I drive her every morning like a ritual. But the streets own me long after she's gone.
---
The streets of Hibasaki were always busiest the moment Mari stepped out of my car.
As she disappeared behind the gate of Kurosaki Private Girls' Academy, the world seemed to speed up. Horns, cyclists, vending machines, the rush of morning bells. But none of it touched me.
Not like she did.
---
I pulled out from the alley and shifted into second.
The LFA's V10 growled low through the city's business district. I turned the music up—lofi beats over engine rumble—and headed for the long slope that led to the Kaminari Pass, the hillside district where the city's heartbeat slowed and the real racing stories began.
It was 7:50 a.m.
My day wasn't done.
---
Hibasaki: The Dual World
In daylight, Hibasaki was a content creator's paradise.
Anime edit cafés, VR stations, editing booths with soundproof pods, vending machines with rare transition codes, and secondhand shops selling broken GoPros and limited edition stickers. The world ran on energy drinks and copyright strikes.
At night?
The roads changed.
Kaminari Pass. Route R. The Seaside Spiral.
Every name was a graveyard of totaled egos and crushed dreams.
Only two things mattered there: your grip on the wheel and your grip on fear.
---
I pulled into a side lot behind RINK Garage, the old hangout of ex-street racers turned mechanics. That's where I worked. Not officially. But I swept, helped tune, got paid in silence and discounts.
"Kaito."
The voice came from behind a Mazda RX-7. Shoji, mid-30s, half-sleeved arms covered in oil and burn marks, tossed me a cloth.
"You look like hell. Race last night?"
"Just testing cornering on Sector 4," I replied, wiping my hands before I even touched anything. Instinct.
"That LFA's still too damn quiet. You've been detuning the exhaust again?"
I nodded. "Mari's got ears sharper than your torque wrench."
Shoji chuckled. "Still keeping her in the dark?"
"I have to. She wouldn't understand."
He leaned back, cracked his neck. "It's not her job to understand. It's yours to decide if she's worth lying to."
That hit harder than it should've.
---
By noon, I had cleaned the filters, rewrapped the intake coils, and edited two commission AMVs from my phone while waiting for a dyno reading.
Message from: @BlurGodFX
> "Bro your Rengoku x Initial D edit went HARD. Send me the pack?"
Message from: Mari
> "I forgot my umbrella… pick me up later?"
I stared at her message longer than I should have.
Rain today.
That meant Mari would be dripping wet, hair clinging to her cheek, skirt maybe just barely above—
I stopped the thought.
And texted back:
> "Of course."
---
5:42 PM — The Pick-Up Ritual
The sky had turned soft grey, like watercolors bleeding together.
I pulled into our usual spot behind the school again, wipers slow, engine humming low. The heat from the LFA's vents made the inside warm, thick with the lingering scent of vinyl, engine oil, and strawberry shampoo.
She came running through the light drizzle, holding a folder over her head.
The second she opened the door, the scent changed. Fresh rain. Her.
"Heyyy," she panted, wet and laughing. "Sorry I'm late. We had club clean-up duty."
I didn't respond.
I was too focused on the way her skirt had plastered slightly against her thighs.
She tugged it self-consciously, sat down, and buckled in.
"You always wait for me," she said, softer. "Even in the rain."
"I told you. I always will."
There was a silence. A soft one.
Then: "You smell like fuel today."
Shit.
"Exhaust fumes from the garage," I said quickly. "Shoji had me working under an RX-7 again."
"You know," she said, blowing air into her bangs, "Sometimes I wonder if you like your car more than people."
"Not true."
She looked at me. "Then why do you talk more when you're driving?"
I didn't answer.
Because the truth was ugly.
Because the car let me hide.
---
As we pulled away, the rain started falling harder. Drops tapped on the windshield like soft drumbeats.
Mari leaned against the window.
"I had a weird dream last night," she said.
"Oh?"
"You weren't at home. The car was gone. No note. Just a voice that said… he finally crashed."
I stiffened.
"You think too much," I said.
She smiled faintly.
"Maybe."
Another silence.
Then she reached over and—without asking—adjusted the heater closer to her legs.
The move was casual. Normal.
But when her fingers brushed mine on the dial, we both paused.
She didn't pull back right away.
And neither did I.
---
The drive home was quiet.
But the tension was deafening.
[End of Chapter 2]