Fate on the Open Road
Revised & Extended
Days had passed since the nerve-shredding chaos of the Gum Tape Deathmatch. Beidou still felt the echoes of that night deep in her gut—Silverwolf's wrecked Integra, Collei's haunted eyes, the smell of scorched rubber and fear. But today, the air felt lighter. Clean.
The late afternoon sun draped the landscape in gold, its rays bleeding through scattered clouds and glinting off the long ribbon of highway that carved through the open hills. The steady, guttural growl of the R32's RB26DETT engine vibrated through the floorboards as Beidou cruised at a lazy pace, the RPMs hovering low, the car practically purring. Her window was down, elbow perched casually on the sill, the breeze cutting through her wild hair.
She'd just wrapped a favor—picking up a spare head gasket and a few other odds and ends for one of the Speedsuns' newer recruits. Nothing major. Just another errand on another day.
But then—her eyes narrowed.
Up ahead, alone on the roadside, was a low-slung coupe, hazard lights blinking in steady rhythm like a heartbeat. Pale blue paint shimmered in the fading sunlight. Its aggressive aero and wide fender flares gave it a hulking stance, like a crouched animal waiting to pounce.
A Toyota GT86.
Sky blue. Rocket Bunny wide-body kit. Aftermarket wheels. Low offset. Meaty tires.
This wasn't just some teenager's toy.
Beidou instinctively downshifted—rev-matching perfectly as she eased the throttle and guided the R32 onto the shoulder with fluid precision. The turbo spooled down with a gentle whine as she coasted in behind the car.
She killed the engine, stepped out, and shut the door with a dull thunk that echoed over the empty stretch of road. The warm wind tousled her hair again as she walked forward, boots crunching over loose gravel.
"Holy shit…" she muttered, circling the front end. "That's not stock. Not by a mile."
The GT86 squatted low on coilovers, front splitter barely a few fingers off the asphalt, rear diffuser practically kissing the ground. Every detail screamed of someone who knew their shit. Someone meticulous. Passionate.
Then—a voice.
"Hey! Sorry to bug you!"
It had a clean, melodic tone, smooth but edged with exasperation. Not the panicked screech of someone helpless. More like someone annoyed they had to ask for help in the first place.
"I got a flat. Don't have a spare—just one of those shitty inflator cans. You wouldn't happen to have a plug kit, would you?"
Beidou turned, words halfway out of her mouth.
"Yeah, I keep one in the—"
She froze.
The breath caught in her throat as the girl stepped out from the driver's side of the GT86.
Hair the color of a frozen lake, shimmering blue in the late sunlight. Eyes sharp, a little tired, but unmistakably familiar. Athletic build. Confident stance. That same subtle tension in the jaw when she was irritated.
It was like being punched in the gut by a memory.
"…Eula?"
The girl blinked in shock, recognition flashing in her eyes.
"…Beidou?!"
A long, surreal pause hung in the air. Years of silence. Ghosts of Ritou. Echoes of afternoons spent loitering around garages and stolen nights tearing through back roads they weren't supposed to be on. All of it rushed back like a dam had just burst.
Eula was the first to move. She stepped forward, offering a tentative hand, her expression softening into a stunned smile.
"Beidou… I can't believe it. It's really you."
Beidou let out a breathless laugh, gripping her hand firmly. "What the actual hell. You're the last person I expected to run into out here."
"I could say the same," Eula said, brushing a wind-blown strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks coloring faintly with amusement. "Though I wish this reunion came without the tire drama."
Beidou chuckled. "Pfft. Please. Shit like this happens all the time. You got lucky I came by."
She turned back toward the R32. "Hang tight. I'll grab the kit."
As she walked away, Eula's gaze tracked her—specifically, her R32's rear windshield. The decal there was faded from sun and grime but still clear.
Speedsuns.
Eula's expression changed subtly. A flicker of thought. Something unsaid.
So she's part of that team… or rather, leading it. If that's true… maybe she knows who's behind that Eight-Six tearing up the touge…
Beidou returned a moment later, the repair kit in hand.
"Where's the damage?"
"Rear right," Eula said, gesturing. "Started vibrating like crazy. I pulled over before it got too bad."
Beidou crouched down, inspecting the puncture with a practiced eye.
"Smart. Could've been a blowout if you pushed it too hard. You're lucky it didn't eat the sidewall."
Eula leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as Beidou worked the plug into the gash. Her motions were swift, efficient, honed by a lifetime of roadside quick fixes and emergency patch jobs.
Beidou glanced up as she wiped her hands on a rag.
"Nice ride, by the way. You race?"
Eula hesitated a beat.
"Not really," she said carefully. "I just… like building them. Tuning. I take it out sometimes, but mostly I work under the hood."
Beidou gave her a knowing grin. "Right. That's how it starts."
Eula cocked her head. "And you?"
"Me? I race. Every chance I get." Beidou jerked her thumb toward her R32. "Yougou's got some of the best mountain passes in the region. I run with my crew—Speedsuns."
"Speedsuns…" Eula echoed softly.
Her gaze lingered again on the emblem, but she said nothing more.
Beidou stood up and gave the tire a firm pat.
"There. Should hold long enough to get you to a proper shop. Just don't go drifting corners till you swap it."
Eula laughed. "Noted."
She reached into her jacket, pulling out her phone. "Hey—let's trade numbers. I wanna hear more about all this. Feels like fate that we ran into each other."
Beidou unlocked hers with a grin. "Hell yeah. Let's grab coffee sometime and talk cars. Like old times."
They exchanged contacts, the simple act feeling strangely significant. A spark rekindled. The past given new momentum.
As Eula slid back into the GT86, her eyes met Beidou's one more time.
"It's really good to see you again."
Beidou leaned against her door, arms crossed, smirking.
"Yeah. You too, Eula."
Engines roared back to life, and one by one, they pulled away—two old friends now caught up in something bigger. Something only the open road could explain.
Beidou's mind buzzed as she drove.
This wasn't just a random meeting.
This was the beginning of something.
And she knew—deep down—that Eula had more under the hood than she was letting on.
Sneaky Plans and Unfinished Business
At the gas station, Beidou leaned back against the warm metal flank of her R32, arms crossed, sunglasses pushed up into her messy hair. The scent of gasoline hung faintly in the air, mingling with oil, heat, and the lingering tang of burnt rubber—an atmosphere that felt like home. She could still feel the echoes of yesterday's unexpected reunion with Eula, the memory flickering behind her eyes like a movie reel that wouldn't stop.
The garage doors were rolled open, letting the crisp morning breeze wash through the Speedsuns' base. The whole crew had gathered—restless, bored, and, as usual, way too curious for their own good.
March practically bounced on her heels, eyes wide and bright with mischief. "Hold on—you're telling me your old friend drives a tricked-out GT86? Like, Rocket Bunny wide-body kit tricked out?"
Beidou gave a low chuckle, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she nodded. "Full kit. Deep sky blue. Slammed stance. It's clean. Like, crazy clean. Didn't even know she was into cars like that."
March let out a slow, impressed whistle. "Goddamn. That's not a casual build, Beidou. That's a flex. Ain't nobody dropping Rocket Bunny money for 'just tinkering.'"
Across the lot, Seele leaned against the menacing silhouette of her Devil Z, arms folded, expression unreadable except for the subtle twitch of one eyebrow. "Where exactly are you meeting her?"
Beidou turned her head slightly, narrowing her eyes. The suspicion in her voice was immediate. "Why?"
Seele shrugged, casual on the outside, but there was a spark of calculation behind her eyes. "Just curious."
Beidou squinted at her, clearly not buying the act, but she answered anyway. "Amakane. Just a catch-up. Coffee and maybe some nostalgia. That's it."
Pela, perched on a tire stack nearby and cleaning her glasses with the edge of her hoodie, perked up. "Can we meet her?"
"Yeah!" March added immediately, practically bouncing. "I wanna see that GT86! Get some pics—maybe steal a peek under the hood…"
"Nope," Beidou said flatly, cutting them off like a guillotine. "This is between me and her. Old friends. End of story."
March pouted dramatically, clasping her hands together like a little kid begging for candy. "Pretty please? Beidou, come on—we'll behave!"
Beidou snorted, already walking off toward her R32. "Yeah, right. You three behave about as well as Seele parallel parks."
March gasped in mock offense. "I nailed that one time in front of the ramen shop!"
"And flattened a street cone," Pela muttered.
March folded her arms. "It was a small cone."
Beidou waved a lazy hand without looking back. "Still a cone."
As soon as the rumble of her car faded into the distance, Seele glanced around and gave a small, conspiratorial nod. "Okay. Here's the plan. We follow her tomorrow. Discreet. Just a little recon. I wanna see this girl."
March's face lit up with pure chaos. "Oh my god, yes. This is the perfect side quest."
Pela adjusted her glasses again, thinking it through. "We'd need to stay back a good distance. Her R32's got mirrors like a hawk's got eyes. And you know she's got instincts sharper than her clutch bite."
Collei, sitting on a nearby folding chair with her usual quiet presence, shifted uneasily. "And if she spots us?"
"She won't," Seele said with a devilish grin. "We keep it chill. Follow her to the café, check this Eula girl out, then we're gone."
Collei's lips pressed into a thin line. "You guys always say that. Then someone tries something dumb, and it turns into a disaster."
March grinned. "That's what makes it fun!"
Seele thumped the hood of her Z with a knuckle. "Let's make sure this doesn't go off the rails. We're just watching. Nothing more."
But as the gears of their plan clicked into place, none of them realized they were setting in motion more than just a harmless prank. Beidou had unfinished business with the past—and now her crew was about to stumble into the middle of it.
The Next Day
The R32 sliced through the late-morning haze like a missile. Its black paint glinted in and out of sunbeams—sometimes deep violet, sometimes oil-slick black—its profile low, menacing, and unmistakable. The RB26DETT hummed like a living thing, its song rising and falling as Beidou feathered the throttle, weaving through light traffic on the expressway toward Amakane.
Inside the cockpit, it was all precision. Her left foot rested lightly near the clutch, heel hovering. Her hand rested on the titanium shifter, fingers tapping the side of the knob. Tach needle sitting right around 3,000. The faint whistle of the twin turbos built pressure like a loaded secret.
A few car-lengths behind, keeping just enough distance to not be obvious—but not nearly enough—was March's A80 Supra, radiant and loud as hell. The HKS Hi-Power exhaust snarled with every throttle lift, attracting every stray eyeball on the road.
Inside, March was trying—and failing—to look casual.
"One hand on the wheel, check. Sunglasses, check. Low profile mode: engaged," she muttered to herself, blipping the throttle again, which let out an obnoxiously aggressive brap. "Shit. Okay, maybe not that low."
Seele rode shotgun, one arm hanging lazily out the open window, wind tugging at her leather sleeves. Her eyes were fixed forward, tracking Beidou's R32 like a hawk. "Keep some distance. She'll clock us if you're too eager."
From the back seat, Pela leaned forward, voice dry. "I told you we should've taken my MR2. Smaller profile. Quieter. Better for tailing."
March rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and you were gonna make Collei sit on your lap?"
Collei, seated next to Pela, said nothing. But her hand was gripping the passenger grab handle a little too tightly.
Then suddenly—Collei's body stiffened like a coiled spring. "Guys…" she said, her voice low and tense. "To your left."
March glanced to her left—and froze.
The R32 had dropped back. It was now right behind them. Not tailing. Not easing in. Right there. Beidou's eyes met hers in, sharp and unimpressed.
There was no mistaking that look.
A slow, predatory smirk crept across Beidou's face as she rolled up alongside them, window down.
March gave a weak wave. "Heeeey, Beidou…"
Beidou's arm rested out the window, her voice calm but lethal. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? You're louder than a fireworks festival. And this isn't some stealth op, March."
Seele gave an exaggerated shrug. "Surprise?"
Beidou stared at her, then slowly shook her head, expression half-annoyed, half-amused. "You morons suck at being subtle."
She flicked on her turn signal, R32 growling as she coasted toward the exit ramp for Amakane. As she peeled off, her voice floated back:
"Next time? At least try to follow me in something quieter than a fuckin' dragon."
March sighed as she watched the taillights vanish.
Collei covered her face with both hands. "I told you."
Amakane Café – Parking Lot
The second the Supra's twin-turbo straight-six purred into silence, March all but exploded out of the car. Her sneakers scraped the pavement in her rush, nearly tripping on her own enthusiasm. Hands clasped dramatically in front of her, she dashed over to Beidou with a sheepish grin plastered on her face.
"I'm so sorry, Beidou! Our curiosity got the best of us! Please forgive us!" she pleaded, bouncing on the balls of her feet like a guilty puppy.
Beidou groaned and rubbed at her temples with both hands, exhaling a long, tired breath through her nose. But the gesture lacked venom. Her expression—one of mock irritation—wasn't fooling anyone.
"Tch... You guys are lucky I'm in a good mood today," she muttered, giving March a sidelong glance.
March's eyes lit up like she'd just won the lottery. "So, that means...?"
Beidou crossed her arms, the leather of her jacket creaking slightly as she tilted her head, considering it. Then, with a half-defeated shrug: "Fine. I'll introduce you to her. But after that, you'd better give us some space, got it?"
March practically jumped in place, thrusting her fist into the air like she'd just nailed a clutch victory on a tight corner. "Awesome! Thanks, Beidou!"
At that moment, a sleek shadow moved into view from the other end of the lot—a woman with long, glacier-blue hair that shimmered like frost in the sun. Her posture was elegant, spine straight, steps deliberate. She wore a crisp white coat over a midnight-blue turtleneck and slacks that matched the contours of her figure like they'd been tailored in some upscale Mondstadt atelier. She looked like she belonged on a luxury runway, not pulling up in a Rocket Bunny GT86.
Beidou jerked a thumb toward her casually. "Hey, Eula. I want you to meet a few of my buddies from the crew."
Eula turned, cool eyes scanning the group with polite curiosity. "Hello," she said, voice calm and composed. "My name's Eula Lawrence. It's a pleasure."
March blinked. "She's way too classy to hang with Beidou," she whispered to Seele, who simply snorted.
Even Seele, arms folded and usually unfazed, was eyeing Eula like she wasn't sure whether to offer a handshake or a challenge. There was a precision in Eula's gaze—like she was reading them as if they were a spec sheet. Pela, meanwhile, tilted her head curiously, adjusting her glasses and filing this mysterious woman away like another piece of data to be decoded.
Beidou clapped a heavy hand on Eula's back, earning a tiny flinch and a faint wince. "Come on, Eula, let's head inside. These little shits can entertain themselves."
She tossed a half-assed wave at the others. "Scram."
Seele watched the two disappear into the café, then turned toward the others, the edges of her mouth curling into a mischievous grin. "Say... since we're already here in Amakane, why not pay the Pass a little visit?"
March's eyes lit up like headlights. "Hell yeah!" she beamed. "And the Targa top's coming off!"
No one even tried to stop her as she leapt back into the Supra. In one smooth, well-practiced motion, she unlocked the latches and carefully removed the roof panel, slotting it into the trunk with a soft thump. The moment the top was off, she fired up the engine—the Hi-Power exhaust roared in response, echoing across the empty café lot like thunder down a canyon. The sound practically dared the mountain to bring it on.
The Supra peeled out onto the road, tires chirping, the squad chasing dusk with a reckless hunger.
Inside Amakane Café
Sunlight poured in through the café's wide windows, bathing the rustic interior in warm amber tones. The place had a timeless charm—weathered wooden beams, aged tile floor, a coffee roaster in the back corner coughing out the rich scent of fresh beans. Couples and lone drivers sat in scattered booths, quietly sipping brews and watching the world roll past.
Beidou and Eula were settled in a quiet corner, a pair of tall iced coffees resting between them. Beidou leaned back, arm slung over the back of her chair, her free hand cradling her drink as condensation slid lazily down the glass.
"So, Eula," she began, fixing the woman across from her with a curious look, "gotta ask—do you race at all?"
Eula chuckled softly, the sound refined but not condescending. She reached for her coffee and took a measured sip before answering.
"Not much. I tinker, mostly. I like building things to my own spec—engine tuning, suspension setups, body kits. I'll run in circuits now and then, maybe hit a car meet, but I don't chase glory on the streets like you do."
She leaned in, her expression subtly shifting. "But you—you run a team in Yougou, right?"
Beidou gave a slow nod, pride edging into her smirk. "Yeah. That bunch you saw? My crew. They're raw, but talented. One of them—Collei—she's kind of... special. Doesn't fly any team colors. When shit hits the fan and someone needs to defend Yougou, she shows up. Doesn't even need to be asked."
Eula tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing in intrigue. "An independent, huh?"
Beidou grinned. "A lone knight. Silent, fast as hell, and drives like the road owes her something."
Eula's fingers tapped against the side of her glass. Her lips curved into a smile that held the faintest glint of excitement.
"It has to be the AE86," she murmured, almost to herself.
Beidou blinked, caught off guard. "Huh? What makes you say that?"
Eula's smile grew, just enough to show teeth. "Because I've seen it. Parked near summit points, overlooking runs like a sentinel. Never with a crowd. Always alone. That kind of car... it only makes sense if the person behind the wheel is something else entirely."
Beidou raised her drink in a lazy toast. "You're sharper than you look."
"And you're more sentimental than you let on," Eula countered, clinking her glass gently against Beidou's.
Amakane Pass – Sunset
The sun bled out behind the horizon, casting long shadows across the serpentine path carved into Amakane's mountains. Wisps of mist crept down from the ridgeline, curling between trees and crawling over the pavement like the mountain was exhaling. The low rumble of an idling engine somewhere in the distance stirred the stillness—an ominous sound against the backdrop of rustling leaves and cicadas.
The Speedsuns stood at the edge of a turnout, gazing down the pass.
March whistled low, hands on hips. "This place is nuts. Tight as hell. I can already tell I'd spin out if I braked late even once."
Seele's gaze traced the road's jagged contours—hairpins that folded in on themselves, sudden drops masked by blind corners, and narrow straights that left no margin for error. "Yeah. You don't race this road. You fight it."
She crossed her arms. "You'd need ridiculous spatial awareness and reflexes to handle this at full tilt. It's practically a rally stage."
Pela perched on the Supra's hood, her expression analytical. "If someone has set a record here, it's gotta be someone with insane discipline. This course would eat most drivers alive before they made it past the second sector."
Collei stood at the edge of the overlook, arms hanging loose at her sides, her eyes reflecting the last streaks of golden sunlight. She said nothing for a long moment—just watched the valley breathe beneath them.
Then, softly, she spoke.
"This place… it feels different. Almost like the mountain's watching you back."
The others turned, sensing something shift in her tone.
"I don't know who rules this pass," she continued, "but if someone does, they're not just a racer. They're something else."
Seele stared down the road, suddenly quiet.
Something about this place did feel different.
And somewhere—just beyond that next corner—something was waiting.
Something fast.
Something cold.
Something unfinished.
Meanwhile, at the Amakane Café…
The café was a quiet oasis tucked beneath the amber glow of dim overhead lights and polished wood fixtures, the gentle hum of a jazz vinyl spilling from a dusty corner speaker. The air was thick with the scent of dark-roasted coffee beans, burnt sugar, and the subtle perfume clinging to Eula's jacket — lavender, maybe bergamot.
Eula set her ceramic cup down with deliberate elegance, her gloved fingers tracing the lip of the mug in slow, thoughtful circles. Her expression was calm, contemplative — but the slight narrowing of her eyes gave her away.
"So, Beidou…" she said, voice smooth as silk over gravel, "what's it really like—being a street racer?"
Beidou leaned back in her seat, arm draped across the backrest, her other hand cradling a still-warm glass of whisky coffee. She smirked, but the look in her eyes was steady, grounded. "It's like throwing down a gauntlet every night you get behind the wheel. It's about territory, pride, knowing your road better than your own heartbeat. You're not just driving—you're surviving. You push past grip, past logic, trusting that your instincts can carry you through a corner at speeds that shouldn't be possible."
She took a slow sip, her voice lowering slightly. "You memorize the mountain like it's your lover. Every imperfection in the tarmac. Every rock that shifts in the rain. You race not because it's fun—though it is—but because every run feels like you're brushing against something primal. Something alive."
Eula nodded, visibly absorbed. "So it's not just a battle of engines—it's a duel of nerves and memory."
Beidou chuckled darkly. "Exactly. You want to win? You don't outpower the pass. You outthink it."
A Local Gas Station – Whispers of the GT86
A few blocks away, under the sterile blue-white glare of flickering gas station lights, the Supra idled like a caged beast—turbo whining faintly under the hood. The smell of ethanol and scorched rubber hung heavy in the night air. March and Seele stepped out, their boots crunching the loose gravel.
A scruffy attendant leaned against the pump, wiping his oil-stained hands on a rag that was already filthy. He gave the widebody Supra an appreciative once-over before smirking.
"You girls ain't from Amakane, are ya?"
March tilted her head, arms akimbo. "Was it the attitude or the plates?"
He laughed, nodding toward the rear bumper. "Mostly the attitude. And the fact you're fillin' up here means you're probably headed to the Pass."
Seele folded her arms, interest piqued. "Got any local legends we should know about?"
The attendant's grin widened, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "Yeah. They say the Queen of Amakane runs a sky-blue GT86. Light as hell, stripped down to bare essentials. It ain't about power—it's about rhythm. Precision. She dances through corners like she was born in 'em."
Pela leaned out the window, sipping canned coffee. "GT86? That's a modern chassis, right? Rear-drive boxer?"
"Yeah. Subaru flat-four, low center of gravity. Tight as hell on turns. Rumor has it that she's recently got a co-driver, too. People say the driver doesn't even need to see anymore. Just listens to the callouts and hits apexes like it's instinct."
March whistled, visibly impressed. "Damn. That's baller as hell. Most of us just wing it and hope for the best."
Seele nodded slowly. "So they're using full-on pace notes?"
"Yep. Hairpins, crests, blind off-camber switchbacks—you name it. And she knows it all. Been unbeatable for months now. Locals call her the Siren."
March's eyes widened. "The Siren?"
He grinned. "Because she lures challengers in… and wrecks their pride on the rocks."
Back at the Café – A Knight's Car
Inside, Beidou stretched, bones popping as she stood. She dropped a wad of mora on the table and shot Eula a grin. "So? Hypothetically… you thinking of joining the dark side?"
Eula smiled faintly, tapping her chin. "If I were to race… I'd want a chassis with precision. Something graceful. Something that slides when I tell it to, and only when I tell it to."
Beidou raised a brow. "You mean a drift build."
Eula nodded. "Exactly."
Beidou chuckled. "Then you picked right. GT86 is the modern samurai's blade. Lightweight, balanced, short wheelbase, high revving. You throw in a proper LSD and coilovers, and that thing'll dance through any hairpin like it's floating. Hell, my buddy's AE86 runs similar philosophy. Older, cruder, but just as deadly."
Eula's eyes narrowed slightly, catching the name. "That 'honorary member' of yours… the one who represents all of Yougou. That's the AE86 driver, isn't it?"
Beidou flashed a knowing smirk. "Told you you're sharp."
Eula's gaze lingered for a moment, thoughtful. She didn't say it aloud, but the gears were already turning.
Reuniting at the Café – The Call of the Pass
Outside, the café door rattled as March's Supra rumbled into the lot, the unmistakable bark of the 2JZ-GTE bouncing off the brick walls. The exhaust note snarled on throttle and hissed on lift-off, turbo flutter echoing into the night.
Beidou turned, hands in her coat pockets, a lazy grin forming. "Heh. Speak of the devil."
March threw the door open, half-hopping out of the driver's seat, clutching a warm cup in one hand. "Don't mind us. Just re-caffeinating for the next leg of the adventure."
Beidou waved them off. "Long as you don't burn the place down, I'm cool. I was just heading up the Pass anyway."
Seele's eyes sharpened. "Then we're following. Let's see what kind of ghosts this mountain holds."
Within minutes, engines were alive again—headlights cutting through the creeping fog, brake rotors glowing faint red as the convoy carved up the access road. The soundscape was an orchestra of combustion: the sharp growl of the Supra's inline-six, the high-rev scream of Seele's tuned S30Z, Pela's quieter but punchy hatch, and Beidou's monstrous R32 snarling like a storm beast off its leash.
The road ahead curved into shadow, lined with dying leaves and cracked pavement. The night was young—but the Pass? The Pass was eternal. And somewhere up there, the Siren was waiting.