Lap 11 had just ended, and the lead battle was no longer just a distant spectacle. It had become immediate. Dangerous. And dead silent in Izamuri's helmet. Up ahead, Rin Takagi was a storm in motion. Fluid, fast, and razor-sharp. He wasn't just driving. He was flying on instinct, years of karting experience pulsing through every movement. But behind him?
Izamuri was closing in.
Lap after lap, corner after corner, the gap shrunk. Not because Rin slowed down—he didn't. If anything, Rin was pushing harder than ever, trying to shake the ghost in his mirrors. But Izamuri wasn't fading. He wasn't backing off. In fact, with each lap, he got closer. More precise. Less human.
By the time Lap 13 ticked by on the digital display above the timing shack. The hum of engines still echoed, but now they were more like war drums than a symphony. A rhythm of pressure. Of breathless inches. And at the very tip of the race… Rin was no longer alone. Izamuri was there.
He had clawed his way through every layer of the grid like it was natural. Predictable. His overtakes weren't violent, weren't flashy. They were efficient. Clinical. Surgical. The kind of moves you only see in seasoned racers with thousands of laps under their belts. Not a rookie in a gray rental suit.
And now… there was nowhere else to climb but forward. Rin was the only one left.
Rin caught a flash of gray in his mirrors. If only briefly, and tightened his line through Turn 3. His gloves were soaked, the grip inside his kart a little looser now, nerves creeping in like fog. He was fast. Always had been. But the pressure behind him wasn't like anything he'd dealt with before. It wasn't speed alone. It was presence. Like the kart behind him had a will. Like it wanted to be in front.
Lap 13, Sector 2. Izamuri was inside Rin's slipstream now, so close he could almost reach out and tap Rin's rear bumper. Down the back straight, both karts hit their rev limiters—snapping between 15,000 RPM howls and rapid throttle modulation. But it wasn't the engine that made Rin nervous.
It was the quiet. The way Izamuri moved. Like someone who didn't just read racing lines, but understood the story behind every inch of the circuit. Where the rubber was thickest. Where the heat made grip vanish. Where the bumps threatened to destabilize a kart mid-corner.
The chicane came fast. Rin braked late, like always, and flicked his kart into the sharp left-right combo. The tires squealed, barely gripping. But Izamuri didn't flinch. He matched Rin's braking zone, kept tighter through the first apex, and exited closer than before.
"Damn it," Rin muttered under his helmet. "He's there."
The wide, sweeping left-hander before the hairpin came up again. Rin braked later than before. Too late. He ran slightly wide. The moment his rear tire kissed the dirty edge of the racing line, his kart lost a hint of rotation. That's all Izamuri needed.
He went inside. Just a wheel. A whisper. But it was enough to force Rin to lift the throttle. For the first time, Rin reacted. He wasn't dictating the race anymore. He was defending it. From the observation deck above the pit building, Daichi stood still. His arms folded, eyes narrowed.
"This is it," he whispered. "He's pushing. Lap 15 is where it'll break."
The lap ended, and Lap 15 began. And now, everything changed. Izamuri's posture shifted. He moved forward in the seat. His arms relaxed. The kart's behavior subtly changed. It flowed smoother, more assertively. The rhythm wasn't passive anymore. It was offensive. He was going to strike.
Rin felt it before it happened. At Turn 1, Izamuri braked deeper, sticking closer. At Turn 2, he shifted wide to widen his entry. Rin glanced over his shoulder exiting Turn 2. His neck was already aching from keeping his eyes glued to the rearview glances, but he couldn't afford to relax. Not now. Not with that thing behind him.
"Goddammit… He's still there," Rin muttered under his breath, biting his lip. "How is he still there?"
From the rooftop of the pit building, Daichi leaned forward, arms crossed over the metal railing, binoculars slung at his neck. His eyes, sharp as razors, followed the grey kart's movements with laser focus. "He's not trying to overtake yet… He's studying."
Beside him, one of the staff who had joined him whispered, "Studying? It's lap fifteen. Shouldn't he be attacking by now?"
Daichi's eyes narrowed. "No… He's downloading. Like a computer. Every move Rin makes is just another file added to his memory."
On the track, Rin's kart twitched mid-corner. He was overdriving now—trying to shake off the ghost on his tail. His lines became slightly more erratic, his inputs rougher. Into the Turn 5–6 chicane, he clipped the inside curb too hard and bounced, upsetting the chassis. A small wobble, a correction.
Izamuri didn't capitalize. But he did note it.
Through Turn 7, the fast left-hander before the back straight, Izamuri closed again. This time closer than before. Rin could feel it. His tires were beginning to fade, and the rear grip was loosening.
"He's faster out of corners than me," Rin muttered, sweat stinging his eyes. "I can't shake him…"
As the two reached Turn 9, Rin again defended the inside. Izamuri stayed behind, no dive, no send. But Rin was rattled now. Rin slammed the brakes harder. He thought Izamuri would back off.
But Izamuri didn't. For the first time since their duel began… he lunged. Not recklessly. Not dramatically. Just decisively. His kart slid down the outside of Turn 9, barely an inch between their tires. Rin's kart pushed wide under braking, and that was the opening.
Izamuri rotated earlier. Tucked in. And by the apex, he was side-by-side. Rin tried to hang on, powered out aggressively, even bumped Izamuri's rear tire. But Izamuri didn't flinch. He held the throttle. Trusted the line. Trusted the physics.
At the exit, the grey kart surged ahead. He passed him. On the outside.
Lap 15 ended. Lap 16 began.
Rin screamed under his helmet. "NO WAY!!"
He tried to counterattack into Turn 1, diving in, but Izamuri anticipated it. He braked late, turned in early, and slammed the door shut before Rin could squeeze beside him.
Takamori, meanwhile had built a five-second lead over the chaos behind. But that cushion was shrinking.
Fast. Very fast. "Shit," Takamori muttered. "I might be cooked…"
He pushed harder into Turn 2, tires screeching. His kart slid more than it had in the first half of the race. He knew what was coming. He knew that grey kart, the quiet storm with no number and no noise, was now the one hunting him. And he wasn't sure he could outrun it.
Meanwhile, behind Takamori. Izamuri is cathing up on him, with Rin trainling behind him like a heat seeking missile.
"This isn't over," Rin hissed, tucking his body down and chasing the slipstream.
They were into Lap 16, and the gap between Izamuri and Takamori was closing. What was once a five-second buffer was now a visible stretch of tarmac. A difference you could see with the naked eye. But Rin wasn't done yet. He wasn't just watching. He was attacking.
Turn 2. Rin dove hard on the inside, the front tires chirping under load. Izamuri sensed it. Instead of turning in immediately, he delayed rotation by a fraction, allowing Rin to overshoot and scrub momentum. Then, he cut in sharply, reclaimed the apex, and powered out.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Rin shouted, teeth clenched.
Izamuri noticed it a fraction of a second earlier. He widened his exit deliberately, giving Rin space while keeping momentum high. As Rin braked late and turned tight, his kart scrubbed too much speed, understeered slightly, and left him slow on exit. Izamuri slipped right back past before Turn 3. Effortless. Like he had planned for it.
"Damn it!" Rin shouted, frustrated.
But he didn't back off. Through Turn 4, Rin attacked again, this time going for a switchback. Baiting the outside and cutting inside. It almost worked. Izamuri adjusted mid-corner, floated his entry wider, and exited tighter than expected, blocking Rin's momentum once again.
"Are you reading my mind now!?" Rin spat through gritted teeth.
Back on the rooftop, Daichi laughed quietly. "He's predicting his lines."
By the end of Lap 16, the two karts were dancing through every apex like twin wolves in a duel. Rin wasn't giving up, and Izamuri wasn't giving him an inch. But ahead? Takamori Kazuma was now watching his lead melt away in the rear-view glance of his helmet.
"Still too far," he whispered, exiting Turn 5. "I still have time. Right?"
Wrong. As the front pair of Rin and Izamuri surged into Lap 17, Izamuri began to pull a small gap. Half a second. A second. Rin's tires were fading. His lines were less tidy now, overdriving in the dirty air. Izamuri, by contrast, remained fluid—always adapting, never flustered. And by the back straight of Lap 17, he was within visual range of Takamori.
The red kart up ahead. the leader was no longer alone. Takamori's nerves began to fray. He hadn't needed to defend all race. But now? He was going to have to. And he knew who was behind him.
"He caught Rin… " he muttered, breathing heavy. "No… NOT TODAY!!!"
Behind Izamuri, Rin stayed in it, refusing to let go. He was still there, maybe a kart-length behind, refusing to drop. And just like that… Lap 18 began. Three karts. Red, grey, and white. Takamori. Izamuri. Rin. Leader. Challenger. Avenger. The front straight became the stage for the storm.
Takamori swung wide into Turn 1, taking a defensive arc, but it cost him speed. Izamuri pounced on exit, narrowing the gap by two-tenths instantly. Rin stuck right behind, his eyes flaring behind the visor.
"Come on," he hissed. "You're not dropping me that easy."
At Turn 2, Izamuri didn't go for a move. He just stayed close. Too close. Takamori felt the heat now. His mirrors were full of grey.
"Damn you, Haruka," Takamori muttered. "Why'd you bring this kid?"
The trio barreled into Turn 4. This time, Takamori missed the apex slightly. Izamuri darted inward, looking for a gap. But Rin saw it too. He dove in behind, stacking up the pressure.
Three-wide tension. They exited the corner like fireworks—Izamuri pressuring the inside, Rin lurking like a hyena on the edge. Takamori slammed the kart into the next braking zone hard, barely keeping it on line.
"Okay," Rin muttered, "this is getting spicy."
Lap 19 came along. Up front, Izamuri was studying again. He was faster than Takamori, but Rin was different. Rin wasn't cracking. Not yet. Every corner, every apex, Rin placed his kart just right. No wasted motion. His lines were smoother now, more precise. He was adapting. Learning from Izamuri.
Turn 2. Izamuri took a tighter line this time, trying to test Rin's rear tire grip under acceleration. Rin saw it in his peripheral and adjusted mid-corner. Delayed his throttle. Exited cleaner.
Izamuri smiled. Rin was fighting him. Not with brute speed, but with thinking. Turn 3 again. Izamuri stayed back. Lap 19 wasn't for passing. It was for mapping.
Takamori tried to regain momentum. The slipstream behind him unfortunately gave Izamuri and Rin a sniff of hope, but his tires were beginning to fade. He had overcooked them in the early laps, trying to defend against both of them. Now, they protested in every tight turn. He braked later into Turn 4. Too late.
His rear kicked out. He caught it. But by the time the kart straightened, he'd lost three lengths.
"…Dammit."
Further back, Ayaka sat alone in fourth, watching the gap grow in front—and shrink behind.
Haruka was gaining. She could see it. His kart gliding through corners with minimal drama, consistent and efficient. It wasn't flashy, but it was fast. Ayaka pushed harder, tires beginning to bark under the load, but her precision held.
The real issue was what lay behind Haruka and Hana… no actually so far behind it actually appears in front of them. And it was… chaos. Chaos had a name. It was the twins who are still at lap 18. Now exiting turn 3 while trying to fight each other.
"YOU CUT THE WHOLE DAMN TRACK!" Tojo screamed through his helmet.
"I HAD TO!" Hojo yelled back. "YOU WERE IN MY LINE!"
"I WAS AHEAD!"
"You were!"
At the end of Lap 19, while the twins slowed down for turn 4. The lead three crossed the line. Rin, Izamuri, Takamori. But the gap back to fourth? Less than 1.8 seconds. And now the battlefield was fully visible.
Final lap. Lap 20.