Scene 1 — Afternoon at the Docks
Three days later, Kenta was still pretending nothing had changed.
He kept delivering noodles, though customers now looked at him like a punch line he didn't understand.
Word spread fast in Sendai.
The Tofu Ghost had returned—and apparently, he drove a beige delivery van.
That afternoon, a regular order sent him to the Sendai Port Garage, a hangout for small-time racers and ex-mechanics.
He parked, stepped inside, and breathed in the mix of oil, salt, and burnt coffee.
A half-dozen men were huddled around a small holo-screen, replaying footage of the Kurage run.
The van slid sideways across the misted road.
Laughter filled the room.
"Yo, it's the Ghost himself!"
"Come on, man—what's the secret? How'd you stay upright?"
Kenta didn't answer.
He set the order on the counter and waited for payment.
Attention felt like a mistake someone had filmed too well.
Then a voice came from the back—rough, calm, amused.
"You the noodle driver?"
A tall man stepped into the light—mid-thirties, jacket half-zipped, cigarette glowing between his fingers.
Behind him, covered in dust, sat a white 2025 GR86.
Its paint had gone matte with neglect, one headlight cracked.
Even dead, it looked fast.
"Yeah," Kenta said. "Delivery's thirty-eight-fifty."
The man smiled.
"Forget that. Let's talk about your van."
He walked around him, slow, like measuring.
"You drive with instinct. No technique. No fear.
How about a real race?"
Kenta frowned.
"I'm not a racer."
"Then don't treat it as race. Just drive."
The man flicked his cigarette, sparks dying in the puddles.
"Win, and that car's yours."
"The white one?"
"She's been sitting for years. Someone should make her move again."
"And if I lose?"
"You deliver ramen to this garage. Free. For a month."
A fair bet, if you ignored the part where he didn't want to do either.
Scene 2 - The Race
They gathered at the docks.
The air carried a soft fog from the sea.
Two cars waited under the floodlights - Kenta's van and the challenger's old hybrid hatchback.
Spectators formed a line down the wet street.
Engines idled.
Someone raised a hand.
When it dropped, the world snapped forward.
The hatchback leapt ahead, silent and smooth.
The van lumbered after it, whining with effort.
Kenta's hands gripped the wheel, his knuckles white.
He knew every bump of this road from deliveries.
The salt, the grooves, the curve near the storage yard that always flooded when it rained.
Halfway down, the hybrid hit the puddle - hydroplaned, fishtailed.
Kenta didn't think; he just reacted.
He eased off the pedal, caught the drift, and glided through the spray.
When he crossed the finish line, the van wasn't fast - but it was still moving.
The other car wasn't.
Silence hung in the fog.
"You gotta be kidding me," someone muttered.
The man from the garage lit another cigarette.
He looked at Kenta, then at the van, and laughed quietly.
"You're not good," he said. "You're just... impossible."
He walked over, pressed the keys into Kenta's hand.
"She doesn't run. Probably never will. But I made a bet."
Kenta stared at the keys - heavy, cold metal in his palm.
He didn't say thank you.
He just nodded once.
Scene 3 - Back at Harbor Noodles
The tow truck pulled up hours later.
Teo stood at the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag.
The GR86 rolled down the ramp and came to rest beside the van.
It looked like scraps, one headlight reflecting the neon sign from the shop.
Teo: "That yours?"
Kenta: "Kind of."
Teo: "Does it run?"
Kenta: "Not yet."
Teo didn't speak again.
He turned back to the kitchen, leaving the night to its silence.
Kenta crouched by the car, tracing the crack along the headlight.
Rain began to fall again - soft, steady, forgiving.
He whispered to the car.
"Guess we'll figure it out."
Behind him, the waves hit the dock in slow rhythm - as if the sea was nodding in approval.
End of Episode 2 - "The Bet"