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"You totally blew that race! I told you the stakes of this, and you lost." Harv yelled. "You're lucky the public likes you, cause their sponsorships are the only thing that's stopping me from tossing you out onto the streets."

"I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry - I tried my best - "

"Well your best ain't bloody well good enough!" Harv wasn't just angry, he was full on pissed off. His face was red with rage, his stance stiff and shaking. Spit flew from his mouth when he spoke, and rookie sensation Lightning McQueen was scared.

The race was only the second in the season - the second ever professional race he had done - and he had placed fourth. Not even on the podium.

He knew he was in trouble as soon as he got out of the car, his pit crew shoving him out the way to change tires and look after the famous car. Lightning had barely gotten his helmet off when he was pursued by a fuming Harv.

He dragged the rookie to an empty green room, as all the other racers had left for interviews or were talking to sponsors.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'll - I'll do better. I'm sorry I was just distracted. It won't happen again."

Harv rolled his eyes.

"All this 'I won't do this again' business better stop. You're a professional racer for God's sake, man up."

Lightning felt like he was hit by a bag of bricks, but in his heart, he knew Harv was correct. He was weak. He was stupid and he needed to be better, whatever it took. Without realising it, tears began to prick in the corners of his eyes. He tried to blink them away but Harv had already noticed. 

"Gonna cry now? You disgust me. Get out of my sight." 

Lightning scrambled out of the room, clamping a hand over his mouth as soon as he was out of Harvs vision. Slamming the door open, he began to climb the stairs up to the pits. 

By this point the tears ran freely down his face, and he tried to rub them off with his sleeve, making his face red and blotchy. 

Making his way down a corridor, he heard a voice behind him. 

"Hey, McQueen!" Lightning stopped, but didn't turn around. A pair of footsteps followed him up, and a blue gloved hand was put on his shoulder. 

"Hey, kid! Just wanted to say - Holy crap are you okay?" Lightning had turned around, and Strip Weathers aka 'The King' had seen his tear stained face. 

Lightning tried to speak, but all that came out was a gargling sound that resembled more of a sob than anything else. 

Strips face softened, and he looked over McQueen in concern, gently pulling him into his pit. 

He sat the young racer down, thought for a second, and then knealt down in front of him. 

"What happened, champ? Was it the race?" 

Lightning looked away, his head jutted up a fraction of a centimetre in a nod.

"But fourth place ain't nothing to be ashamed of. There are many cars in the race, most of which can only dream of being in fourth. And they've been racing for years." 

Lightning looked at the ceiling, a tear escaping his eye. 

"It's not - just the race. It's what comes after." 

Strip scrunched his eyebrows for a second, before the reality hit him. 

"Your agent." 

"Bingo." Lightning sniffed, showing a small smile. 

"I knew Harv wasn't up to any good - all he sees are those golden dollar signs, he doesn't hesitate to play dirty." Strip cursed himself. Then he became very serious. 

"Lightning... Has he hurt you?" 

Lightnings eyes widened. 

"No! He's just - a little harsh at times. It motivates me though! Please don't - please don't report him or anything. He's done alot for me, truly. He's just stressed because I lost the race." 

"There's a difference between being stressed and being abusive, kid." 

"He's not like that! It was one race, okay? I just let things get to me too easily." 

Lightning stood up, heading for the door. 

"Kid - I." Strip began. "I won't tell anyone. For now. But if he does something like this again, come to me. I can help you. Likewise if it's anything else, I'm here to talk. Just remember that, okay?" 

Lightning nodded, offering a smile. 

"Yea... Thanks Mr King."