Hazama stepped back, fingers cocked like pistols as his grin flashed sharp. "Rooftop, Dahlia-kun. See you in ten. Don't be late." With a sweep of his coat, he turned on his heel, the tails flaring behind him as he slipped into the crowd.
Lady sneered, jerking her chin for her crew to follow. Midnight Queen and her own entourage rose too, moving in unison, shadows drawn by the scent of spectacle. The tide of bodies began shifting toward the elevators, the promise of a race pulling them like gravity.
Daichi stayed rooted, pale as death, his mouth working soundlessly before he finally burst. "Dahlia, what the hell have you done?" His hands flew as he gestured wildly. "You just challenged My Fair Lady to a race. My Fair Lady! Sure, she's not the fastest in the MRA, but she's still a monster. Umas don't walk away from her without scars."
Dahlia ignored him, stepping past as if his words couldn't touch her. She crouched beside the girl on the ground, offering her hand. "Hey. You okay?"
The girl hesitated, hugging her laptop tighter before slipping her hand into Dahlia's. Her hazel eyes shimmered with gratitude and fear as she was helped up.
"Thank you," she whispered. Then her ears drooped. "But you shouldn't have done that. Lady's going to be twice as mad now."
Dahlia shook her head, crouching low, brushing her fingers softly against the bruise blooming on the girl's cheek. "Forget Lady. That's on me now." Her tone softened a fraction. "You should put some ice on that. By the way, I didn't get your name?"
The girl blinked, startled, as if the question itself felt foreign. "L-Light… Kamakura Light."
"Light," Dahlia echoed, offering a faint smile. "I'm Black Dahlia. Just Dahlia's fine." She straightened, folding her arms across her chest. "But tell me this, why stay with Lady when she treats you like dirt? You could walk right now. I guarantee there are crews out there who'd snap you up in a second."
Light's arms tightened around her laptop like a shield. "It's… complicated, and I'm not… good at much."
Dahlia's gaze hardened. "And what is it you do?"
Daichi's breath caught, his eyes shooting to the laptop. "Wait, you're a Navigator," he blurted, almost reverent.
Light flinched at the word, tail twitching as her gaze dropped to the floor. She gave the smallest of nods.
"A what?" Dahlia asked, frowning.
Daichi rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around like he half-expected someone to shush him. "Navigators are the eyes of the race. They track the run in real time, mapping the city. Tell the racers which route to take, when to risk a shortcut, when the cops are closing in. Courses are charted, yeah, but you can take any path to victory. High risk, high reward. Without a navigator, even the fastest runner's flying blind."
Something clicked in Dahlia's mind. Her eyes widened. "So that's why…" She looked back at Light.
Light's lips trembled. "I made the right call. I know I did. If she'd just listened, she would've won. But she doesn't. She never does." Her nails dug into the laptop casing. "And every time she loses, it's me. Always me. It's my fault, my punishment. I…" Her chest hitched, her whole body shaking. "I can't take much more."
Dahlia's eyes hardened to steel. "Stay put. I'll smoke that b and leave her choking on the dust where she belongs."
"Dahlia," Light's words wavered, but she forced herself to meet her eyes. "I hate to say this… but your friend's right." Her gaze dropped to Dahlia's scuffed boots. "I can tell. You've never run a street race before."
Dahlia smirked, defiant. "No offence, but I've been running Tokyo's streets half my life. Trust me, I've got this."
Light shook her head, stepping forward. "No, you don't understand. Street runs aren't dirt tracks or turf. They're alive. Wild. You can't muscle through them with grit alone." She bit her lip, then looked up. "Think of it this way. Anyone can drive a car, but not everyone can race. There's a difference. If you charge in thinking this is just another Tracen race, you're already dead last. Against Lady? You'll lose."
"That's what I've been trying to hammer into your skull," Daichi cut in, throwing his arms wide.. "This isn't some URA exhibition, Dahlia. Forget pride, let's find that Hazama creep, tell him it was a misunderstanding. We bow, we apologize, we do the whole song and dance. Then we get the hell out of here before you get yourself killed."
Dahlia smirked, hand on her hip. "Relax, Daichi. I've got this in the bag. Lady won't know what hit her." She jerked her head toward the lift. "Come on, let's get this over with." She then walked off, heading toward the elevator.
"Dahlia!" Daichi shouted after her, throwing his hands up. "Unbelievable! You're out of your damned mind." He scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering, "Now I really know what you go through with Lady."
Light just clutched her laptop tighter and gave a hesitant nod, eyes filled with worry.
****
The rooftop was alive with fever. A clear path had been marked out, the crowd pressed tight on either side, a wall of faces lit by phone screens already raised to capture every second. Murmurs rippled, excitement mounting, half anticipation, half hunger.
Crews lingered behind the front row, some arms folded, others crouched low, watching with the detached interest of predators sizing up fresh meat. Yamiyo Breaker stood tall, arms crossed, the crimson-and-white of her suit gleaming under the city lights. The curve of her mask hid her mouth, but the tilt of her shoulders made it clear, she was enjoying the show. Rekka Blaze, less amused, crouched with her elbow balanced on her knee, chewing gum like the whole affair had just spoiled her night.
Off to the side, Logan leaned against the barrier, cigarette ember glowing faintly as smoke curled into the night sky. His dark eyes never left the line. He'd seen this scene too many times before. The crowd, the hunger, the crash waiting to happen. And yet, something about this one had him locked in place.
At the line itself, Hazama took center stage, arms wide, every inch the master of ceremonies hyping the mob before the bloodletting. His grin cut like glass in the strobe light.
Lady stepped forward first, slipping her helmet over her head with practiced ease. The visor came down, black as obsidian, her sharp grin still visible for a moment before it disappeared. She tugged at her gloves, pulling them tight.
Dahlia followed, squaring her shoulders, tugging her jacket into place. Her gaze slid to Lady, but Lady didn't bother to return it, her eyes locked forward. Beside her, Daichi and Light stood frozen at the edge of the line. Daichi's heartbeat hammered so hard it rattled in his ears. His palms were slick, sweat bleeding through his shirt despite the night air. Every nerve in his body screamed run. Get out. Now. Before this spiraled into something that ended with him in cuffs, or worse, zipped into a black bag and dumped in the Tokyo Bay where no one would ever find him.
But the crowd was already closing in. The trap had sprung, and whether he liked it or not, they were in it. Too late to turn back. Too late to stop the train before it hit the rails.
Dahlia turned back just as something long and black dangled in front of her face. A mask, matte and simple, with two hollowed eyeholes.
"Mask up, Dahlia-kun," Hazama purred, grin splitting wide. "Last thing we need is the little piggies busting the party and knocking on your door after."
Dahlia arched an eyebrow, but she took it. The cloth was rough in her hands, almost ceremonial. She slid it over her eyes and tied it tight behind her head, the world narrowing to tunnels of shadow and light.
Hazama clapped once, the sound echoing sharp against concrete, before spreading his arms wide in theatrical welcome. "Ladies and gentlemen," he purred, "allow me to present tonight's opening act. A little amuse-bouche before the feast to come." He gestured grandly toward the starting line. "On one side, the vicious viper herself, My Fair Lady. And on the other…" his head tilted, grin slicing across his face, "…our bold little newcomer. Let's just call her Blackie."
The crowd erupted, stomping and cheering. Hazama tipped his fedora. "Seven floors. Race to the bottom. Two runners. One winner. One loser. That's all you need to know."
Dahlia lowered into position, glove tightening, one foot forward, the steel cleat biting concrete as she dug in. Her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, jaw tight, eyes narrowed. Beside her, Lady mirrored her, that jagged grin splitting wide, teeth catching the light as if she could already taste the victory.
Hazama's grin sharpened as he pointed. "Ready!"
The air thickened. Dahlia's muscles coiled like springs.
"Set!" Lady's smirk deepened, breath hissing through her teeth.
Hazama raised both hands high, drawing the crowd into a fever pitch. "Count it down!"
"Three…" voices boomed in unison, rattling the rooftop.
"Two…" Daichi's heart slammed against his ribs, panic flooding his veins.
"One…" Logan's gaze darkened, cigarette burning low between his fingers.
Hazama's voice cracked like a gunshot. "Survive—GO!"
****
A shockwave tore through the rooftop as both Dahlia and Lady exploded forward, concrete cracking beneath the force of their launch. Steel cleats hammered the ground in rapid succession, each stride ringing like gunfire. The crowd roared from behind the line, their awe swelling with every burst of speed that rippled the air in their wake.
Dahlia surged ahead, breath ragged but fierce, a smirk tugging at her lips as she dared a glance over her shoulder. Lady lagged behind, or so it seemed. Her grin was razor-thin, unbothered, almost predatory.
When Dahlia snapped her gaze forward again, her smirk vanished. The ramp loomed. Too late. The moment her cleat bit the sloping concrete, it slid. Her balance pitched, arms flailing as her back slammed into the barrier. Dust spat from her jacket as she scraped down, landing hard on her side before tumbling the rest of the way. She skidded to a stop at the bottom, a groan tearing from her throat.
Above, Lady descended like a predator in her element. Boots flat, body low, one gloved hand grazing the ramp as she carved the slope with surgical precision. Her cleats shrieked, smoking as they screeched across the concrete, her body angling in a controlled drift. It was effortless, like the road itself bent to her will. At the base, she snapped upright, never breaking stride, and shot past Dahlia with a smirk that twisted the knife.
Dahlia snarled, pounding her fist into the ground. Pain lanced through her ribs, but she forced herself up, teeth clenched, legs burning as she hurled herself back into the run.
****
Daichi hunched over his phone in the rattling elevator, gnawing at his nails as the live feed flickered on the screen. His stomach lurched when Dahlia clipped the second corner wrong. Sparks shrieked from her cleats before her body whipped sideways and slammed back-first into a parked car with a bone-rattling crash.
Lady ghosted past in perfect control, boots carving a sharp drift, smoke hissing from the grind of steel before she shot out of the turn clean, already sprinting again. Dahlia clawed herself upright, ribs heaving, her hand clutching her side before she forced herself to run again.
"Dammit, Dahlia," Daichi muttered. "I told you this was a bad idea."
Beside him, Light's hand flew to her mouth, eyes wet with alarm. "She's never raced like this before, has she? She said she's run the streets—"
"Running deliveries isn't the same," Daichi cut in, raking his fingers through his hair. "Straight roads, shallow corners, that's all she knows. Not this." His jaw tightened. "I don't care if she loses. I just don't want to carry her out of here in pieces."
Behind them, Logan stood silent, shoulders broad against the elevator wall. His gaze never left the feed, dark and sharp. His jaw ground tight, the faintest twitch in his cheek betraying what he refused to show. Then, as Dahlia forced herself forward again, he exhaled, expression sliding back into stone.
****
By the time they tore through the fourth floor, Lady was already a blur ahead, her frame pitched forward, every stride like a piston firing. Her boots hammered the concrete with unrelenting rhythm, driving her faster, sharper, cleaner.
Dahlia fought to match her on the straights, lungs dragging fire, sweat soaking through her shirt until it clung to her body. The roar of the crowd around them was deafening. Fists pumping, shouts echoing like the stands of a G1 derby. For a fleeting moment, Dahlia felt that old rush, the ghost of her days on official tracks. But here, in this pit of neon and concrete, the rules didn't matter, and it was crushing her.
Lady carved the corner with surgical precision, boots sliding in a perfect drift, her hip skimming the wall with barely a breath of space before she kicked off again. The movement was effortless and practiced. Dahlia braced, digging her cleats into the floor, grinding to a near stop before rounding the bend. By the time she accelerated again, Lady was already vanishing into the next stretch.
Her teeth clenched, jaw tight. Rage bubbled under her skin with every failed attempt. Why? Why couldn't she do it? Every time she tried, her cleats betrayed her, skidding out like she was stepping on black ice. No grip, no control. Just chaos.
Her eyes fixed desperately on Lady's tail swaying ahead, but it only grew smaller, further, slipping out of reach no matter how hard she pushed her legs. The gap was widening, and she could feel the race slipping through her fingers with every pounding step.
Lady took the corner in a perfect arc, boots grinding against the ground with a shriek, sparks flaring in her wake before she snapped to a stop halfway down the straight. A thin cloud of smoke curled around her as she turned, arms folded, smirk painted across her face. She stood waiting. Mocking. Like a cat watching a wounded mouse limp toward it.
Dahlia barreled around the bend a moment later, her cleats biting too hard. Sparks spat under her boots, and her balance broke. The crowd scattered, curses and shouts rising as she slid out, skidding helplessly into the nose of a parked car. The impact blasted her across the hood, her body crashing into the windshield with an earsplitting crack as glass shattered across the floor. She spilled off the side, landing hard on her chest, the air torn from her lungs. Pain lit every nerve as she groaned, teeth clenched against the sting ripping through her ribs.
Her dark gaze lifted, glass still glinting in her hair. Lady was there. Calm, waiting, foot tapping like a spoiled child impatient for the punchline. She bared her jagged teeth and crooked two fingers, a smug beckon to try again. Then she spun on her heel and bolted, her stride long and effortless, eating the straight like it belonged to her.
Dahlia's cry tore from her throat, half pain, half fury. She dragged herself up, every muscle screaming, before hurling her body forward again into the chase.
****
At the finish line the crowd was already a frenzy, phones raised high, the feed casting Lady's dominance in real time. Her crew screamed her name like a battle cry, while others groaned or flinched with every replay of Dahlia's wipeouts. Daichi among them, pale and trembling, each crash cutting him deeper. The bass from the DJ booth thundered through the concrete, rattling the walls, lights strobing as Hazama's grin widened, emerald irises fixed on the spiral ramp.
Lady hit it first, visor gleaming, smirk slicing across her face. Her body dropped low, boots grinding against the floor in a flawless drift. Smoke spat beneath her but never broke her balance. She flowed down the spiral like water finding its course. The crowd roared at the sight, a wave of noise crashing across the garage. She shot out from the bottom already sprinting, her stride sharp and merciless, the finish line a foregone conclusion.
Dahlia followed seconds later, teeth gritted, body trembling. She hunched low, tried to mimic the drift, but her footing betrayed her yet again. Her boots snagged, balance gone. She pitched forward, eyes wide in shock before slamming hard into the ramp. Pain tore through her ribs as she bounced, rolled, and scraped her way down, a ragdoll against concrete until she skidded to a broken stop at the bottom. The sound alone drew gasps, some turning away from their phones at the sheer violence of the fall.
Some laughed. But no one helped. Phones pointed straight at her, recording every moment. Her humiliation was now content. Something to stream, to share, to replay with a laugh.
Above it all, Hazama raised his arms. "And here she comes, your one and only…"
Lady thundered across the line, boots striking, skidding to a clean stop.
"My Fair Lady!" Hazama bellowed. "Your champion!"
Smoke thickened, acrid and bitter, as Lady ripped off her helmet, jagged grin splitting wide. Her crew engulfed her, arms around her shoulders, voices rising to chant her name. Then, with a swagger meant to wound, she pointed back at Dahlia, still dragging herself up from the concrete. The crowd surged louder, half in adoration of Lady, half in mockery of the fool who thought she could challenge her.
Dahlia forced herself upright, body screaming, vision blurred, but the sting in her chest wasn't just the pain. It was the laughter, the phones, the way every eye branded her as a failure. Her name hadn't even been announced. Only "newcomer," only "Blackie." And in this world, being nameless was worse than losing. It was being nothing at all.
"Dahlia!" Daichi scrambled to her side, slipping her arm over his shoulders to keep her upright. "Talk to me, are you alright? Nothing broken?"
Light rushed in next, crouching low, her eyes scanning Dahlia's battered frame with the careful precision of someone who'd seen too many falls. "Careful. Don't push yourself."
"I-I'll be fine…" Dahlia hissed, trying to take a step, only for her balance to falter. She looked down, breath catching in her throat. Her boots were ruined. The right one torn open at the front, the cleat hanging loose from the sole, useless. Her jaw locked, anger swelling hot against the pain.
"The hell was that?" Lady cut sharp through the crowd. She strutted forward, her crew at her back, smirk wide enough to split her face. "I've seen plenty of loudmouth umas eat asphalt, but you?" She barked a laugh. "You just set a new standard for pathetic. That wipeout? Pure comedy. I'll be replaying it for weeks."
Dahlia's gaze wavered. She tried to meet Lady's eyes, but the weight of the crowd, the cameras, the laughter pressed her chin down until all she could see was cracked concrete and her broken boots.
Lady leaned closer, her grin turning venomous. "You should've stayed in your little cage, little bird. These skies? They'll shred you. So do us all a favor, limp back to whatever gutter you came from and stay there."
Her golden eyes shifted. "You!" she snapped. Light froze where she stood. Lady's expression darkened as she strode over, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked hard enough to wrench a cry from her throat. "What the hell are you doing hiding over there? This mess is on you." She shook her head, dragging Light toward her crew as the girl whimpered. "I'll teach you to screw me over again."
Hazama slid in, blocking Dahlia with an easy shrug, fedora tipping low. "Rules are rules, Dahlia-kun. You lose. You leave. Simple as that." He gestured lazily, and two suited men stepped forward, faceless enforcers ready to escort her out. "But I have to admit, that was a great run. Wildly entertaining."
Daichi chuckled nervously, masking terror. "Y-yeah, maybe we should just—"
But Dahlia's body trembled, anger burning through the shame. Her dark eyes stayed locked past Hazama, past the suits, fixed squarely on Lady's back as she dragged Light away.
"Dahlia… don't," Daichi warned, knowing that look in her eyes.
"Hey!" Dahlia's shout cracked through the garage.
The crowd stilled. Lady froze mid-step, her head turning slow, disbelief etched into her sneer.
"Dahlia…" Daichi begged, tugging at her arm.
But Dahlia tore free, limping forward, shoving past Hazama without a glance. Her side ached, her boot split, her pride in tatters, but her words didn't waver.
"I want a rematch!" she said, glaring at Lady through the pain.
Hazama's slitted eyes followed her, his grin curling sharp and cruel. He lifted a hand to halt the enforcers. "Oh ho," he purred, almost giddy. "This night just keeps getting better and better."
Lady tried to stifle it, lips twitching, but failed spectacularly. She burst into laughter, loud and grating, doubling over as she clutched her stomach. Her crew followed, the whole lot of them erupting like hyenas in a feeding frenzy.
"You serious?" Lady wheezed, laughter breaking into a cough as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. Her smirk twisted into something sharp, cruel. "After that pathetic wipeout?" She shook her head slowly. "Don't get me wrong, I live for breaking down cocky little nobodies who don't know when to bow their heads. But a rematch?" Her lip curled. "Please. I don't have the energy, and I sure as hell don't have the patience."
She cocked her head, eyes narrowing like a predator sizing up prey. "So tell me, little bird… why in God's name should I waste even a second on you?"
Dahlia straightened, pain etched in her frame but defiance burning through her eyes. "Because I'm going all in," she shot back, her gaze cutting to Light. "You and me. Seven floors. Down to the finish. If I win, you cut her loose. She walks free."
The laughter died in an instant. Lady's smirk faltered, her expression going slack. The weight of the words hung in the air like a dropped blade.
Light's face drained of color. Daichi's too, his stomach twisting at the implication.
"You're joking," Lady finally said. She jerked a thumb toward Light, golden eyes narrowing. "You want to race me… for her?" A beat. Then her lips peeled back into a grin, jagged teeth flashing. "You're talking pinks?"
The reaction was immediate. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, quick and sharp, like sparks catching dry tinder.
"No way… did she just say pinks?"
"She's dead. She's actually dead."
"Nobody challenges for pinks unless they're ready to lose everything."
Even the hardened crews shifted uncomfortably, eyes narrowing, weighing Dahlia as if she'd just stepped into a lion's den with bare hands.
"Pinks?" Dahlia repeated, ears twitching, head tilting in confusion.
Daichi's blood ran cold. He surged forward, grabbing her arm and yanking her back like she'd just signed her own death warrant. "No!" he blurted. "No, she does not want to race for pinks." He pulled Dahlia close, furiously whispering into her ear. "Dahlia. Talk. Now!"
Dahlia's eyes went wide as Daichi dragged her back a few steps, spinning her to face him. His face was ashen. "Do you have any idea what you just said? You think this is some dumb anime wager? This isn't Kaiji. If you lose, it's over. You don't just walk away from pinks."
"Firstly," Dahlia shot back, "how about you start by explaining to me what pinks even are?"
Before Daichi could get a word out, Hazama slid into the space between them. His grin spread, predatory and gleaming, as he tipped his fedora.
"Oh, Dahlia-kun, I'm so glad you asked." His words dripped with amusement. "See, here at the MRA, people race for all sorts of trinkets. Pocket change. Bragging rights. Think of it as shiny arcade tickets or steel balls for the pachinko parlor. Enough for smokes and a cheap thrill." He spun with a flourish, coat tails fanning out. "But sometimes…" His tone dropped lower, silken and sinister. "…they race for everything."
His eyes cracked open, emerald irises gleaming slyly. "The term comes from pink slips. Back in the day, drivers would put their cars on the line. Winner drives home. Loser? Well, they take the bus." His grin sharpened as his gaze ran over her like a scalpel. "But you umas don't have the luxury of spare machines. You've only got one body."
He leaned closer with a whisper that coiled around her ear like smoke. "So, when you race for pinks… you put yourself on the line. Lose, and you don't just lose the race. You become property. Bound. Indentured. Owned by whoever beat you."
He leaned back, his spine bending in a way that seemed almost inhuman, fingers curling like talons as his grin stretched too wide. A madman savoring every syllable. "Your training. Your body. Your future. They decide where you run, what you eat, who you obey. You stop being yours. You become theirs."
Hazama snapped upright with a fluid motion, rolling his shoulders before letting out a theatrical shrug, as if the damnation he'd just described was trivial. "High risk, high reward, Dahlia-kun. That's the game."
Then his eyes slid toward Light. His grin sharpened, emerald irises glinting under the halogen. "Something your little friend there knows all too well."
Light wilted under his gaze, clutching the laptop tighter to her chest, her ears flat against her head.
Dahlia's stomach sank. Her breath hitched as she turned, looking at Light with wide eyes, finally understanding what she had meant before.
"Poor girl. Her original crew fed her to the wolves to save their pretty little tails." Hazama clicked his tongue, savoring the cruelty. "Dog eat dog, Dahlia-kun. No honor among thieves. But…" his grin sharpened, eyes narrowing. "Knowing what's at stake. Knowing what awaits you, is this really the road you want to take?"
Dahlia shut her eyes, her body tense, the weight of his words pressing down. For a fleeting second, she looked ready to fold. Daichi lunged at the opening.
"He's right!" Daichi pleaded. "Please, Dahlia, don't do this. There'll be other nights, other races. I feel bad for Light too, but this isn't our fight. We're not banned. We can still walk away. Right now. Don't throw yourself into this."
She drew in a long, sharp breath. When her eyes snapped open, they burned with resolve. "Alright."
Relief spilled across Daichi's face, until Dahlia turned on her heel, her gaze locking on Lady, her finger stabbing the air.
"You and me. For pinks," she declared, ringing clear across the garage. "I win, Light walks free. You win…" She jabbed her thumb against her chest. "You get me."
The crowd exploded. Gasps, shouts, phones once agin whipping up to capture it all. Murmurs whipped into a storm, the word pinks ricocheting through the crowd. Daichi's knees nearly buckled, his heart jackhammering against his ribs as if trying to escape.
Lady froze, caught off guard by the sudden challenge. She glanced at her crew, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the crowd. Her jagged teeth clenched, and she spat back with a snarl, "Screw that! I've got bigger races to run. Sides, I already beat you once."
"Oh, yeah?" Dahlia's smirk twisted sharp. "Then it should be easy. Unless…" her tone dropped into mocking sing-song, "you're scared. What'll they call you, huh? My Fair Lady, running from a half-broken rookie who face-planted her way down to the finish line?"
The crowd seized it instantly. Jeers rang out, cruel and relentless.
"Scaredy-cat!"
"She called you out!"
"Chicken!"
"Running from a rookie, Lady?"
Even Queen's crew couldn't resist. Smirks curled at their mouths, heads tilting as though savoring the unfolding spectacle. Yamiyo Breaker stood with her arms folded, posture iron, but the glint in her eyes betrayed her anticipation.
Rekka Blaze leaned forward with that wolfish grin, her crew buzzing with restless energy. But Queen herself was different. She remained still, her calm unnerving against the storm of noise, watching with a measured gaze that gave nothing away.
Then it hit, like dry grass catching a spark, the word chicken spread through the garage. Murmurs grew into chants, voices rising in mocking rhythm. Phones lifted higher, livestreams catching every beat of the humiliation. Dozens of eyes fixed on Lady, unblinking, waiting for the jagged-toothed predator to prove she wasn't prey.
Dahlia's smirk grew razor sharp. She twisted the knife. "Come on, hotshot. Or are you worried your precious Kokuteikai are goanna figure out their boss is nothing but a loudmouth with sharp teeth and zero bite?" She leaned in. "Bet it'd sting real bad seeing yourself trend as the coward who ducked a newbie."
Her mask of bravado cracked. A bead of sweat slid down her temple as her jaw clenched, teeth bared. Her fists curled so tight her knuckles went white.
"Fine!" she roared, cracking over the crowd's noise. She stomped a foot forward, her jagged grin cutting viciously across her face. "I accept! You want pinks, birdie? You got it! And when I'm done, you'll be crawling on your knees begging to serve!"
The garage erupted again, half in awe, half in bloodthirsty excitement.
Lady threw her arms wide. "We finish this right here, right now!" she snarled.
But before the tension could snap, Hazama slid in between them, hands raised as though calming wild dogs. "Whoa, whoa, ladies, please. Hold your horses." His grin sharpened. "Pardon the pun."
He let the silence hang for a beat before flicking his gaze down at Dahlia's torn boots. "As much as I'd love an instant rematch, I'm afraid our little Blackie isn't exactly in racing condition. Not after eating half the garage floor. And between you and me—" he leaned in, "—that performance was pitiful."
The murmurs rippled, some laughter following. Hazama clapped once, loud, commanding the room. "So here's what I propose. You're bruised, she's battered, and the crowd deserves a show. Let's make this official." He spread his arms wide, feeding on the roar that followed. "Bets on the line. Pink slips intact. Winner walks away with a body and a purse." His tongue clicked against his teeth, almost tasting the frenzy. "One month from tonight. One. You have that long to lick your wounds and train your guts out."
His eyes flicked between Lady and Dahlia. Both, after a beat, nodded.
Hazama's grin split ear to ear as he whirled back to the crowd. "You heard it here, boys and girls! Mark your calendars, call your bookies, put your brats to bed, because in one month, we're having ourselves a war!"
The garage exploded in cheers, stomps and chants shaking the concrete. Hazama tilted his fedora, already motioning toward the far end. "Now that you're all marinated and primed, shall we get on with tonight's main event?"
Lady scoffed, lips curling as she cast Dahlia one last contemptuous glare before turning on her heel. Her crew fell in behind her like shadows, Light trailing reluctantly at the rear. Just before disappearing into the throng, Light glanced back, her eyes soft with apology and fear, a fleeting plea hidden in the look.
Dahlia held that gaze for as long as it lingered, then fixed her own on the floor. Her hand rose to the mask, tugging it free. She stared at it for a beat, the cheap fabric resting against her torn, bloodied gloves. Then her fingers curled, crushing it into her palm until her knuckles whitened. Her chest heaved, jaw locked. This wasn't defeat. This was the opening shot. A month. That's all she needed. A month to claw her way up, sharpen herself into a blade, and take back what Lady had no right to own.
Her eyes narrowed, burning through the neon haze. This wasn't the end. This was the beginning.
Behind her, Daichi dragged his palm down his face, groaning like the weight of the world had landed squarely on his back. He muttered under his breath, "You know, prison's starting to sound like a goddamn vacation."
****
From the far end of the garage, Logan's gaze lingered on Dahlia through the haze of neon and smoke. For a moment, something in his face flickered. Recognition, maybe even the beginnings of resolve, but he smothered it before it could take root. He dragged deep on his cigarette, holding the burn in his chest until it hurt, then exhaled slow, letting the smoke bleed away like a sigh he didn't want to give voice to.
The butt dropped from his fingers, hissing faintly as it hit the concrete. He crushed it under his loafer, hard enough to grind out more than just the ember. Then, with a practiced motion, he tugged the hood of his jacket up over his head, shadow swallowing his features. Hands sank into his pockets, shoulders set, as though the act itself was armor.
Without another look, he turned and walked for the exit, every step steady, purposeful. Like a man pulling himself away before he was dragged back in. Dahlia might have lit the spark, but Logan had no intention of feeding the fire.
Not yet.