Chapter 1 – A Day That Seemed Ordinary
The sound of clashing metal echoed again and again inside Shadow's hideout, half-hidden in a corner of the city. The air was thick with the smell of oil and iron, while the morning light seeped through a half, open door. Shima crouched beside his motorcycle, his hands stained with grease, his eyes focused on loosening a stubborn bolt.
To him, the motorcycle wasn't just a machine. Every bolt and wire he touched felt like a part of himself. Perhaps it was because tinkering with engines was the only way he could momentarily forget the chaos that haunted his mind. Yet whenever he paused, shadows from that dark night crept back into his thoughts.
"Shima! Skipping breakfast again?" Ryuji's loud voice broke the silence from the doorway.
Shima froze for a moment, staring at the wrench in his hand. He gave a faint smile, stood, and wiped his hands with a rag. "I'm not hungry," he said flatly.
Ryuji crossed his arms, his face carrying that familiar annoyance. Shaking his head, he placed a wrapped bun on Shima's seat. "Keep this up, and don't blame me when you collapse later."
Shima chuckled lightly, taking the bun though he didn't eat it right away. He grabbed his black jacket from the wall, brushed off the dust, and slipped it on. Ryuji followed lazily, though the look in his eyes revealed something deeper than a simple scolding, worry he couldn't put into words.
Outside, the city was waking up. Vendors opened their stalls, engines roared to life, and sunlight reflected off tall, weathered buildings. Shima started his motorcycle, the engine's growl filling the air. For a brief moment, the world felt normal, as though nothing had changed since that night.
But inside, Shima knew something had shifted. His bike felt heavier, as if pulled by an unseen force. The crimson thread quivered faintly, invisible to the eye, yet strong enough to tighten his chest.
The day seemed ordinary. But Shima knew this peace was an illusion. Sooner or later, the resonance would drag him back into far more dangerous currents.
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The hideout's door creaked open. A man older than the rest entered, his sharp gaze carrying undeniable authority. Kanzaki Toru, the mentor who had long guided Shima and Ryuji.
"You two never change," Toru said, shrugging off his jacket. "Always bickering over small things, when bigger matters are waiting."
Ryuji straightened instinctively, like a student scolded by a teacher. Shima only sighed and turned back to his motorcycle, knowing Toru's words were never mere small talk.
Not long after, another set of footsteps approached. Hayato Kurobane walked in, still wearing a worn apron from his coffee shop. He set a paper bag on the table, the rich aroma of fresh coffee filling the room. "You've been at it since morning. At least drink this first," he said with a faint smile.
Shima accepted the cup, studying Hayato briefly. There was something about him Shima never understood. Though he looked like nothing more than a humble café owner, his eyes carried traces of a past he never spoke of.
Toru placed a firm hand on Shima and Ryuji's shoulders, his expression serious. "You need a clear direction. Street racing might bring quick cash, but it won't last. I want you to consider something else."
"A workshop?" Shima asked flatly, as if already guessing his thoughts.
Toru gave a thin smile. "You have the skills. Use them. A proper garage can be the perfect cover. With it, Shadow won't just survive, it will grow."
Ryuji folded his arms, doubt written across his face. "And who would trust a gang like us?"
Before Toru could reply, Hayato spoke up. "Trust can be built. Especially when you deliver real results. People only care about one thing that their machines run again. Nothing more."
Silence lingered in the hideout. Shima looked at his motorcycle, then at the two men before him, the mentor he respected, and the enigmatic café owner. Deep down, he knew their path was about to change.
The day seemed ordinary. Yet behind that simple idea lay a faint resonance, an omen that their fragile peace would not last.
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