The smart TV flickered to life, filling the Hugo Speed pit with a faint electronic hum and a soft glow that bounced off the metallic walls of the garage. The air was calm now, no sound of wrenches clinking, no echo of impact guns, no hurried voices. The mechanics had all but cleared out, leaving only Hugo, Daichi, Walter, Simon, Haruka, Nikolai, Rin, Izamuri, and Takamori gathered around the large screen. It was strange to see the place so quiet after days of racing chaos.
"Finally," Takamori muttered, straightening the TV after securing the last bolts on the mount. He brushed his palms together with a satisfied smirk. "We're live."
Walter shifted in his folding chair, leaning forward with anticipation. "Turn it on, ja. I want to see how this 'third biggest series in the world' really looks."
Hugo nodded and grabbed the remote. A few clicks later, the streaming service menu filled the screen, the bright icons for Sports standing out like beacons. The Finn navigated with purpose, selecting the Motorsport category. A list of live and upcoming events populated, names scrolling across the bottom of the display: Super GT, MotoGP, WEC… and then there it was.
RWC - Round 1: Sentul International Circuit, Indonesia.
"Sentul…" Haruka muttered under his breath. "Never thought I'd hear that track again. It's been off the international radar for years."
Simon tilted his head. "Surprising choice for a season opener. Why not Suzuka, Silverstone, or somewhere with more… prestige?"
Hugo shook his head. "That's the point. RWC prides itself on being global. They don't just stick to the same old calendar everyone else runs. They go where the fans are, where the culture thrives. And in Southeast Asia, Sentul has history."
Daichi's expression flickered, but he stayed silent for the moment.
"Alright, here we go," Hugo said as he clicked on the broadcast tile. But instead of roaring engines or paddock shots, the screen shifted to a slate-grey background with a plain notice in white lettering:
Broadcast starts at 14:00 JST.
Everyone stared at it. A long silence hung over the pit.
"…Eh?" Rin tilted his head in confusion.
"What do you mean 'starts at 14:00'?" Walter asked, his brows furrowing. "It's already almost one!"
Hugo blinked at the screen, then at his phone, then back at the screen. His confident smile faltered. "Wait… I checked the Indonesian schedule. It said the broadcast begins at noon. WIB."
Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly as the pieces clicked together. "WIB… Western Indonesia Time." He shook his head, half amused and half annoyed. "You read the local schedule instead of the streaming platform's JST listing."
"Wait," Izamuri spoke up, scratching his cheek. "So… what time is it here?"
Daichi's tone was calm, almost lecturing, the voice of someone used to clearing up rookie mistakes. "Indonesia's time zones are behind Japan. Jakarta runs on WIB, which is two hours earlier than here. Noon in Jakarta is two in the afternoon here. Race itself is three p.m. JST."
"Ah." Hugo's lips pressed into a thin line as realization set in. He chuckled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. "So… we're early."
"Too early," Haruka added dryly, leaning back in his chair.
Walter let out a short laugh. "Scheisse, Hugo. You made us rush here to sit in silence for an extra hour?"
Nikolai snorted, crossing his arms with a smirk. "Damn... You read the wrong clock."
"Shut it," Hugo muttered, though even he couldn't keep a small smile off his face.
Simon glanced around at the others. "Well… at least we're prepared. Better early than scrambling late."
"True," Takamori said, stretching his arms. "Guess we've got time to kill. Coffee, anyone?"
As the crew relaxed into their chairs or leaned back against the garage walls, the atmosphere shifted from eager anticipation to idle calm. It wasn't wasted time, not really. It gave them a chance to sit still, reflect, and talk without the roar of engines or the rush of schedules.
Izamuri drummed his fingers against the table. "So… what do we do until then? Just stare at a blank screen?"
Daichi finally spoke up, his voice carrying a weight that immediately quieted the group. "We talk." He folded his arms, gaze distant for a moment. "You all are about to watch Sentul on that screen. For you, it'll be your first time seeing that track in action. But for me… I've been there."
The others turned their attention toward him.
"You raced at Sentul?" Hugo asked, surprised.
Daichi nodded slowly. "Once. In 1997. During my first year in JGTC. I wasn't supposed to—Toyota asked me to fill in as a guest driver for Toyota Team Indonesia in their Touring Car Championship. A one-off entry, just for that year."
Simon raised a brow, intrigued. "That's not in your usual racing record."
"No," Daichi said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It wasn't part of my main career. But it was… memorable. That circuit, that place, those people…" He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "I haven't thought about it in years."
Haruka leaned forward, curiosity in his eyes. "What was it like? Racing there, back in the nineties?"
Daichi's expression grew more serious. He adjusted his posture, leaning back slightly in his chair, eyes half-closed as though digging into a memory buried deep under the years. "Let me tell you."
The pit grew quiet again, everyone instinctively leaning closer. Even Izamuri, who had been restless earlier, stilled and fixed his gaze on Daichi.
The garage was quiet except for the faint hum of the TV's standby screen. Everyone leaned closer as Daichi finally began speaking, his voice carrying the steady, deliberate tone of a man recounting something important, not just another memory, but a story etched deep into his career.
"It was 1997," he began. "My first season in JGTC. I was running in GT300, still young, still proving myself. I had Toyota backing, but only through a semi-privateer setup with the Celica ST205. I wasn't on the radar of the big teams yet, not really. I was just a hungry driver, trying to make my mark."
The younger ones like Izamuri, Rin, Takamori, Hana, Ayaka, even Haruka, leaned in like students hearing their teacher reveal a hidden piece of history.
"It was after the second round at Fuji Speedway," Daichi continued. "That weekend had gone well. I'd been punching above my weight in the Celica, fighting near the front even though the car wasn't on par with the factory NSXs or Skylines. The track was still fresh after the renovations back then, and for me… it felt like home turf. I suppose I caught someone's attention."
He paused, rubbing his chin, the faint ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Because right after that round, as I was packing up in the paddock, two men in Toyota uniforms walked up to me. Not the usual trackside engineers. These were from Nagoya, from the main office."
Simon raised an eyebrow. "Corporate types?"
"Exactly," Daichi nodded. "Pressed suits, polished shoes, badges that told you they weren't the kind to get their hands dirty on a gearbox. They didn't waste time with pleasantries either. One of them stepped forward and asked me straight: 'Fujiwara-san, would you be interested in representing Toyota abroad?'"
"Abroad?" Walter echoed, his German accent thick as he leaned forward.
"Yes," Daichi said, his tone sharpening as he recalled the moment. "They explained that Toyota Team Indonesia had been preparing for an upcoming round of their national touring car championship, held at Sentul International Circuit. The event was going to be huge, lots of press, fans, corporate presence. They wanted a Japanese driver with JGTC experience to appear as a guest entry, to draw headlines and strengthen ties between Toyota Japan and Toyota Indonesia. I was their pick."
Izamuri blinked in surprise. "Why you?"
Daichi chuckled, not offended by the question. "Because I was available, hungry, and performing better than anyone expected in the Celica. And perhaps because I didn't have the kind of contracts that tied down the top factory drivers. I was the perfect candidate, good enough to impress, but not too important to be unavailable."
"So what did you say?" Haruka asked, already guessing the answer.
Daichi smirked. "What could I say? It was a chance to represent Toyota on an international stage, even if it was just one race. I accepted on the spot. I still remember the official nodding, pulling out a set of documents right there in the paddock, like they knew I wouldn't refuse."
Walter whistled low. "So they had already decided on you."
"Most likely," Daichi agreed. "They just needed me to agree. Once I did, everything moved fast. That same evening, they told me I would fly out within a couple of days. My schedule would be cleared, Toyota would handle logistics, and all I had to do was bring my racing gear."
Nikolai leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. "And the car? You didn't bring your Celica, da?"
Daichi shook his head. "No. Toyota Team Indonesia had their own entry prepared. They ran Corollas back then, sprightly, nimble touring cars tuned for the local series. They didn't need me to bring machinery. They needed a driver, a name they could plaster across the headlines. My role was as much about marketing as it was racing."
Simon smirked knowingly. "A PR stunt, then."
"Partly," Daichi admitted. "But it was still racing. I wasn't about to treat it as a holiday. For me, it was another chance to prove myself."
He paused again, letting the tension build in the air. The younger ones looked at him with a kind of awe, as though each word was painting a picture of a different era.
"By Tuesday, everything was arranged. My Celica was parked back in storage, my luggage packed. I remember standing in Narita Airport with my racing bag over my shoulder, ticket in hand, staring at the departure board. My destination: Jakarta. A place I had never been, a track I had never seen. I knew nothing of the culture, the heat, the people… but I was about to find out."
He leaned back in his chair, arms folded, eyes drifting toward the memory as though he could see the airport around him again. "The flight was long. Eight hours, if I recall correctly. Long enough to think. Long enough to wonder what the hell I had just gotten myself into."
For a brief moment, silence filled the Hugo Speed garage again. Everyone pictured Daichi as he was then young, ambitious, standing on the edge of something unfamiliar.
"And just like that," Daichi said softly, "I left Japan behind, bound for a country and a race that would leave a mark on me forever."
He stopped there, his voice fading with the memory.
The others sat quietly, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. They could feel it, the beginning of a story that was about to dive much deeper.
Daichi leaned back slightly, the glow of the pit lamps reflecting in his eyes as he continued his story. The others sat cross-legged on stools, toolboxes, or even on the cold concrete floor. Nobody interrupted him, not even the twins. It wasn't just because Daichi was their senior; it was because this was history being passed down.
"When the plane touched down in Soekarno-Hatta," Daichi said, "the heat hit me like a wall. Japan in May was warm, sure, but this? It was heavy, humid, like breathing through a wet towel. The air was thick with kerosene from the planes and the tang of the tropics. I'll be honest, I'd never experienced anything like it before."
He chuckled softly. "A Toyota staff member was already waiting for me the moment I cleared customs. Smart suit, neat tie, holding a little sign with my name scribbled in big kanji. I didn't even get a chance to really take in the airport before I was whisked into a white Toyota Kijang, sort of like a van, mostly came with diesel and some with gasoline engines, very popular here at the time."
Walter nodded knowingly. "I have seen those in pictures. Very… boxy."
Daichi smirked. "Boxy is the polite word. But reliable. It got me where I needed to go. The first stop wasn't a hotel, though, it was Toyota Astra Motor's central office in Sunter. Their headquarters. That building… it felt like a temple to Toyota. A mix of Indonesian and Japanese efficiency. Flags flying, spotless floors, employees in crisp uniforms. They walked me straight through the lobby and up to the executive wing."
He rested his elbows on his knees, the memory still vivid. "They gave me the grand tour. Showed me the projects they were working on, local assembly lines, Corolla sedans, Kijangs being built for the Indonesian market. They were proud of what they had achieved there, and they wanted me to see it firsthand. For them, having a JGTC driver visit wasn't just about motorsport. It was about showing the world Toyota's global reach."
Izamuri listened carefully, his brow furrowed as though he were trying to imagine what it felt like to be plucked from one racing paddock and dropped into another world.
"After the formalities and a few hours of polite conversation, I was free for the afternoon," Daichi continued. "A company car and driver took me into Jakarta to see the city. And let me tell you…" He gave a short laugh. "It was chaos. Cars, buses, motorcycles everywhere. Horns blaring. Lanes seemed more like suggestions than rules. The heat and humidity combined with the smog, it was overwhelming. But it was alive. That city pulsed with energy."
Haruka tilted his head. "What did you see first?"
"They took me to Monas, the National Monument," Daichi said, his eyes glinting. "A tall white obelisk in the center of a huge square, symbolizing Indonesia's independence. Tourists and locals alike milled around, street vendors selling drinks and satay, the smell of grilled meat wafting through the air. It was the heart of Jakarta, and standing there I realized I was far, far from Fuji or Suzuka. It was a different world, but motorsport had carried me there."
He drew a slow breath before continuing. "From there, we drove through the older districts. Dutch colonial buildings, narrow streets, children playing soccer barefoot on patches of dirt. The city was a mix of history and modernity, stitched together in a way that felt raw but real. I remember pressing my face against the car window, trying to take it all in."
"And then," Daichi's voice softened, "we went north, toward Ancol. Toward the sea."
Nikolai straightened in his seat. "The beach?"
"Yes," Daichi nodded. "The driver must have known I was a racing man, because he took me to the old Ancol circuit, or what was left of it. The track had been closed since '92. At that time, it was mid-demolition. Half gone, half alive. A ghost of what once was."
He paused, recalling the strange melancholy of the place. "The back straight still remained, running parallel to the beach. Asphalt cracked and weather-worn, the ocean wind carrying sand over it. The north loop was there too, faint tire marks still visible in some places, but already weeds were breaking through. The south loop? Flattened. A highway interchange was being built right where cars once screamed past at 200 kilometers an hour."
"Damn…" Rin muttered under his breath.
Daichi gave a small nod. "I walked along that stretch by the beach. My shoes crunched on broken asphalt. To my left, the waves crashed, gulls circling overhead. To my right, bulldozers and cranes stood silent, waiting for morning to continue erasing history. It was surreal. Like standing in a graveyard for racetracks."
He leaned back, crossing his arms. "And yet, there was a strange beauty to it. You could almost hear echoes of engines that no longer existed, imagine the local heroes flying down that straight. The driver explained that the last remaining sections would eventually be converted into public roads. A beach access road for the new Taman Jaya Ancol park, he said. In other words, the circuit would fade into the city, absorbed, forgotten."
Izamuri frowned. "So now it's just… gone?"
"From what I heard, yes," Daichi said softly. "Only fragments remain, hidden as ordinary streets. Unless you knew, you'd never guess a circuit was ever there."
For a moment, everyone was silent, as if mourning a track they had never driven.
"That evening," Daichi went on, "the driver insisted on letting me watch the sunset from the beach. I remember sitting there, shoes off, sand still warm under my feet, the dying sun casting fire across the waves. Behind me, the skeleton of a racetrack. In front of me, the vast sea. It felt like a metaphor I didn't fully understand at the time, something ending, something beginning."
He rubbed his temples lightly, as if pulling the memory back into focus. "By nightfall, I was exhausted. The Toyota staff drove me back inland, to a guest house near the Toyota Astra Motor main center. A simple two-story building, nothing flashy, but comfortable. They handed me a room key, bowed politely, and told me to rest. Tomorrow would be my first visit to Sentul."
Daichi's voice trailed off, the story pausing naturally there. He exhaled, his expression thoughtful, almost wistful. "That was my first day in Indonesia. Just like that, an introduction to a new world. I didn't realize then how important those next few days would become, or how much that track would test me."
He fell silent, letting the memory settle in the pit, and the others shifted, murmuring quietly among themselves, Daichi rubbed his chin as if dusting off an old file in his mind. His tone was steady, but the others could tell his memory of those days was vivid.
"The morning after my first night in Jakarta, I was picked up at the guest house by a small Toyota convoy. A couple of vans loaded with gear and engineers, and me tucked into the passenger seat of a white Kijang, their workhorse. We left Sunter early, around 6 AM, and headed south. The driver told me it was about an hour and a half if traffic was kind, but we had to take the Jagorawi toll road all the way to Bogor."
He chuckled faintly, remembering the endless streams of vehicles. "It was busy even that early. Trucks hauling goods, buses groaning along, and scooters zipping around like ants. The moment we got onto the toll road, I saw a blur of green countryside start to replace the gray concrete of Jakarta. Palm trees, rice paddies, hills stretching out as far as the eye could see. That was when I realized this wasn't just another assignment, it was going to be something special."
Izamuri leaned forward. "And that's where Sentul is, right?"
Daichi nodded. "Yes. Sentul International Circuit sat just outside Bogor. Back then it was still relatively new, only about four years old. When we finally rolled through the gates, the first thing I noticed was how open it was. Wide stretches of asphalt, green hills rolling in the distance, and a heavy dampness in the air that never seemed to go away. You could almost smell the rain before it arrived."
He paused, letting the scene sink in before continuing. "That's when I met him. Wiranto, though everyone just called him Anto. He was in his mid-40s at the time, wiry frame, glasses, always with a cigarette between his fingers. The man carried himself with the calm of someone who had seen everything. Toyota Japan had sent me a file on him before I flew in, he had studied in Nagoya, working alongside some of the same engineers who developed our GT300 program. That connection made it easier. When I introduced myself in Japanese, his face lit up, and he replied fluently. From that moment, we clicked."
Daichi's lips curled into the faintest smile. "He became my guide, my interpreter, my anchor in a country I didn't fully understand yet. He explained every corner of Sentul, every trick of the track. He even told me which food stalls near Bogor were safe for my stomach, which ones weren't. And, he had this way of explaining things in a calm, matter-of-fact tone that made even the most complex details sound simple."
Walter leaned against the wall, intrigued. "So Anto was your bridge to Indonesia."
"Exactly," Daichi confirmed. "I heard later that he retired about three years ago at 60. A full career, well-earned. But back then, he was at his peak, senior engineer for Toyota Team Indonesia, the man everyone deferred to."
Daichi's voice grew warmer as he continued. "The first day at Sentul was mostly about settling in. I walked the track with Anto, noting every braking zone, every camber, every bump. It wasn't as smooth as Fuji or Suzuka. Sentul had character, undulations, patches, uneven curbs. But it felt alive. By the afternoon, I'd already driven a few installation laps, nothing crazy, just to feel the car under me on this new surface. By evening, I was exhausted, but content."
"Where'd you stay?" Rin asked, curious.
"A hotel not far from the track," Daichi said. "Simple, two stories, whitewashed walls with red-tiled roofs. The kind of place racers, mechanics, and journalists stayed in during events. The beds weren't as comfortable as back home, and the air conditioning struggled against the Bogor humidity, but it was close, and that was all that mattered."
He shifted in his seat, remembering. "By Friday, I was already deep into free practice. The Corolla they'd given me was responsive, nimble, but Sentul tested me in ways I hadn't expected. Long straights broken by technical complexes, elevation changes that forced me to think ahead. I was finding rhythm with each lap, but there was always one constant, the weather."
"Rain?" Takamori guessed.
Daichi nodded. "Every afternoon, without fail, clouds would roll in from the mountains. The sky would darken, the air would thicken, and then the heavens would open. Buckets of water would drench the track in minutes. They don't call Bogor the 'Rain City' for nothing. I had to learn quickly how to adapt. One moment I'd be pushing on a dry track, the next I'd be dancing on water with slicks that had no business being out there."
He exhaled, half amused, half exasperated by the memory. "But what I can never forget was the wildlife."
That perked everyone up.
"Wildlife?" Ayaka asked, raising a brow.
Daichi chuckled. "You don't see this kind of thing in Fuji or Suzuka, that's for sure. On my second day at Sentul, during a shakedown run, I nearly ran over a monitor lizard. The thing was massive, maybe 2 meters long, ambling across the tarmac like it owned the place. I locked up, swerved, and barely missed it. My heart was pounding harder than it ever had in a race car. When I got back to the pits, the crew was laughing their heads off. Apparently, it wasn't unusual."
Laughter rippled through the Hugo Speed pit as Daichi shook his head.
"But that wasn't the worst," he went on. "During one of the afternoon free practices, a commotion broke out near the garages. I walked over and saw two mechanics standing on a bench, pointing frantically. And there it was, a cobra, coiled in the corner of the pit, hood flared. They had to call a local handler to get rid of it."
"Jesus," Haruka muttered. "A snake? In the pits?"
Daichi nodded grimly. "Yes. And Anto explained why. Behind the back straight of Sentul, just over the outer perimeter fence, ran a massive river. Wild animals lived there, such as monitor lizards, snakes, birds. Sometimes they wandered into the circuit grounds. It was something you had to live with. The circuit wasn't just carved into land, it was carved into nature. That made it both beautiful and dangerous."
Izamuri shivered, imagining himself mid-lap with a cobra waiting in the pit garage. "That's insane…"
"Insane, but unforgettable," Daichi said firmly. "And those days taught me adaptability in ways I never imagined. Racing isn't just about speed, it's about dealing with the unexpected. And Sentul had plenty of that to offer."
He paused, letting the memory hang in the air. The smell of rain-soaked asphalt, the sight of wildlife intruding on man-made tarmac, the humid weight of Bogor's air, all of it seemed to return to him as if it were yesterday.
"That was my first real taste of Sentul," he said softly. "And I knew then… this place would test me not just as a racer, but as a man."
Daichi leaned back on the folding chair in Hugo Speed's pit, his eyes reflecting both humor and gravity as he continued the story. Everyone leaned in; even the twins, usually restless, were quiet this time.
"By Saturday, it was qualifying day," Daichi began, his voice steady. "We had run enough practice laps to understand the quirks of Sentul, but the real pressure started there. The air was heavy, humid, and the smell of rain hung around even though the skies were clear that morning. The paddock was alive with noise, engines warming up, mechanics shouting, birds cawing in the distance. It felt like any other qualifying session… until the unexpected happened."
He paused, smirking faintly. "Midway through the session, I was pushing hard, trying to shave a tenth off my lap. Coming through turn 2 cleanly, I set up for the next sequence. Turn 3, fast, demanding precision on the entry. I clipped the apex perfectly and moved for turn 4. But then, out of nowhere something moved across the line."
Izamuri tilted his head. "Don't tell me…"
Daichi chuckled, shaking his head. "A cobra. Right on the apex. It slithered out from the grass, probably after the rain the night before, and it decided that was the perfect place to sun itself. I was coming in hot, too fast to back out. The thing reared up, hood wide, angry as hell. But I couldn't swerve or I'd lose the lap. So…"
"You hit it?" Rin blurted.
"Not in the way you think," Daichi corrected, his tone a mix of grim and amused. "I clipped it with the front tire, right as I kissed the apex. All I remember was the sound, a sharp thump and the sight of it being tossed aside by the spinning rubber. Scared the life out of me. But the car held, the lap continued. By the time I came around again, the marshals had already removed it. That cobra learned what it meant to stand on the racing line."
The entire crew broke into laughter and groans. Walter shook his head in disbelief. "That track sounds like a jungle, not a circuit."
"You're not wrong," Daichi said with a knowing grin. "But that wasn't even the strangest part of the weekend. After qualifying ended, I slotted in second, just behind one of the top Indonesian drivers of the time, I decided to cool down with a track walk in the evening. The rain had stopped, and the air smelled fresh, heavy with wet grass and damp asphalt. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the hills. I thought it would be peaceful."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "But when I reached turns 3 and 4, the section locals called R3-4, I froze. Lined up across the tarmac, stretched out like they owned the place, were monitor lizards. Not one, not two… around fourteen of them. Big ones, small ones, all just basking in the last warmth of the sun."
Ayaka's jaw dropped. "Fourteen? On the track?"
"Yes," Daichi confirmed. "Fourteen. The rain had ended, the surface still steamed in places, and they all came out to soak it up. It was surreal. I stood there watching them, half fascinated, half horrified. Imagine walking into Spoon Curve at Suzuka and finding a dozen reptiles stretched across the asphalt. That was Sentul for you."
The twins laughed so hard they nearly fell off their seats. "The lizards are the real pit marshals!" Hojo wheezed.
Daichi only smirked. "I gave them their space. Slowly backed off and returned to the paddock. No way was I going to disturb that many at once. If the cobra was trouble, a pack of those lizards would've been chaos. The locals told me it wasn't uncommon. That river behind the back straight? It was their home. And when the rain ended, they'd come out in numbers."
He let the scene hang in the air for a moment before continuing.
"Sunday, the race. Conditions were mixed; the morning was damp, but by the time we lined up, the surface was mostly dry. The crowd was huge. I didn't expect it, but Indonesians loved their motorsport, and they came in droves. People packed the grandstands, families waving flags, kids shouting. The sound of gamelan music played faintly from the parking area. It wasn't like Japan, it was louder, more colorful, more chaotic, but in the best way."
Haruka crossed his arms. "And you started second?"
"Yes," Daichi nodded. "Right beside the local ace, a driver whose name I'll never forget. He was experienced, knew every bump, every brake marker of Sentul. I was the outsider, the guest, so naturally the crowd was on his side. The flag dropped, engines roared, and we tore off into turn one. He had the inside line and held it firmly. I chased him the entire race, lap after lap, pushing every chance I had, but he defended brilliantly. Not once did he give me a real opening. I finished second. It wasn't a win, but it was a fight worth remembering."
Izamuri's eyes widened. "So your first and only race at Sentul, you stood on the podium?"
"That's right," Daichi said with quiet pride. "Second place in front of a roaring Indonesian crowd. And when I stepped onto that podium, hearing the cheers, smelling the humid air, I felt something different. It wasn't about the trophy, it was about being part of something bigger, even if only for one weekend. Toyota was pleased. Anto congratulated me with his usual calm smile and a pat on the shoulder. And well, I knew I'd never forget it."
He leaned back, exhaling slowly. "By Monday morning, I was back on a plane to Japan. A whirlwind trip. Less than a week, but packed with enough memories to last a lifetime. That race may not have been part of my official JGTC record, but it shaped me nonetheless. It taught me adaptability, patience, and respect, for the track, for the country, and for its people. Sentul wasn't just asphalt and corners. It was alive."
Silence settled in the Hugo Speed pit for a moment. Everyone seemed to process what Daichi had said… The cobra, the monitor lizards, the rain, the podium. Finally, Takamori broke the silence with a grin.
"Next time we head to Sentul, I'm bringing a lizard repellent."
The group burst into laughter, but Daichi only smirked knowingly, his eyes far away as if he could still hear the tropical rain hammering the roof of the pit garages, smell the wet earth and fuel, and see the orange sun setting behind the hills of Bogor.
"That," he said softly, "was Sentul."