“Main hoon Lucky the Racer,” he said. And for the first time, he understood that his name was a lie. He wasn’t lucky. He was chosen. And being chosen meant making choices.

He turned left. Into the skid. Into the drop. But not to save himself.

That was five months ago. Five races. Five wins. And the debt had only grown.

The crowd parted as the Ghost walked over. Up close, he was unremarkable. A quiet man with a quiet voice. But when he spoke, the air pressure changed.

“I’ve never lost at all,” Lucky said.