Agnes Tachyon sat alone in her room, the overhead lamp casting a pale circle of light across scattered notebooks, printouts, and half-finished experiment logs. The faint hum of her long phone charger was the only sound until the door creaked open.
Manhattan Cafe stepped inside, leaning casually against the wall beside the doorway. Her dark, calm eyes studied Tachyon carefully.
"Tachyon. Are you really going to stop racing?" Manhattan asked, her voice low. "What about your so-called experiments?"
Tachyon let out a long exhale. She slumped back in her chair, running a hand through her unkempt hair, fingers dragging across her scalp in frustration.
"Apparently…" She paused, staring blankly at her monitor. "I've tried so hard. Pushed every variable. Pushed my body. And yet… nothing changes. Not even the feeling of it."
Manhattan bowed her head slightly. "Right. So what do you want to do now?"
Tachyon rotated her chair to face her fully. The casters scraped lightly against the dorm floor.
"Well… I need to find something to pass the time for now," Tachyon muttered. She shifted her gaze downward, staring at her legs, her ears flicking irritably. "With these legs, I won't be running at the same pace I used to. Not for a while."
She lifted her head again.
"What about that one Uma who owns the red sports car parked outside?"
Manhattan blinked. "Who, Maruzensky?"
Tachyon nodded once. "Yeah. That's her, alright."
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, squinting with sudden curiosity.
"Don't you own your own car?"
Manhattan nodded. "Yeah. I do."
Tachyon slumped again, staring up at the ceiling. Her voice softened into a whisper. "That… might not sound like a bad idea…"
She leaned forward again, tapping her fingers restlessly against her laptop's edge.
"Hey, Cafe. Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," Manhattan said. "What's up?"
"Help me find a car. Something quick. Something that can match Maruzensky's car."
Manhattan let out a short chuckle. "You do realize Maruzensky's machine isn't a regular sports car, right? You can't just compare it to anything on the lot."
Tachyon waved her hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Something fast. Something light. Preferably domestic. Something that reacts quickly to input. A good chassis. Good balance."
Manhattan tapped her chin thoughtfully.
"Hmmm…"
Then she snapped her fingers.
"I don't know if it's still available, but I'll make a call. I heard it's a legend of the Wangan."
Tachyon blinked. "Wangan? What's that supposed to be?"
Manhattan waved her hand as she turned toward the door. "You'll understand eventually. Just wait a bit."
She stood straight and stepped out, pulling the door closed behind her.
"I'll come back later."
"Yeah… sure," Tachyon muttered.
The door shut with a soft click, leaving the room in near silence once again.
Tachyon spun her chair slowly back toward her laptop, her fingers resting on the keyboard but not typing. Her thoughts drifted.
"A legend of the Wangan…" she whispered.
She pushed herself up from the chair, stretching slightly, then walked toward the window. She placed a hand on the sill and peered down.
The parking lot stretched below—neatly lined, sunlit, and quiet.
And there, occupying one of the end slots, was the so-called "red sports car."
But calling it a sports car was nothing short of an understatement.
Its low, angular body reflected the afternoon light with sharp intensity. The sleek wedge-shaped silhouette, the wide rear stance, the air intakes that hinted at violent propulsion.
A supercar.
A machine born from an era when limits were mere suggestions.
Tachyon stared at it for a long moment, her ears raising slightly.
"So that's the kind of world I'm stepping into…" she murmured.
Her fingers tightened on the windowsill, excitement beginning to coil beneath her frustration.
A new field.
A new form of speed.
A new experiment.
The sun sagged low over the campus, washing the parking lot in deep orange light. Long shadows stretched across paint lines and asphalt, and the air carried the faint scent of warm rubber and cooling engines.
Maruzensky stood proudly beside her red machine, the sharp wedge-shaped body reflecting the dying light. Grass Wonder stood next to her, arms loosely folded, clearly uneasy.
Grass Wonder let out a long sigh. "Do I really have to ride with you?"
Maruzensky grinned, wagging a playful finger. "Of course you do. You need to head somewhere, right? And I just happen to be your most stylish option."
Grass shook her head. "The last time I rode with you, you buried the speedometer. The needle went beyond three hundred and twenty kilometers per hour."
Maruzensky's laugh echoed lightly off the nearby buildings. "Grass, you know I don't like slow, quiet, leisurely drives. I'm not built for that sort of thing."
Grass raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes relaxing would be good for you."
Her eyes drifted to the red machine beside them. The Countach sat low and aggressive, its rear louvers catching the fading light.
"How your Countach keeps up with the way you drive still beats me…" Grass muttered.
She glanced at Maruzensky again.
"Didn't you once tell me your car broke down, and you fixed it by hitting the carburetor with a hammer?"
Maruzensky puffed her chest with pride. "Yes I did. And she fired right back up."
Grass stared at the rear engine cover with a mix of disbelief and reluctant admiration. "I still cannot understand how that worked…"
"It worked because she loves me," Maruzensky replied confidently.
Grass sighed deeply. "Fine. I'll ride with you. But please… no reckless moves."
Maruzensky placed a hand over her heart in exaggerated sincerity. "I'll try."
Without wasting another second, she reached for the driver's side scissor door, gripping the underside of the frame. With a smooth upward pull, the iconic door lifted into the air, pivoting gracefully on its hinges until it stood nearly vertical. Grass Wonder moved to the passenger side and did the same, lifting the scissor door with a careful, practiced motion.
The interior of the Rosso Siviglia Countach looked tight and cockpit-like, its black leather and red stitching lit by the fading sunset.
Maruzensky lowered herself into the driver's seat, sliding her legs in one at a time and grabbing the steering wheel to steady herself. Grass eased into the passenger seat, pulling the racing-style seatbelt across her torso and clicking it into place.
The doors shut with heavy, satisfying thumps.
Up in her dorm room, Agnes Tachyon stood at the window, watching silently.
Then came the sound.
A slow whir of the fuel pump.
A click as Maruzensky twisted the key.
Followed by a violent ignition.
The Countach's 5.2-liter V12 roared to life, barking sharply before settling into an uneven, snarling idle. The windows of nearby cars vibrated lightly from the low-frequency rumble.
Agnes leaned closer to the window, eyes narrowing.
The Countach's taillights glowed as Maruzensky stepped on the brake. She shifted into reverse with a firm motion, the gated shifter clacking loudly as it slid into position. The car began backing out, the V12 grumbling impatiently.
Grass Wonder braced a hand lightly against the dashboard.
Maruzensky turned the wheel with both hands, rotating the car in a slow arc before stopping. She shifted into first gear, the metallic click unmistakable.
Then the Countach eased forward, leaving the slot and heading toward the campus exit.
A brief pause.
A flare of throttle.
And the sound of twelve cylinders rising in sharp, furious revs as the car accelerated into the city streets surrounding the academy.
Agnes watched until the red machine vanished behind buildings.
Only then did she step back from the window, letting out a quiet sigh. The dorm room felt even more silent than before.
She turned away and crossed the room, the floorboards creaking softly under her steps. She reached the bed, sat down slowly, then lay back, staring at the ceiling.
The distant echo of the Countach's howl faded into nothing.
Tachyon lay still on her bed, staring at the muted ceiling light, when a sudden knock echoed through her dorm room.
Before she could answer, the door pushed open.
Manhattan Cafe stepped inside, already mid-conversation on her long phone. She slipped through the doorway and nudged it shut behind her with the heel of her hoof, back resting against the wood as she finished the call.
"Oh. Alright. Thanks. I'll stay in touch in case anything changes."
She listened for a moment, then ended the call. The phone disappeared into her pocket with a practiced motion.
Manhattan exhaled lightly and turned toward Tachyon.
"Well, you're in luck. The car's still available. And at a lower price than last listed."
Tachyon sat up immediately. "Wait… are you serious?"
Cafe nodded. "Very. The seller dropped the price from ten million yen down to just three. Considering the amount of modifications it's had under previous owners, that's a steal."
Tachyon's eyes widened, the corners of her mouth pulling upward slightly. "Three million? For a full Wangan-built machine? That's… honestly surprising."
"Mhm," Cafe agreed, folding her arms. "I thought the same."
She tilted her head. "So… what do you think? Do you even have the funds for it?"
Tachyon tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I do. I still have the race winnings saved. I could write the guy a check. At that price, it really is a bargain."
"And those winnings are from your oval races, right?" Cafe asked.
Tachyon nodded. "Yeah. All the prize money I didn't touch."
Cafe nodded slowly in return. "Then that settles one question."
Tachyon looked around the room as if weighing the decision against the entire atmosphere of her stalled life. Papers, equipment, charts—everything waiting for motion she no longer had.
Then she inhaled deeply.
"I guess… why not? It's not like I'll be back on the grass ovals anytime soon. Might as well put the money toward something that actually moves."
She stood from the bed, smoothing her clothes, then leaned down to slip her feet into her black flats. She pressed the backs down snugly with her fingers, making sure each shoe fit properly.
"You think we can go today?" she asked.
Cafe nodded confidently. "Yeah. We can. I've got nothing better to do tonight."
Tachyon adjusted her jacket hem and brushed off a few stray papers from her skirt. "Then let's head out."
Manhattan pushed herself off the door, opened it fully, and stepped aside for Tachyon to exit first. Tachyon walked into the dim hallway, and Cafe followed, closing the door softly behind them.
The two made their way down the corridor, hooves tapping lightly against the worn dorm flooring. They descended the stairwell, the sounds echoing as they reached the lower levels. When they exited into the open air, the cooling night breeze met them, carrying hints of exhaust from earlier departures.
The parking lot lights hummed overhead, casting long pale beams across the rows of cars as evening deepened. The air held the faint smell of warm fuel and asphalt.
Tokai Teio stood beside Symboli Rudolf's Series 2 RX-7 FB GSL-SE, bouncing impatiently on her heels. The green paint—Symboli's own uniquely mixed shade—gleamed under the streetlights, catching every angle of the classic wedge body.
"Come on, Prez! I have to ride with you at least once today!" Teio insisted, leaning forward with both fists tightened in exaggerated plea.
Symboli Rudolf chuckled softly, arms crossing with relaxed authority. "Not today, Teio."
She met Teio's eyes with a disciplined calmness. "Besides… don't you own an R34 yourself?"
Teio nodded vigorously, fists still clenched in a pose of determination. "I do, Prez. But I want to see how you handle your cars. You're precise, smooth, technical. I want to learn from that."
Symboli laughed lightly. "It's not as if my RX-7 has a thousand horsepower like yours, Teio. This old FB is a cruiser now."
Teio huffed, crossing her arms. "And? You still swapped in an FD engine. It has to be making at least six hundred horses, right?"
Symboli shook her head, smiling proudly. "Incorrect. Yes, she has the heart of a modern RX-7, but she only makes about five hundred to the wheels. Like I said. A cruiser. Not a speedster."
She placed a hand along the roofline, admiring the car's clean lines. The symboli-green coat she developed herself shimmered under the light.
"She still has her looks," she added quietly, almost affectionately.
Then she turned back to Teio. "Tell you what. Once my schedule frees up, I'll take you on a countryside drive. Something calm. Something scenic."
Symboli lifted a thumb with a confident, approving grin. "Deal?"
Teio's expression lit with excitement as she returned the gesture. "Deal!"
Symboli let out a soft chuckle. "Alright, Teio. Off to your business now."
"Thanks, Prez!"
Teio gave a quick wave and sprinted back toward the dorms, her footsteps echoing off the concrete.
Symboli watched her with amused affection, shaking her head. "That kid. She never changes."
Her smile faded as she heard footsteps approaching. She looked up to find Manhattan Cafe and Agnes Tachyon walking toward her from the pathway.
"Oh, Tachyon. Cafe. Good evening to you two."
Both Umas raised their hands in greeting.
"Evening, Prez," Tachyon said.
"Evening, Rudolf-san," Cafe added politely.
Symboli nodded. "Evening. Heading somewhere?"
Cafe answered first. "Yeah. Tachyon is going to look at a car."
Rudolf blinked with mild surprise. "A car? What kind?"
"An S30Z," Tachyon replied. "Midnight blue."
Symboli's eyebrows rose. Then she smiled knowingly. "An S30Z is an excellent choice. Light, balanced, plenty of tuning potential. A timeless machine."
Tachyon nodded. "That's what I heard."
"We should get going," Cafe said. "Before it gets too late."
Symboli stepped aside with a gentle motion. "Alright, you two. Travel safely."
They nodded and continued toward Manhattan Cafe's Porsche—its black carbon-fiber body reflecting the night like polished obsidian.
Cafe opened the driver's door, gripping the handle firmly and stepping inside with practiced ease. Tachyon followed, settling into the passenger seat and pulling the belt across her body, locking the buckle securely.
Cafe twisted the key.
The heavily modified M64/50 3.6-liter twin-turbo flat-six—sourced from a 964 and built far beyond factory spec—erupted with a deep, violent rumble. The engine barked once before settling into a predatory idle, each pulse sending a faint vibration through the ground.
Cafe pressed the clutch, shifted into reverse with a crisp mechanical click from the short-throw shifter, and backed out slowly. The taillights cut red lines across the pavement as she turned the wheel, eased the car into first gear, and rolled toward the campus exit.
Symboli Rudolf stood still, arms loosely folded as she watched the Blackbird disappear into the busy evening streets, its engine note fading into the distance.
Her expression grew more serious.
"How Manhattan Cafe managed to get hold of the infamous Blackbird of the Wangan… still escapes me," she muttered softly.
She turned her gaze toward the row of garages at the far end of the lot, where a single closed door hid a shadow from her past.
Her face clouded with worry.
"Apart from Maruzensky… who else still knows about my other car…"
Her voice trailed into the night.
The suburbs outside Tokyo were quiet at night, lit only by the soft glow of street lamps and the occasional porch light. The narrow residential street held a calm that contrasted with the distant rumble of the city.
Manhattan Cafe guided the black carbon-fiber Porsche 930 Turbo through the tight lanes, her hands steady on the wheel. The engine's deep idle echoed between the small houses, but inside the cabin, both Umas sat in silence.
Cafe eventually broke it.
"You still remember how to drive, right, Tachyon?"
Tachyon turned her head slightly, watching the houses pass by. "Yeah… I still remember. Thanks to you."
Cafe let out a small chuckle, eyes returning to the road. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Tachyon shook her head lightly. "It is a compliment. Much better than having Maruzensky shouting at me to floor it every time we hit a straight road."
Cafe nodded knowingly. "Fair point. Maruzensky-san always pushes her Countach whenever she gets the chance. She's incapable of a calm drive."
Tachyon looked out her window again, taking in the quiet rows of homes, mailboxes, and neatly trimmed shrubs. "So… we should be close now, right?"
Cafe glanced at the GPS on the dash. "Yeah. Close. Should be around here somewhere."
She slowed the car, scanning the houses as they passed. "Should be on our right…"
Tachyon leaned forward in her seat, tightening her grip on the harness straps as she peered out the window. Her eyes narrowed.
Then she saw it.
A Nissan Fairlady Z S30, sitting alone in a driveway, bathed in the soft glow of a streetlight.
Its paint—midnight blue—looked almost black from some angles, shifting like deep ocean water under moonlight.
Tachyon bumped Cafe's shoulder. "There. Is that it?"
Cafe leaned forward as far as her racing harness allowed, squinting in the same direction. "Y-Yeah… that's it."
She eased off the throttle. The Porsche crawled to a gentle stop, then she reversed slightly and parked along the curb directly in front of the Z.
The engine idled for a moment longer before Cafe twisted the key and shut it off, the flat-six coughing once before silencing completely.
Both began unbuckling their multi-point racing harnesses, metal clasps clicking open in the quiet night.
Tachyon opened her door first. The hinge creaked softly as she stepped out, exhaling as the cold suburban air hit her face. She shut the door with a careful push.
Manhattan followed, climbing out of the driver's seat and closing the door without a slam.
Together, they approached the S30Z.
Up close, the car looked even older and sharper than Tachyon expected: long hood, short deck, sloping roofline. A machine built for purity, not comfort.
"So… this is it?" Tachyon asked quietly.
Cafe nodded. "Yep. Looks like it."
She added, "Wait here. I'll talk to the owner."
She headed toward the house's front door, stepping onto the small porch and giving the door a gentle knock.
Tachyon stayed behind near the Z, hands sliding into her pockets to keep warm. Her breath came out in soft white puffs as she looked over the car.
The midnight blue paint absorbed nearly all the surrounding light. The reflection of the street lamp shimmered faintly across the hood's curve. Even at rest, the machine felt alive, like it carried a presence.
Tachyon shifted her weight.
Her tail flicked suddenly, as if reacting to something she couldn't see. A shiver ran up her spine.
"Why am I getting this weird feeling…" she whispered.
She placed a hand lightly on the fender, not quite touching it, just hovering close enough to sense the cold surface.
"It's like… for some reason…"
She swallowed.
"I've driven this car before."
She stared deeper into the midnight blue paint, as if trying to find a memory hidden inside it.
"Even though I haven't."
The door finally opened, letting a soft wash of warm indoor light spill across the entryway.
A man stepped out — mid-twenties, short dark hair, lean build, wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans. He blinked once at the two Umas, then smiled.
"Ah. You must be Cafe-san, right? We talked on the phone a couple hours ago."
Manhattan Cafe gave a polite nod.
"That's right. Nice to meet you, Akio."
"Likewise, Cafe-san." Akio stepped outside fully, sliding the door closed behind him. He shifted his attention to the street — to the long, low shape of the Midnight Blue S30Z resting under the street lamps. "I take it this is about the Z, correct?"
Cafe nodded and motioned toward Tachyon.
"Yes. But I'm not the one buying. It's my friend here — Agnes Tachyon."
Tachyon straightened herself slightly.
"Hello."
Akio nodded respectfully.
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Tachyon. I heard about what happened. I'm sorry to hear you're retiring."
Tachyon blinked once, tone steady.
"Oh, no need to apologize. Anything can happen in an Uma race."
"True…" Akio rubbed the side of his cheek, a little awkward but friendly. "Anyway."
He stepped toward the Fairlady Z, the three of them approaching it from the front left corner.
"So you're interested in the S30Z, right?"
Tachyon glanced at the car — its long, sloping hood gleaming faintly under the suburban lights — then nodded.
"Yeah. I need something to keep myself occupied when I'm not doing anything on campus."
Akio let out a quiet hum.
"Understandable. Alright then. This is a 1978 Nissan Fairlady S30Z. Extensively modified."
He moved toward the driver's side, reaching for the door handle. The metal latch clicked, and he pulled the door open carefully so the edge wouldn't tap the wall. Then he unlocked the hood catch.
"Give me a hand," he said casually.
Cafe hooked her fingers under the hood's edge, and both of them lifted it up. The hinges creaked a little before locking in place. Underneath, the engine bay looked like a polished maze of metal and high-end parts — the L28 bored and stroked, piping from the twin turbos sweeping across the bay.
Tachyon leaned forward, resting one hand lightly on the front bumper as she studied the components.
Akio pointed inside.
"So. It's a 2.8-liter L28 originally, stroked up to 3.1 liters. Twin TD06 turbos. HKS surge tank. Dry-sump oil system. It's been built to take abuse."
Tachyon looked up at him.
"What's the output?"
Akio tapped his fingers lightly on the radiator support, thinking.
"Last dyno pull — around six-hundred and fifty horsepower."
Tachyon froze.
"To the rear wheels?"
"Yep," Akio said with a grin. "It's a handful from a dead stop. Light chassis, huge power. You can get wheelspin into third if you're not careful."
Tachyon leaned to the side and peered through the windshield, eyeing the cabin layout.
"And the rest of the setup?"
Akio straightened.
"The body is fully spot-welded. There's a custom roll cage, Recaro bucket seats, and Takata six-point harnesses."
He raised one finger.
"Oh — and the transmission. It's a custom-built five-speed manual. Top speed is somewhere around three-hundred sixty kilometers per hour."
Tachyon slowly exhaled.
"And all of this for three million yen?"
Akio nodded.
"Well… we all grow up eventually. It was fun while it lasted."
He chuckled, nostalgia briefly warming his expression.
"I even met my wife on those roads. She stole my car once — wanted to tune her R32 just right so she could try beating me."
Cafe crossed her arms, amused.
"And how did that go?"
Akio scratched his head.
"She slammed on the brakes mid-corner to avoid a truck and spun out. Luckily nothing major happened." He sighed lightly. "But now, with a growing family, I can't justify keeping a heavily modified car around. Not in the budget."
Tachyon looked at Cafe.
"It really is a steal for three million."
Cafe nodded.
"Exactly. But it's your call."
Tachyon hesitated — just long enough to give the moment weight. Then she looked back at Akio.
"What's been done to it lately?"
Akio smirked.
"Knew you'd ask."
He rested one hand on the hood edge.
"The car just had a full inspection and preventive maintenance. All fluids changed — engine oil, trans oil, brake fluid, coolant. I even topped the tank with racing fuel for potential buyers."
Tachyon tapped her chin as she studied the car again — the stance, the body lines, the subtle imperfections that proved it had lived a real life on real roads.
Then she turned to Akio.
"Well then. We have ourselves a deal."
Akio's smile widened.
"Perfect."
Tachyon reached into her pocket and took out the check she had prepared earlier.
"You accept checks, right?"
"Checks, cash. Anything that puts money in the bank," Akio said with a small laugh.
He stepped back toward the entryway to his home.
"Come on inside. We'll sign the paperwork and get everything finished."
Tachyon and Cafe followed him toward the door — the Midnight Blue Z resting behind them, waiting, almost watching, like a machine aware its new life was about to begin.
Meanwhile — somewhere on the outskirts of Tokyo.
Night settled thick over the Shuto Expressways, the orange sodium lights flashing rhythmically over the red Lamborghini Countach LP5000QV as it glided along the left lane. The sharp wedge of the Italian machine sliced through the cool air, its twin turbos whining faintly each time Maruzensky eased onto the throttle.
Grass Wonder sat beside her, calmly observing the blur of city outskirts drifting past the windows.
Maruzensky's posture changed suddenly — a small twitch running through her shoulders. Her ears flicked twice, and her right foot instinctively came off the accelerator. The Countach's engine note dipped, the turbos spooling down as the car began to coast.
Grass Wonder glanced at her.
"Maru-san? Are you alright?"
Maruzensky shook her head lightly, fingers tightening on the steering wheel before relaxing again.
"Yes. I'm fine… I just got the chills for a moment."
Grass Wonder raised an eyebrow.
"The chills? How come?"
Maruzensky exhaled through her nose.
"This stretch of road… I've been here before. And it reminded me of something I witnessed a long time ago."
She steadied the car, gently pressing the accelerator until they were back at a steady legal pace. The Countach hummed forward, its engine settling into a low, controlled growl.
Grass Wonder leaned slightly toward her.
"I'm listening."
Maruzensky kept her eyes on the road ahead, the lights of Tokyo growing brighter as they neared the city proper.
"Two decades ago," she began slowly, "I encountered two racers out here. Not amateurs. Not weekend thrill-seekers. These two… they ruled the Shuto Expressways."
Grass Wonder nodded for her to continue.
"It was more than a rivalry," Maruzensky said, tightening her grip on the wheel as memory washed over her. "It lasted for years. A battle not only to decide who was king of the Wangan… but also who built the superior machine. A Battle between foreign. And the locals"
Grass Wonder blinked.
"Wait — battle between imports and locals? Cars made overseas versus Japanese cars?"
Maruzensky nodded.
"Yes. Exactly that."
She shifted lanes with a smooth flick of the indicator, guiding the Countach through sparse traffic.
"One of the racers drove a black 1982 Porsche 930 Turbo. A surgeon at one of Tokyo's biggest hospitals. His car was infamous. They called it the Blackbird back then… and it still bears that name today."
Grass Wonder narrowed her eyes.
"And the current owner… someone we know?"
Maruzensky nodded again.
"Manhattan Cafe."
Grass Wonder let the information sink in.
"And the other car?"
Maruzensky's gaze hardened slightly, her voice dropping a little.
"A Midnight Blue 1978 Nissan Fairlady S30Z. Its owner at the time was still a high school student. That car… vanished off the streets after their final battles. Nobody saw it again."
Grass Wonder leaned back into the bucket seat, folding her arms thoughtfully.
"What was its nickname?"
Maruzensky inhaled slowly, the Countach's engine rumbling beneath them as if responding to the weight of the story.
"That Z," she said, eyes narrowing as the expressway lights streaked across the windshield,
"was called…"
She paused, letting the name drift in like a ghost from the past.
"…the Devil Z."
The Countach's turbos whistled in the background, as though acknowledging a legend returning to the streets.