Days had passed since Team Speed Stars' triumphant domination of Musouji Pass. The glory still hung faintly in the air, like the lingering scent of burned rubber and hot brake pads. Yet at the gas station, life had slowed to its usual rhythm. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over oil-stained pavement. A quiet wind drifted through, ruffling Beidou's jacket as she moved her broom across the concrete with slow, deliberate strokes. March mirrored her, slightly out of sync, humming tunelessly as she swept near the service bay.
Near the front counter, Amber leaned back against the cooler with a bottle of Pocari Sweat in one hand, mid-story. Seele stood across from her, arms folded, listening with that lopsided smirk that only grew when things got absurd.
Then came that sound—the sharp, clean snarl of a naturally aspirated engine at high RPM, light on displacement but heavy on soul. A few heads turned automatically. Beidou's ears perked. March stopped mid-sweep. The familiar rasp of a 4A-GE 20V Silvertop cut through the afternoon silence like a knife. Seconds later, the black-and-white AE86 coasted into the lot with almost theatrical precision, the exhaust note trailing off into a subdued burble as it rolled to a perfect stop just feet from the crew.
The engine clicked and pinged as it cooled. The driver's door opened.
Collei stepped out with a kind of relaxed ease that only comes after a long, hard climb finally levels off. She looked different—same face, same clothes, same soft-spoken manner—but there was steel behind her smile now. Confidence. Real confidence, not the shaky kind built on borrowed pride.
Beidou raised a hand, leaning on her broom. "Hey, Collei! Off-duty for once?"
Collei nodded and closed the door with a muted clack, the sort of sound that told you the car was in perfect shape. "Oh yeah, finally," she said, rolling her shoulders. "Feels like I've been driving nonstop for a week."
Amber bolted across the lot and nearly tackled her in a hug. "Collei! Congratulations! You've been killing it out there!"
Collei returned the embrace without hesitation, the corner of her mouth tugging up in that crooked little grin she'd always had—but now it looked earned. "Thanks, sweetheart. It's been a wild ride, huh?"
Seele and March joined them quickly, and the whole crew clustered together, trailing Collei back toward the garage. The air buzzed with warmth—no pressure, no rivalries, just the glow of shared ambition.
March practically bounced in her sneakers. "This is it! This is the moment I've been waiting for!"
Collei arched a brow, glancing over at her. "Waiting for what?"
March nudged her elbow into Collei's ribs like a kid about to show off a new toy. "You know what I mean—my Supra! It's in the shop right now getting converted to a GTE. Real shit. No limiter. No comfort mode. Just power."
Collei blinked, then whistled low. "No kidding? That serious, huh?"
March nodded furiously, eyes glittering. "Oh yeah! In two, maybe three days, it's gonna be back in my arms—ready to eat pavement!"
She turned on Beidou then, the grin never fading. "And when that happens, I'll be just as fast as you!"
Beidou let out a rich, amused laugh, shaking her head like an older sister watching her sibling talk big. "You wish, rookie. I just reinstalled the ATTESA ETS in my R32. Not just the old system either—I upgraded to the Pro version from the R34s. Torque split, yaw control, real-time vectoring. You're gonna need a lot more than a tuned 2JZ to catch me."
That broke the tension. Laughter rolled through the group, loud and honest. For a moment, the only thing that mattered was the future—the cars they'd build, the roads they'd conquer, and the legends they'd leave behind.
Later that night, under the dim gleam of the moon, the mood was far colder.
At the Feiyun garage atop Musouji Pass, the concrete was slick with dew. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Thoma and Heizou loaded equipment into the trunk of their GRB Impreza. The defeat still hung on their backs like weighted vests—neither had said much since the race. The air between them was taut, unspoken.
Then came the crunch of tires on gravel.
Headlights flared behind them. They turned.
A sleek silver hatch rolled to a stop, engine ticking. The driver's door opened, and a slender figure stepped out, boots crunching the gravel. The harsh glow silhouetted her—arms crossed, legs firm, face unreadable. Then she stepped forward.
Thoma's eyes widened. "Shinobu? What the hell are you doing here?"
Shinobu's gaze didn't soften. She came to a stop just meters away, her tone as cold and sharp as the mountain air. "Word is, you two let a bunch of outsiders walk all over you. On your home course. Want to explain how the fuck that happened?"
Heizou looked down, jaw clenched. Thoma exchanged a glance with him, then sighed. "We... weren't expecting their level. They were faster. Cleaner. They got in our heads."
Shinobu's eyes narrowed. Her voice dropped half an octave. "Faster? You were trained by rally royalty. You've both done pace notes in fog at 3 AM. I've seen you run in the rain without windshield wipers. And you got outclassed?"
Her boots scraped the gravel as she took a step closer. "Spill it. Every turn. Every mistake."
Elsewhere, in the warm wood-paneled office behind the main garage, Xingqiu leaned back in a creaky chair, a teacup in one hand. The window behind him showed the distant lights of the track, shimmering through the haze. Shinobu stood at the far end of the room, pacing, arms folded tight, face drawn with frustration.
Eventually, she sat, elbows on her knees, and let out a long breath.
Xingqiu watched her with calm eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "You've got to ease up on them," he said gently. "Everyone loses. It's part of the game. That sting you're feeling? That's humility. It's how we grow."
Shinobu scowled. "I know that. But still... You're their instructor, and you're younger than both of them—hell, younger than me. But you have more technical knowledge in one hand than most racers have in their whole damn body. Doesn't it sting you?"
He set the teacup down. The sound was quiet, deliberate. "Of course it does. I started the Feiyun School to build something. A place to hone real skill, not just flash. But you—you've been different lately. On track, off track. Especially on circuits. What's changed?"
She leaned back, arms crossed now. Her eyes were distant, shadowed. "Racing these days? It's a fucking joke. Sponsors, contracts, politics. Drivers faking shit for cameras. The thrill's still there—but it's not about the thrill anymore. It's about selling a narrative."
Xingqiu's smirk grew, but his voice stayed level. "So you're looking for something... cleaner. Something real."
Her eyes locked with his. "Damn right. I want to settle this. The old way. I want to challenge Team Speed Stars. No cameras. No deals. Just skill versus skill. I'm calling for a rematch—on behalf of the school."
Xingqiu didn't answer right away. He just nodded, eyes narrowing with thought.
The fire was back.
And soon, it would ignite the mountain once again.
Back in Yougou, dusk casts long shadows across the empty lot behind the tofu shop. The air is still, punctuated only by the faint rustle of wind through trees and the distant buzz of cicadas. Collei leans against the wall with arms crossed, eyes scanning the street in anticipation. Then, the quiet is shattered.
A raw, high-pitched mechanical scream cuts through the silence—metallic and urgent. The unmistakable bark of a naturally aspirated Group A 4A-GE engine, individual throttle bodies singing in unison, bounces off the buildings as the AE86 barrels down the road and into the lot with precision. The tires hiss as the car comes to a halt beside her, its idle burbling in a deep, rhythmic pulse.
Arlecchino steps out, the door creaking slightly as she slams it shut. There's a subtle satisfaction in her stride, a predator's grace honed by decades of intuition behind the wheel. She throws a glance over her shoulder at the Eight-Six and gives the roof a solid pat.
"I'm impressed," she says, her voice low but charged with conviction. "Your team really nailed it this time. Perfect balance. The throttle response, the suspension feedback, even the differential setup—it's all dialed in. Car like that makes racing a hell of a lot easier, doesn't it?"
Collei pushes off the wall and walks toward her, arms still folded. She glances at the AE86, her expression unreadable. "Maybe. But every race feels harder than the last. Doesn't matter how well the car's tuned—it's only a matter of time before someone faster shows up."
Arlecchino's smile fades into a quiet sigh. She leans her weight on the car, crossing her arms. "Not gonna lie, kid… part of me wants your streak to keep going. Sure, you learn more from losing. But what you're doing right now? Dominating with an old Eight-Six against cars way out of your league? That's something special. People remember that."
Collei says nothing at first, her gaze drifting to the front bumper of the AE86—black, chipped, and worn, but still defiant. Arlecchino watches her a moment longer, then straightens up and jerks her head toward the car.
"You know, considering you technically only own half of it," she says, voice lightening, "you're getting more out of this thing than I ever did. Maybe it's time I get myself something new."
Collei blinks. "A new car? Wait—seriously?"
A low chuckle rumbles from Arlecchino's throat. "Yeah. Been thinking about it for a while. Something with bite. Maybe I'll talk to Lynette—see if she can hook me up with something stupid fast. Something a little… different."
Collei raises an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "What kind of 'different' are we talking?"
A glint of mischief flashes in Arlecchino's eye as she turns away, already imagining possibilities. "That's for me to figure out. But you'll see soon enough."
A day later, sunlight filters through the vast windows of Ningguang's private estate, gleaming across polished marble and carefully curated furniture. Keqing stands outside the study, one hand loosely curled as she knocks against the lacquered wood.
"Ning? Got a minute?"
From within, Ningguang's serene voice carries out, calm and measured. "Come in."
Keqing steps inside, her stance casual but her eyes laced with tension. "So… it's true? Feiyun's asking for a rematch?"
Ningguang doesn't look up immediately. She finishes annotating a document before gently setting her pen aside. "Yes. One of their own reached out. A graduate."
Keqing frowns and leans closer. "Seriously? After how badly they lost?"
"It seems they've found someone new," Ningguang says with a sigh, finally rising from her desk. "I've already called Collei and Clorinde. They should be here shortly."
As if summoned by fate, a throaty, animalistic roar echoes outside—first the savage snarl of a supercharged inline-four engine, then the familiar wail of high-revving ITBs. Ningguang steps onto the porch just as two machines pull up the driveway.
The first: a Lancia 037, its Martini livery gleaming beneath the sun, the bodywork pristine and wide, riding low like a beast on a leash.
The second: the Eight-Six—black over white, simple and unpretentious, yet undeniably lethal.
Engines idle down, ticking softly as Collei and Clorinde step out.
"Thanks for coming on such short notice," Ningguang says as the group gathers.
"No big deal," Collei replies with an easy smile.
Clorinde brushes a strand of hair back and crosses her arms. "So? What's going on?"
Ningguang draws in a breath, her expression clouded. "Feiyun's requesting a rematch. Three days from now."
Clorinde's eyes widen slightly. "That soon? Who's driving?"
Ningguang gives a small shake of her head. "A new driver. But I'm not too concerned. Here's the plan—we use the Lancia for all visible practice sessions. Let them believe you're racing, Clorinde."
Collei glances at Clorinde, confused. "Wait, so who's actually racing?"
"You are," Ningguang says, her tone razor-sharp. "But we keep that quiet. Let them think the fight is between equals—two top-tier cars. That way, when the Eight-Six shows up on race night, it'll be too late to strategize."
Clorinde frowns. "But why? The Lancia's faster. Better suited for technical courses."
"That's exactly why," Ningguang says, voice cool. "This isn't just about winning. This is about sharpening Collei's mind—forcing her to rely on adaptability and composure under pressure. The Eight-Six will test that in ways the Lancia never will."
The logic lands hard, but Clorinde nods slowly. "Understood."
"Good," Ningguang continues. "We'll begin stage two today. Collei, we're going to lighten your car. Carbon hood and headlight covers. Fiberglass hatch, polycarbonate glass. Strip out what you don't need."
Collei's posture straightens, her voice steady. "Got it. I'll take it to Albedo now."
Ningguang claps once. "Alright, team—get moving. We've got work to do."
The girls nod and head for their machines. Engines fire up again, snarling to life as they pull away toward Yougou.
That night, moonlight filters into Ningguang's office as she pores over racing footage of Fujitou Pass. Each turn, every elevation change and camber variation, is committed to memory. Her pen moves in crisp, precise strokes as she plots the battle ahead.
Her phone buzzes.
"Hello?" she answers, barely glancing at the screen.
"Ningguang. It's Feixiao."
That name gets her attention. She leans back in her chair, tone softening. "Feixiao. Been a while."
"Yeah. I'll cut to the chase—don't take this race lightly."
Ningguang frowns. "Why?"
Feixiao's voice is flat and grim. "The driver they're sending—her name's Kuki Shinobu. From Inazuma's pro circuit. She's the real fucking deal, Ning. Not some weekend warrior. She's raced at Suzuka. Tsukuba. Even Fuji Speedway."
Ningguang's eyes narrow. "Why would Feiyun field a professional?"
"My guess? They're setting you up. You're not racing the school anymore. You're racing its reputation."
A pause. Then Feixiao adds: "If you're going through with this, don't use the Eight-Six. Put Clorinde in the Lancia. It's your best shot."
Up in the mountains of Fujitou Pass, the sharp rasp of a boxer engine tears through the quiet. Flames spit from the exhaust of a jet-black Subaru Legacy RS, the car squatting on downshifts and lunging through each apex with surgical aggression. The tail slides wide at every hairpin, tires screaming—but the car never loses line.
Kuki Shinobu is at the wheel, her hands smooth, deliberate. Right foot planted, left dancing on the brake. Every motion is calculated. Ruthless.
Thoma and Heizou stand beside Xingqiu's support van, eyes wide.
"That's… holy shit," Thoma mutters. "The Feiyun demo car's fast, but she's making it look like a toy."
Heizou just nods, stunned into silence.
The car slides to a controlled halt in front of the van, brakes hissing. Shinobu steps out and strips off her gloves, the air around her humming with adrenaline.
"How's she running?" Xingqiu asks, not even looking up from his telemetry tablet.
Shinobu cracks her neck. "Stable, but it needs to rotate faster on entry. Change the center diff. Rear-bias the torque—60/40. Let the tail kick out sooner."
Xingqiu gives a quiet nod. "Understood. Anything else?"
"I'll tell you after the next run."
She turns back toward the car, eyes sharp. She doesn't smile.
Not yet.
Meanwhile, at a rest area just shy of the pass, the distinct, high-pitched idle of a modified inline-four cut through the still air. Collei's Eight-Six rolled in, headlights sweeping across the lot like twin blades before the car settled under the streetlights. The once modest panda scheme was gone—replaced by the quiet menace of raw carbon fiber across the hood and headlight covers, dark and matte like a warplane. The fiberglass rear hatch and polycarbonate window gleamed under the sodium glow, giving the hatchback a lean, stripped-down presence. It looked less like a street car and more like a blunt instrument.
Keqing's eyes widened. Her jaw slackened for half a breath. "Holy shit… it looks like a whole new car."
Albedo stood nearby, wiping his fingers clean on a shop rag still streaked with grease. He didn't even look up. "Ningguang's order. Every kilogram shed counts when it's performance over everything."
Ningguang's whistle cut the chatter short like a general calling formation. She stood tall, backlit by the van's interior light, eyes sharp beneath her signature pince-nez. The whole team clustered around her—Keqing, Ganyu, Albedo, Navia—all now silent and attentive.
"Listen up," she began, no wasted words. "Collei, I've just sent a detailed video of the route to your phone. Study it. It's a hybrid course—sections of uphill, sudden transitions into downhill, all threaded together with complex switchbacks and blind entries. The kind of course that demands more than just speed. It's going to wring out every last bit of your skill. You have to be reactive, fast, and intuitive."
Ganyu's eyes lit up with anticipation, but her fists balled up tight with tension. "Damn, this is gonna be amazing! So, who's taking the wheel tonight?"
Ningguang didn't blink. "The Eight-Six."
Ganyu's face snapped toward her. "Wait, what?! Why not the Lancia?"
Ningguang lifted her hand—sharp, unflinching. The command wasn't up for debate. "The Lancia's a front. I want Feiyun believing Clorinde's their opponent. The real strike comes from Collei. This entire plan hinges on whether she can perform under total pressure."
Ganyu looked like she'd been slapped. "But… the Eight-Six is outgunned! That Legacy RS is in another league!"
Ningguang's tone hardened like tempered steel. "I'm tired of repeating myself. I made this call because I believe in it. I don't want arguments—I want results. Team Speed Stars doesn't fucking back down. End of discussion."
The group fell into heavy silence, the tension nearly tactile. Glances were exchanged, shoulders tensed, but no one dared question her again. The weight of her authority—and the sheer stakes of the plan—settled like cold iron over them all.
The Following Afternoon – Inside Xingqiu's Office
The sun cast pale shafts of light through venetian blinds, striping the room like a monochrome barcode. Kuki Shinobu sat at a desk cluttered with open binders, spec sheets, and printed engine diagrams. One long leg crossed over the other, her finger skimming across the Subaru Legacy RS's drivetrain schematics. Her expression was razor-focused. All-wheel-drive torque distribution ratios. Gear spacing. Brake fade resistance. Details, always details.
The door creaked open. Thoma strolled in, his stance casual, shoulder leaning into the doorframe.
"Hey, Shinobu? Speed Stars are hitting Fujitou Pass tonight. Practice run. You tagging along?"
Shinobu didn't glance up. "No thanks. I'll stay here."
Thoma pushed off the frame, brow raised. "Really? Why? Don't you wanna see how they prep? These guys are serious."
Shinobu exhaled slowly, the trace of a chuckle threading through it. "I know what they'll do. They'll run it over and over, tweak suspension settings, maybe adjust tire pressure or shift points based on surface temps. I've seen it all before. Nothing new."
Thoma tilted his head, genuinely curious now. "Then why take this on at all? You're a pro, Shinobu. These are street racers. Isn't this… beneath you?"
She finally looked up, green eyes darkened with something more than fatigue—something jaded, a bitterness tempered by discipline. "Because I'm done with the circus," she said quietly. "These days, pro racing isn't about racing anymore. It's about contracts, merch, sponsors. Crashes are 'good television.' You win, and they just want you to smile for the camera. But on the mountain? Out here? You either drive like your life's on the line—or you lose."
She leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing. "So no, I'm not going easy. I'm not here for the crowd. I'll race them like I'd race anyone—with everything I've got. Full edge."
Later That Night – Fujitou Pass
Night had swallowed the world in a cloak of black and gray. The air was damp with mist and exhaust. In the parking lot near the course's start, yellowish streetlamps cast warped reflections on the hoods of two parked machines—the Eight-Six and the Lancia 037. Both cars idled quietly, like predators waiting for the hunt to begin.
Ningguang stood at the center of it all, arms crossed, the crisp edge in her voice slicing through the buzz of last-minute prep.
"This course is deceptive," she said. "You can't rely on rhythm alone. Uphill power matters, but the descents punish overconfidence. Technical transitions will test steering precision, brake modulation, and—most of all—focus."
She turned toward Clorinde. "You're not racing tonight. But you will act like you are. I want Feiyun believing this is your fight. You drive like the world's watching. Got it?"
Clorinde's expression was unreadable. She nodded once and climbed into the Lancia. Seconds later, the beast awakened—supercharged four-cylinder snarling, barking through twin exhausts. Her tires chirped as she launched, rubber grabbing at pavement like claws. Within moments, she disappeared into the tree-lined darkness.
Collei stood by her car, silent. Her hand hovered over the ignition.
Albedo leaned in by her window, voice low. "She's running hot tonight. Don't let it throw you off."
Collei nodded. "I won't."
He softened slightly. "Remember, this isn't the match. Just the course. The only enemy out there right now is the road."
Her grip on the wheel tightened. "I know. I'm going."
The 4A-GE coughed once, then settled into a sharp, steady idle. Collei dumped the clutch. The featherweight chassis surged forward with clean, brutal urgency. The Eight-Six vanished into the pass, its tail lights flickering like embers being blown into the wind.
Back at the Parking Area
Keqing leaned against the van, arms crossed, watching those lights disappear. She turned to Ningguang, voice low.
"I still don't get it. Why pick the Eight-Six for this? And why bring your FC at all? Something's off."
Ningguang barely turned her head. "The FC was for a course recon earlier today. That's it. As for the Eight-Six? I've explained already. You need to trust the decision."
Keqing's eyes narrowed. "You're never this vague. What's going on with you?"
For a moment, Ningguang's mask cracked. A flicker of fatigue, almost imperceptible, passed across her face before she sighed.
"I'm just… exhausted," she muttered. "I haven't slept in three days thanks to that fucking quarterly report. I'm running on fumes."
Keqing blinked. "Wait, what? Then why the hell are you—"
"I need rest. Just a couple of hours." She gestured toward the van. "Handle things until I'm up."
Then, without waiting for a reply, Ningguang stepped into the van and closed the door behind her. Seconds later, she was out cold.
Keqing stared after her, baffled. "You've gotta be kidding me…"
On the Course
Clorinde's hands were fluid, precise—part fencer, part surgeon—as she whipped the Lancia through a descending S-curve. The tires screamed but held. Her foot feathered the throttle as the boost surged in. The chassis twitched on rebound, but she caught it clean.
She muttered to herself, eyes sharp. "She wasn't kidding. These elevation shifts are murder. Hard to build rhythm. One mistake and you're oversteering into the trees."
Still, her pace didn't falter. She drove as if that pro racer were right behind her—like there was no room to breathe.
Moments later, a roar of induction echoed up from the opposite direction. Collei's Eight-Six tore through the darkness, the 4A-GE screaming at 8,000 RPM. The two cars passed each other on a straight—two wolves sharing a glance in the wild. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, no words needed.
Mutual respect.
And then they were gone.
Back at the Lot
Keqing exhaled, her breath fogging in the cool night. "I still don't know what the hell she's thinking…"
Albedo approached quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder. "She has her reasons. Trust that she knows the stakes better than any of us."
A short distance away, Navia knelt beside the Lancia, slipping on a new set of semi-slick Pirellis. She dropped the jack, gave the car a firm pat, and called out.
"She's ready!"
Clorinde returned, flicked the wheel, and yanked the handbrake—executing a perfect 180-degree turn without a word. Then she was off again, tires shrieking like banshees.
Minutes later, the Eight-Six rolled back in. Collei pulled into place for a setup tweak. Albedo was already there with tools in hand.
The night wore on. Run after run. The mist thickened. Headlights cut through it like blades, again and again.
By the time the first light of dawn began bleeding into the sky, it was clear.
The real race hadn't even started.
But war was coming.