That Night in Yougou – A Mystery Unfolds
The summit of Yougou Pass pulsed with a quiet, electric tension. The crisp night air clung to the skin like a veil of anticipation. Overhead, clouds drifted past a half-lit moon, while the trees whispered in the wind—soft rustles blending with the faint, ever-present chirping of cicadas.
Collei stood before her Eight-Six, its hood raised like a priestess offering her soul to the gods of speed. The moonlight caught the sheen of the intake manifold, the exposed velocity stacks glinting like polished fangs.
She placed her hand on the edge of the engine bay, fingers trembling slightly—not with fear, but with frustration. That thing growling under the hood… it wasn't just a machine. It was a mystery with teeth.
"Why did you keep your true potential hidden...?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and bitter. She dragged a hand down her face, exhaling sharply.
"God damn it, Dad... Why did you keep this from me in the first place?"
The engine didn't answer. Only the night wind replied, winding through the pine trees like a slow exhale.
She leaned forward against the frame, head lowered, letting her frustration pool in the silence.
But then she straightened. Her shoulders rolled back, her breath steadied. The storm inside her eyes dulled to a focused glint—cold, lethal, and razor sharp.
"It doesn't matter. Once I find out how high you can really scream…" Her lips curled into a smirk. "Ayaka won't stand a chance in that Levin of hers."
Then it happened.
The quiet hum of the night was shattered—engines, plural, rising from the downhill in a low, thunderous crescendo. They were coming.
Collei stepped away from the engine bay and turned, eyes narrowing.
The Arrival of Legends
First came Beidou's R32—black as the mountain's shadow, its RB26 warble hitting the summit like the roar of distant thunder. The car rolled in with authority, its wide tires cracking over gravel, exhaust growling low and dangerous.
Behind it, March 7th's Supra crested the incline, aggressive and angular, riding low like a coiled beast. Pela sat in the passenger seat, her glasses reflecting the streetlight's glow, lips pressed into a tight line as she analyzed everything.
And last, a silhouette that didn't belong on a touge—but somehow did: the Lancia Rally 037. All raw angles and wide fenders, its headlights cut through the night like a predator's gaze. Clorinde stepped out, precise and poised, a duelist at dawn.
Seele leaned her back against her Devil Z, violet eyes flicking between the new arrivals. She smirked.
"Look who decided to show up tonight."
Collei turned, the same smirk mirrored on her face.
"About damn time."
The three cars parked in a semicircle around the Eight-Six, the drivers drawn forward like moths to flame—each step slow, deliberate. Their eyes locked on the exposed engine.
Clorinde's gaze sharpened the instant she saw it. "Is that... the new engine?"
Collei gave a slow nod. "Yeah… it is."
Seele crossed her arms without moving from her perch on the Z. "Incredible, isn't it?"
Beidou stepped up next, expression unreadable—until her eyes locked onto the throttle bodies. Her jaw clenched.
"More than that... it's a goddamn rarity."
She turned, sharp and direct. "Where the hell did you even get this engine?"
Collei shrugged, voice flat. "That's a question for my father."
Clorinde chuckled low. "Whoever he knows… they're deep in the scene. This isn't something you find through a parts catalog."
Pela stepped in, pushing her glasses higher. Her eyes scanned every bolt, every hose, every stamped number.
"This isn't just a transplant. It's a bespoke build." She adjusted her glasses again, voice going clinical. "This engine's made for racing. No question."
A Secret Unveiled
Collei tilted her head. "I know. Seele said it's a high-revving unit. Probably hits 10,000 RPM."
The reaction was instant—like a gunshot.
Beidou's brow shot up. Clorinde inhaled sharply. March swore under her breath. Pela's eyes widened behind her lenses.
"A high-revver!?" Beidou barked. "Ten thousand RPM!?"
Collei nodded again. "That's what Seele figured."
Pela's fingers twitched as she worked through the math. "If that's true… then we're not just talking about a high-tune street build. This engine… it was probably meant for Group A."
Collei's head snapped toward her. "Group A!?"
Pela nodded gravely. "Touring car spec. TRD's legacy stuff. You wouldn't find this in any road car—not even the AE101s. This would've been built for circuit racing. 250, maybe even 300 horsepower. From a naturally aspirated 1.6."
Clorinde stepped up, arms crossed, voice calm. "After Group B died out, Group A became the new proving ground. But the restrictions made monsters more refined, not less deadly."
She nodded toward the Lancia. "My car was built to dominate in Group B. When the FIA cracked down, machines like mine were shelved."
Then she gestured at Collei's engine. "But this? This is the next chapter. A weapon forged in regulation fire."
Collei stared into the manifold like it might start breathing.
"Three hundred horsepower… from a 1.6?"
Pela smiled faintly. "With enough revs, anything is possible."
Beidou looked back at the girl. "That explains everything. Why your mid-range is empty. Why the car felt lazy until it hit 8000." She jabbed a finger toward the hood. "That engine wasn't built for the street. It was leashed to keep you from killing yourself."
Seele nodded slightly. "Now it's your job to earn its respect."
Collei's eyes narrowed. Her voice dropped low. "Then I need a new tach."
Beidou grinned wide. "You'll get one. I'll make calls first thing tomorrow. We'll get you a 13,000 RPM unit and full auxiliary gauges. Oil temp, pressure, water temp, all of it."
Collei crouched by the fender, pressing a hand to the Eight-Six's frame. Her voice was a whisper.
"You've been hiding this from me all along, haven't you?"
The car didn't answer. But it didn't have to.
The Challenge – A Duel of Eight-Sixes
She stood again, the moment heavy with silence.
"There's more."
Everyone turned to her—Beidou, Clorinde, March, Pela, Seele. The air felt heavier.
"Do any of you know Kamisato Ayaka?"
March blinked. "From Kannazuka? High schooler. Top of her class. Smoothest drifter I've ever seen on hairpins."
Collei exhaled. "She came by the gas station today. Drives a Levin. She challenged me to a race this Saturday. On Tatrasuna."
The silence that followed was total.
Then—
"She what!?" Beidou snapped. "Tatrasuna!? That's suicide for most cars, let alone—"
March cut in. "—Let alone an Eight-Six battle? Holy shit, Collei! That course eats people alive!"
Collei nodded. "And I'm going. I want to prove it—to all of you. I'm not the same driver I was last month."
She clenched her fists, every word landing like a gear click.
"I'm not scared anymore. Not of her. Not of this car. Not of myself."
Another long pause. Then Beidou clapped her hands once, loud in the still air.
"Goddamn. Alright then. Guess we're going to Tatrasuna."
Seele cracked a rare grin. "You better not fuck this up."
Collei turned toward the Eight-Six.
Its hood still gaped open like a mouth ready to scream.
This was it.
The real beginning.
And this time, she'd go all the way to redline.
The morning rush at the gas station was nothing special.
Cars rolled in, filled up, rolled out. Drivers came and went, tossing coins into the air pump, grabbing canned coffee and cigarettes, exchanging meaningless small talk. A loop. A blur. Nothing worth remembering.
But for Beidou, this wasn't just another Tuesday.
This was about Collei.
She stepped outside, the sun already climbing too fast, heat bleeding into the concrete. Her phone pressed against her ear, a long sigh escaping her lips as the other line clicked dead.
Another dead end.
She shoved the phone into her pocket and rubbed the back of her head with a groan, sweat and engine grease clinging to her palm. The frustration was becoming physical.
"Damn it... What am I gonna do now? Collei really needs these parts…"
She pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing through clenched teeth.
"How the hell am I supposed to explain this to her?"
From the dusty couch pushed into the station's corner, Lyney looked up from his phone. He lounged there like he owned the place, one leg kicked up, a half-eaten pastry in his free hand. His relaxed posture made Beidou's tension feel louder.
"What exactly are you looking for?" he asked, tilting his head, voice casual, but not disinterested.
Beidou turned toward him, arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her scowl said she didn't have time for games.
"A high-revving tachometer," she said flatly. "For Collei's Eight-Six. She needs it to properly monitor her engine now that she's pushing it harder."
At that, Lyney's brow twitched.
So… she figured it out.
There was a pause—then the faintest smirk played at his lips.
"Let me call my sister," he said, reaching into his coat for his own phone. "She might have what you need."
He tapped the number. One ring.
"Hey, brother! Need something?"
Lynette's voice crackled through the speaker, light and sharp. Her calm delivery always hid a razor underneath.
"Yeah, big favor," Lyney said, eyes narrowing with intent. "You wouldn't happen to have any high-revving tachometers lying around, would you?"
A soft chuckle from the other end. Playful. Dangerous.
"Oh, you're in luck," Lynette replied. "I've got one."
Lyney blinked, then grinned skeptically.
"You're messing with me."
"Serious. Arlecchino had them delivered when we swapped Collei's engine." Her voice dropped just a note—pride mixed with something secretive. "It's not just a tach. It's a full set. Water temp, oil pressure, oil temp. Everything she needs."
Lyney looked up, meeting Beidou's gaze now. Her expression changed instantly—rigid concern giving way to dawning hope.
"This is it," Lyney said, lowering the phone. "Exactly what Collei needs to unlock the Eight-Six's potential."
He lifted the phone again.
"Perfect. Can you bring them over?"
Lynette didn't miss a beat.
"Already on my way."
Beidou barely waited for the call to end. She pulled out her own phone and punched in Collei's number. It rang once.
"Collei! Get your Eight-Six over here, right now! We've got the parts coming in!"
Installation — Unsealing the Eight-Six
By the time the sun began its slow descent past the rooftops, the garage was glowing in amber. Long shadows stretched over concrete as the station's doors rolled open.
Collei's Eight-Six sat center stage. Hood propped. Gutted. Ready.
Inside the cramped bay, tools clinked, wires twisted, hands moved with quiet intensity. Beidou and Collei worked in tandem, saying little, but speaking volumes through the rhythm of sockets and screwdrivers.
The Smiths tachometer, a vintage gauge rated to a staggering 12,500 RPM, was now mounted cleanly on the dash, replacing the stock cluster with surgical precision. The needle rested at zero, but it felt like it was holding its breath. Waiting to dance.
Beside it, a trio of analog gauges—water temp, oil pressure, oil temp—flared to life as Collei flicked the ignition key to accessory. Warm orange glows lit the interior like the cockpit of a machine meant for war.
Beidou wiped her hands on an old rag, sweat and grease painting lines down her arms. She stepped back, studying their work with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"That's it, Collei. She's ready."
Collei leaned on the doorframe of the driver's seat, breathing heavy. Her hair was damp, her shirt clung to her from the heat of the garage.
"Phew... finally done," she exhaled. "Good thing the instructions were clear. Or I'd have fried something."
Beidou's grin faded just slightly. Her gaze flicked to the engine bay, and when she spoke again, her voice carried weight.
"Just remember... that engine's a monster. High-revving doesn't mean unbreakable." She crossed her arms. "Until you find the real redline, you're flying blind. Don't get cocky."
Collei gave a small smirk. Not arrogance—confidence.
"That's not a problem," she said. "My father knows its redline."
She stepped out of the garage, where the others had gathered. Oil-stained twilight stretched around them like a stage light dimming before the show. Amber bounced over first, practically vibrating.
"So? Did you finally unlock the seal?" she asked, practically breathless.
Collei shook her head.
"Not yet. I still need to figure out its redline."
A new voice joined them—cool, sharp, quiet.
"Engines like that don't come with hard limiters," Clorinde said, stepping forward from the shadows. Her arms were folded, her tone clinical. "They'll keep revving… until they eat themselves alive."
She looked directly at Collei.
"Group A touring engines were made to flirt with destruction. But they will fail if you don't know when to back off."
The weight of that warning settled in the air.
Then a new sound cut through it.
Low and aggressive—a flat, throaty growl that grew louder as it rolled into the station. Heads turned.
A white and black Eight-Six Levin glided in like a ghost. Clean. Fast. Effortless.
The engine burbled once, then cut.
The door opened.
March stepped forward, eyes wide.
"It's… It's Ayaka!"
Face to Face — The Rivalry Ignites
Collei's breath hitched, but she didn't flinch. Her gaze locked on Ayaka as she stepped out, her movement precise, her posture controlled. Each click of her heels echoed across the pavement.
No words. No smirk yet.
Collei met her halfway.
The gap between them was no more than a few feet.
But the pressure? Suffocating.
Ayaka's smirk returned then—polite, sharp-edged.
"Thought I'd stop by. See if you changed your mind," she said. Her eyes scanned Collei's Eight-Six. "Looks like you didn't. In fact... looks like you're finally ready."
Collei didn't back down. Her smile was slower, tighter.
"Of course I'm ready. I've been waiting for this."
Ayaka's eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"Good."
She turned and walked back to her Levin. The door shut with a solid thunk, followed by the immediate roar of ignition.
The engine howled alive—boost hissing, turbo spooling, the wastegate snapping sharply as she pulled away. Taillights faded fast into the night.
A trail of adrenaline and pressure lingered behind like gunpowder smoke.
Collei stood frozen, fists clenched.
"It's time," she muttered, her voice low. Her eyes burned. "Time to show her what the Eight-Six can really do."
The Visit – Unlocking the Truth
The night air had a bite to it, the kind that slipped past jackets and whispered of things long buried. Collei's Eight-Six rumbled low as it crept to a stop in front of the Arlecchino estate. She reached for the keys, twisted them back. The high-strung hum of the four-cylinder powerplant sputtered into silence, leaving only the creak of cooling metal and the porch light's faint buzz.
The glow cast long shadows across the driveway, her AE86 bathed in half-light. Collei sat still for a moment, hands clenched around the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the front door like it might answer her questions before she even asked them.
This wasn't just another stop. This wasn't about a gauge or a race. This was the seal, the truth. And if she was wrong—if the answer wasn't what she hoped—then everything she'd built in that driver's seat might just come apart.
Boots crunched against gravel as she stepped out, each step heavier than the last. But before she could lift a hand to knock, the door creaked open like it had been waiting for her.
Arlecchino stood there in the doorway, leaned casually against the frame, arms folded, red eyes glinting in the dark like twin embers. She didn't say anything for a moment—just studied Collei's expression with that unreadable calm of hers, the kind that could either disarm or destroy depending on the mood.
"Something on your mind?" she asked finally, voice smooth and even.
Collei hesitated. Her breath came steady, but her pulse was hammering behind her ribs. "Dad… may I tell you something?"
A beat. Arlecchino tilted her chin slightly, then nodded. "Go ahead."
"I'm racing someone later tonight," Collei said. "I installed a Smiths tachometer in the Eight-Six… but before I push it, I need to know—how high can I rev it?"
The silence that followed hit harder than any answer. Arlecchino didn't flinch. Her smirk barely twitched, but something flickered in her eyes—something old and dangerous.
Then, finally, her voice cut through the stillness.
"You'll want to rev it to eleven thousand."
Collei's heart stalled. "Eleven… eleven thousand?!" Her voice cracked with disbelief, like the number physically resisted her tongue.
"You heard me," Arlecchino said, matter-of-fact, like she'd just told her to buy milk.
The number hung in the air like a loaded gun.
Collei blinked, her mind scrambling to picture it—pistons screaming at a rate most engines wouldn't survive for more than seconds, valve springs dancing at the edge of mechanical chaos. Eleven thousand RPM was reserved for touring cars and motorcycles, not ancient hatchbacks from the mid-'80s.
But her Eight-Six wasn't ordinary. Not anymore.
Arlecchino stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. Firm. Grounding. "Don't you dare lose this one."
Then, just as quickly, she turned and disappeared inside. The door clicked shut behind her like punctuation at the end of a chapter.
Collei stood there, half-staring at the car, half-listening to her own heartbeat pounding like a war drum. Eleven thousand. The number echoed in her skull with a weight that made her fingers tremble and her breath slow.
This was it. No more limits. No more guesswork.
Tonight, she was going to let the Eight-Six scream.
The Convoy – Roaring into the Night
The expressway roared with the symphony of horsepower and precision. Engines howled under load, turbos whistled in sync, and the night blurred into motion.
At the front, Collei's Eight-Six cut through the dark like a blade—its high-strung 4A-GE winding through fifth gear, tach needle dancing near its newly-revealed redline. The cockpit glowed faintly from the backlit Smiths gauges, every dial alive with motion.
Behind her came the legends:
Clorinde's Lancia 037, the wail of its supercharged inline-four slicing the silence like a razor. The sound was raw, metallic, untamed—Group B fury on tarmac.
Amber's Supra rolled next, the inline-six purring low, quiet, confident. She wasn't pushing yet. But the potential? It was there, coiled and ready to snap.
An R32 GT-R snarled further back, ATTESA lights blinking faintly. Turbo spool whined between shifts—an apex predator among machines.
And then there was the Devil Z. The twin-turbo L28 screamed like a banshee at full boost, its presence mythic, its bodywork menacing. The stuff of nightmares, living and breathing in steel and rubber.
Together they moved as one, a pack of titans chasing fate beneath the cold eye of the moon. The highway belonged to them, every lane a vein of lightning coursing through the mountains.
At 9:45 PM sharp, the convoy reached Tatrasuna Pass.
Collei pulled over near the overlook and shut the engine down. The metallic ticking of cooling components filled the air. Her eyes swept across the road in front of her.
"This pass…" she muttered, narrowing her gaze. "It's way too tight. A second car wouldn't even fit next to you."
Amber stepped out of her Supra, arms crossed as she surveyed the slope. "Feels like a Snezhnayan rally stage. No guardrails. No run-off. No forgiveness."
Collei traced the route with her eyes, parsing every hairpin, every blind crest. "It's not just tight," she said. "The elevation's subtle, just enough to screw up weight transfer. You take one corner wrong, and the rear end will snap before you even feel it happening."
They all felt it—the weight of what this road demanded. This wasn't a battlefield. It was a blade. And they were all walking on it.
The Summit – A Rival Awaits
The air thinned as they reached the peak.
And waiting there, parked like a ghost at the end of a legend, was another AE86.
Its silhouette was unmistakable—sharp lines, black-and-white livery, the twin-circle taillights catching the glow of distant sodium lamps. But more than the car, it was the presence standing beside it.
Ayaka.
She leaned against the driver-side door, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded but sharp. Her gaze locked with Collei the moment she stepped out.
The wind shifted. Conversations died. The mountain held its breath.
"I thought I'd wait here," Ayaka said, voice smooth as glass, but cold beneath it. "Wanted to see if you'd changed your mind."
Her eyes flicked to Collei's car.
"But it looks like you're ready."
Collei smirked, fire flickering behind her calm. "I've been waiting for this."
Ayaka gave a soft laugh—low, laced with challenge. "Good. I'll see you in Tatrasuna."
She stepped into her Levin, the door clicking shut like a final move in a game of chess. The engine flared to life, aggressive and pure, the sound of a tuned 4A-GE waking with precision. The wastegate hissed sharp as she pulled away, taillights bleeding into the dark like red fireflies.
Collei exhaled slowly and turned back to her Eight-Six.
This was no longer about proving something.
This was about unleashing everything.
Tonight, only one of them would make it out on top.
And for the first time in a long time…
…she wanted it more than anything else in the world.