A New Day.
The morning sun hung low over Narukami Island, casting long gold beams across the cracked pavement of Lyney's Gas Station. The warm light glinted off chrome trim and metallic flake paint, bouncing off the windshields of tuned imports parked outside like glimmers of a new chapter. The air was thick with familiar scents—raw gasoline, scorched rubber, motor oil, and the rich undertone of freshly brewed vending machine coffee. For the racers who haunted this place, it was home.
Beidou stood over the open hood of her freshly restored black R32 Skyline, her arms crossed, brow shadowed under her bangs. The RB26DETT inline-six idled with a subtle pulse, turbochargers spooling ever so faintly with each controlled blip of the throttle. The titanium strut bar gleamed in the sun, catching every flicker of light like a blade. She reached down and ran a calloused hand along the curve of the fender, feeling the heat rolling off the motor.
"I can't believe you're finally back…" she muttered under her breath, eyes fixed on the engine like it was a long-lost comrade. "First runs are gonna be gentle. Just a whisper of boost. But when I know you're ready... we're going full send."
A short distance away, March leaned casually against her newly refreshed Supra, the Blue Pearl Metallic paint now gleaming like wet ink in the morning light. No major engine work had been done—yet—but the car's presence was completely transformed. She looked over it with pride, tracing the contours of the RIDOX aero kit with a loving eye. Lowered, wide, and mean—it looked like it was already moving even while parked.
Collei approached with a curious tilt of her head, taking in the Supra's updated lines. She folded her arms as she squinted at the carbon weave around the intake ducts.
"Looks like your Supra went through a glow-up. What's the damage?"
March practically beamed as she crouched down and tapped the lip of the new bumper.
"Oh, where do I start?" she said, her voice laced with excitement. "Didn't touch the internals—yet—but I gave her a whole new attitude."
She rattled off the list, counting on her fingers as she went:
RIDOX Front Bumper and Side Skirts
Lowered Sports Suspension—custom dampening
Limited-Slip Differential, finally
HKS Free-Flow Exhaust
Work Meister S1s, deep dish, bronze finish
Carbon fiber dashboard and gauge cluster trim
Collei let out a low whistle and nodded in approval. "Damn, March. Gotta say, that's one clean build. You still rocking the Targa?"
March didn't even answer. She just reached up, popped the latches with practiced ease, and lifted the roof clean off. The sun lit up the cabin, showing off the matte carbon dash and newly retrimmed Alcantara wheel.
"You betcha!" she grinned.
Collei chuckled and gave her a playful tousle on the head before heading back toward the main pump, a clipboard in hand. But before she could take a step, March shouted behind her.
"Hey! Thanks again for that run the other night!"
Word Gets Out
At that exact moment, two voices rang out from opposite sides of the station, overlapping in shock.
"You rode with Collei?! In the Eight-Six?!"
Lyney and Beidou rushed over like bloodhounds catching a scent. Both were wide-eyed, and both sounded equally betrayed and exhilarated.
March tilted her head and smiled innocently, hands on her hips.
"Hahaha, yep! I did. But surprise—she drove my Supra that night."
Beidou blinked. "Wait, what?"
March nodded eagerly. "And I mean really drove it. I was in the passenger seat, white-knuckling the holy shit out of the grab handle while she annihilated some cocky chick in a turbo Supra."
Lyney's brow furrowed, his voice suddenly serious. "Hold up. She was drifting? In your NA Supra? With an open diff?"
Beidou frowned, arms crossed. "Wait, I thought Supras came with LSDs stock."
Lyney shook his head, voice low and clinical. "Only the turbocharged Mk4s came with torsion LSDs. NA models like March's? They roll off the lot with open diffs—no locking, no slip control, nothing."
March flailed her arms in a wild reenactment, her eyes still wide from the memory. "It was fucking insane! We were sideways before the corner even started—tires screaming, engine wailing, and every exit point lined up so tight I thought we were gonna shear the damn bumper off against the guardrail!"
Beidou glanced at Lyney, tone skeptical. "So what, Boss? You buying all that? Or is March just high on octane fumes again?"
March puffed her cheeks. "Hey! I may be dramatic, but I know what I saw!"
Lyney didn't respond at first. He stepped past them, eyes narrowing as he stared at the Supra's rear quarter panel. But his mind was clearly elsewhere.
"If that's true," he finally muttered, "then we're looking at something deeper."
He turned slowly, his voice now calm, focused. "Collei's control… it's not just limited to the Eight-Six. That car's an extension of her, sure, but if she could throw around a heavier, open-diff Supra like that…"
Beidou's eyes widened slightly. "...then it means she can adapt to anything."
Lyney nodded. "Anything FR. Front-engine, rear-wheel-drive layouts—that's her language."
Beidou whistled, half-impressed, half-concerned. "So you think it's muscle memory? Similar weight balance between the AE86 and the Supra?"
"Maybe partially," Lyney said, rubbing his chin. "But more than that, I think it's her instincts. Arlecchino built the Eight-Six into a precision tool—kept it raw on purpose. No assists. No nonsense. That car trains the driver by punishing mistakes."
March blinked. "Wait, you're saying…?"
Lyney gave a half-smirk. "Yeah. Arlecchino's philosophy is simple."
He turned to both of them, eyes gleaming.
"An FR trains the driver."
A Night of Plans and Speed
The soft neon glow of the Lake Yougou Café bled across the pavement, casting faint ripples of red and orange against the pitch-black mirror of the lake. Seele's Devil Z sat just outside, its aggressive silhouette half-submerged in shadow, the carbon-fiber hood reflecting stray light like a coiled predator. The twin-turbo straight-six beneath the hood was dormant for now, but even asleep, it carried an aura of threat—coiled tension wrapped in metal.
Inside, the smell of roasted coffee beans cut through the faint haze of machine oil still clinging to Seele's gloves. Low lighting draped everything in bronze and umber, and the café's worn hardwood floors creaked softly underfoot. The place was quiet, save for the occasional hiss of an espresso machine and the low murmur of other patrons—mostly night racers, grease-stained and wide-eyed.
Across from her, Pela stirred her drink slowly, the spoon clinking against ceramic in a lazy rhythm. Her expression was half-bored, half-alert—the kind of stillness that only came from someone with a mechanic's mind always running diagnostics in the background.
Seele leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers drumming lightly in a staccato beat against the wood.
"Pela," she began, her voice low and calm, but edged with something sharper beneath. "I've been thinking... What if we brought the Devil Z's output back up to 600 horsepower? Wangan spec."
Pela's eyes snapped into focus. She didn't say anything at first, just stared at Seele with thinly veiled disbelief. After a second, she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed tight.
"For the mountains?" she said flatly. "Seele, are you serious? That's suicide. You saw what happened to Yelan's Blackbird. Too much power on a narrow downhill doesn't mean you go faster—it just means you break traction faster. And once those rear tires start slipping, you're not driving anymore—you're guessing."
Seele's smile didn't waver. She raised a hand, palm up, signaling her to slow down.
"I know. I'm not dumb enough to go full throttle through the hairpins," she said coolly. "But hear me out. What if we install an electronic boost controller? Variable settings. I can dial down to 350, 400 for technical sections... but if I hit a high-speed run? I open the taps."
Pela's gaze sharpened. She wasn't dismissing it now—she was calculating. Slowly, she brought the cup to her lips and took a long, thoughtful sip.
"Boost by gear," she muttered. "You'd need a high-response twin setup... maybe the old Wangan-spec turbos with upgraded wastegates... intercooler might need reinforcing…"
Her voice trailed off. Then, after a pause, she gave a reluctant nod.
"You could make it work," she said. "If you keep it sane on the low end and stay off overboost in second and third, you'll keep the tires planted. Just don't go full idiot on the tight corners, or you'll end up in the lake."
Seele chuckled. She stood slowly, her chair sliding back with a faint scrape, and cracked her knuckles with a smirk.
"Perfect," she said. "Let's hit the summit. Beidou, March, and Collei are probably already waiting."
The Call of the Road
The door hissed open, and the cool night air washed over them. A deep mist hung over Lake Yougou now, low and crawling across the water's surface like smoke. Moonlight glinted off the Devil Z's angular frame, the car poised like a creature itching to be let loose.
A sudden growl echoed from the road.
Both girls turned just in time to see a white Honda Integra DC2 glide past the café, its lowered chassis hugging the asphalt, exhaust snarling like a wolf in the dark. The car slipped into the lot with practiced ease, revs falling to a lazy rumble.
Pela's head tilted.
"Listen to that tone," she murmured. "You hear that pop on the downshift? Aftermarket manifold, maybe a Fujitsubo. Definitely tuned. That's not stock."
Seele glanced at her with amusement. "You can tell just from that?"
Pela smirked. "I can tell if they're running rich just from the smell."
The Devil Z roared to life behind them, the inline-six snarling awake like a waking beast. It idled rough, angry, impatient—each burble a reminder of the barely-contained violence under the hood. Seele slid into the driver's seat, Pela in tow, the doors slamming shut with a satisfying thunk.
The taillights flared to crimson life as the Z rolled out of the lot, its exhaust screaming into the dark like a war cry. Lake Yougou disappeared behind them in the rearview as the forest road ahead beckoned—tight corners, blind crests, and danger lurking behind every curve.
The night was young, and the Devil Z was hungry.
The Tension Rises at Lake Yougou Café
Back at the café, silence stretched thin over the wooden floorboards.
Yelan sat alone, elbow resting on the table, two fingers tapping in an uneven rhythm. Her other hand held a half-empty cup of coffee that had long gone cold. Her eyes were locked on the door, her jaw tight.
"She's late," she muttered, a thread of irritation woven into her voice.
The seconds ticked on like molasses. The door remained shut.
Until it didn't.
The bell above the entrance chimed. The door creaked open. And in stepped Silverwolf.
She moved like she owned the place—shoulders relaxed, stride confident, that smug little smile never far from her lips. She looked like she was coming to collect a debt.
"Yelan," she said sweetly, voice soaked in sarcasm. "Good to see you. Still licking your wounds from that AE86, I take it?"
Yelan's eyes narrowed a hair. She didn't flinch, didn't rise to the bait—yet.
"You're late," she said coldly.
Silverwolf ignored the jab and slid into the seat opposite her. "Traffic," she said with a dismissive flick of her hand. "Anyway, I heard the news. You lost. Badly."
Yelan's silence was deafening. She took a long, slow sip of her coffee, then set the cup down with careful precision.
"It wasn't the car," she said calmly. "It was me. I made a mistake. That AE86 driver—Collei—is the real thing."
Silverwolf let out a theatrical sigh. "I mean, how good could she be, really? It's an Eight-Six. It's practically prehistoric. I bet I could beat her in my sleep."
Yelan leaned forward, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "You don't get it. Her cornering speed is terrifying. She gets inside your head. One mistake—one inch too wide—and she's past you. Clean. No drama. Just gone."
For the first time, Silverwolf's smirk twitched.
Just a flicker. But it was enough.
Yelan saw it. Registered it.
But Silverwolf recovered quickly. She leaned in, her eyes glowing with something darker now—more deliberate.
"Oh, don't worry," she said softly, "I've got something special planned for her. You think I'm walking into this without a trick up my sleeve?"
Yelan's breath hitched slightly.
"You're not talking about a normal race, are you?"
Silverwolf grinned, slow and wide. Her voice dropped to a whisper, but it cut like a blade.
"I'm talking about a course so tight, so unforgiving, that one wrong move sends her into a wall—or worse. A gumtape deathmatch. No mirrors. No do-overs. No bullshit."
Yelan froze. The words hung in the air like smoke.
"Jesus, you're serious."
Silverwolf stood, hands in her pockets, her smirk now full and feral.
"There can only be one downhill specialist," she said, turning toward the door. "And I'm gonna make damn sure it's me."
The bell chimed again as she vanished into the night.
Yelan stared at the door, her jaw clenched, heart thudding like a war drum. A storm was coming—and Collei didn't even know it yet.
The night air was crisp and cool, laced with the faint scent of pine needles and damp asphalt. A breeze whispered through the mountainside trees, their dark silhouettes leaning over the winding road like silent spectators. Stars glittered above in a vast, ink-black sky, while the narrow stretch of tarmac snaked through the darkness like a coiled serpent waiting to strike.
Seele and Pela cruised up Mount Yougou, the low rumble of the Devil Z's L28 engine reverberating against the cliffs. The twin round headlights cut a sharp swath through the shadows, throwing harsh beams across the painted guardrails and deep into the curves ahead.
Pela rolled down her window, letting the chilled mountain wind whip through the cockpit. She leaned out slightly, breathing in the night air, eyes half-lidded in contentment. "Nothing beats a late-night run up Yougou," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the engine noise.
Seele smirked, her fingers wrapped around the Nardi steering wheel, knuckles relaxed but ready. She downshifted smoothly with a blip of the throttle, the engine snarling in approval. "Yeah. Empty roads, crisp air… No tourists. Just us and the mountain."
They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind born from hundreds of shared drives and unspoken trust. The Devil Z's tires hissed as they kissed the corners, the chassis dancing effortlessly through each bend. But curiosity eventually gnawed its way through the stillness.
"So," Pela asked, eyes flicking to her partner, "why are we heading up here again? Late-night sightseeing?"
Seele's gaze stayed locked on the road, her voice calm. "Beidou's been testing her R32. Thought we'd drop by. She just got it back from the shop."
Pela arched a brow, intrigued. "About damn time. She's been itching to push it ever since the tow truck dragged it off last month."
Seele nodded, her tone softening slightly. "Yeah. I don't know how she stayed sane. That car's everything to her."
As they neared the summit, faint pinpricks of light appeared through the trees—headlights. Smoke curled lazily in the mountain air, illuminated by the occasional flicker of taillights and the glow of brake discs cooling in the darkness.
"I see them," Pela said, leaning forward, squinting. "That's Beidou's R32… and March's Supra. Looks like they've been at it for a while."
Just then, the deep bark of an RB26 filled the air as Beidou yanked the handbrake and pitched her car sideways. The R32 glided into a smooth arc, tires shrieking for a moment before settling into a clean, weight-balanced slide. With a flick of countersteer and a jab at the throttle, she brought the car to a stop in a flourish of tire smoke.
Beidou leaned out the window, grin wide, eyes wild with adrenaline. "Hey! I'm getting the hang of these handbrake turns now!"
Collei clapped from nearby, her smile genuine. "That was clean! Looking really good, Beidou!"
March tilted her head, thoughtful. "Wait… Collei, when you drove my Supra, I never saw you use the handbrake. How come?"
Collei scratched her cheek, a faint blush rising to her face. "Uh, I don't really use it. I brake into drifts instead."
Beidou chimed in, patting the roof of her car. "She's using braking drift. Slams the brakes right before turn-in to shift the car's weight forward, makes the rear light. No handbrake needed."
March frowned, folding her arms. "Man… There's so much I still don't know."
Beidou shrugged and offered a thumbs-up. "That's the game. You'll pick it up."
Seele and Pela pulled in and parked. Seele stepped out, letting out a low whistle. "Damn, Beidou. Looks like you've been putting in work."
Beidou puffed her chest proudly. "Hell yeah I have. I wasn't about to waste time just sitting on my ass. I tuned the dampers, tweaked the camber… the R32's ready to sing."
Pela gave her a quick thumbs-up. "I like that attitude. Theory's cute. Practice is where it counts."
Then, Collei's voice cut in—brighter, more energized than before. "Hey… Since we're all here, why not race? See how far we've come?"
A pause. The suggestion hung in the air like the tension before a drop.
Then March flung her arms around Collei in a spontaneous hug. "Look at you, Collei! Talking like a real racer now!"
Beidou's smirk widened, her competitive fire lighting up. "Let's do it. Three cars. I'll go solo. Seele and Pela together. March rides with Collei."
March hesitated, gripping her key fob. "I… I don't know if I'm ready."
Collei stepped beside her, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. "Trust me. I've got this."
March looked at her—then nodded.
Beidou fired up the R32 with a growl. "Last one to the finish buys dinner!"
Engines snarled to life. Taillights glowed like angry eyes as the cars lined up at the start line. Exhaust fumes curled into the cold night, and the mountain held its breath.
March settled into the passenger seat, her pulse hammering in her ears. "I'm trusting you, Collei. Let's win this."
Collei's voice was low, focused. "Count on it."
Beidou raised her hand. "Three… two… one—"
Go.
Tires screamed. The trio exploded off the line.
Beidou led, the R32's AWD system digging into the asphalt with ferocious grip. Seele and Pela followed close, the Devil Z's turbo singing as it surged ahead. Behind them, the Supra snarled in third—but Collei wasn't pushing yet. She was watching.
Pela squinted through the windshield, eyes scanning Beidou's line. "She's smoother. More balanced."
Seele nodded. "She's been drilling. Watch her entries—she's dancing the edge of understeer. But tight."
Pela grinned, foot pressing harder. "Alright then. Let's dance."
Meanwhile, Collei focused ahead. The Devil Z's tail flicked through the turns with surgical precision. Every flick of the steering wheel, every throttle lift, every downshift—fluid, practiced, alive.
"She's damn good," Collei muttered.
March leaned in. "Pela tuned that suspension herself. She knows every centimeter of how that chassis moves."
But then—four tight hairpins approached. The pressure built.
Collei braked late, hard. The Supra's nose dipped. "March—the gutter."
March blinked, then caught on. "Do it."
Collei threw the wheel left, hooking the inside tires into the concrete gutter. The entire car slingshotted through the turn, clinging to the mountain like a magnet. The Supra surged forward, exit speed far beyond what physics should've allowed.
"Holy shit!" March yelled.
Pela's eyes went wide. "What the—Seele, did you see that?!"
Before Seele could answer, headlights bloomed in the rearview mirror.
A white Honda Integra.
Fast. Aggressive.
Too aggressive.
It divebombed the next corner. No warning. No courtesy. Just steel and rubber and intent.
The Devil Z's brakes locked—no ABS. Pela feathered off, fighting the wheel, wrestling the rear as it snapped out violently.
"Fuck—!" she hissed, white-knuckled as she countersteered. The rear bit back into place, but not before precious seconds were lost.
Seele's jaw clenched. "What the hell was that?!"
Pela slammed the pedal. "I don't know. But I'm not letting that bitch get away with it."
Up ahead, Collei's eyes narrowed. The Integra was coming. Fast.
"Brace—!"
The white coupe lunged into their path, nearly clipping the Supra's fender. Collei snapped the wheel and stomped the brake, ABS kicking in hard as the rear wriggled under her.
March's scream caught in her throat.
Inside the Integra, Silverwolf grinned, neon light reflecting off her glasses.
"Let's show them how it's done."
She kicked the Integra into another gear and zeroed in on Beidou.
Beidou set up for a long left-hander—late apex, brake, trail in, rotate, feather throttle—
BAM.
A nudge to the rear bumper. Not enough to total. Just enough to ruin everything.
The R32 snapped sideways, inertia taking over. Beidou's teeth grit, hands flying across the wheel.
"Shit—shit—"
The guardrail loomed.
She stabbed the brakes. Tires screamed. The car slid sideways…
And stopped. Just shy of metal.
The others pulled up fast. Doors slammed. Footsteps pounded gravel.
Seele reached the car first. "Beidou! Talk to me!"
Beidou exhaled hard, hands shaking. "I'm okay. But that psycho—!"
She pointed to the Integra, idling ahead.
"What the fuck was that for?!"
Collei's eyes were burning. "That's the same car that nearly ran me and March off the road a while ago!"
March stepped forward, fists clenched. "You think this is funny?! This isn't demolition derby!"
But the Integra's engine revved. A scream of defiance.
And it bolted—vanishing into the trees and darkness.
Silence followed. No one moved.
Beidou leaned against her R32, chest still heaving. "She could've killed me. Or totaled my ride."
The others just stared into the dark.
Gone.
But the question echoed like tire smoke in their lungs.
Who the hell was she?