The world pretended it had moved on.
In the weeks following Liam Ferraro's death, tributes slowly vanished from screens. Memorial posts were buried under new headlines. Analysts stopped speaking in past tense. Fans argued about statistics instead of grief.
But beneath the surface, Formula racing was bleeding.
Sponsors withdrew in silence. Stock prices dipped. Rival nations sharpened their knives, ready to reclaim a throne left empty far too suddenly.
The world had lost its king.
And power, by nature, despised a vacuum.
Far away from the noise, in a cramped Tokyo apartment that smelled of oil and gasoline, Kai Hayato lived his ordinary life—unaware that forces far beyond street racing had already begun to pull him in.
But before the invitation arrived…
Everything began in a room where fear wore expensive suits.
---
Flashback – One Day After Liam Ferraro's Death
The Formula Sport Federation Headquarters stood like a monument to authority—steel, glass, and cold precision. Inside its deepest chamber, the air felt heavier than usual, as though even the walls understood what had been lost.
A long holographic table dominated the room.
Around it sat executives, team owners, national representatives, and federation officials—men and women who controlled the future of global motorsport.
Suspended above the table was a single image:
Liam Ferraro's Formula car. Twisted. Shattered. Unrecognizable.
No one spoke at first.
Then the fear began to leak.
"We've lost the world champion," one representative said, voice tight. "Other nations already smell blood."
The hologram shifted—data overlays appeared.
"Italy has already announced an accelerated development program." "Germany is restructuring their junior league." "Britain scouted three prodigies before Liam's body was even cold."
An older executive slammed his fist against the table, the sound echoing sharply.
"That doesn't solve our problem! Without Ferraro, we fall behind—immediately!"
Another leaned forward, sweat visible on his brow.
"Our sponsors invested in dominance. In inevitability. Without a symbol… we lose credibility."
Voices began to overlap.
"If we don't produce a successor—" "Our ranking will collapse." "We'll be irrelevant within two seasons."
Finally, someone shouted what they were all thinking:
"We need a new champion!"
Silence followed.
Every head turned toward the corner of the room.
There stood a man who had not spoken once.
Silver hair. Sharp, narrow eyes. A posture so still it felt unnatural.
Rintaro Akagi.
Principal and Head Coach of APEX Academy—the most ruthless, elite racing institution in the country.
A man rumored to have discarded more "geniuses" than most academies ever trained. A man who valued results over lives. A man who did not believe in miracles—only systems that forced evolution.
"Akagi," one executive said, almost pleading. "You're the one who trains our best drivers. Tell us what to do."
Akagi did not answer.
Another official leaned forward eagerly.
"We expand APEX Academy. Add a hundred more students on top of the current roster."
Murmurs spread instantly.
"More candidates means higher odds." "We just need volume." "Someone will emerge eventually."
They spoke like gamblers desperate to change fate with statistics.
Akagi's eyes finally lifted.
Cold. Disgusted.
"Foolishness."
The word fell like a guillotine.
The room froze.
Akagi stepped forward slowly, his presence tightening the air.
"You think talent is born from numbers?" he said flatly. "You think throwing children onto the track like disposable parts will recreate Liam Ferraro?"
He scoffed.
"Ten thousand racers wouldn't produce another him."
A representative snapped back, desperation cracking his voice.
"We don't need another Liam. We need someone better. Someone who can dominate the world again!"
Akagi stopped walking.
He turned.
And for the first time, his voice carried weight sharp enough to cut.
"You still don't understand," he said.
"Liam Ferraro wasn't great because he was loved." "He was great because he devoured everyone who stood in front of him."
Silence strangled the room.
Another man spoke, colder now, calculating.
"Do whatever you want with your academy. Break them. Destroy them. We don't care."
He raised one finger.
"Just give us the number one driver in the world—before the other countries strike first."
Akagi stared at them.
Then he turned toward the door.
Just before leaving, he stopped.
"You want a number one?" he said calmly.
"You want someone greater than Liam Ferraro?"
He looked back over his shoulder.
A thin, dangerous smile appeared—one that held no warmth.
"Then don't worry."
His eyes burned with certainty.
"I will find your number one." "And when I do—"
He paused.
"—the world will learn what real fear looks like."
Akagi walked out.
Behind him, the room remained silent.
Not relieved.
Terrified.
---
Present Day – Three Weeks Later
The smell of oil filled Kai Hayato's apartment.
He wiped grease from his hands, kneeling beside his car, tools scattered across the floor. The TV in the background replayed footage of Liam Ferraro's crash for the hundredth time—slowed down, analyzed, dissected.
Kai didn't look.
He had seen it enough.
His phone vibrated.
Unknown sender.
Kai frowned and tapped the screen.
[APEX ACADEMY – CONFIDENTIAL NOTICE]
His breath caught.
"…APEX?"
A sleek digital envelope unfolded, revealing the academy's emblem—a silver hawk coiled around a racing wheel.
> Congratulations, Kai Hayato.
You have been selected as a candidate for the APEX Project.
You are hereby invited to join APEX Academy's elite racing program.
Report to campus within seventy-two hours.
— Rintaro Akagi, Principal
Kai stared.
The room felt smaller.
APEX Academy. The place where professionals were forged. Where failures disappeared. Where legends were either born—or crushed.
His hands trembled slightly.
"…Why me?"
No sponsors. No official record. No pedigree.
Just street races. A battered car. And instincts sharpened by survival.
The screen shimmered again, as if demanding an answer.
Kai glanced at the TV.
Liam Ferraro. Dead. The world's throne empty.
His chest tightened.
"The APEX Project…"
He stood slowly.
Fear coiled in his gut. Excitement sparked in his veins. And beneath it all—
A hunger he had never been able to silence.
"Fine," he muttered.
He grabbed his jacket.
"If they're looking for the next number one…"
His eyes hardened.
"…then I'll make sure they regret doubting me."