With the road cycling challenge, the Wonderbolts easily took an early lead from the rest of the field, and they held that position throughout the race, something which gave the team enough confidence to power through the miles. As they reached the last section of the event, Spitfire looked up, realizing they had to go up and down the side of a mountain.

With the uphill path ahead, Spitfire lowered herself on her bike as she shifted through gears. She passed Soarin, indicating that she was taking her turn to lead the group. She looked behind her. The rest of the Wonderbolts were drafting in the slipstream, reducing the effort to use their pedals. The incline going up the mountain made Spitfire’s legs burn, but the roads were dry, giving her as much confidence as possible with her grip.

I hate cardio, she thought while she let out a small, barely audible groan as the path began to go downhill. Then, off in the distance, she spotted the finish line, and a wave of relief washed over her.

“Spitfire!” Soarin yelped. “Team Horsepower is behind us!”

Spitfire turned her head and felt her teeth grit. Redline was leading the group.

“One last push!” Spitfire said to the Wonderbolts. She could already feel the adrenaline filling her system. “We’re almost there!”

But the racers were quick. Before she knew it, Spitfire found Redline next to her. With a brief glance, she saw the racers wearing their low-drag suits, aerodynamic helmets, and specialized bikes. They even had mics and radios amongst themselves.

“Copy that,” Redline said. “You heard him, gents. Let’s push to the finish.”

They then barreled down the road, passing the Wonderbolts. Spitfire’s heart dropped as the whole team was passed so easily.

“Sprint to the finish!” Spitfire barked. Event after event, she’d watched the racers get special treatment from their engineers and scientists in lab coats. They always had the advantage with equipment, and their sponsors also made sure they were known. She’d become sick of that privilege. Determined, she shifted through a gear, then pedaled hard. She caught up to Redline and passed him. He gave her a glance, then moved to the side of the road.

They were approaching a wide left turn. Spitfire knew she’d have the inside line, giving her the advantage. Looking to the side, she saw her and Redline’s shadows, with hers still being ahead. She gave a subtle, sly grin as she knew she’d come out first.

Eat my dust, Red, she thought confidently.

Suddenly, she saw Redline’s shadow peel away. Her heart rushed as she looked to see Redline suddenly swerve, bringing himself to the inside line. Then, he pedalled harder to stay side-by-side with Spitfire, barely leaving any room for her.

Is he pushing me to the wall?! she thought.

Spitfire tried to push that worry aside. Instead, she focused on the corner, then determined how far she was willing to brake. She bled her speed, then started her turn, but immediately straightened out. Redline didn’t yield to her. Instinctively, she stopped herself.

“Hey!” she snarled at him.

Redline ignored her. At the last moment, he finally slammed on his brakes, then took the turn at a sharp angle like a motorcyclist. The racers did the same. Some of them took the turn side-by-side without any hesitation.

“Oh, for buck’s sake!” Spitfire barked.

Then, the rest of the Wonderbolts finally took the turn. Spitfire pedaled to catch up with them, re-forming the group. As she tried to speed up, her legs burned with agony, every fiber of her body telling her to slow down, and the racers easily distanced themselves from the Wonderbolts.

“Geez, they’re endurance machines!” Soarin panted as he strained to keep his pace consistent.

The racers spread themselves out, occupying as much of the road as they could. Suddenly, they began to slow down. The Wonderbolts caught up to their slipstream. Spitfire made a move in an attempt to pass some of the racers. Instead, the they kept their formation, and they offered barely any space. At that moment, their message was clear: either we respect each others’ space, or we go down together.

Spitfire didn’t want to take the risk. She knew very well that with enough precision, she could weave through that traffic, but the dangers of harming herself and the racers were too much for her to ignore.

The racers crossed the finish line to the applause of a number of spectators, and they cheered amongst themselves, shaking each others’ hooves.

Spitfire was holding her handlebars with an iron group. She got off her bike, then marched towards Redline.

“Hey, Redline!” she started. “What was that about?!”

“It was a race,” Redline said nonchalantly. “There was a gap, and we went for it.”

“What you did was outright reckless!” Spitfire could see her reflection on Redline’s visor, and she was fuming.

“And I gave you a gap,” Redline said harshly, “but you didn’t take it. If you don’t got for a gap that exists, then you’re not racing. We’re here to win. The main motivation for all of us is to win, not hit second or third. If you’re competing without any desire to win, why are you there in the first place?”

Spitfire was silent. She could feel every fibre of her body yelling at her to punch him. She was baring her teeth, and her wings were flared out in aggression. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the media taking photos of them. Already, she realized that she looked like she was the bully, and they were only making Redline look like the underdog. There was no way she could win this moment without looking like a fool.

Spitfire gave a sharp breath.

Remember what he’s trying to do, she told herself. She bit her lip, then sighed and relaxed her stance. She swallowed her pride, putting aside all her memories of her victories and accomplishments.“You’re right, Red.”

The words caught Redline off his guard. He froze, staring at her for a moment. Then, he remained silent.

“You win this challenge, by every word of the rules,” Spitfire added, forcing the words through her mouth. She turned, making her way to the Wonderbolts. But not with the spirit of it, she added in thought.

“Spitfire,” Redline said.

Spitfire ignored him.

“You’d make a good racer.”

The words made Spitfire stop. She felt her hooves stick to the ground. Turning her head, she looked at Redline. He didn’t look like he had any bitterness in him. Instead, it was respect, and for the first time, Spitfire felt that Redline was seeing her as an equal. Then, he gave her a nod.

Spitfire returned the gesture. Not only did she feel relieved, but, for some odd reason, she knew she accomplished something. She turned once more, continuing her way to the Wonderbolts’ team tent.

When she arrived at the table, she collapsed on a seat and gave a small groan. Now that the adrenaline was leaving her system, she finally realized how tired she was.

Fleetfoot walked by and offered her a drink. “You need a sip, Spitfire?”

“I need a massage, that’s what,” Spitfire replied. She eased back on the chair and watched the racers cheer among themselves. Geez, they don’t even look that winded.

“I know that look, Spitfire,” Fleetfoot said. “You’ve had that since the end of the first event. Something’s on your mind. We’ve all noticed it, and we’re getting worried.”

“Team Horspower,” Spitfire murmured.

“The racers?” Fleetfoot asked.

“I’m thinking that this whole little ‘rivalry’ we take for fun is a serious make-or-break deal for them.”

Fleetfoot sighed. “I can’t argue with that.”

Spitfire scanned through the gym of the Canterlot Performance Center. Today was a busy day, but what caught her attention was the fact that majority of the users were the pit crews from the various racing teams. Even in the private rooms, the teams had models of their cars so that they could practice.

Why would a pit crew need to be fit? Spitfire asked in thought.

She trotted past one of the rooms, watching the F1 team practice. A live timer was mounted on the wall. Then, they performed a tyre change, switching all four in two-and-a-half seconds. Spitfire raised her eyebrows, impressed with their reaction time and coordination, but she saw the team shaking their heads among themselves.

“One-point-nine seconds won’t beat itself, gents!” one of the pit crew commented. “Let’s do this again!”

Spitfire blinked in disbelief. Looks like even the pit crews are in a race, she thought with amusement.

She continued making her way. The next room was of another team practicing on the closed-cockpit car that Redline brought in. This time, she noted how there were only a few mechanics working on the car at a given time. In fact, some were sprinting back and forth as they were switching the tyres. She was impressed with how well they were rehearsing, with different crew members changing from one job to the next without any delay.

Could make a great exercise for coordination, she thought. Maybe we could learn a thing or two.

Then, she climbed up the stairs. Eventually, the sounds of the gym disappeared. Up ahead, she could hear Redline talking, and judging by his voice, she guessed he was in a conversation. Looking down, she found a piece of paper on the floor.

Spitfire reached down and grabbed the piece of paper. Flipping it around, she saw a table with Redline’s sponsors and times stamped next to them.

Why would Redline need to know how long his sponsors were seen by the cameras? Spitfire asked. Unless…

Then, she looked at the bottom, reading the first line of text:

‘Podium Bonuses:’

She folded away the paper. She didn’t need to see anything else because she knew all too well what was happening. The racers’ motivations to compete in the Athletes’ Cup finally all made sense to her. The sponsorships, the special treatment from engineers, and the bespoke gear.

Redline and the racers were getting paid by their sponsors to be there. They weren’t participating to help raise funding or awareness for young athletes; they were there just to earn money.

That jerk! Spitfire thought. She grit her teeth, then marched down the hall.

“Hey, Redline!” Spitfire called out.

Redline's voice paused. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Redline walked around the corner, stashing away his phone into his pocket.

Spitfire shoved the paper into Redline’s chest. “You dropped this,” she said harshly.

Before she knew it, she found herself forcing him against the wall. She even found her other hoof raised. She wanted to punch him, to beat him down to the ground. Every inch of her body wanted to start a fight.

But Redline didn’t flinch. Instead, he raised his foreleg to block her, then planted his other hoof against her chest. His reactions were fast, and he stared at her with a cold gaze.

At that moment, he sent one clear message: Your move.

Just do it, Spitfire, a voice said in Spitfire’s head. Just give him what he deserves.

Spitfire brought her hoof back, ready for the blow. Then, she hesitated.

With every ounce of willpower she could find, Spitfire let go of Redline. She wanted to say something back, but she shook her head instead. “You disgust me.”

“Our sponsors made their contribution for the young athletes,” Redline said flatly. “It just so happens that we get paid as well. Besides, your sponsors are still paying you to do whatever the hell you want.”

“Shut up!” Spitfire snarled. Then, she turned and marched down the stairs. She felt a small knot in her, knowing all too well that Redline had a point. Nonetheless, she brushed the thought aside.

If you want a fight for that win, Red, Spitfire thought. You’ll get a fight.

Once she was back on the main fitness area, Spitfire scanned the floor. Then, she found him doing pull ups. She walked up to him and gave a salute.

“Your highness,” Spitfire said.

“You don’t have to call me that when I’m off-duty, Spitfire,” Shining Armor said. He gave small grunt as he finished his last pull-up. “Nor do you need to call me ‘sir.’ So, can I help you with something?”

“Oh, nothing,” Spitfire said. “So, how you feeling about your soccer match against the racers tomorrow?”

“Looking forward to it!” Shining beamed with a massive grin. “Oh, I bet it’s gonna be fun! Cadance and Twilight are gonna be watching, so I’ve got some extra incentive to win!”

Spitfire sat on a bench. “Well, after going head-to-head against the racers on a number of occasions, I did learn a thing or two about them.”

Shining Armor tilted his head. “Like what?”

“They’re generally on the shorter side. They’ll try to use that to their advantage, but you’ve got reach. They’ll want to tire you out, so you just want to make sure your team will stay in formation…”

Throughout the soccer match, the score had been zero-zero. The majority of the time, the royal guards had stayed within their formation, and the racers kept on passing the ball among themselves, hoping to draw them out.

By the time the match was in overtime, everypony was itching to find a goal, but even then, both teams were holding out strong.

The Wonderbolts sat comfortably from their private box, the whole team fully engaged in what they were watching. They had won their match, but the winner of this final game would determine who would also win the Athletes’ Cup. If the racers lost, then the Wonderbolts would win.

“Guess those racers really are something, aren’t they?” Soarin commented.

“Mm-hmm,” Fleetfoot said. “Still can’t believe they do triathlons in their spare time.”

Spitfire ignored them. Instead, she focused on the match.

Suddenly, the trio of racers broke into a sprint, heading straight towards the goal with the rest of their team nearby. They passed the ball amongst each other and found themselves near Shining Armor, who was the goalie. Then, Redline kicked, but a defender blocked it, sending the ball out of the field. The referee blew a whistle and gestured for a corner kick.

The crowd started cheering. Spitfire stood up, gripping the handlebars in anticipation. She could feel her heart beating against her chest, the tension filling the air.

Camber took the corner kick and sent the ball through the air. All the players scrambled. Amongst the chaos, one figure rose above it. Flywheel jumped to the air and used his head.

Shining Armor dove, but he was too late.

The crowd broke into a frenzy of cheers. Spitfire sighed, then fell to her seat. Granted, she was disappointed that she and the Wonderbolts lost. However, she also felt relieved, thankful that the cup was over. She was done with putting up a facade.

She looked back at the field. The racers were celebrating amongst themselves. They may be at each others’ throats, but in that moment, she saw them as brothers, a family who understood and respected each other because they all knew what they were going through.

Finally, they got up, then shook hooves with the royal guards. They even started exchanging jerseys among each other.

Spitfire got off her seat. “Well, the award ceremony’s starting soon,” she said. “Let’s head to the podium.”

The Wonderbolts nodded in agreement. They proceeded down the stairs and met the royal guard team and the racers, who were already provided caps and watches by their sponsors.

Spitfire went to Redline, and they shared a look. “Well, Redline,” she said, “you win. You’re right. You racers proved yourselves to be among the top athletes of the world. Congrats.”

Without waiting for a response, she then approached Shining Armor and shook his hoof. “Good game.”

Shining Armor smiled. “Thanks.”

“Spitfire,” a voice said.

Spitfire turned and saw Redline.

“You Wonderbolts were a tough team,” he said. He extended his hoof, then gave a smile. “But it’s been a ton of fun.”

They shook hooves. For the first time, Spitfire saw Redline genuinely smile at her, and he didn’t have any hint of hostility. In fact, she, too, found herself smiling, and she felt grateful as she could feel the tension wash away.

Shining Armor approached the two of them. “It’s been quite the competition. How about the three of us grab some lunch after this?”

Spitfire and Redline nodded.

“Sounds good,” Spitfire said.

“Excuse me, athletes,” a staff member announced, “please proceed outside, we’ll be having the awards ceremony.”

All of them then proceeded outside, where a podium was waiting for them. The royal guard team took up the third place spot, the Wonderbolts second, and the racers first.

Princess Celestia and Princess Luna appeared, the trophies floating in their magical grasps.

“In third place, the royal guards!” Celestia’s voice boomed throughout the arena as she and Luna handed Shining Armor and his team. The crowds cheered and clapped.

The princesses then gave the Wonderbolts their trophies, and Princess Luna gave a small smile and nod to Spitfire.

“In second place,” Celestia announced, “the Wonderbolts!”

The arena was filled with cheers.

“And finally, first place!” Celestia said. “The racers, Team Horsepower!”

The racers held their trophies high to the applause of the stadium. Some even gave theirs a light toss in the air before catching it and giving it a kiss.

Then, Luna and Celestia were quick to scurry away from the podium.

Spitfire frowned. What’s gotten them in such a hurry?

She looked down and saw giant glass bottles neatly tucked away beneath the floor, out of sight from the fans. By the time she realized what was about to happen, the racers were ready.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers. “And now, the champagne!”

The racers shook their bottles, spraying amongst themselves. To everyone’s surprise, they were incredibly accurate with directing the flow to each others’ faces. The royal guards and the Wonderbolts did the same, albeit with sloppier aim.

Spitfire stared at the bottle in her hooves. She wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. After all, she was just beaten by a teenager in front of millions of spectators, and she didn’t care if second place was still a podium finish. Sure, she did what she set out to do, to give everything she had so Redline could prove himself, but it was all a hollow victory. The whole spirit of the Athletes’ Cup had been ruined, at least for her. At the end of the day, Redline and the racers won, but they were never interested in helping the next generation of athletes in the first place.

Looking down at the bottle, Spitfire lifted it to her head, pressed her lips against the top, then drank it by the mouthful. It had been out for a while, and the champagne had gone warm. Nonetheless, she drank as much as she could, hoping to wash away the sickening feeling in her gut.

Suddenly, a splash of champagne got on her face, and her eye stung. After wiping it off, she found Soarin smiling at her, knowing that he’d aimed his spray properly. Forcing a smile, Spitfire shook her bottle, then returned the gesture. She thought of the celebration as wasteful, but she might as well try to look like she was having fun.

Spitfire sat with Shining Armor and Redline in Canterlot Castle, and they had the dining room to themselves. She noted, though, that Redline was given his MareClaren shirt as well as a watch from one of his sponsors. Even with the Athletes’ Cup done, she still didn’t feel completely at ease with him. Somehow, something in her was telling her that Redline was still trying to prove something. Outside, the sun was shining, and one could see the numerous tourists visiting Canterlot.

“So, Redline,” Shining Armor started. “Heard motorsports will keep Equestria occupied for next weekend.”

Redline nodded. “We’ll be having a very busy week. Junior championships like GP2, F1, and the World Endurance Championship.”

“World Endurance Championship?” Spitfire asked.

Redline sported a grin. “It may have endurance in its name, but that’s not the case anymore. The sports cars are so well-developed you don’t have to hold back on performance, so you’re practically sprinting the whole race, and the races range from six to twenty-four hours. The only things that stop you would be re-fueling, tyre changes, and swapping the drivers.”

“And I assume an endurance car was the spaceship of a thing you drove in the opening ceremony?” Spitfire asked.

Redline nodded. “Specifically, it was a Le Manes Prototype. A tiny bit slower than F1 cars, but they’re a ton of fun to drive. What makes endurance racing so special is the fact that you race with other classes as well. In the LMP class, you’re the fastest, so you have to find way to weave through the traffic while driving with the slower classes who are also fighting among themselves.”

Spitfire’s jaw fell. In the realm of flying, she knew very well that racing around other, slower flyers was inherently reckless. “That’s dangerous!”

“The slower cars must keep to their racing lines,” Redline said, “and it’s the faster cars’ responsibility to drive around them. Being at the right place at the right time can allow you to catch up to your opponent, who could be caught up in the traffic. Your two second lead could disappear right then and there. Combine that with racing at night, the whole thing becomes quite special.”

Frowning, Spitfire held herself back from shaking her head. You racers are insane.

“So, Redline,” Shining Armor said, “If you’re in MareClaren’s junior F1 program, how’d you get to race with Horsche?”

“Typically, a lot of non-F1 drivers race in multiple series,” Redline said. “Since GP2 doesn’t race as often as F1, I was able to carve out some free time to race at other series. MareClaren’s got a lot of involvement in other non-F1 races as well, so when I wasn’t training for GP2, I was training for a twelve or twenty-four hour race for sports cars. Eventually, I set my goal for Le Manes; it’s the one race that every racer in the world wants to do someday, and teams go out of their way to field a third reserve car because they want to win it that badly. After talking with MareClaren for a bit, they let me race for Horsche’s third driver team in the Le Manes Prototype class.”

“So am I right to assume that the driver teams for the third car are there for a one-off kind of thing?” Spitfire asked.

Redline nodded, then smiled. “Still had the best time of my life.”

“Is it possible for an F1 driver to race at Le Manes?” Spitfire asked.

“Yes, but only one driver has done it so far,” Redline replied.

“Any heroes you look up to?” Spitfire asked.

“The usual, really,” Redline replied. “Hayrton Senna, Mika Hakkineigh. All those greats. One of my favourite moments was watching Senna race at home. Everything seemed against him.”

Suddenly, his voice changed. Spitfire knew that kind of tone, one rich with enthusiasm and passion that came from every fiber of his existence. Redline was speaking from his heart.

“The weather was deteriorating, his tyres were having problems, and his gearbox was stuck. Hayrton had to fight the car with everything he had, and his shoulders and his neck were getting spasms. He ended up getting a fever during the race. His closest rival was only one bad turn away from stealing his win, but Senna kept pushing on.”

Redline then smiled. “Then, he did it. For the first time, he won at home. He was so beaten up by his car that he couldn’t even stand, but somehow, he managed to find the strength to wave his flag. His whole country was cheering his name.”

Then, there was silence. Redline lowered his head, regaining his composure. Everypony kept quiet as they took it all in.

“Wow,” Shining Armor said.

Redline nodded with a smile.

Their meals arrived. Shining Armor and Spitfire helped themselves to generous portions of carbohydrates, proteins, and vegetables.

Redline, however, had only a meager serving of some vegetables, nuts, black beans, and a tiny portion of a sweet potato. It would’ve made anypony miserable, but Redline appeared to take it well.

“That’s all you’re having?” Shining Armor commented.

Redline nodded. His stomach grumbled. “You didn’t hear that.”

“Geez, Red,” Spitfire said, “if that’s your lunch, what’d you have for breakfast?”

“A protein shake and some raisins,” Redline replied.

Spitfire frowned. “That’s it? How do you get your energy? Don’t you need carbohydrates?”

Redline pointed to the tiny cube on his plate. “Sweet potato, but even then, that’s rare. I usually eat some brown rice at night for recovery. Because I have some serious training tomorrow, I’ll be eating extra tonight.”

“So why are all of you racers so fit?” Shining Armor asked. “Why do you train for such a high level?”

“You’ve already seen how much we’ve worked on our endurance,” Redline replied. “Throughout the whole time we’re on track, we’re operating at a hundred percent because we’re pushing for every advantage, so strength is good, but bulk is bad. If you feel tired, your mental performance would’ve dropped, and that would put you in danger of making a mistake, one that would make you a hazard to yourself and the other drivers.”

Spitfire nodded. Flying had taught her that lesson well. A small mistake in the middle of an aerial routine would have serious consequences, but with her situation, everypony was in it together, and they get to take a break in between the different parts of their routine. For the racers, she saw a competitive, cut-throat world that didn’t offer any time to relax.

“And then there’s the actual car,” Redline continued. “It’s a bloody sauna inside. We sweat so much we lose fluids by the liters. I remember hopping out of the car two kilos lighter. The steering wheel’s like shoulder-pressing a forty pound weight, and we need to use one hundred-seventy pounds of force for the pedals.”

“Wow,” Shining Armor said. “And you’re in the car for how long?”

“Hour and a half… two hours a stint, maybe,” Redline said. “In endurance racing, you still have to prepare yourself for your next session. Ideally, each driver would get eight hours of racing in total so that you’re all split evenly over a twenty-four hour race, but that’s not always the case.”

“I noticed that your neck is one of the bulkiest parts you have,” Spitfire commented.

“We can go somewhere from three to five Gs when we take the corners,” Redline replied. “Sure, you flyers go through more, but the Gs are parallel to your body. For us, they’re perpendicular, and that’s the tricky bit. The weight of your head and helmet get multiplied by the G-forces, so your neck would need to withstand something like thirty-five kilos, or seventy-seven pounds. It’s tough replicating those conditions in the gym.”

There was an awkward silence as Shining Armor and Spitfire looked at each other in disbelief. Spitfire could only imagine what Redline did in the gym to get his neck in shape.

“Bet that kills your neck muscles,” Spitfire commented.

Redline nodded. He pointed to Shining Armor’s plate. “Mind if I have a walnut?”

“Sure,” Shining Armor said as he floated the nut to Redline’s hoof.

Redline then gently placed the walnut on his shoulder and pressed his cheek against it. With a sly grin, he flexed his neck muscles, and a loud crack popped through the air. Shining Armor yelped, and Spitfire felt a cold shiver down her spine and held the sides of her neck.

With a mischievous smile, Redline opened up the walnut and ate it. “Needless to say,” he continued, “my trainer and I try to mix things up every now and then to keep it interesting. Skiing, triathlons, cycling, rowing, squash, among others. I’ve recently discovered boxing.”

“Oh?” Shining Armor commented, regaining his composure. “Want to spar someday?”

“Hopefully,” Redline said wistfully. “Can we agree to light punches only?”

“Agreed,” Shining Armor said confidently. “The last thing we need is for somepony to get hurt. But with your neck muscles, I’m pretty sure you can take a punch quite well.”

“A match between you two? Now that’s something I want to see,” Spitfire added with a smile. A small part of her wanted to see Shining Armor beat up Redline and knock down his ego a few notches.

“So, Redline,” Shining Armor started, “do you have a special somepony watching you while you race?”

Redline shook his head. “Never had relationship before.”

“Aww, how?” Shining Armor asked playfully. “With a hotshot like you, I’m pretty sure you can find at least somepony out there who can be with you.”

Then, Redline sighed. “A relationship is just another thing that could distract me. I need to be a hundred percent focused on racing with nothing holding me back. The last thing I need in the car is a thought telling me I’ve got something to lose.”

Another awkward silence blanketed the room. The conversation took a pause as they all continued eating their meals. Spitfire couldn’t think of anything to say. She was thankful when she felt her phone vibrate, something to distract her. With a brief glance, she gave a small sigh.

More PR work, she thought to herself irritably. Then, she shifted her attention to Redline. “So after the GP2 championship, where do you go after that?”

“F1,” Redline replied instantly. “It’s the pinnacle of motorsport.”

“But I’ve been reading up on F1 lately,” Shining Armor added. “Basically, it’s been only one or two teams dominating the whole season…. And a lot of fans and teams nowadays aren’t really happy with the current set of rules.”

Redline paused. “The point of racing is to help push forward road technology. It just so happens that some teams get the solution right better than others. F1 needs to stay relevant to the worlds’ needs and trends, so it has to change the rules every now and then to reflect said trends.”

Spitfire raised an eyebrow. She knew that kind of language anywhere, and Redline’s sponsor gear only confirmed it. Then, she shared a look with Shining Armor, who also understood what was happening.

Then, Shining Armor leaned forward. “Redline, you talk as though you’re tied down by sponsorship contracts. In here, you’re free to share you mind, and it’ll be safe with us.”

After pausing for a moment, Redline gave a defeated sigh. “F1’s a mess now. The rules are so strict they’re basically down to the molecule. All F1 teams are required to use a specific layout of engine with a specific type of hybrid system, and the rubber we use in GP2 and F1 are inherently designed to degrade. At its worst, all the F1 cars were practically the same, and the only difference between them was in the aerodynamics. This isn’t making technology to help road cars anymore, it’s putting on a show for the hell of it.”

Spitfire saw Redline’s face change. This time, he was filled with bitter frustration, and he was tense. She wanted to get him to stop, but he quickly continued.

“But look at the endurance cars. Each team is running a completely different setup. In the LMPs, you can have three completely different hybrid systems. Bloody hell, we had a diesel hybrid race against in a petrol hybrid, two designs that were worlds apart. And in this series, the tyres are built to last as long as possible! With the rising popularity of hybrid and electric vehicles, the knowledge learned from the WEC will actually be useful!”

“But you’re just cherry picking one series,” Shining Armor said.

Redline shook his head. “There’s a new formula series that’s been going around, one where all the cars are electric. Some teams have one motor with multiple gears, while others have two motors and one gear. And yes, the tyres are built to last as long as possible.”

Spitfire frowned. “Then why is F1 still more popular?”

“Because it’s all just a political money game,” Redline hissed. “F1 has its name. Some drivers racing for F1 and GP2 nowadays are jokes. They got there because their sponsors were extra generous with the money they brought. Meanwhile… a lot of us racers are doing anything for our sponsors to make ends meet.”

Shining Armor floated a glass of water to his lips. “How much does it cost you to race?”

Lowering his head, Redlined kept his gaze low. “Two-point-two million a year for GP2,” he murmured.

Shining Armor choked on his water. Spitfire felt her gut twist, and she sank in her seat.

“When I won Le Manes,” Redline said, “I felt honoured to have been part of a team who made history…. And the bonus Horsche paid me on that one win was so much that I was able to pay all me racing fees in full and still live comfortably.”

As Shining Armor cleared his throat, Spitfire forced herself to lean on the table, the sinking feeling still inside her. “Then why do you still want to be in F1?” she asked.

“Because I’ve watched my heroes race in F1 and make history,” Redline said. “I want to be the first Equestrian F1 racer and, ultimately, the first Equestrian champion.”

“So, you’re half Equestrian, half Braytish, right?” Shining Armor asked, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Yes,” Redline replied.

“How’s the racing scene back in Braytain?”

“Lots of racers. I could easily walk down the street and have a fan ask for an autograph. Braytain’s got a lot of racers, but Equestria has none. I thought I’d make myself the first. But… there’s a problem. No matter how much I try to find sponsors, other athletes end up getting chosen over me.”

Spitfire frowned. She knew that sponsors would be all over anything that would be a first in history. “Why?”

“Because professional motor racing is basically unknown here, sponsors think funding a racer is a waste of time and effort… and they’d be more than happy to fund the next star in the Wonderbolts.”

Then, Spitfire felt her heart skip a beat. Is he… blaming me?

Redline sighed. “I was tempted to change my license from Equestrian to Brayt. It’ll make myself more attractive to other sponsors outside of Equestria.”

Forcing her gaze away, Spitfire brought her eyes back down to her food. On the one hoof, she felt disgusted, knowing all too well how willing Redline was to sell himself away. On the other, she saw desperation and commitment, somepony who was willing to stick to his goal to the end. She knew that world, the road to get to the top. The environment was selfish, and so was the competition. Spitfire remembered how much she gave up to get to where she was, the rivals she made, the friends she lost, and the opportunities she passed. At that moment, she didn’t see Redline anymore; she was looking at herself.

“So why did you stay?” she asked.

Redlined sighed. “Fancy Pants convinced me to give Equestrian sponsors one more try. If that didn’t work, we’d dump them in favour of Braytish sponsors, and I’d change my license.”

Spitfire was silent. She felt her gut twist. This is not helping.

“So that’s it, then,” Shining Armor said in a low tone. “Money.”

Redline lowered his head. “Wait… there’s one more thing. Whenever I visit here, I’d see the crowds watch the Wonderbolts and other aerial teams perform their tricks. Every flying Equestrian foal has that sparkle in their eye with the hope that one day, they could fly like that. But for the grounded little ones, I only saw a depressing defeat. They know they can never be that fast.

“I wanted to be the first Equestrian racer to show them that we can be fast… that we can even be faster, even. I want to give them hope, to reignite that passion. Bloody hell, when we race in GP2 we can be having a go at each other at around 330 kilometers an hour… or 205 miles an hour.”

Spitfire blinked. Granted, she was impressed with an earthy pony staying confident at those kinds of speeds, but she still couldn’t get over the fact that Redline was so willing to sell himself out so easily. Yet, somehow, something told her that she couldn’t be mad at him, an athlete who’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. “You really believe in yourself that much?”

Redline paused, then nodded. He had finished his plate, then checked his watch. He promptly got off from his seat. “I apologize, but I need to go. More training.”

He quickly made his way out, shutting the door behind him.

Shining Armor sighed. “He really is something, huh?”

Spitfire nodded silently. She felt her phone once more. “Excuse me for a moment.”

She checked the message, and her eyes widened. She didn’t know how to respond or feel, so she only replied with an ‘ok’.

She lifted her head back up and looked at Shining Armor. “I need to go, too. Thank you for the meal.”

As she made her way to the door, a thousand thoughts raced through her mind. She checked the message once again, reading every word to make sure she got it right. After the reality set in, she took a breath. She’d done countless PR events and stunts before, but nothing like this. She hoped Redline would be a good coach. After all, he only had five days to turn her into a racing driver.