2 laps passed, and Hana still hadn't cracked.
Izamuri had been right behind her the entire time. He wasn't just chasing anymore. he was haunting her. Every corner, every braking zone, every twitch of the throttle was met with a response. He didn't dive. He didn't lunge. He simply refused to disappear.
She had never experienced anything like it. Drivers made mistakes when chased. They went wide. They got nervous. They snapped under pressure. But not her. Hana was calm. Every lap she hit the same apexes, braked at the same markers, and hugged the same lines. She was defending with precision, shutting down every possible opening without overcommitting. It was beautiful. But it was exhausting.
By Lap 4, she started feeling the strain in her forearms. By Lap 5, her gloves were slick with sweat. Her breathing was faster now, each exhale fogging the inside of her visor slightly. She risked a quick glance behind during the long right-hander of Turn 7. not with her eyes, but with her ears, her instincts. He was still there. She hadn't shaken him off her back.
Lap 6 began, and her tires started to lose grip. The kart, light as it was, began to slide a little wider than she wanted. The rears had lost their sharp edge; the front started to understeer slightly on Turn 3's exit. Subtle signs, but to Izamuri, they were clear as day. He saw her steering angle shift more aggressively mid-corner.
He noticed the fractionally earlier throttle input. an attempt to stabilize an unstable rear.
And most of all, he felt it. Hesitation. He didn't attack. Not yet. He let her wear herself down.
Down the straight, their karts howled at full throttle. Haruka and Ayaka were now several corners ahead, battling each other, but neither Hana nor Izamuri could afford to care. Their war was here, in the midpack. Their battle wasn't for the podium. it was for pride.
Into the chicane again. Turn 5 and 6, Hana pulled the same line she'd used for five laps, shutting the inside early and taking a tight, blocky angle. It had worked every time. But this time, Izamuri didn't back off. He widened his approach more than before. It looked like he was preparing for the usual switchback.
He wasn't.
Instead of cutting under, he flicked the kart left in a delayed entry, dragging the nose across the rubbered-in groove and using the full width on exit to carry speed. Hana covered too tightly, and her exit speed faltered.
She saw him. To her right, the gray kart surged up alongside her halfway down the short chute to Turn 7. She shifted slightly, defending the inside line early. No mirrors, no radio. just gut instinct and the sound of a kart too close for comfort.
Turn 7 came fast. Hana held the inside. Izamuri braked late, but not all the way—he braked with rhythm. Blip-blip-blip. She heard the engine twitch behind her. He wasn't trying to pass.
He was testing her. Again.
Lap 6 ended. Still, she held the position. But only barely. By the time Lap 7 began, Hana's gloves were soaked. Her jaw ached from clenching. She knew she was running out of options. She couldn't keep defending forever. One wrong brake point, one poor corner entry, and he'd be through.
Still, she gritted her teeth and leaned into Turn 1 again. She took her usual middle line, late apex. No space on the inside. Izamuri didn't attempt anything. Again.
Turn 2 approached. Tight left-hander. She braked early to stabilize the entry. That's when she noticed it. A subtle shift in engine note.
He lifted. Not out of fear. Not hesitation. Preparation. As her kart rotated into the corner, Izamuri's kart took a wider line. unusual for the turn, and hugged the outer edge of the corner. At first, she thought it was a misstep. A late turn-in. But then she saw the speed he carried into the exit.
She couldn't defend. Her rear tires fought for grip. The kart wobbled slightly as she transitioned from brake to throttle. Just one moment of instability. That was all he needed.
As they flew toward Turn 3. A fast, off-camber left-hander with minimal braking, Izamuri struck. He wasn't beside her until the very last second. His kart appeared like a flash, slotting cleanly to her inside just as she turned in. There was no contact. No late dive.
Just precision. His braking point had been perfect. The kart rotated smoothly. The exit line? Clean. He used the exact width of the track—nothing more, nothing less.
Hana gasped under her helmet. "That wasn't a rookie move…"
It wasn't. It was experience. Muscle memory. Maybe even something deeper. By the time they reached Turn 4, Izamuri was gone. The ghost had passed her. And now it hunted new prey.
From the rooftop, Daichi gripped the metal railing tightly, his knuckles pale. The others were watching now too. A quiet staff member stood next to him, arms crossed.
"He broke through," Daichi said. "Now he's hunting."
Up ahead, chaos was brewing. Rin, Takamori, Ayaka, and Haruka were packed like a traffic jam of overconfident egos. Each lap they jostled for position, fighting over tenths of a second like they were scraps of pride.
Takamori had taken the lead on Lap 6 with a bold overtake on Rin at Turn 7, but Rin had immediately tried to take it back in the following sector. Ayaka kept throwing her kart into gaps too small to survive in. And Haruka? Haruka just wanted his line back.
None of them had noticed the phantom approaching. But Ayaka, now running fourth, glanced sideways in Turn 5 as she defended from Haruka, and saw it.
Grey kart. Neon helmet. Closing. Fast.
She exhaled sharply. "Oh, no."
Izamuri didn't slow down. Not in the chicane. Not in the short straight after. He danced on the limit of traction, hunting apexes like they owed him something.
Takamori, still defending from Rin, glanced over his shoulder briefly on the long curve of Turn 8. He felt it too. Something was coming.
Lap 7 ended with Izamuri finally slipping past Hana at Turn 3, his kart dancing through the corner like it had rehearsed it a thousand times. The gray rental surged forward, leaving Hana in its wake, her defense finally cracked, not by brute force, but by precision.
Ahead, the gaps were tighter now. Haruka in fourth. Ayaka in third. Rin and Takamori still tangled at the front. Izamuri narrowed his eyes, locked in as he accelerated out of Turn 4. His tires hummed on the edge of grip. His breathing was steady. There was no celebration, no relief. Just the next target.
Lap 8 began, and Haruka hadn't yet noticed the threat behind him. He was too busy watching Ayaka's line through the chicane, trying to gauge whether she was lifting too early under braking. He didn't see the gray blur closing in through Turn 2.
Izamuri didn't rush it. He was patient—he didn't need to pass immediately. He just needed to show Haruka the pressure. Like a predator revealing its fangs before it strikes.
Haruka finally noticed him at Turn 3. A shadow loomed on the outside as he turned in. No mirrors, no radio. But he felt the space tighten. Haruka blinked. "Already?"
He defended into Turn 4, braking deeper than usual. It was a gamble. The rear end wiggled under him, threatening to slide out, but he held it. Izamuri stayed right behind, not flinching. They exited into the chicane, Haruka taking a defensive middle line. Izamuri swept wide, then tucked in sharply. It almost worked. He got the better run, nearly overlapping on exit. But Haruka used every ounce of his experience to block off the left kink before Turn 7.
For the rest of Lap 8, Haruka hung on. Barely. But he knew it was only a matter of time. Lap 9 started, and Haruka tried to create a gap into Turn 1 by braking later. It didn't work.
Izamuri followed him perfectly, even closer now. As they launched out of Turn 2, Izamuri widened his entry, built speed on the exit, and planted himself on Haruka's tail. Turn 3 came. This time, Haruka stayed narrow.
But Izamuri went even tighter. It was a move no one expected. a tight inside-line overtake in one of the trickiest corners on the course. He didn't need a divebomb. He just braked later and used the kart's rotation to tuck in at a sharper angle.
Haruka tried to defend mid-turn, but it was too late. The gray rental kart was already there. locked in and committed. They went side-by-side through the apex, and Izamuri exited first.
By Turn 4, Haruka had no chance to recover. He was stunned, but not angry. He actually smiled beneath his helmet. "So that's how it is."
Ayaka had been checking over her shoulder subconsciously for several laps now. She knew Haruka had dropped back, and she knew who was coming. She saw the gray rental close the gap in a flash. By Turn 6 of Lap 9, it was there—just behind her.
Ayaka wasn't known for folding under pressure. If anything, it made her stronger. But this wasn't normal pressure. This was something else entirely.
Lap 10 began, and she threw the kart into Turn 1 aggressively. She tried to shake him off with sheer pace. The tires screeched. She clipped the apex like a scalpel and rocketed out—but Izamuri was still there.
Turn 2, she narrowed her line. Still no opening. But at Turn 3, he changed approach. He backed off.
Ayaka blinked. "Did he fall behind?"
No. He was setting her up. Through Turn 4, she braked late to maintain her lead—but her exit speed was compromised. That was all he needed. Turn 5 approached, the entry to the chicane.
Ayaka blocked the inside instinctively, but Izamuri had already planned his move. He didn't need the apex.
He braked later, swung wide, almost touching the grass and carried a massive amount of speed into Turn 6's exit. Ayaka tried to pinch him out, but the rental kart surged forward like it was magnetized to the track.
By Turn 7, he was fully alongside. And then… ahead. Clean. Efficient. No contact. Ayaka sat back in her seat, stunned. "He made it look easy."
Back on the rooftop, Daichi watched silently as the storm below unfolds.
"Lap 11," Daichi whispered, checking his watch.
And there it was. Izamuri now in third. Only two karts ahead. Rin and Takamori. Both of them veterans. Both still trading paint. But Izamuri wasn't focused on them as rivals. He was watching them the way a hawk watches prey too busy fighting each other to notice the looming presence behind them. Izamuri looks ahead. His breathing slowed. His eyes sharpened.
Turn 1, Turn 2, Turn 3, they blurred together in sequence. The kart wasn't just obeying him now. It was part of him. By Turn 6, he could already see the tire marks they left. Where Takamori was braking. Where Rin over-rotated. Where grip was lost, and where opportunity waited. He didn't care about who was leading. He cared about who was next. Lap 11 ended.
And Izamuri locked his eyes on Rin.