"I got a letter. Not an email—a damn letter. From Germany. Mercedes-AMG. They'd been watching me since the GT500 days. Simon. Remember him? From the '91 Grand Prix weekend? He moved to Mercedes-AMG by then, overseeing a development program for DTM. Deutsche Tourenwagen Masters."
Ayaka leaned forward. "They really just offered you a seat like that?"
Daichi shook his head. "Not at first. They offered me a test."
He walked slowly toward the rear wall, resting a hand on a stack of old tires. "Mercedes-AMG had been watching me. I didn't know it then, but Simon had shown my Fuji and Suzuka telemetry from Formula Nippon directly to the team principal. My aggression, braking patterns… even how I managed tire degradation."
Takamori raised an eyebrow. "Simon really believed in you that much?"
Daichi nodded. "He told me, 'The best talent rarely screams for attention. It whispers in the data.'" He smiled faintly.
"January 2002. Hockenheimring. My first DTM test. Cold, unforgiving wind, and a paddock full of names I'd only read about in Autosport magazines. My hands were sweating before I even put on my gloves."
Rin raised an eyebrow. "What was the car like?"
"Alien," Daichi replied. "Carbon-fiber monocoque, full ground effect tunnels, and enough downforce to pin you to the road at 250. But it wasn't just the car, it was the system. Mercedes didn't just expect you to be fast. They expected perfection. Reports filed after every lap. Debriefs that lasted longer than practice sessions. You were never just a driver. You were a technician, a strategist… a soldier."
Hana asked, "How did you adapt?"
"I shut up and learned," he said simply. "I listened. Took notes. Memorized everything from damper ratios to tire blanket temperatures. Within three months, I was on the reserve roster. By mid-season, one of the factory drivers had a medical issue. I got promoted."
Haruka spoke for the first time in a while. "You got thrown into a full grid of Europe's best."
Daichi nodded slowly. "And they didn't like me."
Everyone looked surprised.
"I was the outsider. The quiet Japanese wildcard with no European karting pedigree. Some saw me as a fluke. Others as a threat."
He gave a half-smile."My first race was at Zandvoort. They put me in a CLK DTM prototype. No downforce. Rear end stepped out like a dancer. It was violent. Unlike anything I'd driven before. But I kept it clean. Ran consistent laps. I started P13 on the grid. I overtook five cars in the first three laps. Aggressive, too aggressive, they said. But I finished seventh and scored points on debut."
Ayaka gave a small smile. "Classic."
"2003 was different," Daichi continued. "I got my first full-season seat with AMG. The team assigned me a telemetry engineer from Berlin who didn't speak a word of Japanese… I didn't even have a translator. My German was trash, and my engineer refused to slow down. I learned the language one swear word at a time. To the point where I learned German faster than I learned how to launch the car. That season, I podiumed three times. People started paying attention."
Takamori leaned forward. "So just like that, you were in?"
"No," Daichi said with a wry chuckle. "Just like that, I had to start over."
"I wasn't Daichi the Suzuka Dragon anymore. In Germany, I was just another foreigner trying not to embarrass himself."
"I got the new AMG C-Class silhouette car. Carbon monocoque, V8 front-mid mounted, paddleshift. The first time I drove it, I knew. This wasn't just a race car. This was a weapon."
Ayaka raised a brow. "Did it suit your style?"
Daichi nodded. "Perfectly. Late braker, corner-speed attacker. The C-Class didn't like being muscled. You had to work with it. Not against it. I tuned the diff preload myself and even helped redesign the steering rack mid-season."
He stood again, pacing slowly. "That season, I won two races. One at Zandvoort, one at the Lausitzring. Both in the rain. And in both, I passed the same guy. My teammate, on the outside."
"Why the outside?" Rin asked.
"Because I trusted the car more than he trusted his," Daichi answered.
He smiled slightly.
"That year, I finished second in the championship. Just a handful of points behind the reigning champ. I was hungry after that. Obsessed."
Haruka nodded. "And you came back stronger?"
"2004 was my year," Daichi said. "We came in with new aero regs and a revised chassis. I spent the off-season in Stuttgart with Simon, running simulations and studying telemetry line by line. First race of the season, Hockenheim. I put it on pole by half a second and led every lap."
He paused.
"That win lit something in me."
Ayaka folded her arms. "And the rest of the season?"
"Three more wins. Five podiums. One DNF due to electrical failure. But that was enough to secure the title with a race to spare."
Daichi walked to his duffel bag next to the civic, retrieving a small metal canister. an old fuel sample tin with the DTM logo faintly stamped on the lid. "I kept this from the final race. A fuel sample from my last pit stop. Sounds dumb, but… it reminded me that even something as volatile as race gas can be controlled channeled."
He set the canister down.
"2005 was harder. The competition caught up. Audi fielded a brutal lineup, and we had some internal changes. I still won the season opener and a race at Oschersleben, but we struggled for consistency. Finished third overall."
He glanced toward the Civic again. "I wasn't upset. I'd already proved I belonged. What mattered more was what we built. I stayed involved with the engineering side. Simon and I helped develop a new electronic differential system for 2006. That tech would eventually show up in AMG's production cars."
Takamori looked impressed. "So you weren't just racing. You were developing too?"
"Always," Daichi said. "If you don't understand what's under you, you're just a passenger. Racing's not just speed. Its interpretation."
Haruka tilted his head. "What about 2006?"
"Another title," Daichi said. "Barely. It was a season-long war with Ekström and Spengler. Every race was a chess match. Tires, aero tweaks, fuel strategy. I won the final round at Brands Hatch by less than half a second. That sealed it."
He stepped back to the center of the room, looking down at the racing suit on the Civic. "By then, I was considered one of the top drivers in DTM. Three titles. Multiple records. I was even offered a test seat for Le Mans."
Ayaka whistled.
"But I stayed," he said. "Because 2007 felt like unfinished business. Mercedes had developed a new car. Simon was promoted, and I was asked to mentor one of the junior drivers. The car was the best we'd ever had. Fast. Stable. Ruthless."
He exhaled slowly. "Up until Nürburgring, it was the best season of my life." He didn't look at them when he said it. Just at the ground. Then he walked over to the workbench, rested both hands on the edge, and stood still.
"August 2007. Nürburgring GP-Strecke. Round 8." He didn't need to say more. The name alone carried weight.
"We were at the peak of the season. I was leading the championship—two points ahead of Spengler, five over Ekström. Every round mattered. Every lap. The car felt perfect that weekend. I'd never driven anything more precise. Fast in, stable mid-corner, angry on exit."
Daichi's hand twitched. Maybe an echo of what the wheel once felt like in his grip.
"I qualified second. Didn't bother pushing for pole. The strategy was to sit in the slipstream, save the tires, undercut on pit stop. We practiced it down to the tenth."
Rin was still, his hands clasped. The others leaned in unconsciously.
"Race started clean. Lap one through ten was textbook. Tire wear looked normal. I was faster in sector two, teammate had me in sector one. The gap never grew beyond four-tenths."
Daichi exhaled sharply. "Then came lap eleven. I felt something strange through the wheel in the Schumacher-S. Like the rear had gone soft. Not tires. The car felt… loose, just for a moment. I called it in. Engineers saw nothing in the data."
His stare hardened. "Lap twelve. Coming out of turn seven, I heard a pop. Not loud. Not metallic. Like a quick flex. Then I turned into the right-hander. Schumacher curve, and the whole car gave up."
Daichi spoke through clenched teeth. "Left rear suspension failed. Snapped clean. At over 190 kilometers an hour."
He paused. Just for a breath. Just long enough for everyone to imagine it. "The rear end broke loose mid-corner. The car spun left, violently, and slammed the inside guardrail. Hard enough to snap the front subframe in half. It ricocheted across the track, sliding backwards into the outside wall."
"I remember the sound," he said. "It wasn't metal. It was more like… bones snapping underwater. The carbon cell held, but just barely. Then the fuel system burst. Flames erupted under the dash, and the cockpit filled with smoke."
He tapped the suit. "The fire started before the car stopped moving."
"The carbon shell cracked. My HANS device held, but the seat rail bent inward. I blacked out before impact two. They told me later the flames reached the cockpit just as the marshals got there. My suit and helmet saved me. But…"
He raised his burned sleeve slowly. "The heat still got in."
No one dared speak.
"They pulled me out unconscious," Daichi continued, his voice now distant, as if watching it from above. He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt slightly, revealing a faint but long scar down his forearm.
"Both legs. Shattered femurs, torn ligaments, nerve trauma. Pelvis broken in three places. Five ribs crushed. Right lung punctured. Spine compressed. Left arm dislocated and fractured in two spots, with 3rd degree burns all over my right arm and back. Concussion. Vision loss for a week."
Takamori muttered, "How the hell did you survive that?"
"I didn't," Daichi said quietly. They stared at him.
"Not really. I flatlined in the medical chopper. Twice. My chest stopped moving, and they almost called it on the pad. But someone refused to quit. I was resuscitated and airlifted to Cologne. Emergency surgery. Six hours. Then two more."
Hana looked stunned. "You… were never supposed to walk again, were you?"
"No," Daichi said. "The doctors told me I might not even stand. They said racing was out of the question. That I should focus on… adapting to a different life." Daichi said flatly. "For the first three weeks, I couldn't even breathe without assistance. They had me sedated most of the time. I was awake just long enough to sign a release statement for Mercedes."
Rin swallowed. "They dropped you?"
"No. They knew I was done," Daichi said. "They just made it official. Simon visited once. He couldn't even look me in the eyes."
"I watched the final races of the season from a hospital bed," Daichi said. "By then, my contract was null. Mercedes sent a letter of gratitude and offered a role in vehicle development. Simon sent flowers and a USB drive filled with test data."
He looked down at his legs now. Fine, functional, but weighted with memory. "It took over a year of rehab. Metal rods, screws, braces. Months of learning how to stand without collapsing. I used a cane for almost two years. Till now I still have metal pins in my hip and a titanium rod in my spine."
"I asked if I could keep the suit," Daichi said smiling faintly. He looked down again. "They gave it back to me months later, after it had been processed for the investigation.
Hana's voice trembled. "Why didn't you stay in Europe? Or take the vehicle development role?"
Daichi shook his head. "Because I didn't want pity. I didn't want to be 'the legend who burned out.' So I left. Packed what I could, boarded a flight back to Japan. But not to Suzuka."
Ayaka's brows furrowed. "Why not?"
He shook his head. "I couldn't bear it. Suzuka was where it all started, and where too much of me had been left behind. The roar of the circuit… it used to be home. Now it just echoed the part of me that died that day."
Daichi stood slowly and walked to the far side of the workshop, his steps now noticeable, just slightly uneven, as if one leg still remembered the crash.
"I started working at a konbini. Overnight shifts. Routine, numbing. It was supposed to be temporary. It lasted nearly nine years."
"And you didn't drive?" Haruka asked.
"Didn't even own a car," Daichi answered. "Not until 2017. After a regional manager promotion, I took the bonus and bought the Mitsubishi 3000GT. Not because it was fast, but because it reminded me of something stubborn. Heavy. Overengineered. A survivor. Not a race car. Just mine. Heavy, imperfect, but it made noise."
"And that's how I met Haruka," he added. "It was late 2018. I needed a proper shop to handle a clutch issue. Some local forums recommended his place. So I rolled in."
That's when Haruka chimed in and smirked. "You called me 'kid' and refused to let me lift the car until you saw my tools."
"Old habits," Daichi said, chuckling.
Everyone laughed quietly.
"I liked the place," Daichi said. "Clean. Sharp tools. No upselling. Just proper wrench work. So I kept coming back. Brake pads. Fluids. Tire balancing. It felt like a sanctuary." He chuckled to himself. "I still drive the 3000GT. Keeps me grounded. Reminds me I still have a pulse."
Rin asked, voice quiet, "So how did you end up back into motorsport?"
Daichi glanced toward the lift. Toward the place where Izamuri had worked just hours ago. "I didn't plan to return to the motorsport world. Not ever. I thought I'd buried that life. But then... fate shoved me back in."
"I came in for a simple oil change last week. But it wasn't Haruka nor any of you guys who walked out with the oil tray. It was him."
Ayaka sat up straighter. "Izamuri?"
"Yeah," Daichi said. "Skinny. A little out of it. Looked like he hadn't slept right. But when he popped the hood. Something in the way he moved. It was… familiar." He paused.
"His hands worked like he'd done it a hundred times. Didn't fumble. Didn't hesitate. He didn't just look at the engine. He listened to it."
Rin tilted his head. "You saw it right away?"
"I felt it," Daichi replied. "You don't forget that kind of instinct. I had it. I saw it in Schumacher, in Tsuchiya, in the greats. It's not about talent. It's about how your brain and fingers talk without asking permission."
He looked toward the EK9 Civic sitting silently in the middle of them. "I've been around champions. I was one. But that kid? He doesn't know it yet… but he's got the same fire."
Haruka narrowed his eyes. "You think he can handle the pressure?"
Daichi nodded. "With us behind him? Yeah."
Takamori asked, "And the EK9? That's the plan?"
Daichi's voice grew firm. "One-make race is coming up. The car's ready by the looks of it. We just need to inspect it and wash it. We enter. Quietly. No fuss. No announcement."
Ayaka crossed her arms. "And Izamuri?"
Daichi smirked. "He doesn't need to know. Not yet."
The room fell into thoughtful silence. The weight of everything hung in the air—like a new story was about to begin, but only the prologue had just closed. Daichi looked around one last time.
"I'm not here to relive my past," he said. "I'm here to make sure someone else has a future."
His eyes locked on Haruka. "You've already built the machine. Now we give him a reason to drive it."
Haruka gave a short nod. "Then let's do it."