BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Robinson's alarm screamed like a fire drill. He didn't even flinch.
BEEP! BEEP!
Suddenly—BANG BANG BANG!! Someone pounded on his bedroom door like it owed them money.
"ROBINSON!!" his mother yelled from the hallway. "Do you even know what time it is?! Get up!!"
Robinson shot up in bed, hoodie still half-wrapped around his neck from the night before. "Damn it!!"
Half-asleep, he stumbled to the bathroom. As soon as he turned on the shower—
"ARGHHHH!!"
"IT'S FREEZING!!" he screamed. "I must've turned the wrong valve!!"
He showered through clenched teeth, teeth chattering as icy water hit his back. He glanced at the mirror—toothpaste smeared across the sink and his own reflection looking like a soaked raccoon.
Minutes later, he dragged himself downstairs. His hair was wet, his clothes half-matched, and he looked like he'd been hit by a truck. On the couch, his uncle Centius sat calmly, sipping coffee and watching the morning news, a newspaper resting on his lap.
His mother stood in the kitchen with arms crossed and an expression that could burn holes through walls.
"Robinson," she said sharply. "Last night... I checked the CCTV. You snuck out through the window. With Daryl?!"
Robinson froze, then forced a nervous laugh. "Heh... I was, uh... testing gravity, Mom."
"With Daryl? Testing gravity?!"
Uncle Centius chuckled behind the newspaper. "Kids these days. Breaking laws for science. Gotta respect that."
"Centius, this isn't funny," his mom snapped.
The smile dropped from Centius's face. He folded his newspaper and turned serious. "Look, Rob. You're spiraling. Illegal racing, shady people, bets… You don't even know the worst part yet."
Robinson blinked. "Worse than this?"
His uncle nodded. "We talked last night. Your mom and I made a decision. You're being transferred."
"Transferred where?" he asked cautiously.
"To Japan."
Robinson's heart nearly stopped. "WHAT?! Japan?!"
His mom nodded firmly. "A top international school. Away from Daryl. Away from this mess. New York isn't doing you any favors."
"Wait—wait—hold on," Robinson protested. "I just won a race last night! I'm finally making connections! I'm—I'm getting noticed!"
"And that spotlight will get you shot," Centius said coldly. "Trust me. I've been there. You either die young or you change course."
Robinson stared at the floor. Everything from the night before—the rush, the cheers, the promise of more—vanished like smoke. The GTR. The underground. Cassandra's eyes. Gone.
"You leave this weekend," his mom said.
Robinson didn't reply. He just sat down, stunned… realizing his life had just hit another curve—one he wasn't ready for.
The morning sun hadn't climbed high yet, but Robinson's head was already foggy.
He stepped out wearing his gray hoodie, dark circles under his eyes, breathing heavy. As he opened the gate, his eyes landed on the car parked across the street — a black Toyota Supra Mk4.
The car looked fierce under the morning light, still sporting mud splatters and a slightly loose side mirror from last night's chaos. But to Robinson, it wasn't just a car. It was a trophy.
"Didn't dream this last night..." he muttered, patting the hood gently.
He walked past it and hopped on his battered old bike, pedaling toward school.
At school, Robinson locked his bike and sprinted inside the building. The hallways were mostly empty. The first class bell was nearly over.
He rushed up the stairs, slipping into the classroom and quietly opened the door…
CREAK!
The door made a loud noise.
Every head turned.
Standing at the front was a tall man with sharp glasses and perfectly combed hair — Mr. Coleman, the school's most feared math teacher.
"Mr. Robinson," Mr. Coleman said with a heavy, serious voice. "Glad you could join us… 35 minutes late."
Robinson forced a smile. "Traffic…?"
"Step up. To the front."
He sighed and walked forward as his classmates snickered.
Mr. Coleman pointed at him and addressed the class.
"Everyone, take a good look. This is what a Grade-A troublemaker looks like. Overslept, still smelling like last night's mess, and probably forgot to brush his teeth."
Laughter erupted in the back of the room.
Mr. Coleman folded his arms. "Three days suspension. Effective immediately."
Robinson froze. "Seriously? I just got here!"
"Exactly. Now you can leave."
He dragged his feet out of the classroom. The only person smiling was Daryl, sitting in the back corner, chin resting on his hand.
Minutes later, during break time.
Robinson returned to his desk, head down, and instantly dozed off. He was exhausted. As his eyes closed…
Whispers. Buzz. Gathering crowd.
Slowly, students formed a circle around him. Phones were raised, screens flashing on his sleeping face.
The video from last night's race was everywhere — shaky footage from the sidelines showing his battered car taking on the Supra in a brutal one-on-one duel. Comments kept shouting his name, "Robinson."
"This kid's insane!!"
"Who is this dude? A high schooler??"
"Robinson the Street Phantom."
Daryl glanced at him, shaking his head. "Wake up, legend."
Robinson's eyes fluttered open, still groggy. "What's all the fuss?"
Daryl raised his eyebrows. "You're viral, bro. The whole school knows now. Even the upperclassmen are asking… are you actually a racer, or just a high schooler undercover?"
Robinson slowly sat up, scanning the curious eyes around him—some impressed, some cautious, others downright intrigued.
Part of him felt proud. But another part felt the weight of how fast things were moving.
And in the middle of that crowd, only Daryl knew one thing others didn't.
"You realize, Rob?" Daryl whispered. "You're just starting in this world. But the real problem? The world is already starting to catch up with you."
Robinson looked out the window. Outside, the black Supra sat parked across the street. Inside, the school buzzed with one name: Robinson.
But what he didn't know was this — going viral was only the beginning. The real danger was still coming.
The crowd slowly faded as the next bell rang. Students trickled back to their seats, but Robinson remained at his desk, staring blankly.
Beside him, Daryl glanced over. "You good, man? You've been way too quiet."
Robinson exhaled, his voice low. "They're sending me to Japan."
Daryl blinked. "Wait. What?"
"I'm serious," Robinson said, still not looking at him. "This morning, my mom banged on my door, screaming about last night. Then my uncle—Centius—drops the bomb. Says I'm getting shipped off to Japan next week. Says I need a 'fresh start.'"
Daryl stared. "Dude… that's insane."
Robinson let out a bitter laugh. "One night I win a race, go viral, feel like I finally matter—and the next morning, boom. New passport. New life. New country."
"You're like an anime protagonist," Daryl muttered. "Except… way messier."
Robinson chuckled half-heartedly. "Maybe that's why they're sending me there."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Daryl leaned closer. "When's your flight?"
"Next week."
Daryl nodded slowly. "So we've got… six days."
Robinson raised a brow. "Six days for what?"
Daryl grinned, that familiar mischievous glint in his eye. "To make history. If you're leaving this place, you're not just going viral—you're going out as a legend."
Robinson looked out the classroom window. The New York skyline shimmered in the late morning sun.
Six days left.
Six days to burn rubber, bend rules, and maybe—just maybe—leave a name behind before disappearing halfway across the world.
Because sometimes, before you vanish…
You need to explode first.