"P1: Rin Takagi.
P2: Izamuri Sakuta.
P3: Takamori Kazuma..."
The words echoed over the track's tinny PA system.
Izamuri stood by the pit wall, helmet off, hands still trembling—not from fear, but from residual tension. The race had ended mid-momentum, and the pressure was still caught in his chest like a misfired gear change. He hadn't expected it to end this way.
No one had.
Rin let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders as he leaned against a stack of tires that hadn't been launched like missiles. "That was too close."
Back in the garage, the mood was quieter. Not somber, but tired. The kind of fatigue that came from a day too long and too loud. Izamuri sat on the floor near the kart racks, watching the others pack their gear. He hadn't even noticed when someone handed him a bottle of water. The race felt like a blur now, one that never fully resolved. No final corner, no finish line, just a sudden stop. And yet… there it was. P2.
He hadn't just survived. He had placed. Behind only Rin. That realization landed slower than the Twins in terms of lap times, but when it hit, it settled somewhere heavy in his chest.He should have felt proud. He didn't know what he felt.
Nearby, Rin wiped down his gloves and glanced sideways at him. "You were gaining on me."
Izamuri looked up. "Not fast enough."
"You didn't have to be." Rin tossed the gloves into his duffel. "You have 1 more lap. You just needed to wait."
Izamuri looked back down at his boots. "Didn't get the chance."
"No," Rin said, closing his bag. "But you would've." It wasn't praise. Just fact. That made it land even heavier.
Hana zipped up her suit bag and hoisted it over her shoulder. "They pulled the twins' kart out the wall. Neither is drivable after that crash."
"Maybe they should just enter a demolition derby next time," Ayaka muttered.
"They'd still crash into each other," Haruka added.
Everyone chuckled again. The kind of tired humor you could only make after near-death with people who understood. They then proceeds to pack everything up and goes back to Tokyo for that afternoon.
The next day. As the sun rose quietly over Tokyo. The morning after the race was quiet. It was one of those rare mornings when the city seemed to slow down, the concrete jungle breathing in time with the gentle hum of garage tools. Birds chirped on the power lines above Haruka's small workshop, the scent of burnt oil and coffee mixing with the breeze.
A sharp contrast to the chaos that had unfolded just yesterday, when flying tires turned the final lap into a demolition zone and marshals were still digging rubber from the gravel well into the evening.
A soft rock station buzzed on a dusty old radio as Izamuri lay on a mechanic's creeper beneath a red NA Miata. His gloved fingers wrestled with rusted bolts around the driveshaft flange, each twist echoing through the underbody like angry metal groans, followed by a soft metallic clunk as Izamuri slid the old driveshaft out from under the red Mazda Miata perched on the lift.
"Alright, I got it," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow with the crook of his arm.
A thud behind him signaled the arrival of the replacement part. Rin dropped the new driveshaft next to him with a small grunt. "You sure this is the right one? The last one we pulled from the shelf was for a roadster ND, not an NA. We had to order a new one for this"
"It's the right one," Takamori added, crouching beside the two of them with a socket in hand.
"Check the spline count. Matches perfectly."
Izamuri nodded. "Good. Let's finish this before lunch."
In the adjacent bay, a much less graceful symphony was taking place. The twins, Hojo and Tojo, were working on an oil change for a slightly battered Toyota Chaser. The floor around them was already dotted with three different oil spills, two crushed rags, and one mysteriously missing drain plug.
"You lost it?" Tojo hissed, holding the oil can like it might explode.
"I didn't lose it!" Hojo barked. "I just… set it somewhere."
"Well where the hell is it then?!"
"It was here five minutes ago"
"That was before you knocked over the oil filter box you stupid dipshit!"
"Maybe you knocked it over!"
"Did not!"
"I swear to god"
From the break room window, Ayaka blinked slowly, watching the chaos unfold. She sipped her bottled tea without emotion. "They're arguing again."
Beside her, Hana sipped quietly from her tea while reading a fashion magazine. "I'm not surprised. I'm just glad the oil isn't on the ceiling."
"For now," Ayaka muttered.
Beside her, Hana glanced up from her magazine and sighed. "How have they not burned the building down yet?"
"Luck," Ayaka said flatly.
Hana hummed, turning a page. "We're on standby, right?"
"Yup. In case someone else walks in. Or bleeds."
Ayaka took another sip. "Probably them."
Meanwhile at the far end of the workshop, past the metal shelves and engine hoists, Daichi stood quietly by the entrance. He hadn't said much when he walked in. Just a nod, a small wave, and a quiet "Yo" to Haruka, who was wiping his hands with a rag near the front desk. But there was something odd in his expression. Serious. Focused.
Haruka noticed it immediately. "Hey," he said, lowering his voice as he approached. "You alright?"
Daichi took the moment to pull Haruka aside. "Mind if we talk for a bit?" he said quietly.
Haruka gave a glance to Izamuri, who was too busy inspecting the Miata's undercarriage for any fluid leaks. Haruka tilted his head. "Sure. About what?"
"Outside."
Now it was serious.
They stepped through the rear door of the workshop and onto the small gravel patch behind the garage, where an old exhaust system and several rusted brake discs had found permanent residence, along with an old bucket of coolant. The air back here was quieter, shielded from the street noise.
Haruka straightened slowly. "Alright. What's up?"
Daichi reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim USB stick. "I recorded yesterday's race," he said.
Haruka's eyebrows shot up. "You what?"
"From the roof top of the pit building. Had my own camera. Long lens. No one noticed."
Haruka blinked, stunned. "Wait, you watched the whole thing?"
"I watched everything," Daichi said. " Especially him." He nodded toward Izamuri, still under the Miata, tightening the rear coupler.
Haruka's throat tightened. "…So what did you see?"
Daichi's voice dropped. "I saw someone driving beyond his kart. I saw someone learning mid-race. Improvising. Out-braking. Reading the track like it was printed on his palm." He paused, eyes narrowed. "He's not polished. But the instinct is there."
Haruka didn't speak. He just listened.
"And that's not something you can teach," Daichi said. "You either have it or you don't."
Haruka swallowed. "I know."
Then Daichi looked down at the USB stick in his hand. "I didn't just record it for fun."
Haruka raised a brow. "Then…?"
"I sent it," Daichi said.
Haruka blinked. "To who?"
"Simon George Brown."
Haruka froze. "Wait. That Simon? Former Benetton engineer? Did you knew him?"
"It doesn't matter!" Daichi stepped forward slightly. "You wanted to protect him. I get it. But you also trained him, built a kart for him, tuned that thing down to the last jet screw. The way he raced? That wasn't luck. That was talent with a backbone of preparation."
Daichi glanced over at Izamuri again. "This kid is driving with nothing. No backing. No gear. No team. Just instinct, desperation, and a borrowed helmet." His gaze hardened. "And he still managed to take on two experienced drivers and nearly win."
Haruka exhaled slowly. Haruka looked down at his boots. "He's still rough. Still… New."
"But he fought three different styles in that race. You saw it. So did I. He adapted. Calculated. Waited. Then attacked. Rin's sharp. Takamori's a wall. He handled both."
There was a pause. Daichi's voice softened. "I know you dreamt about this. Getting someone into a proper racing seat. Not just karts. Cars."
Haruka didn't say anything for a moment. Then: "…You think he's ready?"
"I don't think. I know." Daichi reached into his pocket and pulled out a flash drive. "Simon agrees. But he wants more. He wants to see him in a real race."
"What kind of race?"
Daichi smiled slightly. "Any race… But i suggest the EK9 One Make Series. First round starts in two weeks. You already have the car."
Haruka's eyes widened. The Civic. From the back. Covered in dust. Bought years ago. Never touched again. "You're serious?" he asked.
"Dead serious."
Haruka looked back toward the workshop. He could just barely make out Izamuri's legs sticking out from under the Miata, laughter ringing as Rin dropped a socket on his chest and yelled "bonus point!"
Daichi clapped him on the shoulder. "Stop holding back," he said. "You already have the driver. Now give him the car."
By late afternoon, the garage had started to wind down. The last customer pickup had left with a satisfied smile and a fresh set of brake pads. The oil-slick twins had finally stopped arguing and were now sweeping the floor under direct orders from Rin. Ayaka and Hana were wiping down the counters, and the old Miata sat in the corner with a brand-new driveshaft humming sweetly during a quick idle check.
Izamuri tossed his gloves onto the bench with a satisfied sigh. "Finally. That took longer than expected."
"You're slow," Rin quipped, arms behind his head.
"You dropped a socket on my chest!"
"Bonus point," Rin smirked.
Takamori, perched on the Miata's fender, checking his phone. "Let's call it a wrap. You good to close up, Haruka?"
Haruka, who had just finished organizing a tray of receipts, nodded. "Yeah, we're good. Izamuri, I'll give you a ride home. The rest of you stay for a moment alright?"
The group began packing up, music still faintly playing through the garage speakers. Tools clinked into boxes, floor jacks creaked back into position, and the familiar squeak of the shutter beginning to close signaled the end of another long day. Meanwhile Haruka is already off to drop Izamuri on his house.
Haruka's Toyota Corolla E101 TRD2000 rumbled gently as it rolled down the quiet road, headlights casting long shadows across the fading sidewalks. The golden tones of sunset had given way to soft indigo skies, and the city was starting to wind down.
Izamuri leaned back into the cloth seat, tapping his fingers to a soft rhythm. "You really think I did okay yesterday?"
Haruka kept his eyes on the road. "You did more than okay."
"I mean… I got second."
"You got second in a field of maniacs with better equipment and more experience. And you didn't flinch."
Izamuri looked over, a little surprised by the praise. "I nearly spun three times."
"But you didn't. You kept control. You adapted. You read them. And you passed them. That's what matters."
There was silence for a moment. Izamuri smiled, a small, honest thing. "I just… didn't want to let you guys down."
Haruka glanced sideways at him, just briefly. "You haven't once."
They drove a little longer in silence until Haruka made a familiar left turn down a residential road, narrow, quiet, lined with houses. Then they pulled up in front of Haruka's house. "Get some rest," Haruka said.
Izamuri stepped out and slung his bag over one shoulder. "See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
With that, Izamuri headed up the stairs, keys jingling in his pocket. Haruka waited until the door shut behind him, then pulled away from the curb, turning the Corolla back toward the shop.
He had something else to finish tonight.
By the time he returned, the shop was already quiet, but not empty. Inside, the crew was waiting. The tools had been packed away, the garage shutter half-closed, letting in the last traces of orange twilight. Fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead, casting long shadows across the floor and onto the dusty Civic EK9 that sat square on the middle of the workshop. finally uncovered after years of silence.
Rin was leaning against the main toolbox, arms crossed. Ayaka and Hana were seated by the wall near the work sink. Takamori stood by the Civic, sipping from a cup of vending machine coffee. Hojo sat on a stool rolling back and forth, bored but present, while Tojo leaned against the wall, arms folded and suspiciously quiet.
Haruka stepped through the shutter, locking it behind him.
"Well?" Rin asked.
"He doesn't know," Haruka confirmed.
Rin whistled low. "Poor guy. Doesn't even know he's about to be tossed into a meat grinder with VTEC."
"Let him sleep in peace," Hana added with a soft smirk. "His world's about to get a lot louder."
Ayaka looked to Haruka. "So this is really happening, huh?"
Haruka nodded, walking up to the Civic. "Yeah. It's happening."
The air in the room shifted. What had been loose talk earlier in the day had now solidified into something real. Something inevitable.
Daichi was already waiting, leaning against the far wall near the Civic. Despite being in civilian clothes, his posture had an odd command to it, calm, composed, but always slightly observing. It was easy to forget that by day, he ran a Lawson convenience store tucked between two alleyways in the next district. Slung over his shoulder was a black duffel bag, old, dusty, and heavy with more than just weight. He set it down beside the Civic with a quiet thud, then rested his hand on the car's roof.
Daichi stepped forward and addressed them all. "We've got two weeks," he said. "The EK9 One Make entry window closes in ten days. If we're entering, we prep this car, test it, and get Izamuri behind the wheel without tipping him off too early. I want him focused on the driving, not the pressure."
Rin sat on a tire stack with a bottle of barley tea in hand, spinning a ratchet idly. "Still weird to think you're the one pushing all this, Daichi."
Takamori leaned against the lift, arms folded. "Yeah. No offense, but you don't exactly scream motorsport."
Daichi smirked. "I manage inventory, not camber settings. Doesn't mean I don't know what I'm watching."
Rin raised an eyebrow. "You run a konbini. You sent footage of a backyard kart race to Simon George Brown. That's not exactly a normal leap."
"I know," Daichi said. "And when it's time, I'll explain. But right now, we focus on the car."
Everyone turned to face the Civic.
It sat still under the overhead lamps, its stance sharp even after months of neglect. The sheets had only been pulled off earlier that evening, dust cleared away in silence. It looked like it was waiting.
Haruka took a slow breath. "I bought this car years ago," he said, mostly to himself. "Saved up from every repair job I did on the side. Planned to run it in the one-make series, but… things got in the way. Life got in the way."
Ayaka tilted her head. "You kept it all this time?"
"Yeah," Haruka nodded. "Couldn't bring myself to sell it. Didn't feel right. Like it was still meant for something."
Daichi stepped closer, placing a hand on the Civic's roof. "Maybe it was meant for him."
Haruka glanced at him. "You're sure?"
"I watched him race," Daichi replied. "He's not polished. Not even close. But he thinks like a driver. He feels his way through the chaos. You can't teach that."
Takamori gave a skeptical grunt. "You sound like a scout."
"I'm not," Daichi said, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Not officially."
Rin narrowed his eyes. "That just raises more questions."
"Good," Daichi said. "Hold onto them. You'll get your answers."
Haruka crossed his arms. "So what's the plan?"
"We prep the EK9," Daichi said. "Quietly. Start with base setup. Don't tell Izamuri what it's for. Let him think it's just a test car."
Hana nodded. "If we keep the mood casual, he'll focus on the driving."
Ayaka reached for her tablet. "I'll take care of registration under an alias for now. We can finalize the driver details last minute."
Haruka looked around. "We doing this as a team?"
Everyone gave subtle nods. No dramatic declarations, just silent agreement.
"We'll need someone on tire management," Rin added. "I don't trust Hojo with a torque wrench."
"Twins can handle pit setup," Ayaka said. "Give them something simple. Maybe tire prep and fuel checks."
"They'll argue about it," Hana muttered.
"They always do," said Takamori. "But they'll get it done."
Rin looked at Daichi again. "You're really putting your neck out for this. Why?"
"I mean," Rin continued, "you run a Lawson on the edge of Suginami. You've got no car parts under your nails, no race suit, and no driver credentials. But you talk like you've been in the pitlane since Fuji Speedway was built."
Ayaka tilted her head. "You were the one who spotted Izamuri's potential before any of us. The one who stood on the sidelines of that kart race filming like a scout."
Hana leaned forward, expression unreadable. "So who are you really, Daichi?"
Daichi turned his gaze from the Civic to the group, eyes now sharper. "You've all seen him drive. You've seen something in him. But you haven't seen why I care."
He took a step toward the center, where the Civic sat like a sleeping weapon. "You think I'm just some konbini manager with a strange eye for talent. But I've seen what happens when that kind of talent goes unnoticed. When it gets crushed by real-world crap—money, exposure, wrong place, wrong time. I've lived long enough to recognize a second chance when it's staring me in the face."
Haruka looked up. "And you think this is yours?"
Daichi nodded slowly. "Not for me. For him."
Rin's grin faded. Ayaka sat up straighter. Hana folded her hands in her lap. Takamori's usual detachment gave way to a curious frown.
Daichi looked at each of them. "I'll tell you everything," he said at last. "Where I came from. Why Simon took my call. Why this Civic matters more than it looks."
He stepped back into the center of the garage, now lit only by the aging fluorescent lamps and the glow of the overhead clock. Then he knelt beside the duffel and unzipped it.
From inside, he pulled out a racing suit, neatly folded, the fabric aged and stained in places. It was unmistakably real. A white and silver racing suit, the kind issued in high-level international motorsport. Fireproof Nomex, precision stitched, with years of wear ground into every crease. The Mercedes-AMG patch across the chest had faded slightly, dulled by time, and the name embroidered beneath it. "Daichi F."—was only barely readable.
But it was the damage that said the most. The left sleeve had a long, blackened scorch mark running from the shoulder to the elbow. The back panel was melted near the waist seam, charred and patched crudely, as if hastily repaired just to preserve it. One leg bore deep abrasions and oil-stained seams, the sort of scarring no normal racing would cause. This was a suit that had been through hell.
Haruka didn't speak. He already knew.
Rin crossed his arms. "So you're not just some guy who knows a thing or two."
Daichi gave a quiet laugh. "No. I'm someone who lost everything at once. The fire, the car, the contract… and the future."
He laid the suit gently over the Civic's hood. The fabric sagged like it was carrying its own memories. "I don't bring this out to brag," he said. "I bring it out so you understand what's at stake."
Hana looked at the melted sleeve. "Why keep it at all?"
Daichi exhaled. "To remind myself why I walked away. And now… to remind you all why I came back."
Haruka stepped forward. "Because of Izamuri?"
"Yeah," Daichi said quietly. "Because in the middle of nowhere, on some tiny kart circuit, I saw a kid make the same decision I once made. The decision to throw himself into a corner with nothing but instinct."
Takamori's voice lowered. "And it scared you?"
"No," Daichi replied. "It woke me up."
He looked around at all of them. His ragtag pit crew, his would-be team. He motioned to the suit. "I've been running from that crash for almost two decades. Working in a convenience store, clocking in and out like none of this ever happened. But you know what?"
His voice sharpened.
"I'm done running."
He looked directly at Rin, then Ayaka, then Hana. "We're going to take this Civic to the grid. With Izamuri behind the wheel. Because the fire that nearly ended me, I see it in him. And I'm not going to let it burn out."
Ayaka folded her arms, smirking faintly. "You're crazy, Daichi."
Takamori grinned. "Yeah, but you're one of us now."
Hana whispered, "Let's do it."
Daichi smiled. Just a little. Then he looked at Haruka. "Tomorrow, we begin prep. But tonight…" He rested a hand on the charred suit. "I tell you everything."