The AE86 finally made its appearance—its twin pop-up headlights cutting a pair of glowing white lines through the humid, ink-thick night air as it coasted smoothly down the incline toward the rest area. The distinctive burble of its naturally aspirated 4A-GE echoed across the pass in sharp, rhythmic pulses. It wasn't the sound of brute force—it was the sound of something lean, precise, and deadly. That high-revving inline-four had become a legend in its own right among the late-night crowd, and the moment it was heard, heads turned.
As Collei eased off the throttle, engine braking took over. The AE86 decelerated with no wasted motion, the soft growl of the motor fading slightly as the car glided into the staging zone. With a flick of her wrist and the seamless downshift of the close-ratio gearbox, she executed a crisp U-turn—heel-and-toe blip perfect—and slid the Trueno neatly into the space beside Ningguang's FC3S. The white RX-7 stood gleaming under the overhead lamps, elegant and composed, every curve shaped by rotary-bred refinement. By contrast, the black-and-white AE86 stood quiet and unassuming—no flashy body kits, no exposed aggression. But anyone who knew the scene could feel the coiled spring inside it, the violence waiting beneath the skin.
Two machines. Two philosophies. Two killers about to draw their blades.
As the driver's door clicked open and Collei stepped out, the atmosphere shifted hard. The energy in the crowd rippled like a pressure wave, bursting into shouts, whistles, camera flashes. Collei hadn't said a word yet, but the very sight of her emerging from that car sent a shock down the mountain. People shoved and scrambled for a better look. Someone even climbed onto a van roof. It didn't matter where you were on the pass—this was the moment everyone had come for.
Beidou, Seele, March, and Amber fought through the throng, expressions split between excitement and something heavier—the awareness that this was it. No more warm-ups. No more hypotheticals. Just the raw, unfiltered truth about who would take the crown tonight.
Beidou was the first to step forward, her jaw set but eyes burning.
"So," she said, voice deep and gruff, tinged with both thrill and warning. "The day's finally come."
Collei didn't flinch. She met Beidou's gaze and flashed a grin, a cocky edge cutting through her calm.
"So damn ready."
She turned on her heel before anyone could say more, walking straight toward the white RX-7. The air around the crowd changed again—no more cheers, just a low murmur, a crackle of anticipation. This wasn't small talk. This was a gunfighter stepping into the street.
Ningguang stepped forward to meet her, all grace and confidence in a long white coat, her composure unshaken, lips curved in a knowing, almost amused smile. The two stopped barely a meter apart. A standoff under floodlights.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Collei," Ningguang said, tone silk-smooth. "I've been hearing quite a lot about you."
Collei tilted her head and smiled, light but firm. "Yeah... Same here. People won't shut up about how you're the fastest in Narukami."
Ningguang raised an eyebrow, not insulted—interested. "You're not like the others," she said, her voice dipping. "Most would hesitate before me. You don't. And I respect that. And from what I've heard. You're fast. Very fast."
Collei gave a nod. "Been driving Mount Yougou every day since I could hold a wheel. It's home now. The corners talk to me."
Ningguang paused, studying her. Then she smiled again. "I was skeptical. But I see now. You might actually be worth my time."
She extended her hand.
"Shall we give these people a show?"
Collei didn't hesitate. Her hand snapped out, firm grip. Two warriors sealing a pact. One night. One race.
As they turned away, heading back toward their machines, the crowd roared to life again, embers fanned into wildfire. The cars came alive—engines snarling, headlights blazing. The FC3S's rotary spun up with a smooth, throaty howl, the tone of a high-performance predator. Beside it, the AE86's 4A-GE screamed with the eager, raw tension of a street samurai unsheathing its blade.
At the first hairpin farther down the course, Lyney stood near the guardrail, phone jammed to his ear, grinning like a madman.
"Arlecchino! You wouldn't believe it—they're all here! It's like the whole damn city showed up! So tell me—who's your money on? Your daughter, or the White Star of Araumi?"
A long pause. Then a flat voice answered.
"Who cares? If that's all you called me for, I'm hanging up."
"NO—NO! Don't hang—!"
Click.
Lyney stared at the screen, stunned.
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO HANG UP!!"
His voice echoed across the slope. No answer but the growing rumble of engines and the thrum of anticipation.
Back at the start line, Keqing stepped between the two cars. Her expression was razor-sharp, her hand raised—no words, no distractions. Just the weight of the moment pressing down.
Amber knocked on the Trueno's window. Collei rolled it down.
"Good luck," Amber said softly, her eyes glinting. "Show her what you've got."
Collei winked. "I plan to."
Amber stepped back. The window rose. Both engines revved.
Keqing raised her fingers, began the countdown.
3…
The crowd went silent. Engines snarled, revs climbing—each one a scream waiting to be unleashed.
2…
Clutches strained. Tach needles danced. Muscles tensed.
1…
Breath held.
GO!!
The world erupted.
Both cars launched forward—rear tires slipping just slightly before snapping into grip. The AE86 screamed off the line, revs spiking as Collei shifted hard into second, the H-pattern shifter clicking like a trigger being pulled. The Trueno surged ahead, but Ningguang's FC3S was right there—rotary spinning effortlessly, torque curve riding high.
The smell of hot rubber and clutch dust filled the air.
They blasted toward the first corner. Ningguang braked early—classic defensive line—but Collei held firm, diving deep before hammering the brakes with brutal precision. The AE86 pitched forward, nose dipping as she downshifted with a crisp double-clutch, heel-and-toe technique keeping the revs perfectly matched.
The Trueno slid into the turn hard—rear kicking out, tires howling. Ningguang followed, her own drift smoother, more calculated. The FC3S was all poise, gliding through like it was born for these curves.
"COLLEI'S TAKEN THE LEAD!" March screamed.
"FUCK YEAH!" Beidou roared from the sidelines, voice booming.
Second corner. Collei flicked the wheel and feathered the throttle, maintaining the drift with just a hint of countersteer. The AE86 rotated on a dime—weight shift flawless, line tight. The FC mirrored the move, rear end sliding within inches of the barrier, sparks showering from the edge of the diffuser.
Up ahead, a spotter spoke urgently into a radio.
"This is insane—FC's sticking to her like glue! Collei's pushing hard, but Ningguang's not letting her break away!"
Another voice cut in. "Third hairpin coming up—both cars are flat out! If you blink, you're gonna miss it!"
Precision. Control. Strategy.
Inside the RX-7, Ningguang's eyes didn't blink once. She was in it now. Every movement of Collei's rear tires was being recorded in her mind. Every shift point. Every brake tap.
"She's evolved," Ningguang murmured, hands dancing smoothly over the wheel. "She's barely using countersteer. She's throttle-steering the whole way. That's advanced control. Already…"
She matched Collei's line into the next drift, downshifting cleanly into third, feathering the throttle just enough to keep the rotary on boil without breaking traction.
Another hairpin—tight, unforgiving. Both cars flew in. Collei initiated hard, weight transferring sharply as she jerked the wheel and braked in one fluid motion. The AE86 rotated violently, rear end whipping out. She modulated the gas, keeping it right on the edge—too much and she'd spin, too little and she'd lose momentum.
Ningguang mimicked the motion half a second behind, trailing smoke as the FC3S scraped dangerously close to the guardrail. Sparks flared again. But the line was perfect.
Neither one lifted. Neither one relented.
This wasn't just a race anymore.
This was war.
At the base of the mountain, near the final hairpin, Yelan and Silver Wolf stood side by side beneath the halo of a flickering streetlamp. The air was unnaturally still—no crickets, no breeze, not even the whisper of leaves brushing together. Just the raw silence that comes before something violent. The quiet before the drop.
Silverwolf shifted the toothpick in her mouth, a glint of amusement sparking in her half-lidded eyes as she glanced sideways. "You know," she murmured, "you should probably move. I called dibs on this spot."
Yelan didn't even look at her. Arms folded, one boot resting against the concrete barrier. "Tough. I'm not budging. Best sightline for the final apex—only a fool gives that up."
Silverwolf smirked, lifting her hoodie a little higher around her neck. "Tch. Fair enough."
They both turned their eyes toward the darkness above, the coiled road unseen but electric with tension. Faint echoes rolled down the mountain—high, keening notes of internal combustion, the kind that make your spine stiffen and your jaw clench. The sound of machines dancing on the edge of grip and gravity.
"This place is too damn quiet," Yelan muttered, shifting her stance. Her tone was flat, but her eyes were razor-sharp. "Like the mountain's holding its breath."
Silverwolf shrugged, her voice flippant. "You should scooch a bit to the right. If someone drives past and sees us standing this close, they might think we're... acquaintances."
Yelan rolled her eyes, but took a deliberate half-step to the right. Silverwolf matched her with one to the left, keeping the same nonchalant distance.
No more words were exchanged. Just the tightening of fists. The narrowing of pupils. The incoming howl of two cars descending like meteors.
Further up the pass...
The sound of shrieking tires exploded through the night as the AE86 and the white FC3S came into view—both low, wide, and violent in motion. The next hairpin was vicious, a claustrophobic right-hander with barely any run-off and a rust-stained guardrail waiting like the edge of a guillotine.
Lyney stood just meters from that rail, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, trying to look calm. But his eyes gave him away—darting, tracking, dilated with adrenaline.
Then they came.
The AE86 dove into the corner first, its rear end breaking loose in a fluid, feather-light slide. The FC followed instantly, its nose tucked in, matching every movement like a white shadow. The space between them was paper-thin—mere centimeters—as they danced along the edge of mechanical death.
Brake lights flared, glowing blood-red against the silver guardrail. Tires howled in agony. Sparks spat from the exhaust tips as the cars rode the limits of their suspension travel, skimming the apex like blades over skin.
Lyney's heart seized. "HOLY SHIT!" he screamed, stumbling backward as the roar swallowed him whole.
They were gone in an instant, a violent gust of displaced air slamming into his chest as they vanished around the next bend. For a moment, the mountain was soundless again—no engines, no echoes—just stunned silence.
The crowd nearby erupted—some screamed, some scrambled over barriers in shock. Others stood paralyzed, as if witnessing something divine.
Lyney fumbled his phone from his jacket, hands shaking. "I—I need to call her again. I need to tell her what I just saw!"
Back home...
Arlecchino's phone buzzed across the kitchen table like a fly trapped in a jar. It skidded against a plate with enough force to rattle silverware. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before flipping it open.
"Now what…" she muttered under her breath.
"ARLECCHINO!" Lyney's voice blasted from the speaker, half-screamed and breathless.
She didn't even blink. "You again."
"They just flew past me like FUCKING lightning! I'm serious—Collei and the FC were inches apart! No contact! None! It was insane! They nearly brushed the guardrail and just—just kept going like it was NOTHING!"
Arlecchino tilted her head slightly, a ghost of a grin rising. The irritation faded, replaced by an eerie calm.
"So... Collei's in the lead, not good..." she said coolly.
Lyney sputtered. "What do you mean, 'not good'?! Your kid's leading! You should be celebrating!"
"You sound like a rookie," she replied, her tone like a knife in velvet.
Lyney blinked. "What?"
"The one in second place has all the advantages," Arlecchino said. She stood slowly, pacing toward the window. "They don't have to look over their shoulder. They can read, adapt, respond. The pressure's on the one in front to survive, to stay ahead, to block. It's a suffocating kind of tension."
Lyney went quiet.
"She's fast, yeah," Arlecchino continued. "But Ningguang's not just fast—she's strategic. Cold. She's watching Collei like a hawk, waiting for the slightest twitch out of rhythm. One mistake…"
He swallowed hard. "So the race isn't over."
Arlecchino's smile sharpened. "No, Lyney. It's only just beginning."
A pause. Then, her voice softened just a shade. "But she won't crack. Collei's got something special."
Lyney nodded slowly. "Yeah… yeah, I believe that."
Click.
Outside, under the stars...
Arlecchino stepped out onto the porch. The night air greeted her with a quiet hush. The world felt distant out here, like it was paused—waiting on the outcome of a single heartbeat.
She looked skyward, to the stars overhead. Pale light spilled across her face, catching the reflection of something rare—hope.
"Collei… Are you gonna snap?" she whispered.
The wind stirred her coat, brushed her hair across her face.
A soft laugh. "Nah."
She turned back toward the house, exhaling.
"You got this."
Back on the mountain…
The night screamed with the sound of rubber on pavement. Collei's AE86 and Ningguang's FC devoured the descent like wolves, claws digging into every inch of asphalt. The Five Consecutive Hairpins loomed—narrow, technical, soul-breaking.
Collei's breathing was tight, shallow. Her fingers clamped the steering wheel in a death grip, her eyes locked onto the apex markers like targets on a battlefield. Sweat rolled down her temple. Her tachometer danced between 8,000 and 9,000 RPM, the needle screaming in harmony with her nerves.
Inside the white FC, Ningguang was ice. Her eyes flicked between Collei's taillights and the road ahead, analyzing, calculating. Her hands never tensed, her input on the wheel was surgical. She stayed close. Too close. Always one breath behind.
Beidou's voice cracked through the radio. "Final stretch! They're on the approach to the hairpins! The Eight-Six is leading, but the FC's right on her goddamn ass!"
Beidou's hands were shaking. March 7th leaned over the monitor, biting her lip.
"She's got it," she whispered. "She's holding strong."
Then—
Trouble.
Collei spotted the entry to the first hairpin and realized a split-second too late: she was too fast. Her line was wrong.
"Shit, SHIT—!"
She slammed the brakes. Too hard. The front-left tire locked up, squealing violently. Her hands yanked at the wheel, but the AE86 lurched forward, understeering toward the outer guardrail.
"TURN, DAMN IT!" she screamed, pumping the pedal to regain grip.
It was a rookie mistake. One tiny crack.
And Ningguang took it.
The FC dove inside with perfect weight shift and a quick left-foot brake tap. The car rotated like it was built for this moment, nose pointing through the inside line, brushing past Collei's front bumper as if to say you missed your chance.
She was through.
The spotter's voice snapped like a whip.
"COLLEI LOCKED HER FRONT LEFT! NINGGUANG TAKES THE INSIDE!"
The world fell silent.
Beidou leaned forward, stunned. "Oh… no…"
Seele didn't say a word, her eyes wide.
March lowered her head. "She made a mistake."
Pela froze, lips parted in disbelief.
Back in the AE86, Collei's fists shook on the wheel. She gritted her teeth.
But it wasn't over.
She jammed the shifter into second, the revs spiked, and the engine screamed again.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You're not getting away that easy."
She wasn't done.
Her fingers locked tighter around the wheel, each tendon in her arms flexed and coiled with purpose. Her breathing steadied. Her pupils narrowed to slits as the mountain blurred around her.
This wasn't over.
The FC blasted out of the hairpin with surgical precision, its twin-rotor heart screaming to the upper reaches of the powerband. On the short straight that followed, Ningguang used every ounce of torque the Wankel could deliver, surging ahead. The gap widened.
But Collei didn't flinch.
She had an answer.
The gutter run.
Her eyes snapped to the inside—there it was. The drainage channel. Rough-hewn concrete, sharp-edged, a narrow trench only inches wide—but to Collei, it was a lifeline.
She inhaled sharply.
Right foot planted. Left blipped the clutch. She slammed the shifter from third back to second with a clean click, rev-matching by instinct. Then—snap—she flicked the wheel.
The AE86 dove into the inside of the next right-hander like a predator going for the kill. The front-left and rear-left tires dropped into the gutter in unison—ka-chunk—metal and rubber clashing with stone.
The car locked.
Grip surged.
The G-forces went vertical. The Trueno clung to the inside line like a damn monorail, slingshotting forward with a burst of speed that erased the distance Ningguang had just clawed out.
In her rearview mirror, Ningguang caught the flicker of white headlights—closer now.
Her jaw tightened. "She made a mistake… and yet… there's no hesitation in her."
Most drivers, after screwing up a corner like that, would've been rattled—shaken enough to lose the rhythm of the course. But Collei?
She was still on the attack.
Still charging.
Still trying to break through.
Ningguang sucked in a breath and hardened her grip on the wheel. Her voice hissed through clenched teeth. "Doesn't matter. Eyes forward. Keep the gap. Push harder."
She mashed the accelerator. The FC surged ahead. The rotary screamed up past 8,000 RPM, exhaust notes staccato and sharp, bouncing off the rock walls of Mount Yougou like cannon fire.
But Collei?
She was still there.
Right. Fucking. There.
A Record-Breaking Pace
Back at the watchpoint, Beidou's walkie crackled with static and urgency.
"The Eight Six just caught up again! You won't believe these numbers—at this rate they'll shatter the record by eighteen seconds!!"
Beidou's cigarette fell from her mouth. "Eighteen… seconds?" Her voice dropped. "That's… fucking impossible."
No one had ever even touched the course record—let alone obliterated it by nearly twenty seconds. This wasn't a race anymore.
It was a rewriting of the laws that governed street racing.
The next corner loomed—a long fast right after an equally brutal straight. Both cars entered at full tilt, tires screeching like banshees. RPMs peaked. Tach needles trembled. Drivetrains groaned under the strain.
They entered the turn in perfect tandem.
The Eight Six behind, glued like static.
Two lines. One apex. Millimeters of margin. And for one fleeting moment, the two machines drifted in harmony.
But then—something gave out.
The FC twitched.
The front tires slipped.
Ningguang's hands reacted instantly, sawing the wheel left-right-left, but the feedback was wrong. The tires weren't digging in—they were floating.
"What the—!?" she barked. "The fronts—fuck—they're gone! They're overheating!!"
The car understeered violently, the nose pushing toward the guardrail. She lifted off the throttle, feathered the brakes—nothing. No bite. Just dead weight.
She yanked the e-brake, tapped the clutch, tried to pivot the rear. The car snapped back—but sluggishly. Sloppily.
The damage was done.
Panic crawled up her spine. "Chasing her pace… it was a mistake. I overworked the tires. They're cooked. They're completely fucked."
Her biggest weapon—her front grip—was gone.
Up ahead, the final sector began.
The track narrowed. The corners tightened. The finish line sat just beyond a brutal final combo—a fast right-hander into a razor-sharp left.
And now?
Collei knew it was time.
She heard the car speak to her—the rhythm of the engine, the way the tires hummed under throttle load, the vibration of the wheel in her hands.
This was it.
Her brow furrowed.
"Is this really the best I can do?"
The question hit her like a punch.
No.
A spark flickered in the back of her mind. A memory.
Three Years Ago. Dead of Winter.
The world was buried in snow, the air sharp enough to split skin. Collei stumbled into the garage, soaked to the bone, her hands numb, her boots caked in ice. She was shaking. Exhausted.
Arlecchino stood there in the shadows, arms folded, watching her like a hawk.
"Hey, Dad!" Collei panted, voice ragged. "I found a trick—those gutters on the corners? If you dip your tires in, it stabilizes the car. You get way more grip!"
Arlecchino raised a brow, unimpressed. "The gutter run. I know."
Collei blinked. "Wait, what? You knew?!"
A smirk. "Of course."
"You asshole!" she barked, stomping her boot. "You let me figure that out the hard way?!"
Arlecchino chuckled. "There's more to it, kid. What you found is just step one. Use the gutter on entry to kill understeer—fine. But there's a second way."
She stepped forward, her voice dropping low.
"You can use it mid-corner. For recovery. If you've already lost the line, if you're sliding wide—hook in. Time it just right, and it'll suck you back to the apex. Like you're on rails."
Collei's breath caught. Her brain lit up.
"…That's insane."
"Only if you fuck it up," Arlecchino said, walking away. "If you don't… it's genius."
Now.
Collei's eyes flared open.
"I've never tried it. But…"
Now's the time.
They screamed into the final right-hander. The FC entered first, wide and smooth—but slower now. The grip wasn't there. Ningguang was hanging on by threads.
Collei dove in tighter.
Way tighter.
Too tight for conventional grip.
She flicked the wheel hard. The car began to understeer. Just a fraction.
And then—bam—front-left tire dropped into the gutter.
The car snapped back onto line.
A violent tug, like being pulled by a steel cable. The Eight Six locked in and rocketed forward.
Grip spiked.
Ningguang's mirror exploded with light—Collei was right there, practically shoving her bumper up the FC's exhaust.
Ningguang's eyes widened.
"What the fuck was that!?"
Collei's car didn't just catch up.
It lunged.
From the sidelines, Yelan's head snapped toward the corner. Her voice was a whisper.
"…They're coming."
The two cars roared into view. Twin comets tearing through the night. The crowd surged forward. Flashlights blinked. Gasps filled the air.
"They're side by side!!" Silver Wolf yelled, losing her mind.
Yelan's eyes narrowed. "Final left hairpin. Collei has to take the inside. No one passes on the outside. It's suicide."
The air thickened. The tension was suffocating.
They hit the brakes at the exact same instant.
Both cars downshifted in unison—third to second—clutches kicked, RPMs flared.
Tandem.
"THEY'RE GOING IN AS A TANDEM!!" came the double-shout from Yelan and Silver Wolf.
The FC twitched—again.
The front tires had nothing left to give.
Ningguang felt it—the front-end going light, sliding wide, grip peeling away like old paint.
"NO—!!"
She tried to tighten the line.
Too late.
The front drifted wide. She was two feet off apex and had no way to claw it back.
Collei saw the window.
She jumped.
Foot flat.
Rear tires screamed, the Trueno launched inside. Right to the apex. Hooked in.
She was through.
Out of the corner, the Eight Six was ahead.
The final right approached.
Collei didn't even blink. She dropped two tires into the gutter one last time.
Locked in.
Riding the rails of history.
She crossed the line.
Silence.
Then—
"THE EIGHT SIX WINS!!!" The spotter screamed over the radio. "IT'S OVER!!"
The crowd exploded.
Ningguang's unbeaten streak—gone.
Collei had done the unthinkable.
At the watchpoint, Beidou could hardly breathe. March was screaming. Seele was pumping both fists into the air.
Keqing's voice cracked.
Helpless.
Speechless.
"No.... It cant be...."
Far away, in the dark quiet of a cluttered kitchen, Lyney clutched the phone, shrieking. "Are you even listening to me!? COLLEI WON! SHE SHATTERED THE RECORD!!"
On the other end, Arlecchino rolled her eyes and exhaled.
"Of course she won. Now shut up. You're making me deaf."
Click.
Lyney stared at the screen.
"What the hell, Arlecchino!?"
Outside, under the stars, Arlecchino stepped into the moonlight and tilted her head up toward the sky. A soft grin touched her lips.
She raised a fist.
"That's my girl."
Down at the base, the cheers had faded, replaced by the raw hum of silence. Collei and Ningguang stood inches apart, breath still coming fast, sweat drying in the cool night air.
Ningguang looked her dead in the eye.
Then, slowly, a genuine smile broke across her face.
"It's been an honor, Collei." She extended her hand.
Collei grasped it without hesitation.
"Likewise."
No anger. No excuses. Just the truth between racers.
Ningguang slid into her FC. The engine purred to life.
"Well, Collei, gotta run. But I'll be seeing you around."
She turned, sliding into her FC. The engine growled to life, and with a single wave, she was gone—vanishing into the winding mountain roads.
Collei watched the taillights fade, exhaling deeply. The weight of what she had just accomplished finally settled in. She had done it. She had beaten Ningguang.
No longer just an underdog. No longer just a challenger.
Tonight, she had become something more.
A legend.