Chapter 8: Smoke, Secrets, and Streetlight Showdowns
The night was alive. Crimson Night drift events weren't just races—they were declarations. Each corner drifted, each engine revved, every pair of headlights slicing through the dark was a love letter to velocity.
Kaito pulled the LFA onto the cracked asphalt of the abandoned freight yard. Neon lights lined the perimeter, casting hues of electric blue and searing magenta over dozens of modified machines. A Mitsubishi Evo with dragon-scale vinyl. A midnight-blue NSX with underglow that shimmered like ocean waves. A twin-turbo RX-7 that purred like a predator. The LFA rolled in like a phantom prince—sleek, low, humming with restrained fury.
Reika was already there, leaning against her customized R34 Skyline GT-R, her long red jacket billowing slightly in the breeze. Her arms were crossed, eyes narrowed, a teasing smirk curling her lips as she watched Kaito's entrance.
"You're late, Lex Boy," she called out, flipping her red-tinted shades up to rest on her head.
"Fashionably," Kaito replied, stepping out, slamming the door behind him with that signature low thump of precision engineering.
From the shadows, the organizer of Crimson Night stepped forward. Known only as Z3N, he wore a mirrored visor helmet and a black trench coat. He gestured to the assembled crowd.
"Tonight, no time attacks. Just chase battles. Loser leaves the track. Winner takes the title—and the pink slip if they dare."
Kaito's breath hitched for a second. His LFA was everything. But tonight, he had more than just pride to defend. He looked across the yard, where a few teams laughed and pointed at him.
One of them revved a jet-black GT86. The guy behind the wheel had tattoos coiling up his neck and a scar above his eye.
"Fresh meat thinks he can outrun ghosts," he spat.
Meanwhile, back in their apartment, Mari sat on the edge of her bed, still staring at the racing gloves she had found. They smelled like burnt rubber and adrenaline. Not the cheap kind. Real track-grade ones.
She bit her lip. Kaito never mentioned racing. Never even talked about cars in detail, yet… she had always suspected.
Tonight, he left early. Mari grabbed her bag and quietly slipped out. Her destination? She didn't know exactly. But she knew he always headed toward the freight district.
Back at Crimson Night, Reika leaned closer to Kaito, her voice low.
"Careful tonight. That GT86 isn't just for show. He's 'Smokeblade'—former Kanagawa Touge champion."
Kaito glanced at her, smirking. "You worried about me now?"
"No," she said. "I'm worried you'll crash and I won't get to kiss you later."
He choked for half a second. "H-Huh?"
Reika just winked.
Before he could react, Z3N's voice echoed: "First battle: LFA vs GT86. Front chase. Two laps."
Mari crouched behind a stack of crates just outside the makeshift spectator zone. Her eyes widened as she saw the LFA take position. Her brother stepped out, helmet in hand, slipping it on with practiced ease. Her breath caught in her throat.
He's been hiding this from me… all along?
She watched in silence as the race began. Tires screeched, engines howled, and her brother's car moved like a wild, dancing flame.
Kaito's pulse synced with the LFA's tachometer. 7,000 RPM. 8,000. 9,000. He danced the corners, each drift carving his name into the pavement. But Smokeblade was tight on his tail, countersteering with sickening precision.
Lap one ended. Reika's voice crackled through Kaito's radio. "He's going wide next turn. Take inside on third apex."
He obeyed—and the move worked. A clean pass, millimeters from the wall. Smokeblade tapped the brakes and fell behind, unable to catch up.
The crowd roared.
Z3N raised his hand. "Winner: LFA."
Kaito exited the car, panting, sweat dripping down his temple. And then, just beyond the crowd… he saw her.
Mari.
Standing. Watching.
Eyes full of shock, betrayal… and something else.
To be continued...