Months had passed since Ningguang's legendary exhibition run with Clorinde and Collei—her two aces, the sharpened blade and steadfast shield of Team Speed Stars. The trio had carved their names into the mountain passes of Inazuma, and now, their legend stretched far beyond the borders of the Narukami Prefecture.
In a cozy, dim-lit café tucked away in a corner of downtown, a group of friends huddled around a glowing laptop screen. Fingers scrolled eagerly through the buzzing social feed of @TeamSpeedStars. The account was a living shrine to raw horsepower and razor-sharp skill—clips, race recaps, telemetry overlays, and car porn galore. Every post brimmed with motion, heat, and unfiltered glory.
Then, one post stood out.
"Another Record Shattered! The Lancia 037 Dominates the Uphill Battle!"
The man closest to the screen leaned in, brows shooting up as he read it aloud. "Incredible! Another fucking record?"
Another friend dragged a chair over and dropped into it, nodding with fervent approval. "Hell yeah. They've crushed every race they've entered. No flukes, no losses—just win after win."
Driven by curiosity, the man tapped open a video link beneath the post. The thumbnail showed a mountain road cloaked in dusk, the sky bleeding orange behind a silhouette of hairpins.
The footage opened with a visceral growl—Clorinde's Lancia Rally 037, snarling up the incline like a red bullet trailing fury. The supercharged inline-four screamed through the higher RPMs, the shrill whine of boost mixing with the basso roar of tuned exhaust. The Lancia dove into corners with razor-edge precision, its rear tires gripping and rotating through weight transfer like a rally car come home to the tarmac. Behind her, a black Honda Integra Type R struggled to maintain line and throttle, its tires howling in protest as it tried—desperately—to keep the Lancia in sight.
The clip cut to another race: Collei's AE86, lit only by headlights and moonlight. It trailed through tight, forested curves in a dance of discipline and chaos, rear wheels countersteering perfectly through corners, throttle feathered just enough to maintain drift angle. She was up against a silver Nissan 180SX, which flicked into a drift but lost it—the rear snapped wide, the car fishtailed and spun, nose barely missing the steel guardrail by a breath.
Footage froze. Rewind. Replay. Again.
The man's girlfriend leaned over his shoulder. "What are you watching?"
He turned, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips. "Team Speed Stars. A Narukami racing crew led by Ningguang—the mountain queen herself. She built this team to take on the best passes outside her home turf."
Far away, under a velvet-black sky littered with stars, the air on Nazuchi Pass was silent but electric. The kind of silence that only mountains understood—the kind that came just before engines shattered it.
Then came the bark of a naturally aspirated inline-four. Sharp, high-pitched, immediate. A red Mazda Miata NA1 exploded out of the woods, its front tires gripping tight through a series of fast S-curves. The driver was smooth but aggressive—trail-braking into each apex, snapping to throttle just before the exit. The rear barely twitched, dialed in with perfect chassis balance.
The Miata crested the summit and coasted into the small upper parking lot, engine idling down in low growls as it pulled in behind a Bayside Blue R34 GT-R, which stood with its nose pointed at the pass like a war dog waiting to be unleashed.
The Miata's door flew open, and a fiery-haired girl stepped out, stretching casually. "Hey, Serval!"
Leaning against the front fender of her R34, Serval grinned and pushed off the metal. "Took you long enough, Topaz."
Topaz slammed her door shut, hands shoved into the pockets of her red leather jacket. "You said they were coming tonight. So? Are they?"
Serval gave a glance at her wristwatch and nodded. "They'll be here."
Topaz sighed, flicking her bangs out of her eyes. "Tch. Good. I'll run the downhill, get a feel for the grip. That okay?"
She jerked her chin at Serval's GT-R. "You're on uphill. That monster loves the climb."
Serval's grin widened. "That's the plan."
But Topaz's expression had gone flint-hard, her amber eyes lit with that signature fire. "I don't care who they are or what team they rep. This is our turf. If they think they're walking in here to humiliate us, I'll make sure they regret every second."
A sound cut the air—tires. Not just tires, but perfectly planted, high-friction compound tires biting into asphalt at high speed. The low snarl of a supercharger crept up from the mountain below like a storm building.
Serval straightened, eyes scanning the dark. "Heads up. They're here."
Headlights sliced through the trees—two sets, tight and low. One was sharp and angular, body shaped like a missile. The other… compact, boxy, and unmistakable. A white-and-black AE86 Trueno, its pop-ups dimly glowing like the eyes of a demon in the dark.
Behind them, three matching white HiAce vans emerged, each equipped with fog lamps and modest aero. Their presence added weight. This wasn't just a two-car team. This was a full assault unit.
All five vehicles rolled into the lot with silent confidence. No revving. No showboating. Just the growl of tuned engines and the hiss of brake pads catching rotor.
Serval's expression twisted with curiosity. "That front car… I've never seen that silhouette before."
Topaz's eyes flicked to the AE86 and widened slightly. "Wait… that's a goddamn Eight-Six. No mistaking it."
The vans stopped in formation. Rear doors opened in sync. Floodlights snapped on from mobile rigs inside, bathing the scene in white. Out stepped Clorinde, her frame tall and poised, her pale hair glinting under the light as she shut the Lancia's scissor door with clinical precision. From the AE86, Collei emerged quietly, her eyes steady, already scanning the road like a sniper selecting her line of fire.
No words needed. The air practically crackled with tension.
Then came a voice—light, polite, and commanding.
"Hello! How's it going?" Keqing stepped forward, dressed in dark jeans and a fitted jacket. "We're Team Speed Stars from the Narukami Area. It's nice to meet you."
Serval raised an eyebrow, tone half-playful, half-wary. "Nice to meet you too. Just know—around Nazuchi, we're the top team. You're the outsiders. So that makes you the ones to beat."
Keqing offered a faint smile. "We figured. Same deal back in Narukami." She folded her arms. "We'll be doing some practice runs tonight to get a feel for the course. Hope that's not an issue."
Serval shrugged. "Not at all." Her eyes landed back on the AE86. "That's an Eight-Six, alright. But that other thing…"
Keqing turned slightly, gesturing. "That's a Lancia Rally 037. Group B."
That name struck like thunder.
Serval's eyes widened, her mask slipping for just a moment. "Group B? Why bring that here?"
Keqing's voice stayed calm, professional. "Because we've been building this team for months. And these are our two aces."
She nodded toward Collei and Clorinde, who stood by their machines like they were born from them.
"The Eight-Six is for the downhill," Keqing said, then motioned to the Lancia. "And the 037 is for the uphill."
Serval said nothing. Topaz, for once, didn't smirk.
"Thanks for the warm welcome," Keqing added with a polite bow. "We'll begin our practice runs now."
She turned on her heel and walked off without another word. The HiAce crews were already moving—Albedo on tire pressure duty, Navia tuning rebound dampers. Everything looked organized. Precise. Professional.
Serval watched, arms crossed. "They're not just fast," she murmured. "They're built for this."
Topaz folded her arms. "Don't let the setup spook you. Stay focused."
At the back of the AE86, Albedo handed Ningguang a tablet. "Final setup locked. Tire pressure is front 32 PSI, rear 29. Suspension's preloaded for rebound on this kind of terrain."
Ningguang nodded. "Excellent. Brief the drivers and make yourself available for adjustments."
She stepped toward Collei and Clorinde and signaled them over.
"You saw the video I sent?"
They nodded. Sharp, focused.
"Good. I want 70% effort for this run. Just learn the road. Feel it. Push only when you know how it'll respond. No hero moves."
"Got it," Clorinde said.
"Understood," Collei echoed.
Engines fired. The Lancia's supercharged bark cracked like a whip. The AE86's 20V engine spun up with a clean, almost innocent hum—but those who knew, knew. That car was a killer in sheep's clothing.
Their headlights cut through the night. The war drums had started.
Clorinde took longer, methodically strapping herself into the Lancia's five-point harness. Each buckle clicked with a metallic snap, every motion deliberate—no wasted energy, no hesitation. She cinched the final strap across her hips, exhaled slowly, and turned the ignition.
The Group B monster coughed once, twice—then exploded to life with a coarse, feral growl that echoed across the lot like a beast awakening. The twin-lobed Roots supercharger snarled underneath the rasp of the 1.8L inline-four, delivering a throaty surge that buzzed through the frame. The Lancia rocked slightly on its suspension as Clorinde feathered the throttle, the engine barking back in response. Then, with quiet focus, she eased the clutch out and rolled forward into the night, beginning her uphill practice run with the predatory grace of someone who understood every twitch of the car's unhinged temperament.
Not far away, Topaz dropped into her NA Miata's bucket seat, fingers working quickly across the four-point harness. The belts slid through the camlock with a practiced twist. She adjusted the tension at her waist and shoulders, settling into the cockpit like slipping into an old habit. Then she reached over, rolled the window down with a flick of her wrist, and pulled up beside Serval, who leaned casually against a concrete barrier.
"I'm heading out too," Topaz said, her voice half-lost beneath the growing rumble of engines in the distance. "Gotta make these practice runs count before tomorrow's big race."
Serval gave a small nod, eyes narrowed behind tinted glasses. She didn't reply.
Topaz offered a tight smile, rolled the window back up, and fired the Miata's motor with a clean, smooth ignition. The 1.8L DOHC inline-four barked awake with that distinct Mazda rasp, eager and unpretentious. She let the revs climb for a moment—testing throttle response, listening to the harmonics—and then dropped the clutch.
The Miata's rear tires chirped as they bit into the asphalt. She launched off the line and vanished into the dark folds of the mountain pass, her taillights winking out as the corners swallowed her whole. The sound of her engine—snarling and playful—faded second by second, blending into the nocturnal rhythm of the pass.
Serval watched her go, lips curling in a quiet murmur. "What can they even achieve with one night of practice?"
The mountain had no answer—only the echo of three distinct engine notes: the shrill, high-strung wail of Collei's AE86 at redline; the aggressive, almost belligerent bark of Topaz's Miata tearing through second gear; and the Lancia's unfiltered supercharged roar, ripping through the curves like a war cry from another era.
The peaks and valleys of Nazuchi Pass drank it all in, the stone and trees bearing silent witness. The mountain listened. It always did. And in the space between throttle lifts and downshifts, it waited—for legends still being written.
The first pale streaks of dawn crept over Mt. Yougou, bleeding soft gold across the treetops. Collei stepped out of Arlecchino's home, her gait stiff from the previous night's tension. She rolled her shoulders once, shaking off the ache, and made her way toward the Eight-Six parked just ahead. Dew glistened along the car's bodywork like sweat before a fight. Even at rest, it looked ready to pounce.
Behind her, Arlecchino leaned lazily against the doorway, one ankle crossed over the other. She sipped from a chipped ceramic cup, water sloshing quietly as she tilted it.
"Forgetting something, kiddo?"
Collei paused, glancing over her shoulder with a half-smirk. "Of course not."
Arlecchino chuckled, voice low and dry. "That's what I like to hear. Stay sharp."
Collei nodded, then slipped into the AE86's driver seat. She turned the key, and the 4A-GE Silvertop coughed once before settling into a throaty idle—metallic, tight, and alive. Her fingers curled around the wheel, grounding her. She dropped the shifter into first, feathered the clutch, and pulled off into the morning.
Later that afternoon, the gas station hummed with life. The occasional hiss of a hydraulic jack, the clatter of tools, and the ambient murmur of tires on pavement filled the air. Beidou and March had just wrapped up a tune-up on a customer's car, wiping their hands clean with grimy rags streaked in oil and brake dust.
March twirled around one of the pumps, humming some synth-pop tune half off-key, her chipper mood radiating in all directions like sunshine through the clouds.
Beidou arched a brow at her. "What's got you so damn cheerful today?"
"Have you forgotten?" March beamed, eyes wide with excitement. "It's payday tomorrow!"
Beidou let out a bark of laughter, tossing her rag over her shoulder. "Shit, that's right. I almost forgot."
March pointed dramatically toward the back lot, where her Supra sat like a coiled dragon. "You already know! I'm finally converting my 2JZ-GE to a GTE. All the parts are coming in next week."
Beidou's eyes lit up. "Ah, now I remember. You've been talking about that swap for months. So what's next? Just a stock GTE, or you going full mad scientist?"
March gave a devious little grin. "It's not going to stay stock for long. I'm throwing in a bigger turbo, upgrading the injectors, standalone ECU, whole nine yards. This thing's gonna howl."
Beidou leaned back against the workbench, arms folded, her gaze drifting to the ridgeline of Mt. Yougou looming in the distance. "Sounds like a beast in the making. Speaking of monsters, I wonder how Collei's doing with her new crew. Hope they're not giving her shit."
As dusk bled into night at Nazuchi, the temperature dropped fast. The pavement cooled, but the tension in the air didn't. Collei walked alongside Albedo in the stillness of the pass, the two of them tracing the racing line with their eyes and feet. The world had shrunk down to tarmac, guardrails, and consequence.
They stopped at the outer edge of a blind right-hander—a vicious, decreasing-radius turn where an open gutter ran along the cliffside. The trench cut clean through the pavement, shallow but brutal, like a trap disguised as infrastructure.
Albedo crouched low, running gloved fingers along the jagged edge. He whistled through his teeth.
"Holy crap… these gutters are no joke. If anyone drops a wheel in here at speed? It's over. No recovery, no miracles."
Collei stood above him, arms crossed, jaw set tight. "Ningguang mentioned them last night, but I didn't think they'd be this... vicious."
Albedo nodded, eyes narrowing. "Narukami's paneled gutters are harsh, yeah—but these? They're practically designed to rip your suspension to pieces. One wrong line and you're not just spinning out—you're getting towed off in chunks."
They continued walking the curve, studying every inch: the cambers, the runoff—or lack thereof—the way shadows stretched unnaturally at night.
"Ningguang said something else," Collei murmured, gaze still locked on the scarred road.
Albedo turned to her. "What?"
"She told me and Clorinde, 'How you handle these gutters will decide whether you win or lose.'"
Albedo stopped cold. His brow furrowed. "She's not wrong. There's a technique to riding the edge, flirting with disaster. But here? These aren't just technical—they're psychological. You hesitate for even a second, and they'll eat you alive."
Collei nodded slowly, fingers tightening on her sleeves. "I'll remember that."
Albedo straightened, clapping a hand gently to her shoulder. "Trust Ningguang's instincts. She's seen things. But don't forget—trust yours more. You've survived Narukami. You're sharper now. Deadlier."
Collei didn't respond. She didn't need to.
She just stared down the road, eyes tracing the lethal line like a soldier memorizing enemy terrain.
Tomorrow, the mountain would test them all.
And it wouldn't be merciful.
As the night settled like a velvet curtain over Inazuma, Arlecchino and Lyney sat tucked away in a quiet corner of a dimly lit restaurant. The place had a rustic charm—worn wood tables, low lanternlight, the low murmur of conversations blending with the occasional clink of dishware. Outside, the streets pulsed faintly with the nightlife, but inside, time slowed around their table.
Arlecchino cut into her rare steak with methodical grace, while Lyney toyed with a glass of fruit wine, his elbow propped lazily on the table. He tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable but sharp, like always.
"So," he said, voice low and casual, "you still have Collei doing deliveries?"
Arlecchino's eyes glinted over the rim of her glass as she took a sip. "Yep. Nothing's changed in the past year."
Lyney leaned forward just a little, brows lifting. "She's part-time at my station too, you know. I pay her like a full-timer. Figured she'd cut back on the tofu runs eventually."
"She can handle it." Arlecchino's lips curled into a smirk as she set her glass down. "She hasn't complained once. In fact, she's working harder than ever."
Lyney nodded slowly, his gaze drifting for a second as if weighing something unseen. "That's true. And I've been hearing chatter... Ningguang's Speed Star crew is breaking records. Clean runs. Fast lines. No wasted movement."
Arlecchino leaned back in her chair, the old wood creaking slightly beneath her. She folded her arms, a sly gleam in her eye. "They are. They're sharp—coordinated, efficient. Ningguang's got that team running like clockwork." Her grin widened. "But someday, someone's going to beat them. All it takes is the right moment. The right line. It's just a matter of time."
Nazuchi Pass – Summit, Nightfall
Floodlights buzzed overhead, casting harsh cones of light onto the summit parking lot, where cars sat idling like wolves waiting to be unleashed. The crisp night air crackled with static—exhaust fumes, burnt rubber, the distant whine of engines echoing through the steep canyons. The crowd was already thick, a shifting mass of murmurs, camera flashes, and barely-contained adrenaline.
"They're starting with the downhill first," someone near the guardrail muttered, shifting excitedly on their feet.
"Yeah, and the other team brought an Eight-Six!" another chimed in, a mixture of awe and skepticism in his tone.
A third scoffed, arms crossed. "Doesn't matter what they brought. This is Topaz and Serval's turf. Nazuchi Pass belongs to them."
At the edge of the chaos, Keqing stood with the commanding air of a general before battle. Her FD RX-7 gleamed behind her, its headlights off, like a beast waiting to bare its fangs. She scanned her drivers, voice cool and clipped.
"The plan is clear," she said. "Downhill first, uphill second. Chase format. They go first. If they escape, we lose. But if you pass them, hold the line all the way to the bottom. No exceptions. If we pull away and they can't close the gap, it's our win."
Her gaze fixed on Collei, voice tightening. "Got it, Collei?"
Collei met her eyes without flinching, spine straight, gaze steady. "Crystal clear."
Across the lot, Topaz sat inside her red NA Miata, helmet resting in her lap, fingers fidgeting around the base of her steering wheel. The car vibrated subtly beneath her—its idle throbbing like a pulse. Her gloves were already on, harness pulled snug, but her hands... they were trembling. Just a little.
The door creaked open. Serval stepped in, leather jacket unzipped, hair wind-tousled, her usual carefree grin missing.
"You good?" she asked, voice low but not unkind.
Topaz glanced up, forcing a smile. "Y-yeah. I'm fine."
Serval didn't buy it for a second, but nodded anyway. "Good. Just remember, that Eight-Six isn't stock. And the driver isn't either. That girl? She's been through hell to get here." She gave Topaz a solid pat on the shoulder and a firm nod. "Drive like your life depends on it. No more holding back."
Topaz swallowed and nodded. "Got it."
Moments later, the crowd parted as the two racers stepped into the center of the lot—Collei in her black driving jacket, gloves snapped tight, and Topaz, visibly calmer now but still clutching that thread of unease that wouldn't go away.
Under the flickering beam of a broken overhead light, they stopped in front of each other.
Topaz extended a hand, her voice soft. "I'm Topaz. Nice to meet you."
Collei accepted the handshake, her grip strong, unwavering. "Collei."
In that moment, as their hands met, a flicker of static seemed to leap between them. Topaz felt it deep in her chest—a jolt, cold and sharp, like someone had yanked her heartbeat out of rhythm. Her breath caught. What the hell was that?
Collei broke the handshake, already turning back toward the parking area. No hesitation. No nerves. She moved like someone who knew the road. Like she belonged to it.
Topaz lingered for a second too long before jolting back to reality. She spun on her heel and headed straight for her Miata, mind racing as she climbed in and pulled the door shut with a solid thunk. Harness re-tightened. Gloves double-checked. She took a breath—deep, slow, steady.
"Let's get this done," she muttered to herself.
Engines fired up—one, then another, then a dozen more. The AE86's new Silvertop 20V snarled into life, sharper than before, with a high-pitched growl that bit through the night air like a blade. The Miata responded with a rumble, smooth but guttural, like a hunting cat tensed before the pounce.
All chatter ceased.
The crowd shifted toward the guardrails, anticipation thick in the air, as the two cars crept into position. Exhaust plumes coiled in the floodlights like steam rising from a battlefield.
Tires inched past the start line. Clutches depressed. Tachometers climbed.
Somewhere, a hand went up.
The first battle of Nazuchi Pass was about to ignite.