From the bar to the hospital where Zofia is placed, it would usually take about an hour and a half on foot.
Riding a motorcycle would be much faster—twenty minutes at best, assuming the roads cooperated.
But from the mont the engine roared to life to the second they skidded to a screeching halt at the hospital's front gate, the trip took exactly five minutes.
Five. Minutes.
The old craftsman had no idea how he survived those five minutes—minutes that felt longer than his entire life up to this point.
All he knew now was one thing: he was never letting Steven take the wheel again.
His legs trembling like jelly, the old bear of a man sohow managed to peel himself off the backseat of the bike.
His large paws—once wrapped tightly around whatever he could grip—were numb, fingers cramped into a death grip.
He had held on so tightly he might've crushed part of the fra.
With a shaky hand, he wiped his face.
The coarse sensation of his own palm confird one important thing: he was still alive.
He hadn't been flung off halfway through the ride, soul soaring into the afterlife while his body skidded down the asphalt.
"It… it's over…?"
His voice ca out as a trembling whisper—stamred, half-choked.
It wasn't that he didn't want to speak clearly—his face muscles were just refusing to cooperate.
After all, it had been five minutes of relentless wind slapping him in the face like a gale straight from Ursus snowfiel.
As for Steven's driving skills? The old man couldn't even begin to evaluate them.
Why?
Because he hadn't seen a single thing clearly on the way here.
And to be fair, while he had fine-tuned this bike's engine himself—tweaked every part to the highest standards—he'd never, ever imagined anyone would actually push it to its limit like this.
This wasn't driving.
This was ground-level flight.
Frankly, the fact that they hadn't slamd into a truck, a wall, or a God-forsaken statue was nothing short of a miracle.
"Yeah, it's over," Steven said, hopping off the bike, brushing off his jacket like it was just another Tuesday. "The route was a bit short, though. Didn't get to enjoy it properly. Still… old man, this machine's not bad at all! The horsepower's just a tad lacking. If it could go a bit faster, now that would've been aweso."
He looked genuinely enthusiastic. His eyes sparkled with the rush of adrenaline, a slight grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
Steven had never really experienced the thrill of a proper joyride before. But now that he had?
He was hooked.
The near-death skims past oncoming trucks, the barely-missed corners, the exhilarating flirtation with doom—it was… addictive.
No wonder people liked this kind of thing.
"You call that slow?!"
The old craftsman stared in disbelief at the now-glowing-red engine, smoke lightly hissing from the fra. Behind them, the road bore a long, dark streak—lted rubber marking the high-speed madness of their path.
If this wasn't fast enough for the kid, then maybe what he needed wasn't a motorcycle.
Maybe what he needed was a damn rocket.
"Can I ask, uh… what kind of bike you're used to riding?" the old bear finally managed, dabbing at the delayed sheen of sweat now erging on his forehead.
The wind had been so violent during the ride, it had dried off both tears and sweat instantly. Only now, in the relative calm, was his body catching up to the trauma.
"Hm? Motorcycles?" Steven tilted his head in thought. "Well, I've played a lot of Road Rash, if that counts. And for cars, you know—stuff like Need for Speed, Forza Horizon—that kind of thing. I'm really into those."
The old craftsman's blood drained from his face.
Wait.
Wait just a minute.
Why did none of those nas sound like actual vehicles?
More importantly—why did they sound like video gas!?
"…Don't tell … I just rode here driven by soone who's never actually driven before!?"
He almost wanted to cry.
And as if twisting the knife, he muttered softly to himself, "…Do you even rember how many red lights we ran?"
The bike was his.
Every single red light they blew through? Every fine? Every violation?
All under his na.
And heaven help him—he was just a poor old craftsman who had to fix leaky faucets and broken light bulbs just to scrape together enough for a bottle of booze. Where on Terra was he supposed to get the money to pay for all this!?
Worse still, the motorcycle he had poured his heart and soul into—the one he personally customized down to the last bolt—looked like it had just been through a warzone.
"I, uh… don't really rember how many lights we passed. It was all a blur," Steven said with a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his head.
He turned to wheel the still-smoking bike toward the parking lot—only to feel the weight in his hands suddenly disappear.
Clunk… clang… clatter.
With the sound of sothing groaning in despair, the once-magnificent machine… simply collapsed. Right there. On the spot.
It didn't just fall over. It disassembled itself, piece by piece, with a tragic whimper—as if surrendering to the sheer trauma it had just endured. In re seconds, it was reduced to a pile of scrap tal.
Steven was left standing there holding… just the handlebars.
"…Welp."
He forced out an awkward smile, glancing at the wide-eyed, slack-jawed old bear beside him.
"So… uh… I'll pay for it."
He squeezed the words out through his clenched teeth, the guilt-laced awkwardness almost painful to witness.
It was a tragic mont—but for so reason, Steven felt like laughing.
And honestly, it really wasn't his fault.
He might've applied a bit too much pressure while driving because, at that speed, there was no other way to turn corners properly.
If anything, it just ant the vehicle quality in this world needed a serious upgrade.
"This is on you. Don't expect any discounts," the old bear grumbled through clenched teeth, his expression twitching.
And to help himself vent the last of his frustration, he socked Steven in the arm—hard.
"Ow! Okay, okay, I get it!" Steven laughed, rubbing his arm. "We'll build a new one—better parts, top-quality everything. And as for drinks? I'll cover them. For a whole week. My bad. Totally my fault."
His laughter was surprisingly carefree—genuine, even. He wasn't just brushing things off; he ant it.
Paying back damages and booze money? That was the least he could do.
"You brat… were you trying to kill ?" the old bear groaned, though this ti he was chuckling along.
He gave Steven a friendly slap on the back.
"Do you have any idea how close I thought I was to seeing the afterlife? You actually drove like a lunatic out of so movie!"
But deep down, the rage had faded.
After all, it had been the most adrenaline-pumping five minutes of his life.
He wouldn't wish it on himself again—but the thrill? That was real.
"If there's a next ti, I'll bring my own bike. I'll take you for a ride. Faster than before," Steven grinned, already dreaming of building his ultimate motorcycle.
The old bear's face froze mid-smile. His expression stiffened like he'd just heard his death sentence.
"Nope. Nuh-uh. I'm never getting on anything with two wheels again. If you're that eager, go find Old V—he hasn't had the 'pleasure' of your joyrides yet. He might even enjoy it."
Without an ounce of sha, the old craftsman threw his own buddy under the bus, eager to deflect Steven's next round of "experintation" onto soone else.
"Alright, alright. I'll let him know," Steven said, chuckling, though feeling a little confused.
Why was the big bear still acting so weird?
Did he… not enjoy it?
Was it not fast enough? Did it fail to pump up his adrenaline?
Strange. He thought he was going fast.
They chatted idly for about twenty minutes before the rumbling of another motorcycle echoed in the distance. From the end of the road, the old knight finally arrived—riding in with the bald bartender clinging tightly to the back.
He rolled to a stop in front of them, kicked down the stand, and set the bartender down.
"Whoa now—what speed!" the knight whistled, grinning wide. "Little bro, have you driven one of these things before?"
He had thought his riding was fast.
But Steven? He was gone like an arrow loosed from a bow. He hadn't even caught a glimpse of his tail lights.
At first, he'd assud the old bear must've rigged the bike with so new tech upgrades or sothing. It had seed like the sort of thing he'd do.
But after chasing empty air the whole way, the knight had to admit it:
That kid had skills.
"Huh? First ti, I think. And it wasn't that fast… Pretty average, really," Steven replied with a modest smile.
But one sharp glare from the old bear beside him had Steven quickly turning his head away, fighting back a grin.
The knight blinked, a little baffled. "So… it was your mods, huh, old bear? No wonder I couldn't catch up! Co on, lem take a look at this beast—what kinda new parts did you slap on this ti?"
He rubbed his palms together excitedly, clearly itching to peek under the taphorical hood. The knight was always on the hunt for upgrades, and speed boosters were his favorite.
But the mont he brought it up, the bear's expression darkened.
The smile died. His face went full dead fish mode.
The knight paused, confused. Normally, this would be the mont the old bear would start bragging non-stop about his engineering genius while mocking the knight's outdated junk heap.
So why did he look like he just swallowed a spoonful of wasabi?
"What? Don't wanna show it off? Man, you're stingy as hell, you know that?" the knight grumbled, shaking his head.
He was just about to drop it when he saw it:
The old bear's teary, rage-filled glare.
He followed the bear's trembling finger… to the side of the road.
Where a pile of mangled, twisted, smoking scrap tal sat.
"…Huh?"
"That—" the old bear growled, voice cracking with righteous fury, "—that's the bike! Go on, look all you want! If you can find even a single piece of 'new tech' in there, it's yours! See if I'm stingy then!"
The knight's jaw dropped.
There weren't any parts to admire. There was just… wreckage. A sad, smoking grave of what used to be a motorcycle.
His gaze slowly slid from the heap of ruin… to Steven.
"…Did you take him to compete in so underground knight tournant on that thing?" the knight asked, blinking.
"Or did it transform halfway through into a cha or sothing?"
Steven's smile turned mysterious, sly as a fox.
"Heh~ Who knows? Wanna take a guess?"
< >
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