Race 4 — Zigzag
The sun was dipping toward the horizon, casting gold across the leaves enveloping Kaiyo's home—a simple wooden structure built into a sprawling tree. Nestled among its roots was their workshop: a shed of tin and wood, filled with tools, spare parts, and the scent of oil.
Inside, it was warm—but full of life.
Kaiyo lay beneath the vehicle, a wrench rattling in his grip.
Kaiyo: "A bit lower in the front… try raising the back by half an inch."
Tsuki: "If it falls apart, don't blame me." He tightened a bolt in the suspension and looked toward his friend. "But—this is starting to feel fast. And wild."
Kaiyo emerged from under the vehicle and wiped his hands with a rag. There was focus in his face—and a spark that said: We're almost there.
Kaiyo: "This time, it's not just about winning. I want to feel it's mine. That I'm driving something that understands me better than anyone else."
Tsuki nodded.
Tsuki: "Sounds like something that's about to crash into a rock at 200 km/h."
They shared a short, honest laugh. Then silence fell.
Kaiyo glanced at the open window of the workshop. Light filtered through the leaves. Somewhere at the forest's edge, something moved.
It wasn't a sound—it was the absence of it. A motion too still, too perfect. Like someone was watching.
Tsuki didn't notice—he was focused on finishing up the wheel. But Kaiyo felt a familiar prickling at the back of his neck.
A flash came between the trees. A figure? A shadow? Or just his racing mind.
But Kaiyo's heart skipped a beat.
Kaiyo's thoughts: "Him again? He can't be here. No one should know we're preparing."
The silence lingered too long. Kaiyo took a deep breath and returned to his task—though his hand shook slightly as he reached for another bolt.
Tsuki raised an eyebrow at the hesitant movement.
Tsuki: "Hey, you okay?"
Kaiyo didn't answer right away. He stared—not at the vehicle, not at Tsuki—but beyond the workshop wall, toward the forest.
Kaiyo: "Yeah… probably just tired."
When he began turning bolts again, the motion was different—sharper, more careful, tinged with anxiety.
Outside—nothing but leaves stirred by the wind.
Yet something remained. A trace. A presence. Like the echo of a gaze.
⸻
Hidden in the forest shadows, someone watched still and silent. Too skilled to leave a trace.
A Japanese macaque, upright and composed, eyes absorbing everything yet conveying nothing. He watched for a long moment.
No notes. No devices. Just memory.
He knew Kaiyo—not personally, but well enough.
Without a sound, he turned and slipped into the trees—vanished before the wind could signal his presence.
⸻
Back in the workshop, Tsuki finished tightening the last bolt.
Tsuki: "Done with the front. Rear tomorrow?"
Kaiyo: "Tomorrow."
But Kaiyo's mind was deeper than bolts, deeper than the machine. In the silence where unease is born.
He didn't know who watched.
Yet something in him whispered: That someone knows him.
And that this wouldn't be the last time he felt that look.
⸻
Kaiyo woke before dawn. A faint light filtered through his treetop home window—day barely stirring.
His heart pulsed faster. He knew today was important. He climbed down to the workshop beside his house.
The door was open, and Tsuki sat inside.
Tsuki: "You slept?"
Kaiyo: "A bit." He rubbed his eyes and yawned.
Tsuki: "The vehicle is ready. I'll just check the metal and wooden parts for durability."
Kaiyo approached their machine. Days of fine-tuning showed in every detail.
Kaiyo (quietly): "Now or never."
Moments later, they loaded the car onto a trailer. Kaiyo glanced back at his home, bid farewell to his mother, and they headed for the track.
⸻
A crowd of monkeys gathered at the raceway, watching the final preparations. Kaiyo took his seat behind the wheel. Across the track, near the trees, a familiar silhouette appeared—the macaque they had previously glimpsed twice but never by name.
Kaiyo and Tsuki exchanged surprised looks.
Kaiyo's thoughts: "It's him… the same one. Who is he, really? What's he hiding?"
Curiosity tangled with unease.
The starting signal blared, and both cars launched almost simultaneously. Dust roared into the air as tires gripped the soft track and machines leaned around corners.
One racer was unlike the others.
He avoided the usual racing line. Instead, he weaved—zigzagging, changing directions unpredictably. His technique was chaotic, surprising everyone—and devastatingly effective.
Kaiyo watched with a mix of awe and confusion.
My thoughts: "What is he doing? Completely different approach… but it's working."
The rival ripped through corners, slicing past competitors with blistering speed. Every move bold, rebellious—like he wasn't just racing, but rewriting the rules.
Tsuki (impressed): "Zigzag? That's risky—but it works."
Lap after lap, the mysterious racer held the lead. He slipped past corners, untouchable on the straights.
His performance was a challenge—to the track, to the map, to everyone else.
A confident and resonant voice blared from the speakers:
Commentator: "Ladies and gentlemen—look at this racer! No one drives like him. Zigzagging through curves, changing the line at will! This isn't a race. It's a declaration! If he keeps this up, he may just shake all of Apepolis!"
Kaiyo sensed this wasn't just about winning.
It was a clash of worlds: tradition vs rebellion. Precision vs spontaneity.
He wanted to fight back—to push his machine to the limit.
But the question echoed in his mind:
Kaiyo's thoughts: "Can you really win driving like that? Going this way? Damn..."
Most racers were already out—crashes, mistakes, over-commitment.
Only two remained: Kaiyo and the mysterious speedster.
The rival extended his lead, threading corners effortlessly. Then came a sharp turn—tires screamed, dust swirled.
Kaiyo fought to stick close; his vehicle responded fiercely.
He accelerated! Wheels barely gripping as he surged forward.
Ahead—the track opened into a massive gap.
The rival struck at full speed—launched, landed clean.
Kaiyo had one chance.
Brakes—roar—grip slipping…
Jump!
His vehicle soared like an arrow. Landing nearly flawless—momentum kept intact.
Behind him, the rival continued zigzagging, slashing through corners, ignoring rules.
Kaiyo's veins roared with adrenaline. Every action was on a knife's edge.
He pushed harder. Tires burned. The wind cheered around him.
The finish line appeared. They both slammed the accelerator—neck and neck.
Dust swallowed the field. Silence gripped the stands.
Seconds later—the replay. Frame by frame.
The judge raised his hand.
Judge: "The winner of this race… Kaiyo!"
⸻
Tsuki watched from the sidelines, jumping with joy, spinning once in the air before landing lightly. He ran toward the track.
Kaiyo had just one goal.
Breathing steady, he stepped over the line—upright, calm, tail straight, eyes fixed on his rival.
The other racer stood by his vehicle—slightly hunched, arms on hips, fur damp with sweat. Tail twitching.
Kaiyo approached.
Kaiyo (low voice): "Good race."
Their eyes locked—no smile. No handshake. Just mutual respect.
Unknown racer: "Yeah."
They stood silently—two drivers who knew this war was more than a race.
Kaiyo: "What's your name?"
Racer: "They call me… Kenji. Zigzag."
Kaiyo: "…Right. I get why. You're incredible behind the wheel."
Kenji: "You too."
Tsuki watched them—two macaques of the same race, same skill, shaking hands before walking away in their own directions.
Tsuki: "You won! It's close, but you won. The cameras left no doubt."
Kaiyo: "He had style—totally different from anyone else I've seen."
Tsuki: "Seriously—he drove like he was building the track as he went. But… who is that guy?"
Kaiyo looked again where Kenji had vanished. A short, serious smile crossed his face.
Kaiyo: "Zigzag… Kenji."
Tsuki raised a brow, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.
Tsuki: "Zigzag Kenji… sounds like someone we'll see again."
Kaiyo: "We will."
They walked away from the track as the sun set, the air still charged with dust and rivalry. One step closer to peace in Apepolis.
But why does Kaiyo want that peace so much?
That story awaits another time.