Nightfall at the Starting Line
The moon hung low over Araumi, its pale glow casting long shadows across the weathered asphalt. Mist clung to the trees like breath on glass, swirling faintly in the mountain breeze. Two cars sat at the start line, engines idling in the cold dark, each bathed in ghostly silver—one lean and modest, the other wide and aggressive. Two silhouettes etched in moonlight.
Collei's AE86 Trueno stood quietly, white paint glowing faintly under the moon, twin headlights like the eyes of a hunter lying in wait. Beside it, Feixiao's Lancer Evolution IX looked feral in comparison—matte black, snarling with its deep-tuned idle, vented hood barely containing the heat of the beast beneath.
Feixiao leaned against her Evo, arms folded, the red-and-black racing jacket slung lazily over her shoulders. Her posture was casual, but her eyes were sharp—measuring, calculating, enjoying the calm before the fire. A confident smirk tugged at her lips.
"Just remember, kid," she said, voice steady, her tone smooth but edged with excitement. "Drive your heart out. No winners, no losers tonight. Just two drivers going all out for the hell of it."
Collei gave a small nod, then flashed a thumbs-up. "Got it!"
Feixiao chuckled, pushing off from the Evo with a little spring in her step. "Good."
She climbed into her machine and shut the door with a purposeful thunk. A moment later, the Evo came alive with a sudden snarl—turbo hissing faintly, exhaust burbling through a tuned straight pipe.
Collei took one last deep breath, fingers tightening around the wheel of the Eight-Six. Her eyes flicked across the dash—tach, oil pressure, water temp. Everything looked steady. She pressed in the clutch, clicked the gear lever into first, and revved the engine lightly.
This was it.
With a synchronized roar, both machines launched forward into the night.
The quiet stillness shattered in an instant—rubber screeched, engines howled, and taillights carved bloody trails through the shadows.
The exhibition run had begun.
Downhill, At Speed
The Evo IX surged forward like a war beast uncaged, its turbocharged powerband kicking in hard, spitting raw torque through all four wheels. The Eight-Six stayed glued to its rear bumper, clinging on with sheer momentum and featherlight precision. Collei rode the slipstream, refusing to fall behind.
As the first hairpin loomed, Feixiao's brake lights flared for a split-second—and then she flicked the car sideways, executing a surgical four-wheel drift. Tires screamed, smoke vented in plumes from all four corners, the Evo clawing its way through the corner like it was built from muscle and violence.
A breath later, Collei matched the move. Her left foot danced over the clutch as she downshifted with a firm blip, rear tires locking just enough to let the car pivot. The Eight-Six rotated gracefully, keeping a razor-tight line through the apex, suspension compressing hard as she exited at full throttle.
The two cars roared past a small crowd of nighttime spectators stationed by the guardrail—silhouettes caught in the blur of motion and the strobing flash of passing headlights. Among them stood Ningguang and Keqing, arms folded, eyes fixed.
Keqing tilted her head, eyebrow raised. "Are they racing? Or just showing off?"
Ningguang's lips curled into a slight smirk. "Exhibition run," she said, tone amused. "But make no mistake—they're pushing it."
A Dance Through the Mountain Pass
The next sector narrowed—a winding technical descent framed by rock walls and thick forest. Corners came in rapid succession, no straights long enough to breathe.
Collei kept her foot buried as they approached a fast right-hander that tightened halfway through. She let the outside wheels skim the white line, then tucked in tight, brushing the hedges with her side mirror as the Trueno cut a surgical line through the corner.
Up ahead, Feixiao danced with mechanical precision. The Evo's AWD system bit into the pavement with brutal force, her throttle control immaculate. She positioned herself for each corner like she'd memorized every crack in the road.
Above, their headlights flickered through the trees in a weaving pattern of violence and grace—like twin fireflies locked in an aerial duel.
Suddenly, a sharp popping echoed down the pass—BANG-BANG-BANG, like firecrackers going off mid-corner.
Keqing's ears twitched. "Hey. Ningguang. Did you hear that? The Evo's exhaust—it sounds wrong."
"Not wrong," Ningguang replied, eyes never leaving the road. "That's Feixiao's secret weapon. She's running an anti-lag system. Straight from WRC."
"Misfiring system?"
"In layman's terms, yes. It injects fuel during throttle lift to keep the turbo spinning. It sounds violent, because it is. But it means she never loses boost pressure, even mid-corner. And on Araumi, where you're constantly dancing between throttle and brake? It's a huge edge."
Keqing narrowed her eyes as the cars screamed past another corner. "No wonder she's pulling harder out of the turns."
"She's not just fast," Ningguang murmured. "She's surgical. Gymkhana trained. Years of dancing in parking lots, underpasses, abandoned lots—places where one bad input ends with a spinout or a busted bumper. She's honed it all into precision violence. And now?"
Ningguang's golden eyes narrowed. "She's sharper than ever."
The Chase Intensifies
Feixiao stole a glance in her rearview mirror. Her lips curved.
Still there.
The white AE86 was stuck to her tail like glue, refusing to yield even an inch.
"Impressive, kid," she muttered. "You're keeping up on your first run down Araumi. But let's see how long you can hold on."
Another hairpin came fast—a brutal U-turn.
Both drivers hit the brakes simultaneously. Feixiao dove in, the Evo's rear swinging out in a perfect slide, gravel kicking up from the edge of the curb. A split second later, Collei flicked the Eight-Six into an inertia drift, her left foot tapping the brake to keep balance.
They exited side by side—but then the Evo's exhaust detonated again. BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sheer sonic blast of it rattled Collei to the core. It was like standing next to a shotgun. She flinched—just barely—but enough.
The gap widened.
"Damn that fucking backfire!" she snarled. "It's like a damn warzone!"
Feixiao's laughter echoed in her cockpit. "She's getting used to it. She's fighting through the pressure. But Araumi's not done yet…"
The Road Opens Up
The final sector of Araumi shifted—gone were the tight hairpins and blind crests. The road widened. Sweeping curves replaced the rapid-fire corners, the incline more gradual, the turns longer and faster.
Feixiao let the Evo breathe. Third gear, then fourth. She poured on the throttle, and the car responded like a banshee.
The gap grew. Half a car length. Then one.
Behind her, Collei gritted her teeth. She slammed the throttle open, tachometer needle buried past 8,000 RPM. The 4A-GE screamed in protest, every gearshift wrenching more out of an aging engine already straining at the seams.
"Come on!!" she roared. "Not now!"
She threw the Eight-Six into the next corner—late apex, light lift, perfect throttle balance on the exit.
Still losing ground.
And then, beneath the adrenaline and fury, she missed it.
The first warning tremor.
A faint metallic rattle.
A whisper of something off-beat in the harmony of engine and motion. Something internal. Something deep.
But she didn't hear it.
She wouldn't hear it.
Not yet.
A Moment of Separation
Feixiao's hands tightened around the wheel, her fingertips ghosting over the suede-wrapped rim like a pianist preparing for a final crescendo. Every fiber of her being was honed in on the road ahead, senses dialed to a razor's edge.
"Almost there," she murmured, her voice low and steady, barely audible over the low grumble of her idling anti-lag system. "One more hairpin… then the long straight."
Her pupils dilated, breath slow and even.
"I'm leaving her behind."
The last technical corner reared up—a viciously tight off-camber hairpin with a crumbling outer edge. A trap for the overeager.
Feixiao took it with clinical precision—downshifting, late braking, rotating the Evo with a faint trail-brake-induced slide. The rear flicked, the front bit, and the Lancer hooked through like it was carving steel through silk.
Behind her, Collei shoved her Eight-Six into the same corner with raw aggression. She downshifted into second with a crisp heel-toe, the revs screaming as the car pitched sideways. Tires chirped—rubber slipping just enough to rotate the chassis, but not too much to hemorrhage speed.
For an instant—a heartbeat—they were side by side.
Door to door.
Collei's eyes flicked sideways. Feixiao wasn't looking at her.
She was already shifting up.
The Evo screamed as it hit third—then fourth—turbo spool feeding a savage rush of torque to all four wheels. The anti-lag system spat a muted burble, restrained now that she was flat-out.
Feixiao planted the throttle.
The gap yawned open like a wound.
The Breaking Point
Collei's stomach twisted as she watched the Evo slingshot forward.
"No, no, no!" she yelled, her voice cracking under the strain. "The gap's increasing—I can't keep up!"
She stomped the gas, the accelerator pinned so hard the pedal stop groaned.
The 4A-GE shrieked in protest, tachometer needle hovering on the far edge of the redline—8200, maybe more—valvetrain howling like a banshee.
But it wasn't enough.
The Evo surged ahead, carving through the cold mountain air like a missile. Its AWD traction and torque-rich turbo engine turned the straightaway into its kingdom.
Collei's driving was flawless—line perfect, apexes clipped with millimeter precision—but the Eight-Six simply couldn't deliver the punch. It didn't matter how late she braked or how well she cornered. Power… power was everything here.
And she didn't have it.
"This is it," she whispered, her voice hollow, the weight of the moment crushing her chest. "This is where I lose..."
She pushed harder anyway, knuckles white on the wheel.
The Snap
Suddenly—BANG!
A concussive detonation burst from under the hood like a gunshot—raw, metallic, final.
The tach needle plummeted to zero in a split-second freefall.
A massive plume of gray smoke blasted from the hood vents, spilling over the windshield like a suffocating wave. The acrid stench of burning oil and coolant hit her nose instantly—thick, chemical, toxic.
Then the rear wheels locked.
Without warning.
No warning light, no shudder—just the sickening snap of a dead driveshaft and seized crank.
The Eight-Six broke traction violently.
The rear end slid out left—then right—then snapped full-circle as centrifugal force overtook her momentum.
Collei gripped the wheel with everything she had, sawing left, then right, then left again—trying to catch the spin, to stop the world from flipping upside down.
The tires shrieked, rubber screaming across the pavement, carving twin crescent moons of destruction into the asphalt.
Oil sprayed across the windshield in thick, serpentine streaks, blinding her.
"Come on! Come on!" she hissed through clenched teeth, slamming her left foot to the clutch and stabbing the brake.
But the car had no ABS.
The front tires seized.
Steering input meant nothing. The Eight-Six became a metal sled, skidding broadside across the asphalt, dead weight guided by inertia alone.
The Crash
The guardrail loomed—barely visible through the smoke.
But fate intervened.
With a sickening bounce, the car lurched into a gravel runoff, its tires slamming over the rumble strip and catching in the uneven terrain. The rear swung once more, thudding hard into a shallow embankment as the chassis groaned in protest.
The Eight-Six jolted to a final stop with one last metallic shriek.
A long, breathless silence followed.
Then—
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The engine bay ticked like a dying watch, warped metal cooling in the night air.
Steam hissed from ruptured coolant lines.
Oil—black, thick, and ruined—dripped from the split oil pan, pooling beneath the engine in a spreading puddle of failure.
Then a final clank from deep inside the block.
The last exhale of a once-glorious machine.
The Aftermath
Collei didn't move.
She sat in the driver's seat, eyes unfocused, her breath jagged and shallow.
Her foot still hovered over the brake, leg trembling from effort, muscles locked in a death grip of instinct and disbelief.
Then, slowly… numbly… she released it.
Her heel hit the floorboard like a stone.
The pain didn't register.
She reached for the seatbelt. The click sounded far away, mechanical, unreal.
The door opened with a groan. The cold night air rushed in—biting, sharp, clean. It hurt to breathe.
She staggered out, boots crunching on gravel, barely able to stand.
The smoke from the engine coiled around her, swallowing her in the acrid smell of burnt oil, ruptured aluminum, and vaporized coolant.
She rounded the hood.
The Eight-Six stood there—crumpled, gutted, done.
Hoses split. Belts shredded. The block cracked.
No rebuild. No resurrection.
Just… death.
Her knees buckled.
She collapsed.
The pavement scraped her palms, but she didn't notice.
Her fingers curled into tight fists.
She shook.
Tears stung her eyes, hot and blinding.
"It's gone…"
Her voice broke.
"My… Eight-Six…"
The wind moved through the trees above. The stars kept shining.
The world didn't care.
Arrival
A low growl approached—deep and rolling. Turbocharged.
Then brighter—headlights pierced through the smoke and shadows, illuminating the wreck like a spotlight on a tomb.
Feixiao's Evo IX pulled in fast—then slowed, then stopped with unusual caution.
The anti-lag was quiet now.
She didn't even let it pop.
Feixiao killed the engine and bolted out of the driver's seat, gravel spraying behind her as she sprinted toward the wreck.
"Collei!" she shouted, boots pounding the pavement. "Are you okay?!"
She dropped to one knee, hand immediately on Collei's shoulder. Her eyes scanned Collei's face, her limbs, the pale tremble in her jaw.
Then she looked at the car—and her expression fell.
The cracked valve cover.
The vaporized radiator.
The lifeblood of the engine pooling out beneath it.
"I'm so sorry, Collei," Feixiao whispered, voice hoarse with guilt.
She lingered for a beat—reaching toward Collei again, but stopping just short.
"I'll let everyone know at the summit. We'll get help. We'll tow it out… I promise."
Collei didn't answer.
She didn't move.
Just stared at the wreck like she was trying to memorize it—like looking away would mean letting go.
Feixiao stood slowly, boots scraping against the gravel.
She looked back once.
Then climbed into her Evo and started the engine gently.
No anti-lag.
No pops.
No firecrackers.
Just a quiet, respectful idle as she rolled away into the night—leaving Collei behind with her grief, the shattered dream of a machine still steaming in the moonlight.
At the Summit
The mountain air buzzed with a nervous static, tension thick in the night.
Beidou stood with her arms crossed in front of her R32, her boot tapping against the tarmac in slow, rhythmic impatience. A faint puff of condensation escaped her nose with each exhale, catching in the headlights like steam from a kettle.
"They're taking their sweet time," she muttered, her voice low, gruff.
Seele leaned against the fender of her S30Z, arms folded, one brow raised in amusement. "Yeah, but they seemed to hit it off. Probably taking the scenic route."
March 7th let out a snort of laughter from the passenger door of Beidou's car, where she perched with an open can of soda. "Collei's a magnet. No surprise she's winning hearts and races."
Amber chuckled along, her posture casual against the rear quarter of her Sileighty. "Girl's got charm, what can I say?"
But the easy smiles faltered when two familiar silhouettes emerged from the dark edge of the overlook—
Ningguang and Keqing.
Ningguang's heels clicked against the asphalt, her composure regal, unbothered by the mountain cold. A single graceful wave drew the group's attention. "Still no sign of the Eight-Six?" Her eyes swept the parking area with a clinical precision.
No one answered.
Then—
A low growl.
Not just any engine.
The snarling snort of a turbocharged inline-four echoed down the mountain like thunder behind glass.
Headlights broke through the curve.
Feixiao's gunmetal gray Lancer Evo IX crested the ridge and rolled into the summit lot with an unnatural slowness. The anti-lag system was dormant—no signature backfires, no high-strung snarl. Just the subdued hum of a wounded victory.
She parked behind Amber's Sileighty and killed the engine.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Feixiao stepped out and shut the door behind her with a soft click. Her posture told the story before her words did—shoulders low, chin tucked, eyes avoiding theirs.
Beidou's eyes narrowed, tone clipped. "What happened? Where's Collei?"
Ningguang's voice cut like a scalpel. "Feixiao." Her poise never cracked, but there was something taut in the way she said the name. "Where is she?"
Feixiao didn't meet their eyes. She let out a breath, slow, cold.
"She's okay. She's down at the emergency pull-off."
A pause. A beat.
"But…"
Another exhale. Heavier this time.
"…The Eight-Six didn't make it. The engine's toast."
Silence.
Like the mountain itself was stunned.
Ningguang blinked once. "What?"
Beidou cursed under her breath—low, furious. "You mean to tell me she blew the damn engine?"
March 7th's soda can hissed as her fingers crushed it involuntarily.
Amber's expression darkened. "What are we standing around for? Let's go down there!" She shoved off the rear fender, already reaching for her door handle.
Beidou's hand shot out, gripping her arm.
"Leave it."
Amber jerked around, incredulous. "The hell are you talking about? She's alone down there!"
"She needs space." Beidou's voice was firm. Quiet. Absolute. "Let her grieve."
Amber glared back, torn between fury and pain, but said nothing.
And the summit—
which just an hour ago had buzzed with friendly rivalry and high-octane adrenaline—
now felt hollow.
Like something vital had vanished into the dark.
Back at the Emergency Area
Collei sat slumped in the battered driver's seat, her forehead resting against the top of the steering wheel.
The cabin was thick with the acrid sting of burnt oil, the ghost of violence still clinging to the air. The faintest hiss still whispered from the engine bay—metal ticking as it cooled, fluid dripping in slow, terminal rhythm.
Her fingers trembled across the worn leather wheel, feeling every imperfection, every scratch that had once been familiar. It felt alien now. Like holding the hand of a corpse.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
She didn't even know who she was talking to. Herself? The car? The mountain?
The dull thrum of an approaching diesel engine rolled through the dark. Headlights swept across the pull-off and locked onto the wreck.
A flatbed.
It rumbled to a halt with a metallic groan, air brakes hissing like a sigh. The cab door opened with a creak.
A tall figure stepped out, silhouetted in stark contrast against the beam of headlights.
Collei's breath hitched in her throat. "D-Dad?"
Arlecchino.
She didn't say anything at first. Just walked straight to the Eight-Six's nose, unlatched the hood, and flipped it open. The hinges shrieked faintly.
A guttural snarl of twisted metal greeted her. Pistons shattered. Oil pooled like blood. A hole the size of a clenched fist gaped in the block.
Arlecchino closed the hood with one solid thunk.
"We'll talk later." Her voice was flat. Calm. Not angry. Just tired. "Let's get it loaded up first."
Collei gave a numb nod.
The winch whined. Chains rattled. The Eight-Six groaned as it was dragged onto the flatbed, its rear wheels locked stiff with death.
When it was finally secured, Arlecchino climbed back into the cab and jerked her thumb at the passenger door. "Come on. Let's head home."
Collei slid in silently.
The cab was sterile. Cold. The smell of leather, sweat, oil, and regret.
Through the side mirror, she watched her car—her everything—cradled like a body in a metal coffin.
On the Road
The engine hummed low. The headlights carved out cones of brightness against the black.
The expressway blurred past in long, silver veins.
Collei leaned against the passenger-side window, cheek pressed to the glass, watching the broken shadow of the Eight-Six behind them.
The silence in the cab was a physical thing. Dense. Unforgiving.
Finally, Collei spoke. Voice thin. Raw.
"Dad… how did you know?"
Arlecchino didn't look at her.
"I had a hunch."
Collei frowned. "A hunch?"
Arlecchino nodded once. "Yeah."
Silence again. Then—
"Dad… I have money saved. From the gas station job. Thirty grand, maybe more. I was gonna use it for college, but—maybe it's enough for a rebuild. We can fix it. We have to fix it."
Arlecchino's lips twitched into a faint smirk.
"Kiddo, you're sitting on way more than thirty grand."
Collei blinked. "Huh?"
"I started a savings account in your name back when you were still making deliveries. Tofu money adds up. I borrowed from it sometimes, sure, but last I checked… it's pushing two-fifty."
Collei sat bolt upright. "Two-fifty thousand?! Then we can—"
But the look on Arlecchino's face cut her short.
That smirk had vanished. Her grip on the wheel tightened.
"No."
"…Why not?" Collei whispered. "Is it that expensive?"
"It's not about the money."
She took a long breath, kept her voice steady.
"That engine's dead, Collei. Proper dead. We're talking catastrophic internal failure."
Collei swallowed hard. "But we can rebuild it, right? You always said you built it from the ground up. You tuned it. You loved that thing."
Arlecchino finally turned to her. Her voice lowered. Soft.
"There's a pin in the engine. Connects the piston to the con rod. Yours snapped. Piston went flying. Straight through the engine wall." She tapped her own sternum. "Right through the heart."
Collei's eyes welled again.
It was her fault. She knew it.
"I pushed it too hard…"
Arlecchino reached over, her hand settling gently on Collei's lap.
"Stop."
Her voice was quiet, but unshakeable.
"You didn't kill it. Time did. It had limits. You just… found them. I'm not mad. I'm not disappointed. I'm proud of you for pushing as far as you did."
Collei looked away, tears breaking loose and sliding silently down her cheeks.
Arlecchino gave her knee a soft squeeze before letting go.
The cab went quiet again.
Behind them, the Eight-Six lay still.
But the road ahead—
Was long.
And open.