Chapter Text
An alternate universe where Martina Ho's first fateful collision isn't with Mayor Atasha Tesoro, but with Mayor Quin Artibel "the political wildfire of Carcar". What begins as a charity motocross race turns into a flirty rivalry of speed, banter, and dangerous chemistry neither of them is ready to lose
Martina Ho kicked the stand off her borrowed dirt bike, adjusted the helmet under her arm, and surveyed the charity motocross track carved out of an old reclaimed lot on the outskirts of Manila.
She thought this would be a chill event show up, smile for sponsors, do a few harmless laps, raise money for some school. Easy.
Until she saw her.
Standing next to a matte black KTM, arms crossed, looking like she belonged on the cover of "Women Who Will End You," was Quin Artibel Mayor of Carcar, Cebu's political wildfire, and apparently, part-time adrenaline junkie.
"Why are you here?" Martina asked flatly.
Quin pulled her aviators down just enough to reveal smug brown eyes. "Charity. Also... I was told there'd be amateurs to lap."
Martina huffed a laugh. "Cute. You here to do PR or actually race?"
"Oh honey," Quin purred, swinging a leg over the bike like she was born in racing leathers, "I don't just show up for photo ops."
Minutes later, the starting line buzzed with cameras. Manila's who's-who was watching: celebrities, athletes, politicians. Martina strapped on her helmet, adrenaline already coursing through her veins.
"You nervous, Ho?" Quin's voice cut through her visor comms they'd been mic'd up for "audience entertainment."
Martina smirked. "Please. I'm used to competing. Are you ready to lose without a Senate inquiry to blame it on?"
Quin revved her engine, the sound deep and cocky. "Winner gets public bragging rights. Loser buys the afterparty drinks."
"And I'm ordering the expensive whiskey," Martina fired back.
The gunshot cracked.
The race exploded into life.
Martina was quick she had raw athleticism, quick reaction time, and no fear of speed. But Quin... Quin was reckless and calculated. She didn't just race she stalked the curves, maneuvered like a devil on wheels, and blocked Martina with just enough elbow room to be annoying.
Lap after lap, they threw dirt at each other, weaving past clueless celebrities who were just happy to finish upright.
Final lap. Last turn. Quin cut in close, too close, tires skidding beside Martina's.
"You gonna cry, Ho?" Quin teased through the comms, breathless but smug.
Martina grinned, twisted her throttle, and cut inside bold, nearly illegal blasting past Quin in the final straightaway by a hair.
The finish line whooshed under her tires. Victory by half a wheel.
Martina ripped off her helmet, grin wide, chest pumping with adrenaline.
Quin rolled in seconds later, pulling off her own helmet, flushed and... smiling.
"Rematch in Cebu," Quin said, walking up until they were nearly chest-to-chest, dirt smudged across perfect cheekbones. "Real track. Real riders."
Martina tilted her head. "You're on."
"And," Quin added slyly, voice low, "I don't care how much lechon it takes next time I'm making you eat my dust."
Martina leaned in, cocky as hell. "Careful, Mayor... I might end up making you like it."
For the first time, Quin's smirk faltered just for a second.
Yeah... this wasn't going to be their last race.
And maybe... losing wouldn't even be the worst thing.
Round Two in Carcar
Martina Ho didn't do vacations. She did training camps, tournaments, press junkets. But when her brother finally bullied her into a few days off, she found herself in Cebu, Carcar, of all places.
She told herself she was here for the lechon. Nothing else. Definitely not because someone had dropped the word "rematch" in her ear weeks ago and smiled like she owned the world while saying it.
The afternoon sun baked the plaza as Martina strolled past stalls selling chicharon, fresh buko pies, and woven baskets. She tugged her cap low, trying not to attract too much attention, though a couple of locals had already whispered, "Si Martina Ho iyon, diba?"
She was halfway through a stick of fried banana cue when she heard it.
"Well, look who decided to crawl into my city."
Martina stiffened, turned, and there she was. Quin Artibel. Sunglasses perched on her head, crisp white YSL shirt tucked into tight pants, sleeves rolled up just enough to show she wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty. Carcar's political wildfire in the flesh.
Martina smirked. "Mayor Artibel. Didn't know you patrolled the markets personally."
Quin stepped closer, hands in her pockets, voice smooth but biting. "Only when national athletes invade. We can't have Manila stars running wild, now can we?"
Martina popped the last of her banana cue into her mouth, deliberately slow. "Relax, Mayor. I'm only here for the food. Your track isn't ready for me yet."
Quin's lips curved, amused. "Still clinging to that photo finish win? You cheated."
Martina laughed. "It's called strategy. You wouldn't survive in volleyball if you're not ruthless."
Quin arched a brow. "I wouldn't survive in politics if I wasn't bold."
Their eyes met, sparks flickering between them like static. Around them, the market buzzed, but for a moment, it felt like the whole plaza had narrowed to two people circling each other.
"Bold, huh?" Martina tilted her head. "I'd say dramatic. Though I have to admit, you ride almost as well as you argue."
"Almost?" Quin leaned closer, voice lower now. "Ho, admit it. You've never had competition like me."
Martina grinned, cocky as hell. "True. Most opponents I beat don't look nearly as good losing."
That made Quin laugh short, genuine, surprising. She shook her head, clearly trying not to give Martina the satisfaction.
They walked, almost unconsciously falling into step, weaving past stalls as vendors offered free samples, everyone eager to impress their mayor. Quin was at ease here, effortlessly commanding respect. Martina found herself watching the way people's faces lit up when Quin greeted them by name.
"Never thought I'd see you here," Quin said finally, side eyeing her. "You don't strike me as the small town tourist type."
"I'm not," Martina admitted. "But Cebu has good food. And I heard Carcar has... interesting company."
Quin's brow lifted. "Company? Or competition?"
"Both," Martina shot back smoothly.
Quin chuckled under her breath, then stopped in front of a stall selling woven fans. She picked one up, snapped it open with a flick of her wrist, and held it like a queen on her throne.
"You know," Quin said, fanning herself, "if you're going to hang around my city, you might as well let me show you the good parts."
Martina leaned an elbow on the stall counter, watching her with lazy amusement. "You're offering to tour me around, Mayor? Should I be flattered or suspicious?"
"Suspicious," Quin said bluntly, lips quirking. "I'm bold, remember?"
Martina grinned, leaning closer, voice dropping just enough to turn the air between them heavier. "I like bold. Keeps things... exciting."
Quin's eyes flickered, caught off guard for just a beat before she recovered with that trademark smirk.
"Tomorrow," Quin said firmly. "I'll take you around. Carcar deserves a proper introduction."
Martina straightened, nodding slowly, grin widening. "Fine. But only if you promise not to throw me into another race."
"No promises." Quin snapped the fan shut, eyes glinting with mischief.
Martina chuckled, turning away but tossing the words over her shoulder, flirty and easy. "Then it's a date, Mayor."
Quin froze for half a second before replying, voice cool, steady, but betraying just the slightest edge. "Careful what you call it, Ho."
Martina didn't look back. "Careful what you make it, Laure."
And just like that, round two had begun.