imitating Charlie’s voice (exaggeratedly), unrelenting, with the most infuriatingly smug look on his face.

“Sulking?”

“Not sulking.”

“Aw, and here I was ready to make up.”

“How would you make up?” Charlie let out a chuckle as Babe instantly dropped his sulky persona the moment he heard the word “make up” from him.

“So, how do you want me to make up?” The younger boyfriend gently brushed a strand of hair from the older man’s forehead, his kind smile making Babe’s heart feel so warm he forgot they were standing at the edge of a racetrack, not in their condo with just the two of them. “Something exciting?”

“Phii Babe loves excitement.”

And Babe meant it. Just hearing Charlie’s deep voice and feeling the touch of his fingertips on his face was enough to make him so excited he wanted to rush home right then, not caring about medals or trophies.

“I know.”

Charlie was far more thrilling than any race.

That was a truth few people ever knew.

…

“Careful, Babe, don’t mess around.”

“Uh… mess around? I’m serious here.”

“Okay, then I’ll…”

“Ouch!”

With just a single yelp, Charlie was at his side as if he’d teleported. Babe jumped, startled, hopping like the kitchen floor wasn’t solid ground but hot lava. He pulled his arm to move his away from the sizzling pan of boiling oil, which was popping like a low-budget war movie, and snatched the spatula from his hand. Charlie’s face wasn’t panicked, but his eyes scanned Babe from head to toe. Babe could swear he saw laser beams shooting from his eyes.

“Where… did it get you?” Charlie asked, his voice steady.

“Didn’t get me, just startled.”

“And you screamed like you got shot,” Charlie shook his head, letting out a soft sigh before nudging me out of the danger zone and taking over frying the eggs himself. Even though we’d agreed earlier that it was my job today.

“Not letting me do it anymore?” Babe sidled up behind Charlie (because he was genuinely scared of getting splashed by oil), peeking over to see two perfect sunny-side-up eggs dancing in the pan. They didn’t look as scary as he’d thought, but that might be because Charlie was the one handling it. “Didn’t you say you’d let me do something exciting?”

“Just seeing you jump away from the oil was exciting enough,” Charlie replied, reaching for a plate to transfer the eggs to their new home. “I thought letting you cook would be exciting for you, but I ended up more excited.”

“Well, I’m excited too. Cooking’s not easy.”

“Compared to racing?”

“Racing’s way easier.”

“Believe you,” Charlie chuckled, turning off the stove after getting two good-looking fried eggs as he wanted. “I was gonna let you try cooking, but I ended up doing it myself anyway.”

“Why not let me do it? I just got startled earlier, that’s all.”

“Cause I’m scared you’ll actually get burned.”

“Let me get burn then. For anyone who enters in the kitchen, you’re bound to get splashed by oil. What’s weird about that?”

“Forget it. I’ll cook for you,” the bespectacled guy brushed it off like he didn’t care. Charlie turned back to chopping the carrots waiting limply on the cutting board, acting cool like a manga protagonist who secretly wants to take care of everything. But in Babe’s eyes, he could still see those puppy ears twitching on his head. No matter how much he’s grown, Charlie’s still the same puppy he met almost three years ago.

“Wow… so cool,” I propped my chin on the counter, looking at my personal chef with fondness. But in Charlie’s eyes, he probably thought I was teasing him again, judging by that sulky face. “Such a great caretaker, huh? Not letting a mosquito bite or a flea touch me, right, big guy?”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll spoil me, doing everything like this?”

“It’s probably too late for that,” Charlie muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” he looked up from his diced carrots, flashing me an innocent smile before leaning over to lightly kiss my cheek, probably thinking I didn’t hear what he said earlier. Sure. “Next time, if there’s a chance, I’ll teach you again. I’ll get you an oil-proof apron first.”

“Hey, stop treating me like I’m four feet tall, wearing size-zero shoes, okay? I’ve been through worse,” I couldn’t help but grumble. Being pampered is nice, sure. I appreciate being taken care of by my boyfriend, but sometimes Charlie acts like I’m a delicate little girl who can’t do anything. “And for real, I’ve had it rough before. You’re the pampered one.”

“Does Babe know how to cook?”

“I’m great at it.”

“What can you make?”

“Instant noodles.”

“Amazing. The noodle master!” The glasses guy gave me a thumbs-up, that goofy smile making it hard to tell if he was genuinely impressed or just being sarcastic. But when I heard that little chuckle in his throat, I was pretty sure I was being mocked again. “So, back when you didn’t have much money, how’d you eat?”

“Phii Alan cooked for us,” I answered, feeling a bit nostalgic. Back before X-Hunter existed, it was just me, Phii Alan, and Way. Alan took care of us delinquent kids so well without expecting anything in return. Back then, the idea of me growing up to be a racer making money for the team wasn’t even in his head. For Alan, he probably just pitied kids who had nothing and would’ve felt worse if he didn’t lend a hand. “We rarely bought food ourselves. Early on, I ate with him all the time. Papa Alan loved buying tons of food to share with the younger kids at the garage or bringing us to his place to cook something. He even tried teaching me to cook, but I wasn’t great at it, so I didn’t really pay attention.”

“Not surprised.”

“But I’m working hard to earn a ton of money so I can buy food instead.”

“Great plan, darling.”

“You little—”

“Stop it, I’m holding a knife.” I made a move to playfully smack the sarcastic guy a couple of times, but I had to freeze mid-air at Charlie’s stern tone. With no other choice, I let it slide for now. “What does Phii Alan cook that’s delicious?”

“A lot of things, actually. Feels like everything he makes is tasty.” The moment I thought of Alan’s cooking, a familiar, savory aroma seemed to waft into my mind instantly. It’s like that smell is etched into my memory. “Oh! There’s one dish—fried rice, the kind with fluffy grains and crispy pork. Alan makes it so well. Whenever he cooks it, he has to make a full pan because Way loves it so much. No matter how much he makes, it’s gone by the end…”

Suddenly, I felt I shouldn’t have brought this up. Almost every happy memory includes that person. Two years have passed, and that murky feeling should’ve faded at least halfway. Sometimes I think it has, but when I dig deep and face it head-on, it’s disappointing to realize that Way’s story in my heart has never healed. I’ve accepted my feelings, accepted the sorrow of his loss, accepted that he’s never coming back. But there are still things too hard to accept. I don’t want to admit that I’m pathetic enough to easily forgive someone who hurt me so deeply, especially after swearing to myself that I’d never forgive them, even in death.

But I never planned for this.

If he was the one who died, what would I do next?

A warm touch on the back of my hand eased the turmoil in my heart. Charlie didn’t say anything. He just held my hand and gave a small smile, as if, even without me saying a word, he could sense what I was grappling with. His eyes spoke clearly.

I’m right here.

That’s what I felt when I looked into his eyes.

KENTA

They say, “Time in prison feels twice as long as time outside.” I think I only recently discovered why.

Because here… every day is the same.

That’s the reason.

Wake up, count the morning hours, exercise, eat, clean, sit in some corner, pace in a confined circle, try not to stare at anyone by mistake— because you never know who’ll get pissed off if your gaze crosses theirs. Lunch and dinner are served on time every day. Line up orderly with a tray, and no matter how vile the food tastes, you swallow it. Shower in a bathroom filthier than a sewage dump alongside a hundred other inmates. No right to personal space. If you look average or worse, you’re lucky. But if you’re good-looking, especially the clean-cut, rich-kid type, you’re singled out for extra attention. I won’t go into more detail, but the first time I saw those scenes with my own eyes, I vomited until there was nothing left in me.

Everything I’ve described happens every day, with only minor variations. At its core, it’s like a template day, copied and pasted according to each person’s sentence. Everyone lives in a loop, counting days for the first few months. After that, hope fades, and no one bothers scratching lines on the cell walls anymore. That’s the first piece of evidence that this place truly deserves to be called “hell.”

The afternoon dragged on with little to do. Some inmates were called to work—mowing grass, trimming trees, painting, moving things, or doing various odd jobs as the guards commanded. Some liked being summoned; it was better than sitting idle. Others, like me, preferred doing nothing. I’m in the latter group. I don’t like mingling with other prisoners or sucking up to the guards, even though that’s the easiest way to live comfortably in prison. So, the old wooden bench by the fence is my favorite spot. Just lying back, gazing at the sky through the trees, is more than enough for a punished life like mine.

“Hey! Is that mine?!”

A voice shattered my peace. I chose to close my eyes instead of getting up to see what was happening in the open yard. The cause was always one of a few things. Judging by the voice and the buzzing crowd that followed, it was probably another fight over something trivial. Of course, this wasn’t the first time. In prison, everything is a competition from the start. Some things seem grandiose, like in famous prison-break movies—valuable items, physical dominance, or freedom. Others are so petty it’s like everyone’s reverted to apes. Anything can spark a brawl: a favorite bench, a bathroom with just a tattered plastic curtain, or even a tamarind-flavored candy that smells like vomit. Every day, someone ends up with a busted eyebrow over something pointless. This was just another small skirmish, and I had no interest in knowing what those stray dogs were breaking their noses over.

“It’s yours? If it’s yours, how’d it end up in my hands?” A grating voice with a cocky tone irritated me slightly. I tried to ignore it, but it still wormed its way into my ears.

“Hey! You bastard!”

I couldn’t make out the other guy’s response as the crowd’s noise grew louder. But it wasn’t hard to guess—arguing over who owned whatever it was, laced with a string of profanities. Since coming here, I’ve heard more curses and new slang than I ever expected. If I compiled them, it’d be as thick as a translated novel. But I’m not writing a book about this. What’s interesting about prison stories? They’re a dime a dozen. What interests me more is the outside world. How will I live once I’m out? That’s the book I’d want to read.

The commotion from the yard grew louder. Looked like the two mad dogs were going at it. I gave it three minutes tops before the guards came rushing in with batons, blowing their ear-piercing whistles, scattering the onlookers in every direction. The two instigators would face punishment as per protocol—maybe cleaning the bathrooms or, worse, solitary confinement for a couple of days to straighten them out. Then they’d be released, ready to strut around again. Thinking about it, it’s kind of funny. People who break society’s rules are locked up in prison, and those who break prison’s rules get locked up again. Layered imprisonment. Why does no one ever say how embarrassing that is?

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?!”

As expected, the guards came to tame the mad dogs. The afternoon show ended quickly, and my peace returned without me having to lift a finger.

“Damn it!”

A few minutes later, someone’s curse rang out nearby. Everything had quieted down—so quiet I could hear a pebble rolling across the ground, clunking against the leg of the wooden bench I was lying on before stopping.

“Pretty comfy, huh?” The voice came closer, a few steps nearer. It sounded like its owner was standing over me, blocking the faint sunlight that had been warming my face. “Ever think about helping out? Or are you just gonna float above all the problems?”

“I told you… don’t act like you know me,” I replied lazily, eyes still closed. This way, my mind stayed calmer than if I had to look at his smug face. His voice alone was disruptive enough.

“I’m not acting. I do know you.”

“Huh, what’s my last name?”

“Chen,” the troublemaker answered with full confidence. “All of Tony’s kids have the same last name. Too easy a question, huh?”

“I’ve never used that last name.” It might sound like a statement laced with resentment, but in truth, it was empty. I didn’t feel anything about it. It was just a fact I didn’t often voice—that I don’t even have a last name, and I don’t know what my real name was before I was taken in. “Just Kenta… nothing else.”

“For real?” The creak of the wooden table and the rustle of clothes told me the other guy had plopped down on the old table not far from the cot. “I thought everyone used the same last name. You, Babe, Way, Jeff, even Pete.”

“Don’t know about the others, but I don’t use it.”

“Not surprising. Tony never saw you as his kid anyway.”

If that idiot had said the same thing to me two years ago, those words would’ve stabbed me right in the heart. Even though I was raised worse than an animal, I have to admit that deep down, I once hoped for genuine love from my adoptive father. Even a tiny sliver would’ve been enough to keep me grateful for years. But time and again, when I gave him a chance, he never bothered to take it. In the end, I became the ungrateful son. My hands were stained with his blood. I stood in the middle, between the line of being a murderer and a hero, and even now, I can’t say which side I’d rather step toward. Or maybe, in reality, I never had a choice to begin with. God had already decided it, just waiting for the day of judgment.

“But I respect you for one thing, Kenta,” Winner said in a calm tone. It wasn’t often you’d hear a normal human voice from that hollow-brained guy. Maybe because we were stuck in the same hell with no way out, he seemed a bit more human. Just a tiny bit, though. “I never thought you’d have the guts to kill Tony. I thought you’d worship him, like you’d die for him or something. When I heard he was dead, I was shocked, sure. But when I found out who did it? Man, I thought I was in some epic trilogy. That was insane.”

I didn’t think that was praise worth being proud of. Sure, there were moments when I felt like a hero freeing everyone from Tony’s hell. But I couldn’t puff out my chest and declare what I did was right. Even if killing a villain is a sin many accept, was Tony’s single life really enough? Compared to the countless lives I ignored, the ones I helped him kill, or even those I killed myself—could Tony’s worthless life really atone for all that? I don’t think the world’s rules are that simple.

“After you get out of here, what’re you gonna do?” Winner was annoyingly good at talking to himself. Even though I lay there with my eyes closed, pretending he didn’t exist, that fool kept chatting away without a hint of awkwardness. “Tony’s gone. What’s a guy like you got left to do? Can’t even imagine.”

I didn’t respond. Not just because I was annoyed with my conversation partner, but because, honestly, I didn’t know either. I didn’t know where I’d go next. I didn’t know if staying in here or going back out there was scarier. And most importantly… there was still something nagging at my heart.

A doubt I hadn’t been able to resolve since the day Tony died until now.

“Who were you fighting with earlier?” I asked Winner. Of course, I still refused to open my eyes and look at his infuriating face.

“That guy Dean, remember him? From Team X,” Winner replied. “Bastard stole my candy. Took me a whole week to get that in here.”

A stupid reason, as expected from his pointless game-show antics. But it was useful in a way, because for at least two percent, it lifted my spirits. Even a split second of not thinking about that possibility was a worthwhile break.

“When you go out, if you’re up to something, take me with you. I might not like your face much, but I can be your lackey,” Winner said.

I wish time here would pass slowly, slower than it does now. It’d be nice if I could die here, because the world out there will probably be a thousand times scarier the day I step back into it.

BABE

The first thing I saw after walking out of the bathroom was familiar. Charlie never dawdles when it comes to showering, so he’s always done before me. Because of that, every time I finish bathing, I come out to find Charlie leaning against the headboard in the same spot, a pillow on his lap, and a laptop perched on top. The blue light reflects off the glasses he still wears constantly, even though his eyesight has improved a lot thanks to the senses he stole from me. Those glasses are more habit now, probably just helping shield his eyes from screen glare a bit.

“Frowning again,” I said, sitting on the bed and poking the spot between the brows of the glasses-wearing kid who always furrows them when working. If he doesn’t fix this habit, he’ll go from a golden retriever to some wrinkly breed in no time. “If it’s stressing you out, why not take a break?”

“Not stressed. Just a habit,” Charlie chuckled, but his eyes still didn’t leave the screen. I couldn’t help but lean over to peek at it. I knew I wouldn’t understand anyway—just endless lines of English text. I can read it, but I don’t get why anyone would bother understanding this stuff. “Just a bit more, then I’ll close it.”

“Don’t you get bored reading this every day?” I climbed onto the bed, scooting into the arms of the master’s student who seems to breathe academia. I don’t know when this kid started spending more time on those boring texts than on me.

“I get bored sometimes, but if I don’t read, what’ll I write about?”

“You never told me what your topic is.”

“Does you want to hear?”

“Short version, okay? You go on and on about school stuff, and it gives me a headache.” Charlie laughed again, that grown-up laugh when a kid says something naive. It’s cute, but also annoying that this kid acts like I’m some clueless child, even though I’m way older.

“About human rights,” Charlie said, lightly stroking my head a few times, nearly making my eyes droop. He knows this is my weakness. Whenever he wants me to sleep, he does this. “Inequalities in the justice system.”

“Mmm…”

“Do you get what I’m talking about?”

“Nope.”

“Then sleep.” The nerd kept stroking my head, his fresh scent and steady breathing making me feel inexplicably relaxed. Maybe I’m addicted to sleeping with him now. Since we got back together this last time, I’ve barely slept without Charlie by my side. Part of it is because there’s no reason for him to sleep elsewhere, and part is my anxiety. The doctor said it’s from past events, obviously. It’s not hard to guess. Even I, no doctor, know it’s because I’m terrified Charlie will disappear again. I can’t sleep alone.

The feeling of getting back someone you thought was gone forever? No one would understand.

“Babe,” Charlie whispered softly, responding as I nuzzled into his neck and kissed it repeatedly. I hugged him tighter, my hands wandering everywhere. Of course, they slipped under the blanket too. “Sleep.”

“Mmm…” I made a sound in response but didn’t stop. Charlie’s tone wasn’t stern yet, so I could push a bit more. “Sleep, sleep.”

“If you’re gonna sleep, sleep properly. Why are you groping around?”

“Before bed… we are going to do nothing first?” I opened my eyes, looking up at him with a sly gaze, one hundred percent confident this was my trump card to handle the bookworm. I’d used it countless times, and it never failed.

“Huh… look at that face.” Charlie smiled, then leaned down. I smirked inwardly, knowing I’d successfully lured the silly pup. Our lips brushed lightly. Charlie pulled back for a moment before kissing again, this time deeper and sweeter. His arms wrapped around me, tilting his head to find the perfect angle for a kiss as profound as it should be.

Charlie had improved in every area, including kissing. His kisses were more refined, more thrilling. It was hard to believe this kid could still make a kiss feel exciting, even after we’d been together for almost three years. Quite an impressive skill.

“Mmm…”

“Okay.” Charlie broke the kiss, gave my lips a soft peck, ruffled my hair, and turned back to his laptop screen as if nothing had happened.

What the hell?

“Papa.” I shot up to a sitting position. The silly pup stared at me, blinking rapidly, seemingly surprised to see someone half-asleep suddenly wide awake.

“What? Not sleeping?”

Not only did he kill the mood mid-air, but Charlie didn’t even seem to realize he’d done anything wrong.

“Seriously?”

“What?” He genuinely didn’t get it, damn it. “Goodnight kiss, so what?”

“Not that one.”

“Huh?”

Charlie looked utterly confused. I stared him down relentlessly. If my expression and eyes couldn’t make this dumb pup understand the situation, let’s just say things were about to get serious. Forget peaceful sleep.

“Oh…” Luckily, he caught on just in time. Charlie seemed to realize what I was upset about. “You want to do it, huh?”

“You’re still asking?”

“Aw, sorry, sorry.” Charlie pulled me into a hug, apologizing profusely. “I didn’t know. Thought a little kiss was enough. You looked sleepy.”

“I was sleepy, but now I’m awake.”

“So eager.”

“And?”

“Hmm… can it wait till tomorrow?”

I’ll admit, that response broke my heart a little, but Charlie’s droopy-eared puppy face made me hesitate to even show my disappointment.

“What’s that?”

“I’m so tired today,” Charlie hugged me, swaying slowly, his voice soft and whiny, clearly trying to be cute. Did it work? Let me just say— it always does. “If I’m not at my best, you might get upset for nothing.”

“Mm… okay,” I replied softly. Charlie’s answer wasn’t what I’d hoped for, and it definitely left me a bit deflated. But what could I do if he said that? Our intimacy is always mutual. Charlie always respects my desires, and I do the same for him. Even though my wants were turned down, that sad puppy face of his melted me. I really can’t push him. “Tomorrow then.”

“Thanks.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Charlie hooked his pinky with mine, planting a quick kiss on the back of my hand to seal it, then turned to shut off his laptop screen and leaned over to place it on the bedside table. “Let’s sleep. I’ll scratch your back.”

“For a while, yeah?”

“Until you fall asleep.”

“Rub my head too.”

“Alright, alright.”

That night, I drifted off to the sound of Charlie’s heartbeat. In my heart, I thanked him for still being here, hoping he could somehow feel that, even if I didn’t say it out loud.