Weeks had passed since the Hakone Turnpike Time Trial.
November had quietly slipped away.
December arrived not with celebration, but with cold.
Snow fell gently over Tokyo's streets, thin flakes drifting lazily from a pale winter sky. Temperatures dipped steadily, settling well below twenty degrees Celsius. Roads darkened with moisture, patches of ice forming where sunlight never quite reached. Tires hissed over slush. Footsteps crunched faintly.
The campus was no exception.
Parking lots glazed over with a thin sheen of ice. Walkways were dusted white. Breath turned visible the moment one stepped outside.
Manhattan Café lay still on her bed, staring up at the ceiling of her dorm room.
No lectures.
No training schedules.
No obligations.
Winter break had begun.
The silence should have been peaceful.
Instead—
A sound cut through it.
Low.
Mechanical.
Familiar.
Café's ears twitched.
Her eyes narrowed.
Then came another roar—sharper this time. Tires screeching. An engine flaring high before snapping back down.
She sighed softly.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
Café rubbed her left eye and swung her legs off the bed. Padding quietly across the room, she reached the window and pulled the curtains aside.
Below, in the main parking lot—
Two cars spun in wide circles.
Snow sprayed outward as tires broke traction with ease.
One was unmistakable: Tachyon's midnight blue Nissan S30Z, tail swinging wildly as she held a steady throttle.
The other—
A navy-blue Porsche Singer DLS. Gold striping catching the dull winter light. The flat-six screamed joyfully as the rear stepped out in perfect control.
Café stared.
Long.
Her ears flicked back.
"…What in the hell?"
Without bothering to change properly, Café grabbed her coat, shrugged it on, and headed for the door. She moved fast down the stairs, boots hitting concrete as the noise grew louder with every step.
Outside, the cold bit instantly.
The two cars continued their donuts effortlessly, snow curling up around them like smoke. Tachyon rolled her window down mid-slide and stuck an arm out, flashing a peace sign.
"It's snowy season!" she called. "Which means legal drifting on public roads!"
Café skidded slightly as she reached the edge of the lot.
"Absolutely not—!"
She stopped short.
Standing a few steps away, hands tucked calmly into her coat pockets, was Symboli Rudolf.
The Student Council President watched the chaos with a look that was equal parts amusement and resignation.
Café turned to her, breath fogging in the air.
"What in the hell are they doing, Kaichou?"
Rudolf exhaled softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"It appears Tachyon and C.B have already entered the festive spirit."
As if on cue, the Singer slid to a stop. The driver's window rolled down.
Mr. C.B leaned out, eyes bright.
"Let the festivities begin!"
She mashed the throttle.
The 4.0-liter ITB flat-six screamed up to its 9,000 RPM redline, echoing between dorm buildings. The DLS snapped into another controlled spin before settling smoothly back to idle.
Tachyon followed suit, easing her Z to a stop beside the Porsche. She hopped out, breath visible as she laughed.
Mr. C.B stepped out as well, gently closing the door with deliberate care despite the madness moments earlier.
The two met halfway.
A sharp high five echoed in the cold air.
"Happy holidays, Tachyon!"
Tachyon grinned wide.
"Happy holidays to you too, C.B!"
Café and Rudolf approached, boots crunching through the snow.
Rudolf spoke first, voice calm but amused.
"It looks like you two enjoyed yourselves."
C.B nodded enthusiastically.
"Absolutely. Nothing beats winter roads where sliding is both legal and encouraged."
Tachyon crossed her arms proudly.
"Physics takes the day off when it snows."
Café sighed, shaking her head—but she was smiling.
"Just… try not to overdo it, alright?"
Tachyon and C.B exchanged a glance.
Then nodded in perfect unison.
"We'll try."
The engines ticked softly as they cooled, snow continuing to fall around them.
Winter had arrived.
And clearly—
So had trouble.
Rudolf raised an eyebrow.
"Wait."
She slowly turned her head, scanning the snowy campus grounds.
"…Where is Maruzensky?"
Tachyon and Mr. C.B froze.
They exchanged a look.
Then—very deliberately—both raised their shoulders and hands just slightly.
Rudolf's eyes widened.
"Oh. No."
Without another word, she turned on her heel and started running.
Straight toward the main campus practice tracks.
C.B's eyes snapped open.
"Oh—no no no."
She immediately broke into a run after her.
Tachyon turned to Café, blinking.
"Uh…"
Café sighed, adjusting her coat as snow continued to fall.
"I don't blame you for doing it," she said calmly. "I'd do it too."
Tachyon nodded.
"Yeah… figured."
She looked toward the direction Rudolf had sprinted off to.
"Best we catch up."
Café nodded once.
"Before something expensive breaks."
They took off.
The four of them ran through the main campus, boots slipping slightly on icy pavement. The main hall echoed with their footsteps as they passed through, breath fogging the air. Doors rattled faintly as wind swept through the corridors.
Then—
Sound.
Low.
Violent.
Unmistakable.
A twin-turbo V12 howled in the distance.
Followed by the sharp, angry scream of a supercharged four-cylinder pushed far past casual use.
Rudolf slowed.
Her ears twitched.
"…That is absolutely not road traffic."
They burst out of the final hallway and into the open air near the practice tracks.
Snow dusted the floodlights. The dirt course—normally calm, empty during winter—was alive.
Two cars slid sideways through the far corner.
One red blur, low and wide.
The other white, loud, and aggressive.
The red Lamborghini Countach tore through a long dirt slide, rear stepping out violently before snapping straight under throttle. Twin turbos screamed as Maruzensky fed power in with zero hesitation.
Right behind her—
A purebred monster.
Narita Brian's Lancia Rally 037 clawed through the dirt, supercharger whining as gravel sprayed from all four tires. The car danced over ruts, suspension compressing hard as Brian yanked the wheel, left foot hovering over the brake.
The crowd—
Consisting of exactly one person.
Mayano Top Gun stood near the fence, fist raised high, tail flicking excitedly as she cheered.
Rudolf skidded to a stop beside her.
"Mayano."
Mayano snapped to attention immediately.
"Kaichou! Happy winter!"
Rudolf didn't look away from the track.
"…What are they doing?"
Mayano pointed enthusiastically.
"Maruzen and Narita Brian are having fun on the track!"
C.B finally caught up, bent over slightly, hands on her knees as she exhaled sharply.
"Man… Kaichou…"
She shook her head.
"You are… way too fast…"
Mayano continued, completely unfazed.
"They knew the turf course would get ruined if they touched it, so they switched to the dirt track instead."
Another scream of engines.
Maruzensky flicked the Countach sideways through a hairpin, rear wheels digging deep as dirt sprayed high. Brian followed, deliberately late on turn-in, using the weight transfer to sling the 037 into a perfect rally slide.
Rudolf exhaled slowly.
"…Ah."
She crossed her arms.
"That's good."
Her gaze hardened just a little.
"The last thing I want is an earful from Director Akikawa… or Tazuna."
Tachyon arrived, eyes shining.
"…Okay but you have to admit."
She pointed at the track.
"That's incredible."
Café nodded, watching carefully.
"The Countach shouldn't even be able to do that on dirt."
Another corner.
Maruzensky stomped the throttle mid-slide. The twin turbos spooled violently. The Countach surged forward, barely contained, suspension bottoming out as it launched slightly over a small bump.
Brian laughed audibly over the radio, downshifting aggressively as the 037 snapped sideways again.
Mayano bounced on her heels.
"They're really going at it!"
Rudolf closed her eyes for a moment.
"…This campus is going to give me a migrane one day."
Snow continued to fall.
Engines roared.
And winter break had officially spiraled completely out of control.
The two cars blasted past the group gathered behind the railings.
The red Countach of Maruzensky trailed just half a car length behind Narita Brian's Lancia Rally 037.
Snow and dirt sprayed violently from spinning tires.
Both cars were already sideways.
Not sloppy.
Not desperate.
Controlled.
The Countach's wide rear swung out, twin turbos whistling sharply as Maruzensky balanced throttle and steering with millimeter precision. The Lancia danced ahead of her, lighter on its feet, supercharger screaming as Brian feathered the throttle through the slide.
They drifted in tandem.
Door to door.
Inches apart.
So close that the air between them seemed to ripple.
They burst onto the main straightaway.
Both tails snapped straight almost simultaneously.
The Countach surged forward under boost.
The 037 screamed as Brian kept it pinned.
Side by side.
Snow whipped across the windshields as the next corner rushed toward them.
Maruzensky glanced right.
Narita Brian glanced left.
Their eyes met for a fraction of a second.
A nod.
Mutual understanding.
Then—focus.
The corner came fast.
Too fast.
Both drivers slammed their feet onto the brakes.
The Countach's nose dove hard.
The Lancia's front dipped violently.
Front wheels locked for a heartbeat—snow shrieked under rubber.
Then both cars were sideways again.
Perfect tandem entry.
Their doors passed within inches of each other.
Close enough that one wrong twitch would mean carbon, aluminum, and fiberglass meeting violently.
C.B's eyes widened.
"Damn…"
Tachyon crossed her arms, shaking her head slowly.
"Even I don't have the guts to do that."
C.B nodded, eyes locked on the track.
"You tell me, Tachyon."
She swallowed.
"Those cars are insanely high value… and they're doing that like they don't give a rat's ass about scratching them."
Rudolf laughed softly, eyes never leaving the cars.
"And you're driving a one-point-eight million dollar Singer DLS, C.B."
C.B turned her head slowly.
"…And you're driving a two-to-three million dollar Ferrari F40, Rudolf."
Rudolf chuckled, scratching her cheek.
"…Fair."
Back on track—
The Countach and the Lancia held the slide.
Throttle.
Correction.
Throttle again.
Until—
Narita Brian's rear tires hit a patch of slush.
It happened instantly.
The rear snapped.
Hard.
Snap oversteer.
The Lancia rotated faster than expected.
Brian reacted immediately—countersteering to full lock, foot stabbing the throttle to pull the rear back in line.
But the grip wasn't there.
"Shit!"
Behind her—
Maruzensky hit the exact same slush patch.
The Countach's rear stepped out violently.
She countersteered instantly.
Full lock.
Throttle mashed.
The twin turbos spooled.
The rear tires bit—
For a split second.
Then—
They broke loose again.
The Countach snapped the other way.
Too fast.
Too much angle.
Maruzensky's eyes widened.
"No—!"
She slammed the brake pedal.
Hard.
ABS chattered uselessly on ice and slush.
All four wheels locked.
Both cars skidded.
Sideways.
Uncontrolled.
Snow and dirt sprayed everywhere as the gap between them vanished.
The group behind the railing collectively held their breath.
The Countach and the Lancia slid to a stop—
Barely.
So close that their mirrors almost touched.
Silence.
Engines idled angrily.
Maruzensky sat frozen.
Hands death-gripped around the wheel.
Eyes wide.
Breathing shallow and fast.
Her chest rose and fell sharply.
Across from her—
Narita Brian had already crossed her arms instinctively, bracing for impact.
When nothing came—
She slowly opened one eye.
Then the other.
She glanced left.
Saw the Countach.
Still intact.
She exhaled sharply and let her arms fall into her lap.
"…That… was way… too close…"
She lifted her head and looked at Maruzensky.
Then raised her hand.
Thumbs up.
Maruzensky sucked in a deep breath.
Exhaled.
Then nodded back.
Returning the gesture.
Behind the railings—
No one spoke.
Snow continued to fall.
Engines idled.
And for the first time since winter break began—
Everyone realized just how thin the line was between fun…
…and disaster.
Rudolf blinked once, her expression returning to its usual calm composure as the two stalled silhouettes of Italian red and Martini-liveried white sat motionless on the snow-dusted tarmac.
"Well," she said evenly, folding her arms beneath her coat, "that would have been one very expensive repair bill."
A few quiet chuckles rippled through the group, though more from relief than humor.
Behind her, C.B shifted her weight and turned toward Mayano Top Gun, her earlier tension melting into a relaxed smile.
"So," C.B began casually, tilting her head, "how's that restoration project of yours coming along, Maya?"
Mayano brightened immediately, ears perking up as she flashed a confident thumbs-up.
"It's going really well so far," she said enthusiastically. "Chassis is straight, suspension's almost done, brakes are rebuilt, wiring's cleaned up—honestly, all it really needs now is the engine."
She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully, her gaze drifting off as if visualizing the empty engine bay.
"Although," she added, "I'm still deciding which engine to go with."
C.B raised an eyebrow, interest piqued.
"Oh yeah?"
Mayano nodded again.
"Yeah. I'm torn between restoring it with the original Ford 302 small-block," she explained, "or swapping in a Boss 302 V8—one of the race-spec ones from the old SCCA Trans-Am days."
C.B scratched the back of her head, her ears slowly drooping as her expression blanked out.
"Uh… I'll be honest," she admitted sheepishly. "I don't really understand the difference."
Mayano laughed, waving a hand dismissively.
"That's fair," she said. "Okay—simple version."
She held up one finger.
"The regular 302 is a solid, reliable street motor. Good torque, good sound, very period-correct."
She raised a second finger.
"The Boss 302," she continued, her voice gaining a little excitement, "is a completely different animal. High-flow heads, solid-lifter valvetrain, designed to live at high RPM. It was built to race."
C.B's eyes widened slightly.
"And… how much power are we talking?"
"Stock?" Mayano replied. "About 290 horsepower."
C.B blinked.
"…Wait. Isn't the Pantera supposed to make around 325 horsepower from the factory?"
Mayano raised a finger again, grinning.
"That's the thing—I'm not talking about a stock Boss motor."
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret.
"I've already got a contact," she continued. "Old-school builder. Knows these engines inside and out. He's got a modified Boss 302 already put together."
C.B straightened immediately.
"…Modified how?"
Mayano's grin widened.
She raised one finger for each item as she listed them off.
"Bigger valves. Ported heads. Aggressive camshafts. High-rise intake. Racing carburetor. Modernized ignition system. Upgraded fuel delivery."
Her hand clenched into a fist at the end.
"It's fully loaded."
C.B stared at her.
"…And how much power does that make?"
Mayano didn't hesitate.
"Five hundred sixty-two horsepower."
There was a brief silence.
C.B slowly nodded, clearly impressed, her ears lifting again.
"…Okay," she said at last. "Yeah. That explains a lot."
She folded her arms, thinking it over.
"With that kind of power," she added, "and in something as light and short-wheelbase as a Pantera… I don't see a downside."
Mayano chuckled and lightly bumped C.B's shoulder with her own.
"I knew you'd say that, C.B-san."
Her gaze drifted back toward the track, where Maruzensky and Narita Brian were just beginning to roll their cars forward again, cautiously this time—clutches feathered, steering inputs precise, tires crunching softly over the snow.
Mayano smiled.
"Besides," she added quietly, "what's the point of restoring a legend if you're not going to let it bite back a little?"
Mayano suddenly leaned in again and gave C.B a quick, playful bump with her shoulder.
"Oh—by the way," she said casually, eyes glinting with mischief, "I heard something about something arriving from Europe for Nice Nature-san?"
C.B nodded, already anticipating where this was going.
"Yep. It's the car she's been eyeing for quite some time now."
Mayano immediately closed the distance again, nearly nose-to-nose.
"Oooh! Tell me, tell me!"
C.B chuckled, shaking her head.
"Nothing special to most people," she said. "But for her? It's a Gallardo Superleggera."
Almost on cue, footsteps crunched over the snow behind them as the rest of the group drifted closer—Maruzensky first, followed by Rudolf, Narita Brian, and Manhattan Cafe.
Maruzensky tilted her head, lips curling into a curious smile.
"What's this I hear about a Gallardo?"
C.B crossed her arms, smirking.
"Like you care about modern cars, Maruzensky. You're the classic type."
Maruzensky's eyes twitched.
"What do you mean by that?" she shot back. "And besides—you're not being specific."
She crossed her arms sharply.
"Are we talking about the LP570-4 Gallardo? Which I frankly don't care about at all—or the pre-LP 5.0 even-firing Gallardo?"
C.B blinked.
"…You actually have a point."
Maruzensky nodded decisively.
"Exactly. The pre-LP Gallardos are modern-classics now. Naturally aspirated V10s, hydraulic steering, mechanical feel—cars like that don't exist anymore."
C.B smiled.
"Then you're right on the money. Nature-san's receiving a pre-LP Gallardo Superleggera. January delivery."
Maruzensky's eyes widened slightly.
"Oooh," she murmured. "Nature-chan has excellent taste."
C.B raised a finger.
"And it gets better."
Her eyes narrowed with theatrical emphasis.
"It's a gated six-speed manual. Bucket seats. Racing harnesses."
Maruzensky's tail stiffened as she took an involuntary step back.
"…What?"
Rudolf smirked knowingly.
"Nature-chan does have very refined taste."
Tachyon shook her head slowly.
"Isn't this the same Nice Nature who used to drive a Corolla hatchback?"
Cafe chuckled softly.
"You mean a GR Corolla? Then yes—same Nice Nature."
Tachyon stepped forward, curiosity taking over.
"Does it come with any modifications at all?"
C.B nodded.
"Surprising you'd ask, Tachyon—but yes."
She tapped her chin.
"Full Tubi Style exhaust. That's it visually—everything else looks stock."
She continued evenly.
"Engine-wise though: upgraded injectors, revised intake, and an ECU tune."
Maruzensky nodded in approval.
"Tasteful," she said simply. "Very tasteful."
Rudolf laughed quietly.
"It's rare to see you compliment a modern car, Maruzensky."
Maruzensky waved her off.
"A modern-classic, Rudolf. Important distinction."
She then turned back to C.B.
"Bianco Monocerus?"
C.B shook her head.
"Nope. Arancio Borealis."
Maruzensky's eyes widened again.
"…Oh."
C.B continued.
"And it's being shipped straight from Italy."
Narita Brian let out a short chuckle.
"Trust me," she said. "That moment you see your car fresh off the boat? That sticks with you forever."
C.B nodded.
"And you, driving around in a rally car—remind me again how you tolerate that thing on public roads?"
Narita shrugged casually.
"Eh. It's not that bad."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Sure, it was rough at first. Stiff suspension, constant noise, everything vibrating—but you get used to it."
Maruzensky chuckled.
"And the cabin noise? No insulation, straight-cut gears, gravel pinging the floorpan—doesn't that drive you insane?"
Narita shook her head.
"Nope."
She turned toward Tachyon instead.
"How about you?" she asked. "Driving in the snow in what many people on the Wangan consider the most undrivable car on Earth—how's that treating you?"
Tachyon smirked.
"So far?" she replied. "Perfectly manageable."
Rudolf laughed, clapping her hands once.
"Alright, alright," she said. "Enough shop talk."
She turned toward Maruzensky and Narita Brian, gesturing toward the idle Countach and the 037 still sitting squarely on the course.
"Could you two kindly move your cars off the track before your asses get handed to you by the director—or worse, Tazuna?"
Maruzensky nodded immediately.
"Of course, Kaichou."
Narita Brian nodded as well.
"Understood."
The two turned and jogged back toward their machines—the Countach's angular red wedge gleaming against the snow, the Lancia's squared-off rally body looking every bit as purposeful as ever.
Engines would be restarting soon.
And judging by the looks exchanged between drivers, the track wasn't done with them yet.
Rudolf let out a slow breath and shook her head faintly, watching the faint tire marks already beginning to disappear under fresh snowfall.
"Seems like next year will be a busy one again."
Cafe nodded beside her, hands tucked into her coat sleeves, breath fogging faintly in the cold air.
"Yeah. Another race season."
Tachyon tilted her head slightly, ears flicking.
"For you all, anyway," she said. "I still need to figure out how to strengthen my legs enough for an actual race."
C.B glanced past them toward the exit of the main campus, where the paths led out into the snow-dusted city beyond.
"And it looks like Suzuka might be busy next year too."
She turned back to the group.
"Not busy running, though. From what I've heard, she'll mostly be driving."
Mayano stiffened for half a second—then practically bounced in place, closing the distance instantly.
"Oooh! Is it true?!"
C.B chuckled, raising a hand.
"Easy, Maya-chan. It's just gossip around campus for now. But there are some interesting rumors."
She cleared her throat slightly, lowering her voice just enough to make everyone lean in.
"They say Suzuka-san's been invited to the Historique Grand Prix de Monaco."
A beat.
"And possibly—"
She clapped her hands together once.
"—an invitation to drive Senna's MP4/6 before the start of the Japanese Grand Prix."
Mayano froze.
Then—
"WHAT?!"
Her voice echoed faintly across the track, earning a couple of distant glances.
C.B laughed, shaking her head.
"Just rumors, Mayano-chan. Just rumors."
Rudolf nodded slowly, expression more thoughtful than surprised.
"Even if it were true," she said calmly, "it would be an extraordinary honor."
She folded her arms.
"To drive on the streets of Monaco in a historic Grand Prix—let alone to demonstrate a Formula One car once driven by Senna, on the world stage, during a Grand Prix weekend…"
She exhaled.
"That's not something many drivers ever experience."
She tilted her head slightly.
"And doesn't Suzuka already have a habit of driving cars once associated with Senna?"
C.B nodded, then corrected gently.
"Yes—but she's capable of driving practically anything."
She paused.
"If the rumor's accurate, though, it wouldn't be the MP4/6 she drives competitively."
Rudolf blinked.
"…Then what?"
C.B replied evenly.
"The McLaren M23D."
Rudolf's eyes widened just a fraction.
"Well," she said after a moment, "…those are one hell of a set of rumors."
C.B nodded once.
"They really are."
The group fell quiet after that.
Snow continued to fall, soft and steady, muffling the distant sounds of engines restarting as Maruzensky and Narita Brian began easing their cars off the track. The Countach's V12 barked briefly before settling, the Lancia's mechanical clatter cutting sharply through the cold air.
Cafe watched them go, eyes thoughtful.
"A lot seems to be lining up," she murmured.
Tachyon smirked faintly.
"Yeah. Feels like everyone's gearing up for something."
Rudolf closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again, gaze steady.
"Whatever next year brings," she said, "it won't be quiet."
Above them, the sky remained heavy with winter clouds.
And somewhere beyond the campus, engines—old and new, historic and modern—were already waiting to be woken again.