#akira shinkai

[pauking5]

Runaway 🏎️ Chapter 4 🏁

Pairing: Naozumi Hiyama x fem reader oc

Genre: racing AU, enemies to lovers, sports rivalry, suspense, a whole lot of teasing, gender power games, spice

Word count: 18.5k+

A/N: Been a while but she's back and kicking. Apologies it took so long. Can't wait for you to read the next ones since I've been kicking my legs writing them. I'll just let you read. Enjoy ;)

Raiko's Playlist: Fallen - Richard Durand Remix, Like Water - Wendy, RACE - Bang Yongguk, Both - Tiesto, 21 Savage, Blank Space - CHANEY, All Night - Icona Pop, Rerun - Honey Revenge, Royal Pirates - Drawing The Line

Previous

Since the star of the show chose the act of disappearance, the buzz of the night drew significantly quiet. The crowds swarmed to chat about the events of the night, keeping the man who got away in their thoughts as the hot topic, especially since he took off in a less than graceful escapade, the front of his car a wreck of paint work.

Just as damaged as his dignity losing public poise for that matter.

But for all that, the night was completely yours to rule. You still couldn't believe you beat the Naozumi Hiyama, the wonder of modern rally, in all but the dirtiest manner to settle debts - street racing, where it all began in the first place.

Your nerves buzzed and tingled in utter joy like you were still in the car, pushing 120 down the city streets with the cops after you. A story worth to tell your grandchildren.

Some of the models that previously coiled themselves around Naozumi's neck on the yacht, now tried to get your number to meet up with you. Many phones passed through your hands to exchange numbers, so many that you lost count. People you didn't even know passed around congratulatory wishes like "Good race" and "Great job out there", including some of the drivers from the series that stuck around to see the show unfold.

You hung out with Akira a little more, poking fun at your tumultuous first weekend in the world of professional rally and how quiet his early rookie days were, then broke rows and drove back home, completely spent. The week needed to end before it ended you. Though you wouldn't mind the high of tonight to continue a little more.

Taking a ride around the city, you wanted to make sure those cops didn't want a rerun of earlier downtown shenanigans and took a longer drive home. Laying low from in-town night driving for a while might be for the best for now. So you just enjoyed tonight like it was the last night you got to drive around free and careless.

The cool night air blew in through your open windows, whistling through your hair as you climbed the main bridge lane. The roads were empty now, waiting for you to step on the gas and take them at full speed.

For some reason, your foot eased on the throttle, feeling the need to just appreciate the ride without rushing anywhere - your very own version of taking a walk to clear your head. To just drive without a set destination, getting lost in the passing flicker of neon signs and city lights and tall illuminated skyscrapers lined up on the edge of the road.

For the first time this early spring, the sky was clear of clouds. Tiny stars far in the distance blinked down at you in millions of all kinds of shapes and formations.

As much as you hated this city and the people in it, who lived to step on others for any small sliver of success and fame, by gods you loved it.

Nights like these, empty of any human trace, when the city was deeply quiet and the skyline shone bright, were so oddly comforting. It felt like time just stopped ticking, the hands of the speedometer stopped moving up or down to determine your speed, and eternity just swallowed you into a wrinkle in time. A black hole state of sorts. A void where you could just exist.

No responsibilities. No stress. No pressure.

Just you, the car and the road.

Even going slower than you usually drive, you pulled up on your street in no time, driving down the slope of houses until you reached your driveway. A big, dark blue Ranger was parked in front of the garage - your dad was home. It was rare to find him home at the weekend. Even rarer to find him on the front steps, a cheap can of beer opened in his hand, looking off into the distance, contemplating life from the looks of it.

Parking next to the truck, you cut the ignition and rolled the windows up. Giving your sweet ride a gentle pat on the leather casing of the wheel to thank her for her efforts tonight, you got out and walked to him.

Seeing you close in on the porch made his face light up, a tired smile pulling at his lips, crinkling his tired eyes. You gave him one of yours, taking a moment to just look at him and bask in his presence. He did not look a day over 25, though his ID's begged to differ. Not one grey hair lock or wrinkle ruining the image of him you grew up with like he was an evergreen tree.

"Hi, dad."

"Hey, kid."

"Glad to see you home," you smiled at him, genuinely happy to see him after this horrendous week.

"Your mother would say otherwise," he chuckled, taking a good chug from his can, smile turning bitter on the edges.

You walked up a few steps and took a seat next to him. Your hand reached halfway for a can on his side, but he intercepted your need before you could ask. He grabbed one and plucked the lid open for you then held it out to you. You gave him the 'I'm not a little kid' look at which he laughed, giving you the fatherly look reserved for his dear precious jewel - you.

"What did you do this time?"

"Forgot to bring her a souvenir from Tokai," he sighed. "You know that golf tournament she watches like crazy?"

You were well aware of your mom's weekendly hobby of sitting in front of the TV and watching men in designer polo co-ords hit a ball with a club like it was some interesting sport. She would often argue yours and your father's heads off that it was. You nodded.

"They sold signed merch this weekend since they played there. She wanted that hideous plain green cap of that player she likes so much."

"I could've picked one up," you stated.

"I forgot to call," he sighed again.

That sigh held something deeper to it. Something was weighing down on him. You could see right through that weary smile, the lowered shoulders and the frown he tried to stop from pulling at his brows.

"Dad," you called out softly. His eyes shifted from the ground to you. You bumped his shoulder playfully. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

He looked down, a wry smile tilting a corner of his lip upwards.

"I can't hide from you, can I?"

"Not a chance."

He laughed again.

"I heard about what you've done today."

Your breath hitched. Did he know about the illegal race with Naozumi? If he did, you were in deep shit. Deeper than you could ever crawl your way out of since you didn't know how he would react to it.

But how could he know so early? It was mere hours ago. Surely news travels fast but not this fast.

Before you could think of what to say he spoke first.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help with the rally," he spoke regretfully.

Oh.

It wasn't about the race. The illegal one. He was talking about the whole fiasco with the oil change and the car not running, resulting in the team having to pull out from the first stage of the final day. Losing points over a system error which wasn't really anyone's fault.

"Oh, that?" you let out above a whisper, thankful it wasn't the other thing. "It's no biggie. I had it covered," you tried to reassure him.

Him being him, he had to beat himself up over it.

"I know you did, but you didn't have to. You're supposed to be the driver. Not the promoter, spokesperson and the mechanic all in one package deal. Just the driver."

"That's not so much fun now, is it?"

"Raiko," he warned, asking you to be serious for once.

"Dad," you thundered without backing down, turning to face him fully before continuing. "If that's what's bothering you, you're stressing over nothing. I'm glad to have been able to help."

He stayed quiet, partly listening, partly busying himself with tracing the rims on the empty can in his hand as if it was the outer lip of a tire that needed fast replacing.

"That's what you taught me, remember? To lay my skills where needed, as big or small as they are. I didn't sit in that garage for years, spending my time counting loose screws and random oil spots on the floor and I definitely wasn't going to sit back and not finish the round at all. I did what I had to do and that's over with."

"And we got a good result out there. Not the best, but we're getting there. There's no need to beat yourself up over it."

His gaze dropped to the ground as if the unkept grass patio would cut itself if he looked hard enough at it.

"I just..." he started, exhaling a shallow breath. "I feel like I'm not there enough for the team. For your mom. For you."

Your gaze softened. You knew where he was coming from.

He was sacrificing his time, health and enjoyment of the sport that meant the world to him to break through with sponsorship deals and fund the team as much as he could. Even if that meant he couldn't physically be there to lead the team and be a father. He didn't give himself enough time to learn how to be either or before, but he tried his best in both jobs and that was the most you could ever wish for.

Trying was better than giving up. So much better. And he gave it his all, pouring immense dedication, body and soul, wherever he needed to, thing that you always admired about him. That unparalleled strength to push forward despite life being so unpredictable.

Scooting closer to link your arm with his bigger one, you pulled him in for a side hug, tugging him as close as your arms could wrap around him to make sure he felt all the adoration and affection oozing off of you. Beyond the faint smell of oil still sticking to your body after two consecutive aromatic shampoo filled showers.

He gave in to your trick of relaxation, head falling on top of yours, sighing again, seemingly in deep relief this time. You could feel the stress leave his body like a defused bomb silently going back to being stable. Like your words managed to reach him and make him let go of some worries for a little while. That and knowing what a sucker he was for hugs in any shape or form.

"You're doing your best, dad," you mumbled in his shoulder, shifting your eyes to him as your hand moved to rubbing his other shoulder in comfort. "It's okay to take a break from being the best sometimes."

A small laugh escaped him at that last remark, turning to you with a grin. A genuine one.

"Sometimes I wonder if you're really my daughter," he says amusedly.

"Of course I am," you confirmed. "Through and through."

You placed your temple to his and let out a breath of ease.

"Blood from blood and brow from brow, remember?"

That was your shared pledge of trust. The one line he's been voicing to you since you've been the size of a chicken nugget, running and stumbling over your legs, until now, when you became a young adult navigating the novelties of life. Though recently, it wasn't him reminding you of it but the other way around. And you would say it as many times as he needed to hear it.

He's been stabbed in the back enough times to fall behind on the trusting people business. That's why everyone close to him protected him and his peace. That's why Don Tanaka warned you about coveting with the enemy. He might have bounced back from losing everything and everyone back when the team first failed, acting like he was fine, but you could see right through it.

Time and time again, you'd find him in the team garage at night trying to fix stuff that would never work again. Broken parts since there was no more money to replace them. Smoking engines that refused to start up without catching on fire. He tried and tried to fix things like they would fix his life and you hated every second of it.

People turned on him, acting so vile and betrayed, while he had to sit and watch his career fall to pieces. He deserved a lot better than the world gave him. Way better.

Another one of those would mean game over for him. You couldn't risk it. That's why you tried to pick up the foam and fill in the cracks wherever you could. Fundraising. Hunting for new parts and changing them yourself. Amping the team. Anything and everything that needed to be done.

"Always," he breathed out, knocking his temple to yours.

This moment was as needed by him as it was by you. Just sitting on the front porch in the middle of the night, listening to the sleepless city come alive again, enjoying each other's presence. You rarely got moments like these. But when you did, you held onto them with your teeth.

"Where were you out this late by the way?" he asked, raising an inquisitive brow.

He was never one for strict curfews. Neither was your mom, and you were thankful for having understanding parents like them. But there were always surprise questions like these just lurking to be asked. Good thing you were in good spirits. More or less anyways.

"At Naozumi's victory bash," you took one more chug of your beer, gulping the rest of the can dry.

The cheap ale ran down your throat bitterly but also somehow comfortingly. Maybe convenience store bought alcohol wasn't so bad after all. Or it just mattered whose company you were in while you drank it.

"How was it? Do they celebrate like we used to, throwing huge raves in town with the streets joining in on the free booze and dancing with exquisite ladies even after the morning sun was up? Or do they kick you out after a certain time?"

Your mouth hung open. "I'm sorry, WHAT?! That's how you celebrated back then? That's crazy!"

An image of your father busting out disco moves in the club, drunk out of his ass with his rally comrades, friends and foes flashed in your mind and you struggled to keep it together.

There had to be photographic evidence. Gotta ask mom about that. I'm sure she has loads of those. You made sure to leave a sparkly red mental note on that.

"If you're having one of those with me," he pointed to the cheap beer cans from the convenience store you were sharing, "it must've been disappointing."

"It was more of a celebrity gathering on his yacht rather than a first place celebration. There was alcohol, but get this - the bar was on a paid by the guest basis and he served everyone alcohol-free champagne!"

"That's bonkers," his eyes widened, shocked to hear that.

"Something about keeping the goodies for real wins or some stuff like that," you added, wiggling the empty can between your fingers.

"Well, champagne should be for podium only."

"Oh god, not you too! You can genuinely have champagne without sitting on the podium."

"You can, but it doesn't feel the same. You'll see when you get your first. You never forget that one. The paid alcohol thing is nasty though," he grimaced as if he himself was invited and felt hurt by the party etiquette.

The soft breeze turned colder as the night grew darker, cutting your father-daughter hang out time short. Picking up after yourselves to leave the porch as you found it, you both made way inside and discarded the cans trying to make as little noise as possible. From the looks of it, your mother was long gone to dreamland, the house fully drenched in darkness and silence. Waking her up was a recipe to disaster. The kind none of you wanted to face after this hell of a week.

You both tiptoed around as quietly as you could, stabbing a toe or hitting an elbow here and there. Climbing to the top of the stairs together, holding onto each other's weary and tired backs, you bid your goodbyes at the intersection between your rooms.

"Good night, dad," you smiled at him once more.

He smiled back, lifting a hand to caress the side of your face gently, calloused fingers tilting your chin up. "Good night, lightning strike."

You watched him trudge to his room, shutting the door quietly behind him, careful not to wake your mother. They barely got time for each other lately. You knew she would be happy to wake up to him finally in bed for once and that made your heart a little warmer.

Maybe he'll be okay, you hoped turning up a meek smile.

Crawling to your own bed that's been calling your name all day long, you shoved off your jeans and leather jacket drowsily, leaving you in your band tee. You pulled on your soft McQueen pants on since they were the only thing you unpacked.

Naozumi could laugh all he wanted. These are the comfiest pyjama pants ever made, you pat down the material gleeful to see the red car smile victoriously at you.

One day, McQueen. One day.

Dropping onto the bed like a sack of potatoes, disregarding your unpacked bags as a job for tomorrow's you, you closed your eyes, breathing in the comforting smell of home. You haven't been gone for too long but you sure missed your bed as if it was your long lost lover.

You missed the way the mattress dipped comfortably under your aching body, allowing you to relax every tensed muscle from your back down to your calves. How the pillows were sprawled everywhere to just grab and plunge your head into. And the nice quiet of the neighborhood, thing that you would trade millions of times for having Naozumi as your next door neighbor.

Your thoughts drifted to him once more.

He was so... unreadable. No. He was readable when he wanted to be. The other times he was just selfish, overbearing, and almost too cocky for his own good. Besides his fits of arrogance and normal disgust for the world. And his overexaggerated displays of entitled behaviour.

However, you couldn't deny you saw a different side to him tonight - the amount of pride he had in the one person who sung solely in his victorious tune - himself.

What was pride to Naozumi Hiyama? you wondered.

An excessive need to be the best above the best and a desire to hightail it down the hall of fame in complete vanity of his many talents?

Obsession garnering on self-destruction, just to prove that he's right to win rally rounds by the handful? Tuning out everyone else, competition, team or close friends? Reaching out to stretch more than his duvet could cover?

Hubris sneakily doused in humility brought empires to their downfall. History bled that story on pages over and over again. That was right where his little own empire was heading too, right into ruin and complete culmination before it managed to stick out high and mighty at the top, much like his ego did on the daily.

Naozumi could throw it all away just to prove himself worthy of being the champion. That might just be why you felt for the guy after you just proved yourself worthy of the road. Worthy of being more than just a newbie right in front of his face, using his own defences against him.

He was a rookie himself not that long ago, chasing hard earned respect by the bucket from the very world sitting idly at his feet now. But he seems to have forgotten just what it took to gain this sensational crowd, the amazing women tangling in his sheets ever so nightly, the roar of attention from the world. The promised stardom.

The biggest thing he failed to remember was that all of that could slip through those nimble fingers of his so quickly. Before he could even realise it. Before he even had a chance to reach for it and keep it safe.

You sighed, decompressing further into the mattress, unable to take your mind off him.

Why did it bother you so much that he was self-sabotaging his career knowingly, throwing all his dignity and humanity away for a trophy and a multi-million dollar contract deal to join the big guys in the global WRC? Why did it scratch you so wrong that he was being a dick to the only people that were there to help him?

Then another curious thought popped into your head.

It was wrong to compare Naozumi to your father. Wrong and twisted in so many different ways. But where the lines of past rally legend Hiro Suruki and present rally prodigy Naozumi Hiyama drove until they raced parallel to each other, they were so similar. Painfully similar.

In the way they both took to the dirt road like maniacs, trusting the cars to drive them to their one and only desire in life: winning. Winning race after race, the public, the very right to call themselves the golden boys of two entirely different generations of rally racing.

To have it all and to lose it all.

A game of the gods.

Although they played the same wretched game, there were significant, almost crepuscular differences between the two. Your father practiced a good amount of humility. He looked failure in the face and chose to make good on what he already had, big or small, powerful or powerless, being a known legend or a forgotten nobody. He took it as it was given to him, for what it was, not what it could have been.

Naozumi, on the other hand, was a different specimen in that field. He laughed heartily in the presence of defeat, probably threw a middle finger at it, then stomped right through it like it was a virtue to be a self-righteous asshole in life. As if being simply himself for a while would be his Achilles heel. The very thing that could end him.

He might be on his way up, nearly grasping the handle on the gates of the hall of fame. But just as close as he could get to tugging those doors open, he could fall back to be nothing but a beginner just as fast.

He was racing himself in his own head and that could make him lose everything in a heartbeat.

The road forgives no one.

It surely won't start with Naozumi Hiyama.

On the other side of town, a pair of angry dark eyes peered into the city skyline from his own lone drive around the streets of Tokyo. His jaw sat rigid, ticking with every new thought inflicting pure rage through his veins. All thoughts drifting around his public victory, his personal defeat, and you.

Tonight was a glitch in the simulation. A turn in the track he never saw coming even if his co-driver would've paced it to him, ahead of his wheels tasting it or his eyes taking notice of it. His reaction time was off in the worst ways possible. An error that sent his system into overdrive.

In all his years as a rally driver, there wasn't a time when he was a sore loser in the face of defeat. But this one loss left a bloody taste in his mouth no amount of alcohol could take out even if he drowned himself in it.

He was so wrong to brush you off, thinking you weren't fit to be competition. His competition. Knowing it deep down within himself that you'd barely make it past a few rally rounds before you pulled out of the series. So sure that you wouldn't last long in that shabby car of yours tuned for disaster more than driving.

But you had fight in you.

A fire burning deep within, flaring bright in your eyes from the moment you stepped up to the table tonight, in front of all those people, to challenge him to a battle of wits. Publicly. Shamelessly.

Pulling up to a red traffic light, he sighed bitterly. He thought he had it right in the palm of his hands. The one he was currently squeezing tight around the leather of the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and his nails dug sharp indents inside of it.

She's playing a dangerous game. She has no idea what world she just entered. This world takes more than it gives. It takes your soul.

It will take hers and crush it to pieces like gravel lining up the road.

I gave her a fair warning with that threat but as it seems it fell on deaf ears. Probably part of the Suruki charm.

The traffic light above turned green but his foot stood still, both lifted and lowered halfway from meeting the pedal. He didn't press the gas.

The streets were deserted. No one was going to push him to move it and drive off. Not that he wanted to. He was way too preoccupied with something else, much more troubling than being shoved off the road.

He stared through the windshield up ahead at nothing in particular, just thinking. Absorbing his defeat like he never lost a race in his career ever before. Not this pathetically anyway. Refusing to accept that anyone could take the road away from him. No one would take that away from him. Not that clown parading in the Sigma Racing gear. Not his team who had no trust in his driving. Not even you.

The pedestrian alert beeped in the silence of the night until the lights overhead turned red again. And he was stuck. Again. His rage was surprisingly all gone now, seeping out of his body and drifting away until it was replaced by something else. Something stronger, beckoning him to take the alternative route of retrieving his honor without breaking away from his path. The only path he dedicated his life to.

And then it dawned on him.

If he had to witness the second fall of the Suruki family, why not make it a fun time and take a part in it? Satisfy that hidden curiosity of his about you and how much you could take of this world before it was too much and it swallowed you whole.

Taunt, tempt, torment.

Now that was a game he would've been mad not to play. Much more when his opponent was you.

You crave war, Raiko Suruki.

The traffic lights barely flashed yellow and his foot was ripping the gas pedal at the speed of lightning, a devilish smirk spreading on his face as he sped through the streets with a newfound purpose.

And you've tempted me enough to bring it to you.

Monday mornings are nice.

When you're not called to the team headquarters by your PR agent at the ass crack of dawn.

Kate's urgent call came through with the first rays of sun, her specific battle ringtone blaring loudly in the quiet of your darkened room. Dazed, you picked up the call only to meet her low voice on the other end, laced with an undertone of warning that if you didn't show up to the main office as fast as your foot could press the throttle, your career as a rally driver was as good as dead.

Capsized, finished, dissolved, and a few other calamity related words she had at hand to explain the situation.

Half-asleep, but scared shitless, you stumbled down the stairs as quietly as you could, since your dad's snores told you he was still asleep and you didn't need to wake him up anytime soon. You shoved whatever shoes you could find and drove over, grateful it wasn't morning rush hour yet.

What you didn't expect to find when you threw the office door open was a sleepless Kate in a track suit, with rims around her eyes, and a groggy Naozumi, seated at one end of the conference table. You were more taken aback by the latter of the two, stopping in the door to blink and squint your eyes at him repeatedly, thinking you were imagining his presence. Like your anxiety started associating him with life or death situations and he would just spawn before you.

Lifting an annoyed brow at your staring, he scoffed, falling back in his chair at the sight of you.

Nope, he's very real and he's throwing daggers at me.

Throwing some right back, you noticed he was still dressed in last night's clothes.

Did he even go home?

Kate clicked her jaw and suddenly you didn't really like the vibes in the room. Before you could tow out the door and back in your car to drive away and hide in your room forever, possibly requesting an email transcript of this atrocious meeting, Kate seized you by the arm hard, but gently, and maneuvered you in the empty seat next to him. Your knee pushed his on accident since he was manspreading like he was right at home. Moving your knee away, he took it as an invitation to open his legs even more, tapping the side of your leg on purpose.

Roosters haven't even crowed and he has the mood for violence this early.

Reeling back your leg, you pushed your knee harder into his, sending it knocking into his other one. He sent his into yours in response only angering you further. You kept going at it until loud tapping against the table broke your fighting apart before it became a brawl.

Kate cleared her throat trying to move your attention from his annoying taunts. And she did. One look at her quiet form on the other side of the table had you gulping down your nervousness for what she had to say, as well as bitterness for why this swine had to be here to listen in to life changing news.

On that note, why am I here either?

Your mouth opened to ask just that when Kate wordlessly shoved a magazine on the table, kind of answering your unasked question. Cautiously leaning over the table, mindful of the sharp glare she trained on you, your eyes scanned the front cover of a scandal outlet fresh off the press, surprised to see a security camera shot of you driving your car through the city with Naozumi's right beside you, from the night before.

The title read Prodigies of rally taking an illegal ride downtown topped with a few other blurry inserts of your face here and there.

That doesn't look so bad. You can't even see my face in them-

As if sensing your denial, Kate picked up several more magazines, newspapers, even printed copies of digital news and posts from social media, lining them all up in front of you. These had yours and Naozumi's faces clear as day and your cars as taken by paparazzi, photographed from a distance or up close, alongside those posted online by the celebrities present at your little event from last night.

Where some of the newspaper headlines were even worse than the magazine articles blurbs, the social media posts made up for it with praises of the spectacle the crowd was given.

"Care to explain?" asked Kate, though it wasn't really a question and more of a demand.

You sorted through some of them and pointed to a tweet and a magazine cover, replying to her query with a question of your own.

"I look great in these ones. Can you ask for the HD's so I can frame them?"

Kate let out a pained breath, leaning forward on the table in front of you. She was not happy with your response or your attitude to the situation, but she kinda demanded a lot at merely six in the morning.

Maybe I should book her that gua sha spa treatment she keeps going on about.

"Why were you there, Raiko?"

"Well," you started, hacking a nervous laugh out. "You know..."

"No. I actually don't know. So, please do explain."

Her brown eyes resembled sparkling, squishy bubble tea pearls this early. But they were piercing through you, less friendlier and soft, and a lot more authoritative, much like cannon balls about top be fired at you.

Since you weren't taking the lead to explain, Naozumi took it away. Which might have been a huge mistake. On his part.

"It's not that big of a deal," he rushed out with an exasperated breath.

Kate's eyes flew to him in a breath. That one sentence was enough to put him directly on her blacklist. You didn't miss the way she angled him down like he was the very devil risen up from the pits of hell to ruin her Monday. Not like Mondays were fun anyways.

"Maybe to you it isn't. But to her career that hasn't even started yet, it is."

Naozumi leant over the table, trying to assert himself like the male alpha figure he know he is. He flashed her his pearly smile and that stare of his that could send your pulse hammering like a sledgehammer.

"We could put this all behind us if you wanted to."

He did not just try to flirt like that.

That charming mode of his might have worked with someone else. But this was Kate. She eats men on a silver platter to do her job and she did one hell of a good job. He was wrong to expect that his tactics would work on her of all people.

"Oh, I would. If it was was me who was driving and not you two. What the fuck were you thinking getting her into this mess?"

"Why don't you stick to your driver and leave me alone?"

"You're in as much shit as she is, so I suggest you stop acting like a suck up."

"Whatever," he exhaled, leaning back in the chair beside you in defeat. That plan of his was as good as dead the moment he opened his mouth.

Her phone started ringing. She trudged to it angrily before muttering another curse.

"Children. Both of you," she mumbled underneath her breath, walking to the corner of the room to take it. Her murdering voice turned sweet and melodious like honey, switching from agentzilla to her normal tone.

The quiet was swallowing. Almost suffocating. Until Naozumi opened his mouth to speak again.

"You were good out there," he spoke gruffly, voice coming out barely above a mumble. As if he was thinking the words over, not just before, but even after he let them out. They still surprised you nonetheless.

"I'm sorry what?" you choked out.

"I said you were good out there."

"The great Naozumi Hiyama recognizes my talents?"

"I take it back."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't. Because I already have my ego up in the fucking sky."

He smiled. A small barely tilt of his lips, not in amusement, teasing, or provocation, but in genuine show of merriment. Strange.

Once he realized his mistake and caught you looking at him wide-eyed like he was some rare exhibit in a museum, he went back to the gloomy, pissed off jerk mask he had going on. Just as fast as it appeared, the smile was completely gone. Like it was never there. And you had a sudden want to see it again. It was too late to realise you voiced it out.

"Wait. Was that a smile?"

"Do you need an eye test or something?"

"I'm pretty sure that's called a smile."

"I don't smile," he scoffed.

He said the word like it made him disgusted to even be able to reproduce such a thing. Like he wasn't built for genuine cheer. Clowns weren't built for smiling. People were. There was a huge difference between those.

He was human after all. He smiles. When he's caught off guard by words rather than actions, apparently. Interesting.

"Sure you don't," you smirked.

"Rai, leave him alone," grumbled Kate from the other side of the room.

"He started."

He huffed annoyed at your antics and having to be tortured this early in the morning by your PR agent of all people. You smiled again happy with his predicament, and the fact that you weren't alone on this. There was a small part of you that got satisfaction from seeing him in trouble. But now that his trouble was yours too, you kind of equaled the opening score.

"Okay," exhaled Kate, turning back to you with less stress and more anguish judging by the way her eye twitched.

"So, we can't do anything for now but let them talk until they catch new gossip somewhere else. Which should be soon enough. That means," she turned to you with an icy glare, "no more illegal racing."

"For now or?"

"Indefinite."

"Negotiable?"

"Non."

"Well that's a bummer," you huffed, sulking back in your seat.

"Same to you Naozumi. I'm saying this as friendly advice," she says, her gaze turning softer. "Your PR team is already under enough stress as is. Do them a favour and lay low for a while. It will do you good as well."

"They're being paid to help me. Not the other way around."

From the way she frowned at him, you could tell she held back on yelling expletives at him that would get her fired if they ever reached higher-ups. She tightened her fists instead, trying to calm herself down. Then she grinned wide and your stomach dropped. The sky usually splits open when she wears that heinous grin.

"Oh, and one more thing. The federation called."

The federation called? For this? That can't be good.

"They don't like associating themselves with drivers who like getting into trouble. What you did last night won't affect your participation in the series. But they'll be preparing a suiting punishment soon."

"What kind of punishment?"

"The kind I'm sure you'll both hate with your guts."

"Is that all or do you have more nonsense to lecture me about?" asked Naozumi, clearly irritated that he was held accountable for once. And that he hasn't been allowed to leave yet. You wondered why he didn't just up and leave and sat here until now.

"You can go," she nodded at him with a sigh, the one filled with empathy reserved for lost causes. Like Tanaka.

"And me?" you piped up.

You were edging to just go back home and forget all of this even happened. And brainstorming what the board classified as suitable enough punishment. But from Kate's light snicker, you weren't off the hook yet. Far from it actually.

"Your lecture isn't over," she said.

"Bye rookie."

Naozumi flashed you a smile and a finger wave then he slid out the door. Before the door shut tight, concealing his existence, it creaked open and he peaked his head back in, filling the room with more dread.

"Nice pants by the way."

You looked down at your pants, met with the little McQueen cars. You were in your pyjama pants. Again. Fuck's sake. You shifted your gaze back at him, flipping him off without a wink of hesitation.

"Naozumi, please leave before I get security to kick you out," begged Kate.

And he did. Laughing his ass off down the hallways at your expense.

"Why does he get a pass from the lecture?"

"Because he's probably heard it enough to puke it. Though I doubt any of it actually reached his ears and stayed in his brain for long," she spoke, looking at the door with another frown for the man.

"But I know you actually regret your actions and want to do good by them," she stated. Prowling around the table to take Naozumi's seat, her serious gaze turned eager. "And I wanna hear the gossip."

"Of course you do," you laughed. "I'm going to need a coffee to go with that."

She reached behind you to the silver refreshment trolley you failed to notice, and grabbed two steaming cups from the top, placing one in front of you.

"Tell me he didn't spit in it or something."

"Nope. He just stared at it blankly, silently hoping I would offer it."

"Atta girl," you high fived her.

"Now tell me everything."

Sleep pulled you in the second you hit the pillow. You've sat in the office for most of the day just chatting with Kate, then being given the mother of all lectures on earth. Only she could reprimand you then seek gossip, doing a full personality 360 between angry, concerned and friendly. If you ever ended up like that, you'd made a promise to reset your brain setup yourself.

It would've been nice to be left alone to finally get real sleep since you had some time off-season now, but for the second time in a row today, someone had other plans for you.

The buzzing coming from your nightstand stirred you wide awake with less than nice wishes for the person disturbing you. Turning on your other side, you ignored it and plunged your head deeper into the plush of your pillow, sighing in delight. Little by little, you were pulled under by the remnants of sleep edging you all day. Fluffy, much needed rest.

Your phone buzzed again. And again. And again, begging to be answered.

Ah, for dear fuck's sake.

Throwing a hand behind, you searched into the air for your phone, hitting a lamp and the headboard before your fingers finally found the hellish device. Craning an eye open to make sure you hit the right button, you answered, pulling it hazily to your ear.

"Who's this?" you asked, way more raspier and annoyed than you intended it to come off.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," chuckled an eerily cheerful voice on the other end. "Or should I say good evening?"

"Akira?" you pulled back to look at the time on your phone. "It's nine. Why are you awake right now?" you groaned, flipping on your back.

"Why are you asleep right now?"

Fair point.

"What's up?" you asked, trying to stifle a yawn.

"I'm going out and I wondered if you wanted to come with. If you, I don't know, maybe wanted to hang out?"

That's sweet.

"Where?"

"It's a surprise. That is if you're willing to come. Are you?"

For someone that loved female attention and flirting with his fans, he sure was adorable at trying to make actual conversation with one. That and you were kind of nodding off to the sound of his sweet voice filling your ears like candy.

Your head fell deeper into the pillows, finding a comfortable spot you've searched for all of last night. A light snore went past your lips at which he chuckled.

"Rai? Are you still on the line?"

"Hmm. Yeah. Okay. I'll come with. When?"

"How fast can you get ready?"

"Give me thirty minutes. Where do I meet you?"

"Downtown Shibuya."

"Okay."

"Cool, I'll send you the location."

"Cool."

Hanging up, you closed your eyes again, way too on the edge of falling back to dreamland. Then an alarming thought rang out loud in your head.

Downtown?

That made you sit up fully awake in bed. Your hair was a wreck. You definitely needed a shower and to find something in your heaps of luggage still unpacked on the floor.

Thirty minutes was nearly not enough. But it'll have to do now.

Thirty minutes later and you reached downtown. The only problem was that you couldn't park anywhere. Maybe taking the subway would've been better.

Reaching the location Akira pinged you, you pulled over on the sidewalk, waiting for him to show up.

You watched the crowds gather and disperse on the famed center sidewalks spreading out in various directions, each pedestrian heading somewhere different.

For a moment, you wondered what kind of lives these strangers led. What hopes and dreams for the future they had. For one moment they were here, in the heart of the never sleeping city doused in neon lights, present and thoughtless. Only they would know what the next moment had prepared for them.

Racing towards the finish line for most of your life, you had to expect the unforeseen quite a lot. So it was interesting to see other people race towards other things, less life-threatening and more life-involved.

The radio changed the pop tunes for a catchier one that had your head bopping instantly on the first note. You turned up the volume, tapping your fingers on the wheel to the rhythmic beat. This would work so well with my new mix. You tried to turn it up a little louder but your speakers refused to play past mid-level.

Stupid speakers. I need to change this system ASAP. It's older than my dad.

About to curse the downsides of your old sound system, you were interrupted by a soft knock to your left. A strip of what looked like soft pineapple cake was the first thing you saw in the window. Then Akira's head popped down, holding his other hand under the dessert as if he was advertising to become someone's son in law and spread happiness. With a laugh at the faces he was pulling, you unlocked the door and let him in.

"God, it's so nice and warm in here," he sighed, relaxing into the seat beside you. He handed you the bag of desserts so he could stretch out and warm his hands against the warm air blower.

"Wasn't my idea to be out at this hour. It's cold as fuck still."

"If you don't want the cakes, give them back," he said, holding his hand out for the bag.

You hugged them closer to your chest. "They're mine now."

"All of them?"

"Mhm. You made me come all the way here on a Monday. I deserve a double treat."

There were a bunch of those little cakes stuffed into the paper bag and you weren't feeling the sharing is caring tradition today. But his lips drew in a pout, sulking in the seat like he was melting away into sadness and you had to give in. He bought them after all.

"Fine. You can have one."

"Why, thank you!"

You laughed at his antics, chucking one of the street delicacies in your mouth, dropping the bag in his lap. Turning the key in the ignition, you started the engine then turned to him.

"Okay, where to? I should drive off before I get a parking ticket."

"You know that arcade that just opened?"

"The one in Shinjuku?"

He nodded, buckling himself in. Destination acquired, you stepped on it taking off for the arcade. You whizzed past the busy streets of Shibuya, driving through the packed traffic lanes and the flickering billboards. Your eyes drifted to some of the lightshows in awe even if you've seen them so many times. You've been in this city forever but it still managed to surprise you. Even Akira glanced out the window with a twinkle in his eyes.

"So, how have you been?"

"We literally saw each other last night," you chuckled. "Did you miss me that much?"

"What if I did go into loneliness without your presence?"

Smooth.

"I'm asking more because I saw the headlines."

Damn press.

"I take it not so good?"

You let out a breath you've been holding for a while, adjusting your hand on the wheel to lean your arm on the window. Coming to a red light, you turned to him to pluck another cake out of the bag.

"It's okay. I got a pretty good lecture about the importance of driving exemplarily and the safety of my PR agent's mental wellbeing if last night were to ever happen again. And the federation heard of it. There's some supreme punishment coming my way apparently. Same for Naozumi. But I'm glad we didn't get other, more severe reprimands like being banned from the next race."

"Damn, that must've been harsh," he frowned in sympathy. "But you can still race, right?"

"Yup," you popped the p at the end. "Just not illegally," you smiled meekly, feeling bad for your little side hobby having to come to an end.

"That's not so bad then."

Tugging out another cake, you gobbled it down halfway, letting it melt in your mouth. The tangy sweet taste lifted your mood instantly. Then you recalled something that made you chew a little slower. You gave Akira a long look.

"You know these things are given as wedding gifts in other countries?" you asked upon remembering the custom.

"Yes," he replied. "But they're also symbolic of luck. Like mooncakes. Thought you could use some."

Aw. He got you lucky charms. Damn delicious ones at that.

See, if they wanted to they would. But what did Akira want?

That was another question you hackled up in your big question backpack that was slowly starting to weigh down on your shoulders. That thing was widening by the hour and the week barely started.

Taking the easier route, you drove around town letting him bask in the vivid glow of Tokyo. He looked right at home here, among all the lights and glamour. You could take the man out of Tokyo but you definitely couldn't take it out of him.

By the time you parked, the whole bag of pineapple cakes was devoured. Not one crumb was left. You fought over the last one, ending up splitting it into halves just like your sandwich the week before. You noticed Akira had a thing for sharing stuff. On that note, you realized you didn't know much about him personally, so you made it your objective to find out more tonight.

Paying for your entrance to the arcade, amazement took over you at how big the place was. There were claw machines with hundreds, maybe thousands of plushies and figurines everywhere your eyes jumped. Video games lined up the walls, making all kinds of congratulatory sounds for winners or playing jingles to lure in players.

Even further in, bowling alleys, basketball courts, table tennis and a bunch of other mini games were plastered in their own corners like a small arena of sorts. You didn't even know what to play on first. However, Akira took the lead, running over to the whack-a-mole corner.

"Ladies first," he beckoned you ahead.

"Wanna test out my reaction time or something?"

"Winner gets to pick the next game," he said, holding a hand out to you.

"Deal," you shook it well.

Let's make this fun.

Pulling up your jacket sleeves, you grabbed the hammer and waited for the game to start. The moles started moving up and down, slowly at first, and you smacked all of them pretty easily. The speed increased and the little creatures popped out faster, making it harder to spot them properly. Thanks to your trained sight as a rally driver, you were able to spot them before they even came out of their hideout, much like corners or road hazards, and smacked them right down in their holes.

Your score rose and rose, and Akira's jaw dropped once it went past 600 points and you kept going at it. You didn't even break a sweat, just hammering down those little fuckers like it was a national sport. Getting tired, you paused when the hammer missed a mole. The machine beeped, showing you the score - 900 points. Close enough to the highest score you could get.

"Your turn," you smirked, handing Akira the hammer. "Ganbare," you cheered punching the air, trying to sound like his fangirls.

His hand shook slightly when he took the hammer away from your hand, flashing you a confident smile before he turned his back to you and cursed himself. He was screwed. Completely and utterly screwed.

The game blared loudly with a countdown before he could back out. He already shook hands with you. He had to take it to the bitter end without making a fool out of himself while at it. Tuning in his focus to catch those beasts and win, he approached the table. The machine beeped and he got in position.

The first moles jumped out at him and he hit the hammer nice and easy. Then it went faster and faster and he smashed the animals at the speed of light. Beads of sweat lined up above his brow, eyes strained and focused completely on the game and nothing else, determined to at least equal your score if he couldn't surpass it.

His smacks turned messy, all over the place. He heaved breaths like he was running a marathon, completely losing himself in the game. You were sat on the side, watching and trying to keep your giggles to yourself not to disturb him from his run.

He tired out at one point, unable to take any other moles for points, missing a few. The machine beeped and he looked confident in his efforts. Before he looked at the score, he turned to you with a grin, holding his arms out in a victorious manner.

"How did I do?" he asked, wiggling his brows.

Your resolve came crumbling as one by one, your giggles slipped out and you had to clutch your stomach from how hard you were laughing.

"Take- Hahahah," you laughed, wiping a tear. "Take a look at the score. I can't."

You continued laughing as he swiveled around to take a look, eyebrows hitting his hairline.

"WHAT?! THREE FIFTY?!"

350 points. That's all he managed to get. Not even close to your score. So damn far away. But the show he gave you was priceless.

"I'm so glad I got that on camera," you beamed, pocketing your phone and the evidence away with it.

"We're not friends anymore," he says, feigning betrayal. "Who are you?"

"The winner," you giggled making a curtsy. Leaning over to grab his arm, you pulled him along with you. "Now it's my pick."

You weaved through the crowd of players, looking around for a better attraction. Most of them were medium or beginner level, boring or just too bright for your eyes, so you searched for something better. Something that would be fun and you haven't played before to give Akira a chance to redeem himself.

Somewhere between pushing ahead and tugging him behind you, your hand slipped into his to pull him through the huge crowd without getting lost. At first he didn't notice it, too busy keeping his balance as you monster trucked your way through people. When his eyes drifted down to see your hands intertwined deftly, a small smile made its way to his lips. You didn't really notice the skinship, too busy whirling your head around. Then you spotted the perfect game.

Running up to the start line, you pointed at it like a little child who just found a new curiosity. Your eyes sparkled bright as you gazed back at him and his smile widened even more.

"Bowling?" he asked.

"I haven't played before," you admitted.

Truthfully, you didn't get a lot of time to play around growing up. The few games you played were all mostly car related. Wheelies, car bumpers, racing simulators. Whenever your friends from school went out, you'd be stuck helping in the garage or driving out of the city for a junior qualifier.

"Let's see if you've got it in you."

Barely two rounds in and you scored only full strikes, one after another. Angling your hand the way you saw them do in the movies, you pulled your wrist back, then pushed it forwards and let go sending the ball straight in, watching all the pins fall down. Turning to Akira, you caught him filming in hopes you would fail this time around only to prove him wrong again. Enthusiastic about your strike, you threw the camera a peace sign, making a weird face he laughed at.

You played ten rounds, totaling more points than him at the end. Most of his were misses, bowling ball narrowly sent down the middle of the track, only to wiggle off into the side lines or miss half of the pins. He looked close to whining. You pat him on the back in support.

Moving around to basketball, you threw in a few hoops. That's where Akira finally managed to catch up, evening the score to a tie. You let him pick the next one, ending up on the mini baseball pitches for a slow game.

The machine shot balls at you and you hit them all. With each swing of your bat, they hit the wall, bouncing back on the artificial grass before another flew your way. Akira did the same on your side. Just hitting them mindlessly, waiting for the next one to fly out.

Your hits got progressively more swift and powerful. Who could blame you when had some pent up anger to release? About what or whom, you couldn't really tell. But this was a good outlet for it.

Akira stopped his own run to watch you hit the balls with no mercy. As if they could fly far away along with your thoughts if you hit them hard enough. Your face was contorted into rage, brows drawn in concentration, nose twitching when you didn't like how the balls rounded off the bat.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you grunted, hitting another one.

"Is this about the race?"

"More or less."

Another ball flew at you and you angled up the bat too late, missing the hit by a hair's breadth. He took a seat on the bench, placing his hands on the end of the bat and his chin on top.

"Something tells me that's not why you're upset."

"I'm not," you tapped the bat to the floor, preparing for the next hit.

"Rai, I say this with the best intentions. I've known you for a few days and I can tell when your mood drops to the sewers."

"I'm not upset," you sighed. "I'm just trying to realize that I'm officially a rally driver and I have to carry the team flag and support my family and not fuck up somewhere in the middle," you said, throwing a hand through your hair. "Long story short, I guess shit just got real. And I really hate Mondays now."

You had a long day and an even longer weekend. Stuff was about to crowd up like a pile of unwashed dishes until you were ready to face and wash each of them. You weren't running away from them. You just washed a lot of them this past week alone.

"Remember the day we met, when I asked you if you're doing all this for your father or for yourself?" You nodded slowly. "If you could be anything other than a rally driver what would you be?"

A dj, a voice sang in your head.

Something you developed for years alongside racing was your passion for all things music - instruments, lyrics, beats. It just fell hand in hand with racing and helped you tune the two into one seamlessly. Ever since, you couldn't have one without the other and choosing between them was a no-go. But little by little, you did have to give up on the dj dream since rally took up most of your time. There was no time to play or write or mix things unless it was once in a blue moon.

It was purely for your own enjoyment. Up until the car show, when you stepped up to the mixer and passed him your own mix. It was the first time you had people listen to something you made and gods, it made you feel good.

Telling someone all about it was what you deeply wished for. To yell at the top of your lungs that you had a passion you still kept close to your heart that you wish you could get to more. But the most you could muster in response to Akira's question was a small smile.

No one needs to know about it. It's just my little secret.

"Just racing," you passed over the obvious. Which was a passion but it now became a job you hoped would never feel like a job. "It doesn't matter what series as long as I get to drive. What about you?"

He sat thinking for a bit. He looked conflicted, not like he didn't know what to say, but more like he imagined what you would think of it once it actually left his mouth.

"Would it be weird if I said fashion?"

Now, that wasn't such a novelty to hear when Akira did have a keen eye for fashion. Despite the fact that he looked like a supermodel in just his dirty racing suit, he could pull off even a tote bag over his head as a hat and you'd think it was the next trend. His face alone could sell you anything.

"Not at all." You sat down next to him, fiddling with a spare ball. "What do you want to do specifically?"

"I was thinking design. There's this course I found on it and I'd love to take it up. I just don't know if I have it in me, I guess."

The way his eyes glimmered, you could tell he had insane passion for it. It wasn't a question of whether he had it in him. It was a question on whether he should do it.

"I think you'd make an amazing designer," you encouraged. "You do have great style. Though I'm not one to comment since I dress like a homeless person 24/7."

"I love your band tees," he said, pointing to the one you were wearing. It was a washed grey Nirvana tee. One you liked a lot. "They're edgy and classic. Like you."

"Thanks," you chuckled.

"Something tells me you have a collection of those."

"I do in fact."

"I take it back. That's not edgy. That's totally an emo crime towards fashion."

"Oh, come on. Not my fault they're on sale in bulk. What's so wrong about having them in different colours and designs?"

"Those prints are the very death of fashion."

"No, they're not," you argued, throwing the ball at him.

You left the arcade, continuing your argument about graphic tees and how they're the end of fashion and barely in trend anymore. Distracted by the sweet smell of dough, you took off after the scent like a dog, ending up in front of a vendor selling melonpan ice cream. You bought two before Akira could pull out his wallet. When he still barged in with money, you shoved his hand away, insisting that you wanted it to be your treat and he just had to give in to that.

Taking a walk around, you fell into step side by side. He bit into his mango one, looking around like a curious kid. This was as good a time as any to ask things, questions. You started off with your favorites - the family questions. His parents were into finance, mostly gone from home. Apparently, he had an older sister but she was gone overseas to work. Probably where he learned how to share his stuff from.

Jumping over other topics, you ended up on curious land.

"So," you gobbled down a bite from your melonpan. "What happened between you and Naozumi?"

His eyes widened a little, then fell back into serious crescents. Maybe that wasn't the question to ask right off the bat. He didn't look thrilled to be talking about that of all things and you instantly regretted asking.

"It's complicated," he said, playing with the paper packaging of his melonpan.

"It's okay if you don't wanna talk about it."

"It's stupid really," he started, bobbing his head down to the pavement. Spotting a bench, he took a seat and you joined.

"Last year, we were both competing for the Australian Cup. I was freshly brought into Sigma Racing as new talent. He's been under Spica for a few years already."

"It happened during one of the middle rounds. Really dry ground, loaded with road hazards and high jumps stressing the suspensions. That thing could turn your car into a death trap. The last turn at the end of the track had a big slope that went up then slid down, curving the exit right in front of the pit zone. I was driving so well until I took up that last turn."

"What happened?"

"I was going way too fast and those lumps on the road didn't make driving any easier. I kinda lost control," he sighed, closing his eyes as if it was happening right before him again. "I tried to steer clear of anyone but I ended up jumping right in front of the Spica Racing pen, just when he was driving out to take his place at the start of the course. I crashed into him and mangled his car pretty badly. He had to pull out of the round completely since it had irreparable damage."

Regret swam behind those black eyes of his, consuming the very light bouncing off the all the signs plastered around the place. You could tell the whole situation has been eating at him for a while.

"It wasn't your fault, Akira. Those things happen without you being able to do anything about it. We're trained to expect the unexpected."

"I know. Thing is, I tried to apologize right after but we got into a fight. We... said some things. I don't even remember what it was but I know he got really mad at me and has been driving the Akira hate train ever since like I committed some crime against him."

Something told you there were gaps waiting to be filled in that confession. You couldn't say you knew Naozumi just after a few days of events. But from your fights and teasing, you did catch up on the fact that it took a mighty spark leaping in the air to start Naozumi's reasoning storm and have it weather towards someone in a certain way. The way it weathered towards Akira said there was something else there.

Truthfully, he had the right to be mad. You would've been too if that was you mid-season, especially if your team was still struggling like it was now. But Akira tried to make amends that ended up right in the bottomless pit of Naozumi's endless hatred. That told you enough about him as a person. Recognizing your wrongs and trying to do right by them is a quality less and less people have these days. Much less Naozumi.

Although, now that you finally heard the story that began their relentless hate matches on track, a part of you was itching to know where Naozumi stood on this. Apart from the clear threat he made in the press conference that you happened to overhear. Aside from what the world said about their feud.

You wondered if his dislike towards Akira was just because of that incident or there was more to it. There's always a cause and effect and it took more than an accidental crash to have someone like Naozumi declare sudden death to someone.

Making small talk with Akira was becoming your favorite thing. You could talk about anything with the guy. Absolutely anything. He was like a walking-talking encyclopedia of sorts, just waiting to be flipped through and asked a 'did you know' question.

You wanted to take his mind off things since he's done that for you tonight. From the smile turning his eyes into crescents as you drove him around town, you managed to do just that.

"Where have you been until now?" he asked, turning to you with a light grin.

Your own simply caught the tip of your lips. "Right here in this city."

"Crazy we've never met before all this."

"Maybe we did, but we didn't know it at the time."

"Plausible," he laughs. "But I'm sure I would remember someone like you."

Flutters started in your tummy and made their way up through your body, blooming in your chest. No one's said these things to you before. If it was anyone else, you'd think it was just charmspeak to woo you. He did use it with his fangirls. But this felt... different. Or maybe you were just making up feels on the nice high that tonight brought you.

"Surely," you said, trying not to cut his flair short.

Turning the wheel down the street, you reached the downtown apartment complex area. You dipped your head down to look at the tall skyscrapers lining up to each other in similar grey tones. Mostly Tv personalities, movie starlets and other celebrities lived in this part of town. And Akira apparently.

How much do they pay at Sigma Racing? An apartment here is worth more than a normal racing salary. But... maybe it's not his and he's just visiting someone.

You stopped the car on a curved driveway right in front of his building. It looked reserved for limousines and fancy cars.

"I'm glad you came tonight."

"I enjoyed it. You know, that was my first time in an arcade," you confessed. He gasped in shock.

"What?! Really? It didn't look like it as you were beating my ass at every game I thought I was good at. You looked like a pro out there."

"Thank you," you smiled sheepishly.

"You know, that means I should take you out more."

"Is it really taking me out if I'm the one driving?" you cocked an eyebrow.

"Good point," he admits with a chuckle.

Turning for the door handle, he got ready to get out of your car and end the night. You didn't really want it to end. Not after how much fun you had together - real fun that you haven't had in a long time.

You felt like saying something before he left. The words sat right on the tip of your tongue.

He plucked open the handle, setting a foot out and you finally spoke.

"I had fun tonight," you said breathlessly. "Thank you, Akira."

You leant over the gearbox, placing a small kiss to his cheek. Probably the most unexpected thing you did tonight.

You drew away so fast you got whiplash. He seemed frozen to the seat. Much more frozen than the cold breezing in the car through the small crack in the open door.

Blinking the haze away, he got out of the car and was about to shut the door when he bent back down, holding onto the the top of the car.

"Good night, Rai. Thanks for hanging out again."

"Anytime," you smiled and waved at him. "Good night, three-fifty."

He shook his head with a wrinkle of his nose, embarrassed at the new nickname that's probably going to follow him for a while. You watched him retreat into the huge building, disappearing behind the double doors.

Once he was through, he barely reached reception as realization dawned on him. His palm held the cheek you kissed just a few minutes ago like your lips were still pressed against it. He broke out into the biggest, goofy smile. Turning back to the entrance, he saw your car still in front of the building.

Just as you were about to drive off, you caught your reflection in the rearview mirror. A shy smile and pink cheeks painted your face like a spring flower bouquet.

Wait. Wait. WAIT! you gasped.

Was this... Was this a date?

It wasn't, right? you giggled. He would've said something if it was, more giggles came out turning into a dry laugh. Right?

Then why the hell did I kiss him?

I KISSED HIS CHEEK????

WHY?

You dropped your head to the steering wheel accidentally blaring the horns and the very life out of you. People walking around the entrance, including the security guy, gave you a weird look. That was your cue to leave.

You slapped your cheeks before you stepped on it and drove home thinking about your life choices since they were starting to go against your norms. Badly.

Inter-season preparation was both the best and the worst period of time.

Rally weekends definitely fell in the best category. The pure adrenaline, the suspense, driving the car on new adventures. Celebrating milestones you wanted to overtake and adding new goals to challenge. The stuff dreams were made of - progress, setbacks, then more progress.

The weeks in between rallying? An absolute drag.

Testing. Training. Repeat. A truly never-ending saga.

Testing went pretty uneventfully. The team changed set-ups that were more Fuji round appropriate and you drove the car on similar dirt roads to see whether they worked or new changes had to be made.

The car surprisingly took all the changes well, better than in pre-season testing. Your team mechanics, not so much. They were under insane pressure to deliver accurate measurements and quick part changes since this round allowed settings and parts to be changed mid-stages.

You drove out in mock lap times on similar dirt roads, then returned to base so they could take over under a timed count. All the measurements and estimates made were just possibilities since you couldn't tell how the car would behave on the real ones. There was also the variable of weather conditions and considering the zone of rally, anything was possible.

Training, however, was a bitch. Biking, swimming, running miles on end to get better stamina. Then rough sport went into soft sport. Some type of fitness, like yoga or pilates, to get your body in better shape to handle the forces pushing you around in the car on track.

Tanaka liked changing it up a notch, picking a different pair of sports every other day. The days in between you just slept away like the dead to replenish your energy.

You were currently two weeks away from the next round. Tanaka decided to take it easier on you and took you on a hike around the hills surrounding Tokyo. The view was breathtaking, the city spreading out like a map from the point you reached. But so was the hike.

Your knees gave out, thankfully next to a good enough sitting boulder, unable to carry your body anymore.

"Break," you gasped out. "I need a break," your hands flailed about to ask for a timeout.

"Break approved," voiced Tanaka, stretching his limbs like he was taking a stroll in the park. Sometimes you wondered if he was human.

"Can we go to a normal gym in town? I think I've hiked all the hills around Tokyo by now," you asked, hoping he would accept.

Throwing a look over your tired body, he seemed to be considering it. The old man knew how much you despised this back and forth. He tried to expose you to as much sport as possible to get your body stronger, but above that, he valued your feedback. That was what made him one of the best trainers out there. If you needed a change, he had to accommodate it and he would.

"We can," he laughed slyly.

Wait, it's that easy? I just had to ask? No side deals or anything?

If that's the case then, you could've had less pain and more rest if you spoke your mind more often. Noted.

Besides, he seemed way too in good moods lately. Was it because of something or someone?

"I have a question," you piped up. "Actually several."

"Shoot," he took a seat next to you, chugging some water down.

"What's going on between you and Kate?"

He spit out his water, choking on some of it that remained stuck in his throat. You slapped his back in support with a chuckle.

"Nothing," he looked away, still coughing.

"Nothing my ass. I've seen the way you drink each other in with just one look. That's not nothing. That's everything."

He stopped coughing, wiping the water drops still falling from his chin with the collar of his sports shirt. His eyes looked out at the city, getting lost in all the shapes and buildings. After a while, a small smile settled on his lips, lightening up that serious stubble on his chin.

"Come on, humor me," you bumped your shoulder into his. "I won't tell."

"She's just," he paused thinking deeply. "Amazing," he said breathlessly.

As if that simple word rounded up every single thing he felt about her. Just that it couldn't and you could see it on his face.

Not just now, but in the pen or in the team office when they would pass by each other. He would send a soft gaze her way, eyes rounding and pupils dilating like he was looking at literal gold. In response, Kate would send him a sweet smile, the kind that probably had her twirling her stray caramel lock of hair falling out from her messy bun once she passed by and was out of sight.

He continued his rant on all the things he loves about her and you couldn't help but feel incredibly single for the first time in your life.

"I've never seen anyone stand up to men like she does. Well, you do. But the way she does it is just so inspiring. It makes me want to shake all men on earth until they get their balls twisted and never speak to a woman ever again. Especially her."

You could feel the adoration he had for her just ooze from him like it was suffocating exhaust smoke. Okay, maybe more like cotton candy steam. Sugary and sweet. The kind that sticks your teeth together in decay. But adorable nonetheless.

"Have you told her how you feel about her?"

"Nope. That's a bridge I'm not going to cross anytime soon, Rai."

"And why not?"

"The age difference. The world we live in. She's a solid independent woman, while I'm just me."

All reasons that made no sense.

Firstly, love had no age. And it wasn't like he was a seventy year-old dating someone four decades younger than him. He was barely thirty seven and you knew for a fact that Kate liked older men. All her recent dating experiences with men in her age range ended up in tragic ghosting and her deleting all dating apps as if it would delete her memory of them.

Secondly, the world we live in is crazy. But not that batshit crazy that a trainer and a PR agent weren't allowed to date. Last time you checked, your father didn't say anywhere in the rules that his employees were working under a no dating clause. Even if there was such a clause, you'd have him delete it from all records instantly.

Thirdly-

"You are an amazing trainer, co-driver and supporter. You're like an uncle to me and I wouldn't change it for the world. Besides all of that, you have amazing work ethic. You're not that ancient."

At that last remark, you tilted your head to the side thinking something else would've sounded better, then shook it off, continuing.

"If anything you fit the criteria of what she's looking for."

"Still not gonna happen," he says, shaking his head, smile now gone from his face.

"Well, if it ever will, you have my full support. Probably dad's too."

"Thanks," he chuckled.

Your hand laid out to pat his shoulder again in a manly way.

"I'll be your wingman anytime."

"I genuinely think your father thought you were a boy until you hit puberty and grew out that bowl cut of yours."

"That's what mom keeps telling me. I think there's a good amount of manliness in me, don't you think?" you wiggled your eyebrows, pumping up your bicep muscles to cement that point even though he was referring to your personality.

"Sure," he shook his head at you.

The days were getting warmer with April fast approaching. The sun was unbearable to sit under, but covered by the dense evergreen forest like this, it felt like pure bliss was radiating in the air.

"A day will come when a poor bastard will charm you and you'll see how it feels on your own skin."

You were taken aback at that.

"Why do you say poor bastard?" you asked, brows drawing together.

"Oh, look at the time," he checked the watch on his wrist way too quickly. "We should hike back down."

"Don..." you hissed in warning but he was already walking hurriedly down the path you just climbed.

"Men love starting shit unprovoked," you mumbled to yourself before you took off after him.

Truthful to his words, Tanaka took you to a gym the very next day. Not just any gym but the very best in town, decked in a bunch of world class apparatus and gear that would put your impromptu garage gym to shame. And it did when he showed you pictures of it and how big it was.

The day came you finally tried it. You skipped running time for this and couldn't contain your excitement since you'd rather do gym time than run in the streets in this mini heatwave.

The building had parking available inside for easy access anytime you wanted to go. Taking the elevator, you let Tanaka press the buttons since he knew more about the place. The floors kept rising and rising and your jaw dropped once it passed the twentieth floor, unable to imagine a building having more than ten.

I'm on filthy rich territory, mom.

A lady dressed in fitness gear welcomed you warmly at reception, then showed you around some of the facilities. Apparently, they had several gyms on this floor, a pool somewhere on an upper level and other amenities that you could barely wrap your head around existing in just one place. She led you through the hallways, all decked in portraits of famous athletes that apparently worked out here from time to time. You recognized some baseball players and footballers, even your mom's favorite golf player.

This place is the hall of fame on earth.

She led you to the changing rooms, which were a bit of a let down. They looked like high school lockers and had team benches around like a stadium changing room would. Probably to let the athletes feel at home among all that shiny equipment.

You changed into more gym appropriate clothes and met Tanaka in the hallway, talking about the facilities.

"A friend recommended it to me. Apparently it's bigger than this, stretching beyond this level, and a lot of athletes used it before. It's also deserted during the night since most of them like working out during the early morning and book it to themselves."

That sounded amazing. Being able to work out and suffer through the pain without other onlookers around was a dream. You even got a killer view of the city lights in the dusk of the darkening night sky as you stepped over the threshold. It truly felt like a dream.

And it sure turned out too good to be true when you rounded the corner into the main gym and spotted a familiar tanned, ripped back under a lone light, dark hair dripping with sweat, pumping his biceps by lifting heavy weights in the far corner.

"I think we should come back later," you smiled nervously, turning back around and yanking Tanaka by his shirt.

Naozumi just so happened to spawn at the one gym you wanted to go to. Recommended to go to. But alas. He was here and now you were here too which wasn't good.

The last thing you wanted was to have a weight-lifting competition and end up breaking stuff over his head to shut his comments up. So you pulled on Tanaka's shirt a little harder to make him move out through the door before the devil saw you.

"What? Why?"

Naozumi sensed movement behind him. In one brisk move, he turned around and placed the weights back in place, throwing his towel on his shoulder before making his way to you.

At least he has a shirt on this time.

As he moved to you, your breath hitched.

If pre-sex interrupted Naozumi looked hot in the crack of a shabby hotel door, post-workout Naozumi with the backdrop of nightfall over Tokyo was a sight that made your knees weak against your will.

Shamelessly, your eyes lingered on the mountains of shoulders on his back and the sweat falling from his hair down his arms in rivers. Each lost drop fell in its own stream, connecting around the protruding veins on his forearms, turning a lively green in stark contrast to the tanned skin on his arms. Bulking, blue-green veins that looked so swollen you wondered if they would burst at the small tap of your finger or if he contracted the sinews on his forearms even a little.

Thank god for fast cars, desserts and muscles.

"Came to train, rookie?" he spoke lowly, that annoying amusement ebbed in his voice along something else you couldn't really decipher.

Stopping a few feet away, he let his own eyes linger over your work out gear. Most of it was tight, pulling your skin to soft curves he drank in with all his might like Tanaka wasn't next to you. As if it was just the two of you and no one else in the silence of the darkened gym.

"You look like you need it."

"Your car would say something different," you crossed your arms with a smirk. "Still driving around with a damaged front bumper?"

The muscle in his jaw ticked at the mention of his car damage, moving his weight from one foot to the other with a scoff. His tank top shifted with the movement, revealing more of that dip in his perfectly toned chest. Why was he even working out when he looked like that? You'd spend all day looking in the mirror if you had even one of those perfectly packed muscles. Just one.

Noticing the way your eyes locked on his chest, he took a gamble that you were more interested in something else than what he was saying. His hand rode up to take off the towel on his shoulder, letting it fall by his side. Your eyes flew to the other side of his uncovered collar bones, the dip between them and the trunk of his neck as soon as the cloth slipped off completely.

True to his assumptions, you were staring. And he enjoyed it a whole lot.

His arms crossed over his chest, bulging out the lean beef and those criminal veins lined up on his arms, also pushing up his pecs in the process. Unconsciously, you licked and tugged your lower lip between your teeth, unable to look away. Until he spoke and cut off the wire rolling fantasies in your head.

"Like what you're seeing?" he teased.

What a hoe.

"Your car in shambles?" you replied.

"I should've asked you to pay damages," he taunted, taking a step closer to you. His dark eyes moved down to you. "Since you're daddy's little princess and all."

"Why would I pay when I can literally fix it myself?"

His eyebrow lifted at that. You offered and he looked like he was genuinely considering it. That was bad news.

This is why we think before we speak.

That was not what I wanted to say. I can't help it when those pecs are staring at me, nipples fully perking under that tank top like traffic cones. Ugh, it's all his fault.

It was way too late to take it back now. You just had to accept the demise you very well and knowingly signed yourself verbally, loud and clear, with a witness by your side.

"Look," you sighed. "If you're still sour about it, come by the garage and I can have a look, for free," you muttered the last words in a mumble not sure if you should offer free services to him of all people.

"What was that last part?" he leaned in, asking you to repeat it knowing damn well he heard it.

"I said with a discount."

"I think you said for free."

"Money doesn't grow on the trees in my garden, Naozumi." You held your hand out to him. "Take it or leave it."

His brown eyes moved to your hand and flew back to yours just as fast.

"Turn around," he instructed.

"What-"

His eyes crinkled with a grin as his hands settled on your shoulders to turn you around. Once your back was to him, he plucked a marker and a piece of paper from Tanaka's hand, laying the paper flat on your shoulders. From the faint scribbles you felt on your back, he had to be jotting down his number. Once he was done, he passed the marker back to Tanaka and handed you the paper, folded neatly into tiny squares.

"Call me when you're free," he said, adding a teasing wink at the end. Then he smacked his towel back on his shoulder and left.

You opened the piece of paper to find... nothing. The fuck? You turned it around on all sides to find no trace of his number anywhere.

But he wrote something. I could literally feel it on my back-

Hold on a second.

Looking around for a mirror, you located some at the far edge of the gym and made a beeline for them. As soon as your feet planted in front of your full length reflection, you turned sideways and sure enough there it was - his phone number, digits and full name scribbled in dark marker along the width of your right shoulder.

"I'm going to fucking kill him."

"I would let you," agreed Tanaka. "But that means more PR disaster for Kate."

"Please tell me that isn't permanent marker," you huffed, licking a finger and trying to swap it off. The writing barely bunched off your skin.

"Semi-permanent," he chuckled.

"Nao-fucking-zumi Hi-trouble-yama, I will murder you one day and I won't be sorry," you gritted.

The last free weekend ahead of Fuji Highland Masters rolled in before you even felt the little break. You took the day to work a little on your jewel of a car since you didn't know when you would get the chance to even drive it to and fro in the coming months as it was mostly back to back rally rounds.

The schedule for the day ran mostly on maintenance work. You changed your winter tyres for the summer ones since the weather was letting up and the roads weren't frozen over with icicles to slide over anymore. You dove under the car, checking the oil filter for any bursts or leaks, since you had enough adventures with that one, and the rest of your old parts, making a note of what needed changing.

Before you knew it, the breezy morning turned into scorching noon. Taking a break on the steps near the garage, you drank some water and leaned back, stretching your legs on the pavement. The peace and the calm was so bearable at times where your mind stilled and you were just in the zone, doing what you liked. Working on cars was your dad's guilty pleasure and it kinda rubbed off on you once you got one.

Then you remembered. It's been a few weeks and you haven't heard anything about the punishment from the board yet. You hoped they just forgot about your race with Naozumi like it was a blip.

But like clockwork whenever you thought of him in the slightest, his annoying voice popped up in your head with an irritating reminder.

Call me when you're free.

Unlocking your phone, you scrolled through the contacts until you reached Naozumi's designated name - Devil spawn.

Your finger hovered over the number. You barely typed it in back at the gym, gaping back and forth between the numbers strewn on your back without gagging. Having to actually call it was a different thing altogether.

What if he gave me a made-up number? What if it's someone else's?

Despite your efforts to avoid calling, you had to.

A promise is a promise, you sighed. But was it really a promise? Those have expiry dates, don't they?

In your mental debate on whether to call or just forget you ever offered your help, your finger moved down the screen and accidentally tapped the call button.

Well, too late to back out now...

The line rang a few times and your patience was running thin. Five rings in and you moved to end the call until someone picked up. Though it wasn't Naozumi. You knew that demonic voice up to no damn good anywhere and this was a high-pitched female one.

"Who's this?" asked the woman on the other line.

Definitely not Naozumi. Though you wondered if you happened to torture him if he was able to make those sounds. You just hoped you didn't interrupt another heated catch, like he called them. The last one left you with mental pain.

"Hello?" she asked again, tone seething with much more irritation this time around.

I think I cockblocked him again.

"Naozumi's mechanic on duty," you replied, not having time to think it through. You pulled the phone away from your your ear, muttering a quick fuck me, before you placed it back, embarrassed.

What the fuck? Mechanic on duty?

His?

Me?

I'm screwed.

"I think my mechanic is a male actually," spoke Naozumi with a deep chuckle. His voice reverberated off the speaker with an echo you knew all too well.

The fucker put me on speaker. Foul move.

"Do you want your car fixed today or not?"

"I was about to fix something else."

Oh god.

"I'm about to end this call in 5, 4, 3, 2-"

"Send me the address. I'll be there as soon as I can," he grunted on the other line.

"Enjoy," you said and cut the call.

Enjoy?

Jesus Christ, Raiko.

A few hours later, the small heatwave calmed down and you could work properly on your car. You busied yourself with installing a new stereo system since the old one lived its days from the front relics to the back ones. You were currently stuck between the seats, trying to couple the wires for the back parts and mount the new surround speakers in.

You heard Naozumi's R8 down the street before the car even pulled up on the garage driveway, right on the other side. That engine was purring louder than a cat in heat. It was hard not to notice it when it sounded so tuned and expensive.

Moving to get out from the back and greet him, you dropped back on your hunches to pull yourself out from the back area. Small problem though. Your waist got stuck between the seats. They weren't just uncomfortable. They were unbelievable.

I really need to change these seats.

Breathing in and out calmly, you moved again, trying to pull your body out but it was to no avail. No matter how many times you pivoted back and forth, you were stuck. Feeling eyes on you, you turned your gaze to the opened driver's door to be met with Naozumi's intense stare. The leather jacket hugged the crossed arms over his chest and his sunglasses sat on the V line of his shirt. His hair wasn't as messy as you expected it to be after that call. His was looking at you with unanswered questions.

How long has he been standing there? Was he staring at my ass?

"Hi," he waved. "Need help?" he nodded back at your little issue.

"Nope," you grunted out, waving him off. "I've got it."

Turning back to face the back of the car, you placed your hands on the shoulder rests and tried to pull yourself out again.

"Damn it," you mumbled.

"I can help," he mused again.

"No thanks."

He let you struggle for a bit more before you felt the seat cushion on your left side dip and strong hands falling on your waist. You sucked in a deep breath at the contact, stilling all movements completely.

"I said I've got it."

"I don't have all day," he said, moving closer to get a better grip on you.

His fingers moved, rapping against your sides and you felt your heart skip a beat. Leaning over you, his breath fanned your exposed back. You bit your lip and cursed yourself mutely for picking out the most revealing tank top in your wardrobe to wear today of all days. That and his secure hold on your waist, warming up your sides over the thin denim of your overalls was complete terror to bear.

"Twist sideways," he directed.

"Which side?"

"Mine."

"Yours?"

"Fuck," he exhaled, warm breath hitting close to your ear making you shiver. "I meant left. Left side."

Doing as he said, you twisted at the same time he tugged your middle through, pulling you free from the grasp of your stubborn old seats. You sat back on your hunches facing him, his hands still sitting around your waist. If he let you do it yourself, you'd probably be hanging in the backseat until the next day.

You took a moment to just look at him. You haven't seen him in weeks. Not even after you started going to the gym. You had to admit he looked kind of relaxed and this break did him some good to destress and calm his road rage.

The sun shone through the windshield, reflecting the orange glow of the car interior in a warm glow of light washing over him. You searched his eyes, finding nothing but a deep pool of shiny macadamia brown to melt in.

I thought his eyes were black. They're so brown in the light. So warm.

They reminded you of that insane macadamia tart doused in unhealthy amounts of syrup and chocolate. The one guilty pleasure dessert you could never put down.

He blinked at you and your eyes shot to his eyelashes.

Were they always this long and pretty?

Your hand had a mind of its own, lifting up towards him. Your fingers could almost graze the skin on his cheeks when you stopped yourself.

What the fuck am I doing?

At once, your other hand shot up slapping the guilty one away, that one too acting on its own, falling to find balance on your brake stick, accidentally pushing it down to disengage the breaks. The car started moving and jerked you forwards but it stopped before it could roll down the driveway, into the street and cause any damage. Naozumi's hand moved over yours to press the button and pull the lever back up, engaging the brakes back on the car. His other one held you safe from smashing into the windshield.

You closed your eyes, patiently waiting for the rookie comment. You just felt it coming, sitting right on the tip of his tongue. One long sigh from him and you saw it spelled out on his lips. Soon enough you even heard it.

"Are you always this clumsy, rookie?"

There it is.

You pushed him out of the car, getting out as well. Dusting up your clothes, you crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes at him. He simply smirked at you.

"Shut up and show me the damage on the car."

Following behind in his step, he led you to the front of his supercar, pointing you to the lower right side. Crouching down, you inspected the scratch. Sure enough, there was a nasty graze there, but the bend you thought you saw that night was not there, possibly an illusion of the shadows. Less work to do then.

The scrape was big and stretched along the side, so it definitely needed a mini paint job, but nothing too complicated. You just hoped you had this shade laying around in a can somewhere in the garage.

"Dark midnight blue, right?

He nodded. You took off to the paint area, looking around all the cans on the shelves to make sure you had his color and he didn't come by for nothing. Azure, turquoise, dark blue, navy... Nope. You turned another shelving unit and scoured the labels like a hawk. Indigo, admiral... Pushed to the far back was a can turned backwards. Another dark blue shade peaked through. You reached and pulled it out. Midnight blue. There it is.

On your way out, you grabbed sand paper, a water spraying bottle, cutting compound, a coarse pad and the polish machine. You carried all of them back and sat down on the ground next to the car. Naozumi leaned on the door to watch you work.

First, you poured some water on the sand paper and sprayed some more along the grazes on the car. Gently, you sanded down each graze from left to tight, then wiped the surface with a cloth to soften it. The sanding removed some of the smaller lines, but the big ones were still nasty and wide. Spraying a few drops of cutting compound on the coarse pad, you attached it to the polish machine and started polishing over the scratches.

"How do you know so much about cars?"

"It's in the job description."

"That's not what I meant."

"You're bound to learn a thing or two when growing up in a garage full of mechanics. I spent most of my time in there as a child," you pointed back behind you. "And there's YouTube."

"That still doesn't explain anything," he scoffed.

You stopped the polish machine, turning to look up at him.

"The Veilside back there," you pointed out to the driveway. "She was a totaled wreck. One of the dupes used in the Tokyo Drift movie for stunts that ended up worse for wear."

"I was so obsessed with the car that I looked for used ones everywhere and just so happened to find her in a scrap yard, completely torn to pieces," you spoke as you added some more paste to the pad and went back to polishing the bumper.

"I saved up all my money to get the important parts she was missing. One month of pocket money got me the suspensions. Half a year later, I had enough to buy a V6 engine. The rest of it, I fixed her up with used parts from the garage until I could afford new ones. She was a work in progress for some time."

"And it ran?"

"Oh boy, it did," you smiled, working the machine on a deeper graze. "Dad called me crazy for trusting a relic that had no chance of getting fixed up or ever running the roads again. But look at her. She's doing amazing."

He seemed impressed as he took a good look at it. It genuinely seemed like a body to body replica to the one in the movie, just a little more updated. But not even the mods took away from it. Either way he looked at it, he couldn't find one side that looked the slightest bit uneven or a part that looked out of place as if the car has always been like this. Whole. Cared for.

Surprised by his silence, you glanced at him. He wore a look you haven't seen on his face yet akin to fascination of some sort.

"You seem impressed."

"Maybe I am. You're one interesting person," he said, glancing between you and the car once more.

Was that a compliment?

You flashed a small shy smile. Your driving was the one always getting complimented. Your mechanic side, not really. While the team encouraged it, your mother always threw a fit at seeing oil stains on your hands and face. Good thing she hasn't seen you after doing the oil change on the rally car. That would've been a sight.

"Thanks."

Moving to the lower lines drawing under the bumper, right in the front of the car, you repeated the polishing process trying to get as much of the grazes covered in the paste.

"Your tank here is not too bad either. Who did your mods?"

"I have a friend who does them on the other side of town. I could take you if you want to see his stuff."

"I'm good. But if I ever want to turn my car into a UFO, I might take you up on the offer."

He chuckled.

"And street races? Didn't know you were a rebel."

"You do a lot of shit that's uncalled for when you have a dad like mine."

"All of them in that thing?" he nodded to your car.

"All of them," you confirmed. "She's been by my side longer than anyone." You paused the machine. "That must make me look like a car freak."

"Not really. If anything, it tells me you're passionate about it."

What was it with him and compliments today?

"You seem passionate about other matters," you say, getting up to wipe your hands on a cloth.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he laughed.

The fact that you're boning every woman on a five mile radius.

"You're bedding a lot of women, your rally highness."

His laugh rumbled deeply at the nickname. Or the comment. You couldn't really tell which one perked his amusement more.

"Ah, that. Not passionate about it. It just helps get the steam off."

"Suuure."

"Is someone jealous?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, cowboy. That's a reach. We were on the passion topic."

"Women are not a passion to me. They're just..."

Toys? Something to pass the time with? Trophies?

"A distraction."

Hmm, that was a strange answer.

His whole behavior today was sort of odd. He was talkative, chatting away at anything you were asking. It felt like you could ask him the worst things and he would still answer. Or that might've been a reach. But something about his aura, that you couldn't quite figure out, was different. He seemed carefree. Really carefree.

His hair had a clear lack of gel. His clothes were mismatched in different shades of white, red and black but they worked. And he carried a lazy almost smile on his face. Close to smiling but keeping a safe distance from it.

A distraction. That piqued your curiosity sensor.

Just what was the great Naozumi Hiyama running from?

You would've asked just that. But you didn't have that kind of relationship with him. The one where you could just talk about anything, like you did with Akira. Well, you hid some things from him too, but that was besides the point. The point was that Naozumi was a closed off man who didn't like opening up even if he was held at gunpoint. He'd rather drown his feelings than talk about one honest idea passing through his brain at any given moment.

Clearing your throat, hoping that it would also clear the awkwardness, you changed the subject back to the car.

"I can cover it all with a little paint, but you'll have to leave it here overnight for the paint to dry."

"Okay."

Okay? No argument or flashing his money that he can take it somewhere else for somebody else to fix? He was okay with leaving his car here? In the enemy team garage? Is he sick or something?

"Okay," you said, drawing out the word.

"What?"

"Nothing. Was just wondering why you agreed so fast."

"You're doing it for free," he pointed out.

"With a discount," you deadpanned.

"Still better than going and getting the whole front bumper replaced," he stated with a shrug.

At least he knew the smart ways of life. Getting the whole bumper replaced would cost him way more. Especially on his model. But that wasn't why you were creeped out. What did creep you out was that he didn't seem like the Naozumi you fought with.

"I think it's the other way around," you said, getting up to face him.

"What?"

"You're the interesting person."

"Now, why would you say that?" he asked, waiting on you to elaborate.

"You shut off like a pearl in a shell when someone tries to talk to you about something that doesn't involve cars, racing or sex."

"Does that make me special?" he quirked a brow with that annoying smirk of his.

"No. It makes you shallow," you clarified.

"Maybe I have a reason to be like that."

He took one step closer, trying to appear intimidating but ending up looking more interested in your response to that.

"What could that possibly be?" you scoffed.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"No."

He closed the distance to you, pinning you to the side hood of his car. Your eyes flickered to the side upon his closeness. That gave him the answer he was looking for.

"You totally would," he smirked playfully. "Too bad I'm not for you, rookie."

The fuck is that supposed to mean? What are these riddles?

Me liking someone like him?

When cars could make coffee and pancakes mid-ride which was probably never.

He had a knack for misinterpreting things people said in his own words so they fit the really messed up narrative in his head.

"I never said I was interested in you. I just said you're an interesting person."

"Aren't those the same thing?"

Your mouth fell open. If that was the case, then him saying you're an interesting person meant that he was interested in you. But that was a joke. He just wanted to play with your head.

"They're not."

"Well then, explain the difference."

"What am I, your fourth grade teacher?"

Your mouth moved to ridicule him even more and he completely ignored every word as his eyes dove to your chin. A speck of dirt was on your face. Again. This one appeared to anger him.

He reached out and wiped it nicely this time without pulling it across your face. Satisfied that the grimy spot was gone, his fingers drove around to hold your chin. You had nowhere else to look but at him.

"You are something, rookie."

Something. What?

You must've voiced your thoughts out loud because he smirked down at you with that playful look in his eyes. The one that sent your insides into overdrive.

"A curiosity."

The very thing he was to you.

Maybe he wasn't that hard to decipher after all.

Taglist: @ellisaworld @howimeetyoukit @jonnelpunk @nadlx33333

Thank you for reading :)

[pinkautist]

PLEASE look at and appreciate this meme i just spent the past half hour making

[kawakiscrustylips]

I’m almost done with the anime so take my poorly made yowapeda memes

[dyminesblog]

Omg forgot to post on tumblr for a month

Here is YowaPeda collab with Sanrio

[inmatenett]

Aw shit here we go again

[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Autistic Anime Boys Prelims - Propaganda Division - Group 8

Propaganda:

Itsuki -

"Does things in ways the protagonist sees as strange and talks in a very formal and roundabout way. He also talks with his hands a lot. He has admitted to faking his personality to be more to Haruhi Suzumiya's liking in both the main timeline and the timeline where he's an ordinary human."

Akira -

"Akira cares deeply for animals maybe even more than other people, he’s completely oblivious to the fact both his best friends are in love with him and when he fuses with a demon to become a demon hunter he calls himself Devilman because he’s a demon and a man at the same time."

Yukiteru -

"Yuki is incredibly socially awkward but also has a knack for befriending odd people, he writes everything he sees in his diary and is super dedicated to keeping the format exactly the same every time oh and did I mention his ‘imaginary friend’ is a science themed god?"

Haru -

"He's really into the patterns of storytelling, and his goal in life is to be a "protagonist". Once he becomes an Appli Driver, he places a lot of his self-worth in being a protagonist and the role he fulfills (which, in my opinion, is a type of script-following) and he winds up in a bad place when he realizes him being a protagonist was built on a lie. He spends all of his free time reading & sometimes gets so invested in reading that he skips out on social activities (and lets his 2ft monster (Gatchmon) go trick-or-treating in broad daylight all on their own). He always has the same pair of goggles on his head but wears them maybe once. His buddy Appmon (digimon partners are often reflections of their human partners) is basically the personification of a search engine and will go on tangents about whatever they've looked up."

Mio -

"Has special interests in ancient medicines and photography. Abstract thoughts and oblivious to social norms. Resists change (example: reacted negatively to the schools curry being unavailable since that is his possible safe food). Other characters notes him as being strange. Poor reasoning (example: Thinks it more efficient to just take supplements instead of eating). Ignores other in pursuit of his interests."

Akira Agarkar -

"A 25 year old man who works for a government agency named D.U.C.K., where flamboyant/eccentric people investigate aliens, and goes undercover as a highschooler to gain information about Haru; doing a poor job of trying to blend in. He is a quirky silly man and his best friend is a duck named Tapioca who he talks to. He also has a special interest in fishing and gets so excited by it that he sometimes yells "FIIIIIIISHH" in English when he reels them in. Bad puns upset him so much that he is physically incapacitated and lies on the floor. What else can I say, I love him."

Kaiji -

"Can't tell when he's being tricked by other characters, and sees human connection as pointless because of how isolated he feels. Says that other see him as weird and that 'being difficult' is easier for him than acting like someone he isn't."

Shou -

"His special interest is math. He uses math terms in regular conversations and calls people yoctograms/zeptograms which earned him monikers such as "math man" and "pi-face". Speaking of Pi, he once shouted 155 consecutive digits of it through a megaphone just because he could. He's so normal."

Saguru -

"high school detective who shows up to crime scenes in full sherlock holmes cosplay because this is totally a normal thing one does, right?"

Souji -

"this lonely genius used to be a computer-like man, now he's a (tragic) villain. the bisexual who swings both ways and misses both times, he's associated with insects/butterflies, flowers/black roses, anachronism, beautiful memories, elevators, and coffins- but who in SKU isn't, really? oh, and fire. he's also voiced by Midorikawa Hikaru at his raspy best."

[astrallogic]

[timetravellingkitty]

Babe, based on what kind of shows and movies I already like, what kind of anime would you recommend for me? I wanna start watching anime and I have no idea where to start

Despite the fact that it's gonna 2 years since our mutualship I can't really think of an anime to watch based on what you like (that's on me I suck at vibe checking tbh) but I can give you a place to start. For example, the hit anime Death Note

[fomalhaut48]

Just a collection of screenshots :)

[pauking5]

Runaway 🏎️ Chapter 3 🏁

Pairing: Naozumi Hiyama x fem reader oc

Genre: racing AU, enemies to lovers, sports rivalry, suspense, a whole lot of teasing, gender power games, spice

Word count: 15.2k+

A/N: Curious who's going to catch the Tokyo Drift reference 😏 Hope you're ready for the storm cause lightning and thunder just met for real in this one. It was literal hell to write at times, but I wanted to get more accurate with it and bring you as close to the view in my head as possible, so sorry for the delay. Tried my hand at writing tension so I hope it's good. Enjoy lovelies. Smooches to you :)

Raiko's Playlist: Bad Boy - Red Velvet, High Horse - Kacey Musgraves, Antisocial - Ed Sheeran, Travis Scott, True Disaster - Tove Lo, "good guy" - Against The Current, Summer Jam - 99 RZNS, John Gibbons, KOOLKID, How Bad Do You Want It (Oh Yeah) - Sevyn Streeter, Pump It - Black Eyed Peas, Tokyo Drift - Teriyaki Boys, Morning After Dark - Timbaland, Nelly Furtado.

Previous Next

Day 3 of Tour de Tokai - Final stages

The sun was up before you could catch any sleep, peaking through the thick blinds with bright beams. That brightness didn't bode well with the small hangover brewing between your pinched eyebrows. A remainder of the excessive amounts of champagne you drank last night and the really excited twosome next door, working hard to drill a hole in the wall behind your head all night long.

At one point, they quieted down and you were near falling asleep until they went at it again and again, and you contemplated sleeping in the bathtub.

Putting on your golden blue team kit and the darkest shades you could find in the mess of luggage, you packed and dragged your heavy bags into the hallway and pressed the button on the lift for reception. You caught your reflection in the shiny silver doors and thanked god no one saw you yet. Your hair was a half-tangled mess, hidden under the team baseball cap well enough. Only two days on the job and you already had sunken in eye bags, but those were probably from the amazing beauty sleep you had the night before.

I had better days, you blew out a breath pulling up your shades.

Bags checked out and safely loaded into the airport car until later, you headed for the track. Walking out to the biggest stand on the hill overlooking the road for today, you scanned the grounds. It was still pretty early but the crowds were already making their way to the stands to get the best seats - right in the sputter of a dusty drift corner. The dirt must be doing wonders for their skin if they paid so much to sit there willingly, you thought, grimacing at the dried up mud painting most of the sun-bleached seats.

At least it was a quiet spot to just do some people watching and wake yourself up. You watched the food court vendors open the back doors to their vans before getting to work on the food. Some people were sat on the trunk of their cars, huddled in blankets or hoodies, eating a makeshift breakfast before queuing up for entrance. The race marshals were putting up the access signs and doing other maintenance checks.

The spring breeze blew softly feeling like a refreshing cup of coffee you didn't have yet. Early mornings like these were the best. Just quiet and mundane. Slow and pleasant.

Your peaceful perusal was interrupted by a figure settling in on your right, mimicking your leaned back posture on the wooden fence next to the race banner, hands crossed over your chest and all. You didn't even need to look over to know who it was. The expensive combination of lemony vanilla and other bitter, citrusy fruits entered your nostrils like ten meters ago, before he even stopped next to you.

How can someone so irritating smell so good?

"How did you sleep?" he spoke, voice low and husky, still laced with blissful sleep. A luxury mere mortals are unable to acquire at the expense of divine hedonism. Though, if that was how gods fucked, you wished to never hear it again. The girl's moans replayed like a broken record in your head even now, voice sweet like cotton candy reaching impossible notes.

Jesus Christ, you shuddered, trying your hardest to get rid of the image you just accidentally put in your head.

"I didn't," you said with a tight-lipped smile, turning to the devil beside you. He did look well-rested. "Hearing your name being moaned until three in the morning kinda ruined the peace one needs to sleep."

"I told you to join us," he shrugged, like he was asking you to join a grocery run and definitely not a threesome call. "It was a good sex catch."

I hope that angel never comes across his dick again.

Staring ahead, you hoped that if you ignored him, he would make himself scarce like he did last night at the car reveal. Instead, he leaned over to your side, lips slightly brushing the side of your ear with another offer that made your skin crawl with tendrils of chills, branching out from your nape all the way down to your spine.

"You know, we could've moved the show to your room. Get you out and about with the masses. Learn a thing or two."

You could taste the malice in his voice, looking to throw you off with raw sex talk. He pulled back to his corner, that annoying grin bright as day on his face, way too enthusiastic about his choice of words after last night.

He should work on his sweet nothings some more.

"I have my fair share with the masses. Don't you worry your frozen little braincells with that," you said, trying to shake off those chills still dancing on your spine.

"Ah, so she does get action," he laughed dryly, tilting forward with another remark he was better off keeping to himself. "I couldn't tell."

A little burst of mischief raised in you, so you turned to face him fully, pulling your shades off. Your body acted on a mindless spurt of small revenge as one of your hands lapped itself around his shoulder, gripping the other in balance and to pull him towards you, while the other rested on top of his chest. Under your palm, his heartbeat was calm and steady, just like the engine of the car before the race.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you scanned his face to see the ever-present amusement etched into every chiseled dent of his jaw, high cheekbones and perfectly angled lips. You wondered if dimples would pop out on the sides if he ever smiled for real, not just in a teasing manner or for show. Was he even capable of smiling?

The more your eyes drove up his face, the wider that eager glint in his eyes got. In the morning sun, rising brighter over the hill behind you, golden beams reflected off his orbs much like fiery bronze specks glinting off regal statues.

That eagerness turned to confusion when you inched closer to his ear, your lips brushing his in the same way his did. Your breath ghosted over his neck and you felt the smallest rise in his pulse, the muscles in his back tensing under your hold. You spoke small, but loud enough to cover the buzz of the rave music catching volume in the stands, making sure he received every single word.

"You know what would be a better catch?" you asked, tone sweet and tempting like a fiend.

His head craned down slightly and he quirked an eyebrow at you, curious as to where you were taking this. Only for it to not be in the direction he expected it to go in.

"Breaking that penis of yours in two and scattering pieces of it on the track like it's fucking gravel for everyone to drive over it. That," you enforced your threat with a swift gaze at his precious groin then moved your eyes back to his, "would be the catch of the year."

His lips parted in disbelief, the smug look on his face gone completely, as if you just detonated a bomb with his very own hand on it.

That was an unofficial war announcement. Jaw tightened in bold offensive, you stood your ground waiting for his retaliation. Your hand was still on his chest waiting for that spike to come again. But it never did.

Slowly but surely, the look in his eyes morphed to one of challenge, burning with the dire need to crush you to pieces for that daring threat.

Was this a novelty to him? A woman driving the reality train through his brain without having her legs open for him? Possibly. Because his smirk was now taut, filled with the same vindictive goading you carried. Just a tad bit darker and full of hunger for battle.

"I would like to see you try, rookie."

Rookie.

That nickname was starting to get on your nerves. Though there was no lie in it because you were a rookie in the sport, the way he said it implied that there was nothing else to you but that - a clueless beginner that will always stay a clueless beginner. Belittling at its finest. Your temper didn't buy belittling very well.

"Listen here you asswipe-" you started, only to get cut off by Don Tanaka's voice closing in behind you.

"Rai, the crew's waiting for... you..."

The words died in Tanaka's throat the more he took in how curled up you were with Naozumi. At first he was about to reprimand you for dealing cahoots with the enemy again, but when his eyes fell on the teeth grinding murderous looks you both threw each other, he decided on breaking it off before the interaction turned violent.

"Rai, step away from Naozumi."

"This. isn't. over," you gritted out with poison, plying yourself away from him.

Pushing your sunglasses back up your nose and throwing one more sharp imaginary knife right in the middle of his annoyingly handsome face devoid of imperfections, you sourly turned and left with Tanaka.

"I think it is, princess," he muttered behind you.

"Just you wait."

The really funny thing about curses is that they never truly... leave.

They might take a break and sip a cocktail somewhere sunny, like the big white-bearded gramps dressed in red does in his vacation after Christmas, letting you bask in some sort of chill ambiguity that all is well and perfect. Until nothing is well and perfect. Just absolutely horrifying and close to provoking a collective meltdown. Quite like the one in your team pen at the moment.

The team was gathered around the car with discouraged looks decorating all their faces as Sentaro, the main mechanic, relayed the news to you. Not one soul moved, everything and everyone as still as your shut off engine.

This had to be some sick joke. There was no way this is happening.

"What do you mean I can't go out on track today? You're joking right?" you laughed nervously, trying to stop your eye from twitching violently.

Apparently, the mechanics tried to start the engine and black smoke came out of it. While that issue was partly because of a clogged air filter that was vacuumed clean now, the engine also overheated to the point they thought it would blow up if they let it run longer.

From your brief experience with cars and growing up around the team garage, you had a feeling of what the issue could be.

"Is the dashboard blinking with the high oil pressure sign?" you asked Sentaro to which he nodded in response.

You were in front of the car in an instant, popping the hood open to check the oil injection. Pulling out the dipstick on a clean cloth your assumptions were proven right, though you wished they were horribly wrong. The rough dirt roads from yesterday definitely took a toll on the engine's oil filter, judging by the black sludge you were met with instead of the normal light brown color of the motor oil.

Dropping down to the ground with your phone's flashlight, you looked under the car and sure enough, there was a trail of the same dark goo leaking out from the car. The oil filter was the problem. And lucky for you, the oil specialized mechanic wasn't here today.

"I'm sorry, kiddo," said Tanaka, leaning on the side of the car. "There's nothing we can do."

Before you could even browse solutions, Kate ran in the pen nearly tripping over her feet. Thanks to Tanaka's steady hold, she landed upright on her feet, giving him a shy look of gratitude that didn't go unnoticed by you. They held each other's gaze for a while, not one thought behind them but a tinge of affection.

Realizing they had an audience, she cleared her throat stepping away from him. His hand shot up to rub his nape with a nervous smile.

What was that about? you thought, scrunching your nose inquisitively at the two. The faint blush spreading on her cheeks and the playful look in his eyes was a bit of a dead give away of what went on between the two. The car issue was more of a priority right now than their mutual fancy. I'll pester them about it later.

"What's up, Kate?"

Your voice seemed to break her out of whatever reverie she was having.

"The pre-race press conference starts in fifteen," she announced, eyes grazing over your team kit before flying back to yours with confusion. "Why are you not in your racing suit yet? What's going on?"

"I'll explain on the way," you replied hastily.

You moved away from the car to grab your bag and went to change in the trailer with her following in tow. Turning back around, your eyes flew back to Tanaka and the rest of the crew.

If the big man was here, he would know what to do. But he left for Tokyo early in the morning for a business meeting with a new sponsor. You were completely on your own with the team, and from the looks of it, it was time to take the lead.

"Nothing you can do," you said with a small smile trying to bring some optimism back into the sour mood. "There's something I can do. Just don't touch the engine until I'm back from the conference."

"Also, go tell the organizers I'm retiring from the first stage and keep them posted on the second one," you told Tanaka, ignoring Kate's gasp of shock. "We might still have a shot at points today. We worked too hard to let that go."

With that, you ran back to the trailer behind the pen, getting changed while Kate's worries doubled and spilled over yours in a frenzy of overly dramatic and stressed hand gestures.

"What do you mean retiring from the first stage? Are you crazy?"

Taking off the kit with a grunt, you made haste for the fireproofs and the suit.

"Not crazy," you groaned, pushing your legs through the pants of the racing suit. "Just trying not to freak out because it won't help anyone if I do."

"The car has an issue that's preventing me from taking part in the first stage today, but I hope," you breathed out, struggling to pull the top part of the suit over your hips, "that we can somehow get it out on track at least for the second stage."

With the already smoldering heat outside and your growing nerves, the ensemble felt so uncomfortable to wear. Pulling your arms through the sleeves and zipping it up to your neck, you fiddled with the soft collar unable to close it properly. Kate swatted your hands away to help you fix it so you could be out the door. Though you couldn't do that without your driver's card that was nowhere to be found.

"On a scale of one to ten, how big are your hopes of that actually happening?"

You stopped your relentless searching for your identification lanyards only to find them in the safe hold of Kate's hands.

"A solid eleven," you paused, grabbing them with a grateful smile. "On a good day. We'll have to see if today is one of those."

You were out of the trailer in no time, heading for the conference room while she ran you through possible questions you could get asked by the stingy reporters. Before you went on stage to take your designated seat, she pulled you back around for a last check.

"You know what you have to say?" she asked, placing her hands on your shoulders to make you focus.

Narrowing your eyes at her with a 'I'm not a child' look, you recounted the rules of publicity she made you repeat before each press meeting. Or more like your very own not so accurate version of them.

"No snarky replies, wait for my turn and try to maintain the already crumbling image we have. No biggie."

She smacked your cheeks together, shaking you hard to bring you back from sarcasm land. Better sarcasm than a full blown meltdown. You rolled your eyes at her dramatic antics, reciting the actual holy trinity of rules to get her off your case.

"If it's not for my own benefit or the team's, don't reply. Avoid all questions about my or dad's personal life with a simple 'no comment'. Keep levelheaded and avoid conflicts of interest," you finished confidently, but with a slight confusion on the last one.

She nodded with a bright smile, letting go of your cheeks. Whirling you around, she made quick work of your hair in a ponytail and fixed your team cap on top of your head to look more professional than you felt at the moment.

"You've got this, Rai," she encouraged sweetly like she always did. "I'll be right here in case of anything."

"Thanks Yuzu," you smiled at her, trying to ease her stress before it rubbed off on you, turning you into a ticking bomb. "I owe you one."

"You owe me more than one," she quipped as a matter of factly.

"Yeah, yeah," you waved her off, turning for the stage. "I'll tell dad to add a holiday bonus to your paycheck."

"All debts are paid," she replied, sounding like an ATM machine that just cashed out your first salary before you even saw it in the account.

You went up the stairs, taking a seat behind your name tag, near the middle row on the lower side of the makeshift stage. Most drivers were already in their seats waiting for the show to start so you could all be on your way. You caught sight of Akira about two chairs down to the left, already clocking you with a small wave.

At least there's some sunshine in the world.

You leaned over the seat, turning the mic away. He scooched over, meeting you halfway with a short smile that was enough to send butterflies swarming wildly in your stomach.

"Hello there."

"Hi," you replied sheepishly. "You ready for today?"

"I hope so. The tracks today look way better than whatever the fuck those three were yesterday."

You both shared a horrified look remembering the disaster that almost left your cars in totaled wrecks the day before.

"What about you? Ready?"

"It's complicated," you looked down in disdain, conscious of the mess awaiting you in the team pen after the conference.

What was the point in elaborating further? He's going to see the scoreboard anyway. The retirement issue was better kept under wraps for now, in case press inched to you like leeches before they even got to ask you a question.

"Hogging my seat doesn't look that complicated."

That tone of mixed delight and irritation could only belong to one person. That and the shady vibes prickling the hairs on the back of your neck like the very shadows of death were about to swallow you into the underworld.

Sure enough, craning your head backwards Naozumi was right behind you. Alarm bells rang in your head replaying his words again. His seat? What the fuck is he on- Your eyes fell back on the name tag right beside yours, reflecting Naozumi Hiyama back at you, bright as the light of day. Oh.

Naozumi was to be seated on your left for the next half an hour. What a joy. For some poor sick bastard, definitely not for you.

How did I not notice it before I sat down? I could've switched seats with the backfield guys in a heartbeat and no one would know a thing.

Looking back behind you, your small hope was crushed as most seats were taken up already, busting your escape plan. Your gaze landed back on the man, now more interested to know how much of your conversation he heard.

"How long have you been standing there like a scarecrow?"

"Enough to almost physically gag at your conversation."

Ah, there he was. Repulsion in human form. Wonderful.

You bid Akira an apologetic smile and leaned back in your seat, letting nation's finest walk by to take his own. He held onto your backseat to let himself down in his. Leaning way too close to you again, you caught an extra accidental whiff of that expensive perfume of his, toned down by the scent of the burnt rubber fumes caught to his suit. You turned your head away with a breath, resisting the urge not to choke. From the snicker on his lips pointed downwards, you could tell he did that on purpose. Fucker.

It wasn't long and the press conference finally commenced. As expected you weren't first in line for questions, both to your relief and growing unease. Your thoughts ran back to the car. The longer you spent here, looking pretty for the media that could care less, the less time you got to spend on fixing the car. Changing the oil filter was relatively less time consuming than the oil draining and changing. Besides, who knew if there weren't other problems. There were always problems.

Tapping your feet impatiently under the table, your eyes trained on the digital clock at the back of the room, mentally pushing the flickering red dots bouncing between the numbers a tad bit faster. Boring questions aimed at the other drivers went in through your ears, fading together, getting lost into an incorrigible mess of side thoughts, all while you dissociated somewhere far away.

At some point, something heavy moved on top of your leg that seems to have taken on incessant bouncing. You broke your eyes away from the clock to check. Thinking it must have been a bug or your sleep-deprived hallucination, you were beyond surprised to see a hand resting there, all five fingers of it splayed wide on top of your knee, nearly enveloping it whole.

Following the path of the muscular, veiny hand to the grey material going up the plush arm of a racing suit, you found it connected to Naozumi's shoulder. His gaze was set ahead with his chin propped on his other hand, a bored look taking over his usual amusement.

Is he looking for entertainment again?

Focusing your attention back on the press crowd, you went to push it off briskly. You felt it slide off your leg, shutting your eyes in relief that he let go and didn't put it back, going back to your daydream.

The clock ticked by infuriatingly slower, and by the looks of it, only ten boring minutes passed. You resumed your foot tapping, unable to keep cool without releasing tension in a way that kept you calm and levelheaded for the rest of the conference. You even started repeating Kate's set of three rules, again and again, until they blurred together in your head into a mess of words.

Unconsciously, you resumed the knee bouncing. That's when the same familiar weight sat back on top of your knee, trying to cease your restless shaking. You groaned mentally, aware that there was nothing else you could do but let his hand sit there until he got bored of being annoying.

Was it weird that the touch gave you a small ounce of comfort? It was so far from an actual touch, closer to a simple brush. But it grounded you back to reality in a less impatient way than your nervous foot tapping.

Jesus, Rai. The man fucked the sleep out of your brain last night. He's trying to get under your skin.

Leaning forward on your hands, you shifted your position so your feet crossed under your seat in hopes his hand would slide down again. His grip never lessened, turning firmer on top of your knee, seeing right through your trick. You huffed a breath through your nose, trying to calm down before you shoved your fist heavy with rage in his beautiful face to do some overdue damage, since he was asking for it so nicely.

In your line of sight, you saw him reach down for his water bottle, right beside his leg. His hand trailed down your calf with the movement, only for it to slide back up to its original spot on your knee.

This wasn't anywhere near comforting. This was teasing. Maybe even payback for this morning for invading his space with violent threats of castration. The side of his lip curled up in the slightest, letting you know he was enjoying tormenting you a whole lot.

Since he's so into masochism, we'll see how brave he is next time when I sneak in a lighter. The suit might be fireproof but I don't think his fingers are.

Somewhere between Naozumi's idiotic game and your patience running thin for the male species, the press finally remembered you existed and your name was called out by a reporter.

"I'm Hina from Daily Times. I have a question for Rai Suruki of Suruki Racing."

"Go on," you nodded with a smile.

"There haven't been a lot of female entries to rally in past years. Are there some goals you hope to achieve with your participation in the Seiko Rally Cup Series?"

That was quite a nice question. She seemed a little unsure of herself, probably new on the job since she was already being mangled down by the experienced male gazes in the room, especially from the reporter clique.

Turns out rally isn't the only industry where women are not welcomed.

"Well," you started, "I hope that if more girls see me out there on track, they can gain the courage to get racing too. Be it karting, rally or any other series. I grew up seeing my father's generation race and it felt daunting getting into it in the first place, since there was little to no female involvement. But times are changing and I hope it's for the better. Goal-wise, I would say the biggest one is to get girls into the sport, technically or behind the wheel," you ended with another smile, making sure she got a good amount of detail to work from.

That encouraged her to show you a bright smile in gratitude before she sat back down. You nodded back at her with one that matched.

"For Raiko Suruki, from Automotive Racing," called out another reporter, much older than the rest. "Heard the car is totally self-manufactured. How's the pace on track so far?"

Ah, technical questions. I like those.

"So far it's good. We're still testing bits and pieces to see what works best, but so far it's responding well to our tinkering. Like any car there's setbacks, as you may have seen in the previous stages, but we're working to remedy that and maximize its current performance. There's a lot of power under that hood and we're trying to see just how much of it we can bring out."

He nodded, scribbling down your words in a stacked leather notebook filled to the brim that has definitely seen better days. At least that said he's passionate about the sport and not just here to get a quote for a flimsy article. True to that, he geared up with another question.

"Performance progress-wise, do you think it's a car able to compete for the cup this year? Maybe even to reach the WRC?"

It was a reach to aim for the title, knowing the team barely got back on the road. But it was a goal nonetheless.

"Absolutely," you answered right away. "We wouldn't be here if it wasn't. As for the WRC, I guess it's all in due time."

"I'm looking forward to your evolution. Thank you," he concluded his short round of questions, sitting back in his seat.

"One more question for Miss Suruki," shouted another reporter. "From Tokyo Action Sport."

Uh-oh.

Tokyo Action Sport was one of the big ones Kate told you to be wary of. Due to their huge coverage of all sports around the country, sports buffs took their word like it was the weekly Ten Commandments in print form. That and the fact that they liked to scandalize most, if not all of their headlines - basically the foul celeb tabloids in dirty sports version.

From the way the reporter twirled the pen around his nimble fingers and the sneer on his face as he skimmed over his fancy notebook, you could tell he was looking for another front page story with an equally disarming question at the ready. You nodded for him to talk, bracing yourself for the incoming attack.

"Last night, at the official car reveal, you said you will compete for Suruki Racing until the team no longer wants you," he started, lifting his icy eyes from the paper to cut through you. "Does that mean your contract has an expiry date?"

If there was a question that, when uttered out loud, would have the power to open the gates of hell, it would be this one.

Expiry date? Driving for the team that has my name on it? Fuck me if I know.

Your nervous tapping resumed tenfold, forgetting all about Naozumi's hand that was still stationed on your leg, now struggling to stay there in the wake of the shaky earthquake coursing through you with the sharp truth of the real world.

You never thought of the possibility of driving for another team. Right from the start, Suruki Racing was to be your forever home. For Christ sake, you were the only hope for the team to stay alive at the moment. But that was just your opinion, maybe Tanaka shared it. But the team might still be adamant to take you as their only viable option and that might just be the case for your father too.

Nothing guaranteed that you will always be their number one choice.

"Why did Suruki Racing pick you out of the wider talent pool out there?"

"Are you trying for yourself or for him?"

"Do you consider yourself a challenge to the rest of the drivers?"

Your nervous shaking was several tempos away from rattling the panel table and attracting attention you were better off without at the moment. The aftermath of that happening was already in sight.

Suruki Racing's finest cracks under the pressure of her first press conference, would read the first page in the later Sunday print.

Is Suruki's own bloodline able to keep the legacy with no surety of a long-term contract? another one would say.

If you were lucky they would put it on the second spread or in the middle pages next to some old car adverts. But the worst part of it all is that the majority of the rally community, including the panel of drivers around you, would wholeheartedly agree with the newspapers.

Maybe this was just you making movies in your head but those were always possibilities upon possibilities and they all pointed to failure. Your failure of saving the team and seeing it succeed if you caved in to them.

The weight on top of your knee moved higher up your leg, stopping mid-way on your thigh. Enraged out of your mind, you were about to swat if off like a fly just when Naozumi did the unthinkable - his thumb started rubbing the side of your leg in circles over the suit, alternating patterns. You could feel that touch burn even through the triple permeable fireproof layers, sending all your senses in override, heartbeat pounding louder in your ears with each languid stroke of his thumb.

Was he trying to calm you down? Or was this him riding on the wave of anger surfacing from the depths of your very being to make you inch closer to exploding? Because there was a thin line between the two and you struggled to find which direction he was steering in today.

Strangely, that mildly provoking but oddly comforting caress worked. It calmed you down and drowned the black hole your mind went down into, bringing your focus back on the task at hand - giving the reporter an answer before your silence was taken as one.

"I'm afraid not," you responded, your voice bouncing back way too quiet on the microphone for it to sound like you were sure of yourself.

A handful of chuckles erupted behind you, rippling down into the audience and the rest of the media crews around the room.

"Everyone has an expiry date on their contracts, doll," commented a gruff voice from behind you. "Better find it out before the press does," they added with a chuckle.

You turned around to match the rude remarks with Katsumi's face, driver for Top Rank Racing. From what you knew about the man, he's been in rally long enough to know that he was right. Though he could've delivered that a bit more nicely.

Casting an unsure look at Kate, you saw her beckon you to say something else, mouthing several pointers that fell unheard with your growing unease. There was nothing else to say. That was the pure truth. No one had a safe seat in rally, except if you were Akira with loads of talent or Naozumi with a shit ton of cash to throw around. But you... you were lucky if there was a next year for you at all. And that might just be the case for your team too, whether it takes off or it burns to charred ashes again. Whether they keep you with them or not. And that realization hurt the deepest of them all.

"There you go again with useless questions, Misano," spoke Naozumi, successfully diverting your attention away from a meltdown.

His voice carried out smooth like whiskey over the shushed murmurs in the room, able to charm the attention of even the stingiest creature. His dark brown eyes were throwing sharp daggers with the aim to impel the man in the middle of the press convoy, almost like he had some personal vendetta against him, able to see past his journalistic tricks better than anyone.

From the few words he uttered your way you could tell why.

"Why don't you wrack your brain for something more interesting to ask?" he added bitterly.

Misano could only glare at him, shifting his attention from you to the man beside you, much more poison seeping from his tone at being interrupted.

"I was just about to get to you Naozumi. Impatient as always," he sneered. "I do have a really good one," he chuckled lowly to himself, like he was about to get the scoop of the century.

Naozumi was absolutely unfazed by his tactics. Just like you were, before he opened his mouth.

"You and Shinkai are in quite the fight to reach the higher ranks of the WRC. Did you solve the misunderstandings from last year to prevent more incidents from happening this time around?"

Naozumi laughed dryly at that, averting his eyes away from the man so overzealous for drama. When his eyes fell back on him, it wasn't with the same playful gaze reserved for toying around with people, but with raw hunger to rip him to shreds until every other word he was dying to write was out and cut to tiny little pieces on the floor.

Even you shuddered at the intensity of that look. You thanked the heavens it wasn't directed at you. If you were in Misano's shoes, you would shove those words back down your throat and run to puke them out somewhere they would be more well received, like the trash can outside, right around the door. That might do everyone in here a favor.

Naozumi finally let go of your leg, turning around in his seat to face the press with more interest. You breathed a small sigh of relief at the loss of contact. But a small part of you mourned the reassurance it provided for a short while, letting the nerves about your future race back up your spine again. At least they were dimmer now, since you put your focus on the charade of power to your left.

"If by misunderstanding you mean forced damage to my car," paused Naozumi with an icy grin matching the gaze that never once faltered from Misano, "then no, we didn't solve anything."

He delivered that affirmation so smoothly that even you leaned over the table to get a better look at him. Contrary to the calmness in his voice, there was a furious annoyance taking over his features. One far more irritated than the other looks you've seen him sport in the past three days.

"You can't solve misunderstandings with hardheaded people," piped in Akira, matching the same sweet venom in Naozumi's voice.

Naozumi could only smirk coldly, dropping his gaze to his team racing suit before he aimed it at Akira.

"That's where you're wrong," corrected Naozumi. "You can't solve misunderstandings with irresponsible people that can't admit to their faults."

It was Akira's turn to be vexed, staring down the man on his right. Those eyes, softer than melted chocolate, turned into the most violent tempest catching speed by the second. Though he wasn't necessarily asked a question, he was just as involved in the one served to Naozumi, so he turned to Misano with a comment.

"I think what Naozumi means by that is that some things are better left in the past. Or swept under the rug for the sake of it."

Point, aim and shoot.

"Let's leave the talking to the track," grinned Akira, patting Naozumi's shoulder in feign respect.

Naozumi broke into a toothy smile, tongue coming out to swipe over his teeth in disbelief. That smile grew and grew until it matched Akira's, just like a Cheshire cat. Then he leant over to him, whispering something in his ear. A threat you just so happened to hear.

"Stay the fuck away from my track. And don't fool yourself that thing was accidental to free your conscience" he mumbled.

The cameras flashed to immortalize the moment, making sure to get all sides of the burning declaration of war. They held each other's gaze with impending rage, pumping hard enough to blow out big dark fumes like messenger torches.

Keeping levelheaded and avoiding conflicts of interest was a rule their agents were probably negotiating with them, not even close to being able to enforce it.

From the looks of it, there was way more tension between the two than they let on with those loaded glances passed from one end of the paddock to the other in between stages. They had history that was better left unraveled for the sake of the rest of the season.

I take it back. The car reveal was a baby next to this shit show.

After that, the rest of the conference went by uneventfully. Surprisingly. The stifling tension however, was still palpable in the air. It was crazy how just one question from Misano turned the mood salty real fast. He hasn't asked anything else ever since, sitting merrily in the audience with a smug smirk, utterly pleased at causing an uproar.

The rest of the reporters went for decent questions as the drivers geared up for mayhem on track. As soon as the organisers let you, you dashed outside, welcoming the fresh breath of air and freedom away from that purgatory room.

Got nine more of those to endure.

"Not bad for your first press conference, rookie."

Was that supposed to be an encouraging pat on the back? If anything it sounded haughty and kind of condescending.

Does it hurt him to shed off some of that superior complex thing he has going on?

Upon remembering his game back in the conference room, you whirled around to him instantly, backing him in a corner so no one could hear your murderous intentions. The flames inside of you were leaping high and violent again. But that must have been the Naozumi effect at this point - setting you on fire then walking away only to come back and kindle you again whenever he saw fit.

"Don't ever touch me again or I will rip your hands and shove them down your cars' exhaust. Understood?"

"It was a good distraction though, wasn't it?" he smirked, pinning you with that knowing look of his that made you want to spit fire like a dragon.

"It was so fucking unnecessary-" you stopped, the rest of your words dying in your throat. "It was so -," you growled. "You're so -"

You gave up on speaking. There was no point in explaining why punching him was the right thing to do because the more you looked at it you realized he was right. That playful stroke was a good distraction from going berserk with all those demons patiently waiting to pick you apart like flies that dove into shit on the side of the road. Even if it was for a while, he managed to calm down your stormy temper. It was a miracle for anyone to even do that in the first place.

He leaned down to you, stopping just a few inches off your face. His eyes drifted down to your lips for a brief second before securing your gaze again with that dark look of his that has probably disarmed more girls than you could count on all your existent fingers, hands and toes included.

"That's what I thought," he said as teasingly soft as a brush on canvas.

Before you could say anything else he walked off, leaving you dumbfounded with your tongue poking your cheek, and kind of questioning your sanity.

He's so goddamn infuriating.

Back in your pen, you took off the suit, changing back in the team kit and made a beeline for the car. There was no time to waste. The crew gathered around you in a heartbeat, waiting for your directions.

The skilled gazes laid on you, full of years of garage work, made you very aware of the fact that they expected full professionalism from you.

God, I hope this works.

"Okay so, we need to change the oil filter," you started. "The oil inside is contaminated and from the looks of it, it's not usable anymore. The filter itself appears to have blown a gasket, so that too needs replacing," you finished in one breath.

"But our oil person isn't here today," Akio, one of the mechanics, pointed out.

"Mister Hinode isn't," you sighed, hoping the old man was enjoying himself for taking the day off today of all days. "But I am. I watched him change enough oil filters back at the garage to know what I have to do."

"Very well. Lead the way," he replied with a nod, fully placing his trust in your hands.

Though slightly unsure, the rest of the team followed. Looking back at Tanaka, you saw him nod too, letting you know he had your back. At the silent show of support, you pushed the nerves away and got to work in your full element.

"What I need from you is a car lift, a drain pan, the new oil filter, and four or five liters of motor oil," you told the team. "Draining it will take about an hour, more or less, and replacing it a little less in theory. We have less than four hours until stage two so we can't afford to lose any time if we want to get something out of today."

"You heard the girl," clapped Tanaka, moving to get all hands on deck. "Let's move."

You turned to Sentaro and the electrical engineer.

"I need you guys to run the electrical checks again, now and after I finish changing the filter, in case anything else goes off and needs fixing so we're on top of it ASAP."

"Got it. Also, regarding the oil pressure, it was on high levels last night when we brought it back from the event, but we thought it was from being out on track for so long," he said apologetically.

"Don't worry about it. It can happen out of nowhere too, especially considering the roads I drove it down yesterday. But do ping Mr. Hinode in case there's something we're missing."

"Thanks, Raiko. You're a lifesaver," he said, walking back to his laptop.

Eh, I'm a what now? you blinked trying to take that compliment in. Shaking yourself out of it, you rolled up your sleeves to your elbows and worked to lift the car at an angle you could fit under it.

Pulling over a creeper, you leaned back and got under, looking for the oil plug under the dirty chassis. Finding it right away, just a little off the underside of the front bumper, you unscrewed it with a wrench. Barely twisted open, the splotchy black goo started spilling everywhere, much more liquid and disgusting than you thought it would be. What was on the dipstick was nothing compared to what spilled out on the sides of the plug. It smelled horrible, like murky grass and three days old mud had a biochemical hazard lovechild. And there was about four liters of that to drain out.

The more you unscrewed the plug, the more it splattered everywhere, some of it flying in your hair. Jerking away so it wouldn't land in your eyes, you turned the plug tugging it off completely. The oil flow doubled right away and you realized you should've had the drain pan under it before you unscrewed it.

"Fucks sake," you grunted, holding out a hand to whoever was close by. "Loosen the oil cap on the top and hand me the drain pan."

A hand pushed the drain pan into your own and you moved fast to shove it under the oil drain, to avoid more of it staining the asphalt.

You slid out from under the hood to breathe in some fresh air, meeting with Kate and Tanaka's faces, looking at you with matching disgusted looks as they took in your very contaminated appearance.

"Your face..." started Kate, pointing at your face as she pinched her nose.

"All natural," you shot back. "You should try it sometimes."

Tanaka howled a laugh as he pulled you up from the ground, handing you a few clean cloths. You wiped your hair as best as you could, frowning at the dirt coming out of it. That will take a lot of showers to take out.

"Now what?"

"Now we wait. And make other checks on the car to make sure nothing else is broken."

Come on, pick up.

Pacing the dusty ground above the stands, you listened as the line rang and rang, each dial tone pumping the nerves back in your system. You were starting to regret this until he finally picked up on the seventh ring.

"I'm in a meeting right now," filtered your father's shushed voice through the phone.

Of course he's in a meeting. That's why he left early this morning. In the chaos with the car and the press, you forgot all about that. Now the scope of the call didn't even really seem that important anymore, preoccupied with the fact that you interrupted something that probably was.

"Raiko? Are you there?"

A car whizzed past on track, pulling roars of cheers from the crowd, prompting you to find a quieter corner.

Was there even a point in asking that?

Fuck it. Just get it over with.

"Does...," you started, but the rest of the words got lost somewhere in the mess in your head. You took a deep breath and tried again, this time sounding a bit more composed. "Does my contract have an expiration date?"

He could tell something was off. You could be as composed as you wanted, but your father could always pick up on the uncertainty laced in your voice.

You heard shuffling, rushed goodbyes and a door closing shut, before a chair creaked. His voice came through more clearly now.

"Of course not. I told you you're welcome to drive for Suruki Racing until you no longer wish to."

Those were the same words you said out loud to the reporter just last night, so sure of yourself and knowing what you wanted that it would be impossible for anyone to second guess it or even challenge your claim to the seat in the team. Until smug-face opened his mouth to comment on it in the press conference today.

"Is everything alright, Rai? I know I left in a rush but if there's anything you need, please let me know."

"Everything's alright," you reassured him, trying to sound more on top of the situation than you felt. "Sorry for disturbing the meeting."

"Eh, don't worry about it. I could use a break," he chuckled, making you chuckle too.

It was so good to finally talk to him like that. Like you were father and daughter for once in a while, before being team principal and driver.

"Are you sure everything's okay?" he asked again, willing to listen to any concerns you had, big or small.

"Yeah," you sighed softly. "It is now. Thanks dad."

He could tell there was more to it than you were telling him, like the issues with the car and missing the first stage, but you didn't push it. Tanaka would catch him up on it later anyways. There was no use in railing him up on a plane right now.

"Always, firebolt. Good luck out there."

That always was your I love you. He wasn't one to be a softie for cheesy stuff, like blurting out those three words, but that always never failed to reassure you that you'll get through anything and come out on the bright side. No matter what.

"Good luck to you too," you piped up, ending the call.

Looking ahead, you caught sight of the Spica Racing blue hues right on time, approaching a rocky corner. Naozumi took it so effortlessly before diving into the last drift portion taking it wide, closer to the barrier, lifting the dust and gravel off the ground to fly off in the stands like a gust of sand.

You backed away coughing a little, shaking your head with a smile at the gesture that was one hundred percent intentional.

At least someone's having fun today.

You got back to the pen at the same time Naozumi pulled up. He got out of the car much more pleased with his run than he has these past few days. He didn't even yell at his engineers this time. Peace and quiet ruled the Sigma Racing pen surprisingly.

Unfortunately for your short lived peace of mind, he caught sight of you and turned your way with a smile as wide as his pride must be flowing in from head to booted feet for completing a stage this nice. If only you had the chance to go out on the road too.

The closer he got to you, he eyed you from head to toe, taking you in all your muddy glory, scrunching his nose at the smell that was still glued to you like you sprayed on intense dirt road cologne. The nasty kind that barely washes out of your clothes after rolling in it. Your clothes also reeked of motor oil. If someone had a flint they might as well light you on fire if you just breathed in their direction.

"What happened to you?" he frowned. "Did you DNF into a bush of skunks or something?"

"Haha, really funny," you deadpanned. "I didn't even start the race for that matter."

Throwing a look at the scoreboard in your pen since it was closest, he scoured all the names of the drivers until his eyes landed on yours, staring back at him with a DNS in bold letters, right at the bottom of the grid. Shameful and defeated wouldn't even begin to explain your sour mood.

"What? How did you even manage that?"

Was he actually concerned or was he just planning to fumble the bag for more insults based on your answer? Closing in on the playful glint in his eyes, it was probably the latter and you were not in the mood for it. At all.

"Engine issues," you sighed, slumping in defeat.

It's been half an hour and you were still waiting for the oil to finish draining before you could actually fix anything. Time was ticking away and so were your hopes of somehow participating in the second stage.

"You missed a spot," he said, gesturing to your face.

Bringing your hands up, you wiped them everywhere coming up entirely clean. Is he seeing things?

He shook his head before coming closer, wiping his thumb over the tip of your nose. Your heart thrummed in your ears, drowning everything else around you but his touch and how close he was. Feeling the callused pads of his fingers on your skin, without all those fibrous layers of the suit between you, felt like being touched by millions of sparks of electricity at the same time. Heat surged on your cheeks quicker than you could hide it.

Him being him, he just had to ruin the moment. Not that there was one there.

Instead of getting the splotch of mud away, he smudged it all across your cheeks with a grin.

"There. Much better," he concluded, stepping back from you, proud of his outstanding work of art.

That only provoked you, flipping the switch on your rage. You kept it under wraps long enough and at this point, he was just asking for it. Not your fault his decency sensors must have been broken since he was born and folded in a blanket.

"I told you not to touch me ever again," you rasped, swatting his hand away a bit too violently.

"Hmm, I don't recall," he hummed, wiping his thumb on his suit to get rid of the dirt splotch he scooped from your nose. "It was probably an empty threat."

An empty threat? Hah. He's really starting to piss me the fuck off.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Because he had many of them and most of his recent issues included disturbing your peace on an undetermined period.

"I don't really have a problem, rookie," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Stop calling me that," you seethed. "I'm not a rookie," you breathed out with eyes closed to try and calm the fuse inside of you before it blew. Though you didn't mind if it blew in front of Naozumi's face and set him on fire a little.

"Oh, but you are." He took a step closer to you, broad shoulders branching out to appear more intimidating. "Need I remind you that you stepped foot in the car not even two days ago? A rookie stays a rookie until they prove themselves worthy of the road."

"You think you're the shit, don't you?"

"And you are?" he chuckled darkly. "You don't have the guts for it. Why don't you go back to being daddy's little spoiled princess, driving plastic cars, since it's very obvious you can't drive a real one?"

Naozumi had a talent at making sure his words drove straight to their recipient, cutting deeper than intended, at times with a purpose more painful than the edge of a knife could do damage.

But words were empty to you. You trained yourself not to believe the little white lies and rumors people tried to feed you to stay as far away from letting it affect you as possible. This was just another one of those confrontations meant to throw you off and undo the steps you've already done on the climb towards the top.

Hard pass on downgrading. But nice try.

"At least I'm not the idiot that wrecked the car in the easiest turn in the whole region just yesterday, driving it full speed with an engine failure only to blame it on my team. It takes real skill to pull that off."

His jaw ticked with fresh blood. You definitely ticked a nerve with that. If you're throwing knives at each other, might as well throw them deep just for the funk of it.

"At least I didn't get a DNF and a DNS first time on the job. Your father may have put that winning image in your head to motivate you, but if you think it will be that easy, you're wrong. You will always be a rookie and there's nothing you can do to help it."

If that was supposed to make it hurt more, boohoo, it missed it's mark. Kinda late to the pity party. Might invite you next time.

"Oh, you're one to talk," you scoffed incredulously. "You're nothing without your team and you can't even see that. What's gonna happen when they all walk out and leave you stranded to work on the car all by yourself? Will you magically pay your way out of it by hiring other people?"

"That's none of your business," he hissed.

"Real drivers help their team," you growled.

You were overtaken by a sense of kinship for your team stronger than anything the world could say or throw at you. He probably knew nothing about what it means to make constant sacrifices for something you love body and soul. But he sure had the nerve to come and preach it to you like a total hypocrite since the rules of normal society apparently don't apply to him but they do to everyone else.

"You don't get to tell me how to be a driver," he shot back, tone becoming more menacing with every word.

"And you don't get to trample all over my hard work. My team's hard work. Don't talk to me about privilege when you're living off it just fine."

You didn't even notice you closed the distance to him, getting right up in his face, seeping into his space once more, this time with a different kind of savagery - one that felt a lot like unleashing chaos. You were a brief remark away from spearing your claws out for some physical atoning.

"You don't know shit," he growled, towering over you. "So I suggest you to back the fuck off."

"Or what?," you gritted back.

The corner of his lip turned up with a dark wicked smirk, a warning pledge of fast approaching colossal disaster, just like the words rumbling out of his throat, low and deep like thunder.

"I'll make sure the rest of your time here," he paused, raven eyes boring into yours with intensity before he whispered the last words a mere breath away from your lips, "is a living hell."

A living hell?

I'm already living hell, pretty boy.

You simply chuckled at that. He had no idea that you laughed in the face of danger. He must have thought you were crazy for it. It took more than a threat to steer your wheels in that direction. The direction of sin.

His head tilted in slight confusion at your reaction, though his eyes never left their furious fire behind. You quipped a brow, silently accepting his challenge, wondering just how far he could go to prove a point and preserve his pride in the face of a mere rookie.

"I'd like to see you try."

"You're gonna regret this."

This man loved to make enemies with everyone. But he picked the wrong person to start the fight with. Unfortunately for him and his loud wrathful thunder, vengeful lightning always strikes twice. Always.

"We'll see about that."

Not another word came out of his mouth. But you knew better than to accept his silence as a retreat. His mouth curved, a devilish grin over it, as if he already started devising a wicked little plan in his head to pull the earth from under your feet when you weren't looking.

Regarding you with one more look full of hatred, he pulled back, walking off to his pen.

Little did he know, he just met his match.

Regrets... you had many for yourself. But you were sure as hell that him of all people was the last one to add to them.

Never in a million years would you let that happen.

I wouldn't wish hell upon anyone. Especially mine. But if I had the choice to curse one person in the whole wide world right now...

I would curse him in a heartbeat.

You were sitting outside the pen, glaring at Naozumi's back, until Tanaka called out to you.

"Raiko. The oil has drained out.," he said, stopping in his tracks. "What are you doing out here?"

Googling ways to overcome your enemies with the power of forced distance.

"Nothing," you scoffed, heading back inside.

Time to get dirtier than my soul.

Taking your place back under the car, you worked on changing the oil filter with a new one. Screwing off the old filter entirely by hand, the leftover oil spilled everywhere again. At least there wasn't that much left in the basin to really stain anything.

It would've been nice not to have to do this with your bare hands, but you've been Mr. Hinode's human flashlight enough to know that the filter can only be tightened by a bare hand to make sure it's in the right spot and that none of it can leak out.

"Could you hand me a filter wrench?"

"Here," popped in Akio's head, who now became your human flashlight.

"Thanks."

A little shimmying and the old broken filter finally popped out with the rest of the oil leaking out down your arms. The last drop fell on your forehead. A good luck omen? We shall see.

Passing it to Akio, you motioned to him to shine some light on the broken filter. You noticed the head gasket was indeed damaged.

"Is the new filter ready and rubbed with oil yet?"

"Yep. Good to go?"

"Yeah."

Checking the engine block with the flash light one more time to make sure there weren't any other bits or parts stuck inside, you tried putting the new filter in. You struggled to make it do inside the engine block, moving down a little farther under the car. Not a fun thrill to experience with a ton hanging above you lifted by a tool weighing less.

Please don't crush me, hun. I drive you but I can assure you that you don't want to drive me.

Spinning the part to the right, you finally got it in, puffing out a breath. You screwed it on until you felt it stop turning. You gave it another spin with your hand before you tightened it with a wrench the rest of the way.

"We should be good to go now. Pour the motor oil in."

One of the mechanics poured the oil in on top. You waited to see if any of it would still leak out only to see none.

The new oil filter was successfully attached.

Well fuck me, I just did that.

Rolling out from under the car, you breathed out a sigh of relief as the team started applauding you and howling your name out of nowhere.

"Raiko! Raiko! Raiko!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up."

They all laughed at your antics. Tanaka and Sentaro pulled you up as the rest threw their cloths at you to send you to shower. Your team kit was sticking to you like you just took a dip in an oil lake, save for the sweat rolling down your back. That one belonged to you.

"You smell as bad as the car after a day on track and I'm saying that in the nicest way possible," said Akio.

"Haha, really funny," you laughed, throwing some of the cloths back with oil stains. "If I had a hose I would drench you all. Don't tempt me."

Little did you know that someone came around to check out what the ruckus next door was about. He watched you from the sidelines, running around to smear the oil on your hands on whoever landed in your range of attack. Most of them didn't even move, welcoming your attack with defeated smiles. The corner of his lip tilted up in a delighted grin at the scene.

Maybe I underestimated her.

"Everything's got the green light, right?"

"Yes, Raiko," Tanaka reassured you for the hundredth time since you stepped in the car. "All other car checks came out good. Stop stressing."

"I'm not stressing."

Well, you kinda were since you lost a lot of points by retiring from the first stage. You needed a clear head before the race and after today it just wasn't happening. You fixed the car before it was time to race, but if you didn't do right by this one, you could kiss any advancement ahead in the series goodbye.

"You saved us today. Any other driver would've ripped their contract to pieces in front of the team if they had to get anywhere near motor oil."

"I think you're forgetting I'm not just any driver," you smirked, pulling your helmet on. "Let's do this shit."

You went out there and enjoyed it for the first time this weekend. Your run was smoother than anything else today. The corners were mostly wide, mid-range turns, and the car felt great with the new oil change. It would be another 3000 miles before you had to change it again and hopefully, the filter would last longer than that.

Even Tanaka seemed to enjoy himself. He didn't reach for the door handle not even once like he was used to whenever he was in the car with you. You did accelerate faster in some turns watching his hand come up halfway only to stop and retract back.

"6 left 100. Flat out."

One hundred meters left to the widest corner left in the race.

Come to mamma.

The dirt flew up in the air behind you, leaving a trail of dust on each side. You dove closer to the left where the stands were, taking the last corner with a large drift that rose up huge clouds of sand from your rear. You heard the roars of the crowd before the puckers from the slide over the gravel, all getting lost in the rave music booming through the speakers.

This is what racing was about. Leaving it all in the hands of the wheel for two minutes where the world quieted down. Being on a one track mind.

Once every driver went for their run, you sat on the hood with the rest of the team waiting for the final update of the track times. You chewed your lip in thinking, tapping your foot on the floor.

I hope all those sacrifices weren't in vain. We all worked way too hard to fall off the track right now. We need this right now.

The scoreboard loaded to display the first three names and all heads perked forward. No one spoke. Not even the wind dared to rustle a banner.

1st place - Naozumi Hiyama - Spica Racing Factory

2nd place - Akira Shinkai - Sigma Racing

3rd place - Takatoshi Tohira - YM Works

Naozumi's ego was strong today. He just so managed to bag podium after that whole show of arrogance. Fucker. Pushing your annoyance for the man away, you focused back on the board.

Come on, load faster.

4th place - Katsumi Ishibashi - Top Rank

I can kiss top five for Tour de Tokai goodbye. So long world.

5th place - Raiko Suruki - Suruki Racing

What the fuck-

Loud cheers erupted all around you like the national football team just won the World Cup. That was totally impossible but you did it. You placed in the first point rankings. You were in top five! Still far away from the podium, but at least you didn't fall off the scoreboard.

Before you even said anything, the screen updated to display the Drivers Championship standings so far.

1. Akira Shinkai - Sigma Racing - 61 pts

2. Naozumi Hiyama - Spica Racing Factory - 53 pts

3. Neil Emerton - Cusco Racing - 47 pts

4. Takatoshi Tohira - YM Works - 38 pts

5. Fairuz Badawi - Eliot Racing - 31 pts

6. Katsumi Ishibashi - TOP RANK - 28 pts

7. Raiko Suruki - Suruki Racing - 25 pts

"It's not much, but they're good points," said Tanaka, patting you on the back. "Amazing work today, lightning strike."

Turning back to everyone, you called out to them. The team gave you their full undivided attention. Your team. Most of these people saw you grow up from a rowdy teenager into the driver you are today. They were more than your team. They were your extended family. You owed them everything.

"I know dad's not here today, but someone has to do the honorary speech" you clapped your hands together, trying to will some normal words out.

"I wouldn't have been able to get out there without you guys. You're the reason this team works like oiled parts, no pun intended."

Some of them laughed at that. You happened to have your father's humor.

"I know there's no podium celebration for us this time, but I will work even harder to bring it to you soon. For now, please rest up, eat well and stay safe. The Fuji Highland Masters round is nearby so we need to get in the gear for it soon."

"Raiko! Raiko! Raiko!"

"Guys, please stop," you giggled, suddenly flustered at all the attention. "Come on, go home. Before the organizers kick us out."

Grabbing your duffel bag with your things, you went back to the race banner. You pulled out your phone and took a photo of it and a selfie.

Your career officially started. It was a rocky start and the climb up to even get a chance at podium was even rockier. But you were willing to fight for it with your teeth.

Suruki Racing was born again this weekend and you were planning to keep it alive for longer than it has before.

Turning around, you cast a look at the podium. Naozumi just received his trophy, smashing the champagne bottle to spray the crowd. That million dollar smile was back on his face, wider and brighter than you've seen it. It almost looked real. Among all that lust for fame and money in his blood, he looked like he fit right in with the haze of celebration. Like he was made to be a winner.

On the other side of the podium, Akira lifted his 2nd place trophy too, fully enjoying the squeals from his fans. You didn't know what came over you, but you pulled your phone out to snap a picture of both of them for safekeeping.

Spotting you on the side about to leave, Akira took off in your direction. His hand tugged on your arm to spin you around.

"Hey!"

"Hey, you," you smiled. "Second place, huh?"

He looked down at the trophy with a small smile, not really reaching his eyes like usual.

"Yeah. Not my best drive but it's alright."

"Could say the same."

"Are you coming to the party?"

"The famed afterparty on Naozumi's yacht?" You looked back at the podium, watching him throw the champagne bottle down his throat, spilling everywhere on his suit in the process. "No, thanks. I'll pass."

"He wants everyone on the grid there. Though I would much rather not go, my agent said it's good publicity. To tame the media after that stunt today or something like that. So, come with me."

After declaring each other mortal enemies, you wanted nothing to do with Naozumi at all. Not even being in his range of view. Going to a party, on his yacht, in the middle of a body of water was the last thing you needed.

"I'll think about it."

A staff member came to pull him away for a quick press interview. He seemed adamant to leave but you waved him off. You were in need of a shower before the mud became one with your skin.

"I have to go," he pressed his lips together in a smile, dimples popping on the sides. "See you back in Tokyo?"

"Sure."

Would going to that party be so bad? I could definitely use some alcohol and if it's free, why the hell not? He must have expensive alcohol on board. I can let my pride go for a free drink.

There was no lie that Tokyo's skyline looked so magical at night, especially on a yacht ride down the central river. Skyscrapers stretched out into the sky, multicolored lights blinking back at you with sparkles. The rich really had this superb view every night and they barely took a ride here if it wasn't for business purposes.

At least yours truly knows how to pick a party location.

Speaking of the man of the hour, you counted about eight girls around him from your secluded spot at the bar. You could hear their high-pitched voices all the way there, asking him all kinds of questions about himself and the car. He just hummed in response to all of them, focusing his attention elsewhere.

If today wasn't so shit and he didn't literally declare war to you, you might have just been a tad bit happy for him. The most you mustered was a mumbled congratulations when you boarded the ship. He just passed you a grin and left it at that.

He doesn't deserve my cheerfulness. He gets it from the world enough as it is. Plus the fact that he invited everyone on his yacht just in spite.

None of the drinks at the bar were for free and most were too expensive for your pocket, so you had to drink a mocktail. Even his hospitability was in mocking.

More girls scooched closer to get a piece of him, tanned arms and bare legs brushing up against him from all sides. He didn't even seem to be bothered in the slightest that his space was being taken up. But he did mind when it was you doing it.

"Then let's make a toast again!"

"Cheers!"

"Congratulations on being the champion!"

The girls cheered and clinked glasses, sipping on the expensive champagne. He joined on the clinking too, though he didn't drink with them, keeping his glass aside.

His eyes drifted from the champagne glass in his hand to you. The small smile on his face turned into a smirk of provocation. A smirk that went right to the epicenter of your rage. He came to kindle that fire again.

Before you knew it, you made a beeline through the crowd stopping right in front of his table. The girls shot you disapproving looks, sizing you up and down in every way they wanted. Picking apart your messy, tousled hair. Your tomboy outfit. Some even mumbled something about your nails not being in fashion. You shot them a look and they stopped looking at you altogether.

Naozumi just regarded you with a knowing look, averting his eyes to the water surrounding the boat in dismissal. You just stood there with your arms crossed, waiting for him to stop his passive ignorance.

"Got something to say to me, rookie?"

Would he explode if he just called me by my name?

"I do actually."

"Then," he extended a hand around one of the girls getting more comfortable with her. She snuggled into his body, giddiness taking over her for getting so close to him. You could feel the jealousy oozing off the other girls, waiting for their turn. "Let's hear it."

He really does have a thing for public humiliation.

Akira stepped beside you, lightly pulling at the sleeve of your leather jacket to get you away from trouble. Little did he know you loved trouble more than anything in the world. Especially when it involved a certain know-it-all with an annoyingly handsome face.

"Rai, let's go," he muttered, aware that some people turned around to watch the scene. "You're better than him. Don't give him the satisfaction."

"I wasn't talking to you, Shinkai," spat Naozumi, not once lifting his eyes away from you. Not even when the girl at his side caressed the side of his neck with obvious want. "Go lick the boots of your own team principal."

"Talk, rookie. Or did the cat get your tongue?"

You want war on and off track, Naozumi?

You have it.

The words were out of your mouth in a heartbeat, not one thought behind them. Nothing but the sole need to see how he would react to being challenged publicly.

"Let's settle it on the road. You and me. Our cars back at the docks."

An illegal race on the streets of Tokyo. Might as well be career suicide for some. But you had way too hanging by a thread, while he only had his pride. Taking that away would be like shoving him off his throne and sitting on it like it was yours.

Best case scenario, you win and leave him with a shattered ego.

Worst case scenario, you lose or end your career.

The only good thing was that the odds were in no one's favour out there on the road. It took skill to win an illegal race in a city that was built up on street racing of the highest stakes.

"What does the winner get?"

"Always so set on winning, aren't you? Would losing something dim your small manly pride?"

His tongue pushed his cheek in the same annoyed manner it would at his brother reprimanding him for being incapable of listening to simple directions.

"That's between you and me," you added, settling on making this as private as you could.

The sudden realization was written all over his face. He knew what you were referring to since you threw his very own words back at him.

"A rookie stays a rookie until they prove themselves worthy of the road."

Ripples of gasps echoed around you, people already murmuring things about you. Until the rumors started being directed at Naozumi and his ability to drive. It was time for him to prove himself worthy of the crowd as well.

Naozumi sat back swirling the champagne in his glass until the liquid was left without bubbles. He seemed to give it a good thought.

There was that curiosity dancing in his eyes again. The same rush of novelty measuring up on your very own. He wanted to know where you would take this if he gave you the chance.

"Fine by me," he said, taking you up on your offer.

Shaking off the female arms circled around him, he got up and threw back that glass of champagne emptying it in one go, before calling out to the captain to turn the boat around. He walked to you, stopping mere steps away from you.

"Where?"

"The hill over there down to the docks. No time cuts, no tricks."

"You shouldn't drive after drinking," you remarked.

He smirked, taking one more step towards you. "Are you worried about me, princess?"

"No," you said, taking one step in his direction.

One more step from each of you and you were chest to chest, facing off like it was a real battle for the very pride of driving. People made a circle around you, staying away from the tension already wafting through the air.

He bent down to your ear. "To settle your worries, it was non-alcoholic champagne. But don't let them know. I keep my alcohol for the big wins."

He really was the biggest asshole on the planet.

The two of you were the first to get off the boat and find your cars, driving them up the top of the hill with some of the crowd from the yacht following right behind. It would be a drive down through traffic and tight corners but it looked much more doable than the roads you've driven through today.

You heard his car purring before he pulled up next to you turning in your seat to gawk at it - a midnight blue R8, a beast of a car compared to yours.

It was an older model, so overpacked with modifications it made your head spin. Nothing on that car looked like it belonged on it and you had a hunch that long hood curving over the engine held a lot more mysteries than the outside body of the car.

He rolled down his window, leaning a hand over it to check yours out too. He scanned it back to front and from the twinge in his lips, he appeared impressed by your weapon of choice. Who wouldn't gape at it when yours was a collection car worth more than three of his yachts together.

"Veilside RX-7. Not bad for a rookie."

He sounded genuinely respectful.

"Thanks."

"I'll give you a five seconds head start," he added.

"I think you could use them a lot more than me," you shot back.

He revved his V8 engine, roaring it to life like a lion looking to claim his rightful throne. You did the same, revving your V6 longer to prepare it for the sprint race. Your engine missed two cylinders and some horsepower but yours had way better grip on the road. Though small compared to his speed intake, you had a shot at winning this.

He was big and wide, a monster under the hood but one that got swallowed on serpentine roads like the one that awaited you. It was a show car. It wasn't made for racing. That and your car was smaller and bunchier, meaning you were able to whizz through corners much faster if needed.

He can't beat me at what I know best.

I was born with the drift in my veins.

And illegal street racing?

Not my first rodeo, pretty boy.

Someone walked to the front stopping between your cars. It was the blonde woman from last night. Shorts that were shorter than your lifespan climbed up her buttocks, joined by a tank top that hugged her boobs better than any of your bras could. A checkered flag hang in her hand, getting rustled by the cool night breeze.

"Not too late to back out," he piped up.

"See you at the finish line. That is if you can keep up," you said, rolling up your window to avoid more of his attitude from seeping inside your car.

You cast a look down to your right at the docks then turned back around to the road.

On second thoughts, Tokyo's skyline looks way better from up here.

The blonde rolled her hand with the flag calling out a count and holding up her fingers. The crowd cheered behind you, already getting gassed by the fumes burning out through the exhausts.

"Three."

It's not about how fast you go.

You revved the engine loud, feeling the car shake with the raw horsepower under the hood.

"Two."

It's about how long you go fast.

Throwing a look at Naozumi, you caught him looking right back at you, that shit-eating grin back on his face.

Fast like lightning.

"GO!"

The flag barely hit the floor when you pressed the gas like a madman. His extra horsepower propelled him a few meters ahead of you. You kept close on his tail, letting him take the tight corners before you so he felt it on his own skin that this wasn't the type of road to get cocky on. Not with a million dollar car like his.

Passing the first two corners, he moved to the middle of the road to cover more ground. He must have realized his car takes way too much space to even drift. And this was a drifting road.

The next corner gave him an opening to shift gears and drift. You went on the outside, trying to overtake him but he was way too wide to get past. You needed a wider corner.

Moving around a rocky hillside, you noticed the road barriers curving down into a wider path, less narrow with more flow.

Naozumi slowed down, reducing his drift angle in the process, rear jerking in a light drift. That's my cue. You pulled the hand brake, pressed down the clutch then quickly stabbed the gas, turning the steering to the left. Accelerating, you flew past him, sliding in front of his car over the middle of the road, slick and smooth like butter on a hot frying pan.

The next turn was just as wide. He accelerated trying to get past you and he almost did if you didn't know him any better. You took the drift faster than him, with the risk of letting the car skid off the road. The tyres screeched loudly at the excess of pressure. Thinking fast, you dropped in the clutch moving down in second gear, finding the sweet spot where the rotations aligned and swerved left into another perfect drift. The roaring growl of the engine was music to your ears.

This is how you drive a car, baby.

A few more turns and you skidded out into intense night traffic. The move from rough to slick asphalt sent your rear wide in the middle of an intersection, passing a red light and being honked at from all sides of the intersection. Naozumi followed right behind you, mere meters away from smashing into your tail lights if you slowed down in the slightest.

You entered a tunnel, whizzing past city cars as fast as you could, overtaking them in fast twisting zig zags. Going back down the hill of the main road, he slid in beside you, pushing the car to its limits to close the gap to you. You didn't let off either, dropping down another gear to rev the engine and push past him.

The docks were just a few blocks away. So close.

Police sirens howled loudly in the distance. One look in the rearview mirror and sure enough the red and blue lights shone bright behind you, heading for you and Naozumi.

Three more police cars pulled up two blocks down, trying to block the street and the two of you from passing through. You shot him a quick look he shared with you, fully aware that this was going to get messy. He threw his head to the blocks on the side, wanting to take the longer route and go around. You laughed at that, turning back ahead.

Go hide, Naozumi. I like to face things head on. You should try it sometimes.

Pressing the gas pedal to increase the speed, you slid in front of him and went through fast. The hands on your speedometer went past 120 kmph. If the officers didn't want to get crushed, they had to pull away. But they didn't. Not that you wanted them to.

You cut the gas, tapped the clutch and steered left really tight, drifting down the lane of the street that was left unguarded. You held on tight to the wheel to stay in control of the car as the force pushed you into the door. Your tyres skidded with a screech at the amount of power, but you drifted into that lane and got the car back around straight, leaving the law enforcement behind you.

Two hundred meters in, you repeated the same maneuver this time to the right and steering wide, diving into another turn down the street, completely losing them. The farther away you got, the less you could hear the sirens. They didn't follow.

One thing about police here: they didn't give a fuck if they didn't stop you on the first try. With the amount of street races around Tokyo at night, they gave up on speeding tickets too. If you can do better than one-eighty they can't catch you. They just liked showing up for some ruckus for people to know they were worth their taxes.

Naozumi slowed down behind you, unable to understand how you got away. He followed your drift on the stretch, miscalculating how wide and low he was as his wheels got up on the sidewalk, scraping his front bumper in the process.

Circling around the last blocks with him in tow, he raced up to you, catching speed until he reached you again.

Now it was finally head to head.

Eight hundred meters stood between his dignity and your career getting knocked off and thrown into the river. None of you backed off, increasing the speed to inhumane limits. Not even the rally cars went this fast. The tyres gripped the asphalt hard, engine thundering under the hood, wheel quivering in your hold the faster you drove.

Five hundred meters.

On your left, his R8 got closer, trying to take away from your ascent. A lower portion going under a bridge came up ahead with a tight corner between the pillars. You veered under it, drifting with his car at the same time. He took the inside pushing you off into the rocky sidewalk as payback for his scratched bumper. Your rear wheel caught onto it, swaying the car off the road. The tremors shook your seat the more you drove over the rocks and you managed to get off it just before you smashed into the pillar, sliding back on the road.

Motherfucker.

You pushed the car even faster to catch up to him. You played fair and square and he was pulling tricks. Fairplay was in the trash at this point when it comes to him. What was worse was that you expected more, but maybe that was a mistake.

Three hundred meters.

The size of a football stadium stood between you and the finish line. The docks were now in view, tall and shabby warehouses littered on the sides of the road. Time for Plan B.

Just because I don't have one between my legs doesn't mean I can't act like a dick too.

You let go of the throttle, slowing down to fall behind him and tailed him, sticking to his end like a leech. He liked to play dirty. At least he could have a taste of his own medicine.

He tried to shake you off, going in chicanes and slowing down in the process. He was growing impatient and it showed because you weren't letting off his tail not in even a little, keeping close to his end. If you had more horsepower you could've kissed his back bumper for shits and giggles.

He tried his hardest to lose you, turns getting Once he steered right really wide, you took the opening and accelerated, speeding through ahead and leaving him behind. You turned to wave at him with a smile as you passed by, bolting through to the end.

You whizzed past the redhead waving the checkered flag, getting the crowd yelling as you drifted around them, lifting some of the dust up in the air as you did some victorious doughnuts. Naozumi pulled up behind you and you circled him a few times before you stopped in front of him.

That dark look in his eyes was full of hatred just a few hours ago. Now, it turned furious with rage, pride absolutely shattered. He took a gamble on your inexperience and he lost the game he started so confident in his own powers.

Everyone rushed to your car to cheer on you. You got out shocked at the crowd pooling in. Akira bolted through the endless mob of people, reaching you and bringing you in a bone-crushing hug you couldn't help but melt in.

"That was batshit crazy! We could see everything from down here."

"I know," your voice came out muffled from being tucked in his shoulder. "I can't believe I did that."

"Well," he pulled apart to hold onto your shoulders, "believe it 'cause you absolutely just did that."

The crowd started chanting your name and you couldn't help the giddiness overtaking your senses. Some of those people were either drivers or really famous and they were calling out your name with excitement.

You might have fallen off the track today but you won the crowd tonight. This was yours to enjoy fully and no one could take it away from you. You earned it. You proved that you belonged on the road.

Naozumi finally cut the engine off. He slumped back in his seat for a moment before he got out to inspect the damage on the front of his car. You walked over to him to see him threading his fingers over the scratched paint stretching over to a dent, covering a good part of the corner in front of the right wheel.

"That looks nasty," you said.

He shot you a look filled with hatred. That graze looked worse than nasty could describe and from how he grinded his teeth in annoyance, it looked like it was entirely your fault in his head.

Not one word was uttered between him getting back in his car and speeding away, leaving his victory celebration for you to enjoy.

I think I scratched his ego too.

Akira slid in beside you, eyes trained on the back of his car, watching it drift away until you could no longer see it.

"Is it wrong that I feel bad for him?"

"Nah, you earned this. He's just complicated." Then he paused, rotating to you. "Frankly, I don't think anyone threw him off his high horse this hard before. Not even me," he said with a grin, happy at Naozumi's demise.

Maybe he was right. Naozumi was a really complicated person. But the more you faced each other on and off track, the more you got to know more about him. And the more your hands inched closer to unravel that puzzle on the shelf with his name on it.

One thing was for sure.

After today's events, that plastic foil on his puzzle box was entirely gone. And one of your dying curiosities was satisfied tonight.

You now knew what made Naozumi tick.

And it wasn't losing.

🏎️Glossary of terms and other useful information 🏎️

The Points - Points in rally get awarded on a top 10 places basis. Depending on the placement at the end of the final stage, the score one gets differs. First place can get as high as 25 points, while tenth place gets only one point. *The last stage is called the Power Stage, giving drivers in top five extra points in the overall standings.

Drivers Championship standings - The overall points gathered over the course of all rounds. If you're familiar with F1, it is the equivalent to the Drivers' World Championship standings.

Downshift - One of Raiko's favourite things. Changing gears from an upper one to an inferior one, where the car revs up before it speeds up. Also the sweet spot where the rotations align and the engine roars.

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Taglist: @ellisaworld @howimeetyoukit @jonnelpunk @nadlx33333

[geekpopnews]

Radwimps | Anunciado turnê na América Latina em 2024

A banda Radwimps anuncia sua turnê mundial "The Way You Yawn, And the Outcry of Peace" chegará a América Latina, em março de 2024. #Radwimps #Crunchyroll

A turnê mundial da banda Radwimps, “The Way You Yawn, And the Outcry of Peace”, chega à América Latina. Descubra o fenômeno musical japonês Radwimps, renomado no Brasil por suas marcantes trilhas sonoras em animações como “Your Name” (2016), “Weathering With You” (2020) e “Suzume” (2022), dirigidas por Makoto Shinkai. A banda, composta por Yojiro Noda (vocalista e guitarrista), Akira Kuwahara…

[leaderoffestivals]

(Lookback) The Heartbeat of the Sea: Abyss Chapter 1

Kanata: … … Mikejima—  You are not he, are you? Your scent is different— *Lick*—Yes, and your taste is different, too. Souma: HYAAAAAAH—?!

Season: Winter (In the past) Author: Akira Characters: Kanzaki Souma, Shinkai Kanata, Mikejima Madara

<Thirteen years before ES was founded. At a funeral hall somewhere in Tokyo.>

Souma: I have been granted freeeedom~!

(Now then, what should I do? Think carefully, Souma! There remains but a half-hour of this precious free time left to me! That’s, uhhh, about thirty minutes, more or less!

I must use this time wisely and do… Something! Anything at all! It would be such a waste, otherwise!)

Souma: … … However, I am feeling rather famished at the moment.

I suspect my mealtime may have slipped my esteemed Father’s mind. 

(Uuu. What should I do? It is impossible to do battle on an empty stomach.

My esteemed Mother is usually the one who prepares my meals... However, she is due to give birth to my dear little brother soon.

She is finding it difficult to move about due to her advanced state of pregnancy. That is why there was no helping it. She could not undertake the long journey here, burdened as she was by her increased weight—

—even though this funeral ceremony is for an exceedingly august personage, one whom our household cannot possibly disregard. 

That is right. It seems someone has passed away. 

That person seems to be someone who is of very great importance to us, a highly esteemed individual. 

Oh no! Will I be scolded for using the word “person” when referring to them?

That person… seemed to be like God.)

Souma: (... … But even so, a funeral for God? Can God die as well? Hm~~?

Well, I suppose that when it is time for one to die, they will indeed pass away! Father and Mother would never speak untruths after all!)

Souma: Uuu… Pondering so hard has made me hungrier. I am famished. Even the great Regent (1) could not have anticipated I would be suffering the miserable prospect of starvation in bountiful modern-day Japan…

(Perhaps I could ask Father to prepare a meal for me… … However, he seems to have his hands full, and he is always saying that men do not belong in the kitchen. 

Umu. In that case, it seems I have no choice but to seek out a meal myself. 

If I search, there ought to be insects or other creatures around which can serve as sustenance somewhere. 

Huh? But, wait. On closer inspection, there is an array of food laid out all about me.   

Am I hallucinating this?

I do not fully comprehend, but this must be Heaven’s blessing too! In other words, uhhh, God must be granting me a divine favour! Yes!

I shall accept with gratitude! 

… … Am I allowed to eat these without permission, though? Will anyone be angered? And yet, with no one around, I cannot seek permission from anyone either?

Besides—Ugh~—I am truly hungry!)

Souma: I humbly partake of this food!

*Chew, chew* Ug~ghh. The flavours are much too strong. The flavours of the meals Mother prepares are so much more refined than this… 

(Sound of footsteps) 

Souma: (Ah! Someone is approaching! This is bad, it would be disgraceful to be caught indulging in pilfered food! It is shameful conduct for the child of a samurai family!

I—I must hide. Under that desk, there seems to be a screen with which I can conceal myself… …

Make haste, Souma! Run for it! Yaaaa!)

Kanata: WAH—Oh?

Souma: … … … …!?

Kanata: Hm~? Hm~? Hm~?

Souma: … …? … …?

(EH? Ehhhh?! What? Who? An intruder~!

Who in the world is… this fellow? He has such a strange air about him—)

Kanata: Who is that, over there? Is it Mikejima?

Souma: (Huh? Eh? What is he saying? 

His voice has a peculiar resonance to it… … I cannot make the words out clearly… …)

Kanata: … … Mikejima— 

You are not he, are you? Your scent is different—

*Lick*—Yes, and your taste is different, too.

Souma: HYAAAAAAH—?! *What* are you doing, all of a sudden? Are you a demon—?

Kanata: Errrm. Who are you?

Souma: A-and who are you? What are you doing in a place like this? 

Kanata: Ohhh. Kanata is not doing anything at all. 

In a sense, what Kanata is doing is ‘nothing’. (2)

Souma: ? ? ?

Kanata: Do you not understand, mortal child? 

Is it so difficult to understand the words Kanata is saying? 

Souma: Eh? Ka—katana? No, what you said was “Kanata”, was it? And that means—?

Madara: POW! (Sound of a loud punch)——In the nick of time, Mikejima appears!

Souma: Gyaa--UGH—!

Madara: Whoo~oops! I punched his lights out in the heat of the moment, but, who is this guy? God, do you know who he is? 

Kanata: Kanata has not become God yet, that is why Kanata does not know anything. 

Mu—And besides that, you took such a long time to return, Mikejima. 

Madara: I’m sorryyy! I had a little trouble finding a place we could break in and enter by, that’s whyyy~

Souma: (Wh—who are they? These guys? They appear to be… children of my age and yet… …?

Oh no, this is bad. I was already light-headed from hunger earlier, and now the shock of being punched has made me even more dizzy… …

I am… losing… consciousness… …

... ... ... ...)

—————-To be continued——————-

Chapter 2

Translator’s Notes: 1) Souma says 太閤さま (Taikoo-sama) which means Imperial Regent and is commonly used to refer to Toyotomi Hideyoshi, a samurai who lived in 1537- 1598 and regarded as the second “Great Unifier” of Japan.

2) Kanata means that he is actively carrying out ‘the act of doing nothing at all’. 

[dyminesblog]

Midousuji in Magic School version ✨

[inmatenett]

As long as you like it I will continue to do it

[amethystsoda]

Anime Movies Worth Watching:

(disclaimer: this is only for ones I've watched and enjoyed--there probably are other good films out there, I just haven't seen everything yet!)

Akira (A cyberpunk classic. The hand painted animation alone makes this a must watch)

Promare (dynamic [and pretty] adult characters fight fires and start fires, all in a scifi + mecha candy-colored world with stunning animation. One of my all time faves by Studio Trigger)

Belle (Hosoda) (SHE IS THE MOMENT. A movie about facing fears, coping with past trauma, and connecting through technology. Also a retelling of Beauty and the Beast, but without the romantic undertones!)

Suzume (If you watch anything from the Shinkai Cinematic Universe, make it this one. It still has all his classic art style and storytelling methods, but the time and place based storyline and animation is even more stunning)

Howl's Moving Castle (A classic. Most everyone has heard about this Studio Ghibli offering by now, but if you haven't watched yet, please put it on your list NOW. Pretty landscapes. Pretty Howl. Pretty animation. Absolute comfort film)

Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust (If you like vampire stories and amazing feats of animation, please watch this one. MadHouse animated it--the same studio that did Trigun and Death Note--and it's absolutely stunning. The story follows D, a dhampir and vampire hunter, and a starcrossed couple, Charlotte, a human, and Meier, a vampire)

JJK 0 movie (You don't have to have watched Jujutsu Kaisen to see this film! MAPPA absolutely blew everyone away with the animated battle sequences in 0. The story is a prequel, so you can start your journey without prior knowledge. Follow our protag, Yuta, and his cursed spirit, Rika, as they fight against a cult leader who wants to rid the world of curses)

[twilightmalachite]

Altered - Angels and Devils 1

Author: Akira

Characters: Akiomi, Rei, Wataru, Kanata, Shu, Natsume

Translator: Mika Enstars

EN Proofer: PitXRoxas

"I simply do not want our history with them to become a laughing matter. Can’t you understand?"

Season: Winter

Location: SS Finals Live Stage

⚠️ This is an import from a unproofed Twitter Livetweet!

Two years later, the late winter of ES’ first year of establishment. On the stage of the showdown of the strongest units, a.k.a. OO (double O).

Akiomi: “Before the final battle begins, let us first introduce the members of the units that will be facing off!”

“In the red corner! The strongest unit with the no.1 number of votes at the moment—Altered!”

“Who is Altered? The incarnation of evil that shook the idol industry after their rampage at Yumenosaki Academy, which had once been called the best idol training school in Japan—”

“A unit created by the gathering of those known as the Five Eccentrics!”

“Five eccentric people gather as the “Five Eccentrics”, who have now teamed up for the first time as the unit “Altered”!

“Now, let us welcome these five people of notoriety!”

“Sakuma Rei! Hibiki Wataru! Shinkai Kanata! Itsuki Shu! Sakasaki Natsume!”

Rei: “Hello, hello~♪”

Wataru: “Thank you for the introduction, we are the personification of all evil, the Five Eccentrics!”

Kanata: “Gyarr~! I’ll eat’cha all~☆”

Shu: …The atmosphere’s too light, is it not unnerving?

Natsume: Isn’t it better than being overly serioUS, thouGH?

Wataru: Now now, raise your moods up, Shu, Natsume-kun! Let us become fools! It’s a festival, it’s time to get excited! ♪

Shu: I simply do not want our history with them to become a laughing matter. Can’t you understand?

Wataru: Is it not nothing but a laughing matter after all this time?

Rei: It’s true. The conflict between the Five Eccentrics and the student council who gave us that name—that story of revolution has long since passed.

Everything withers with the flow of time.

Additionally, that turmoil took place solely within the miniature garden called Yumenosaki, hardly recognized by the outside world.

Natsume: WeLL, those who were involved mostly kept their mouths shut as it was nothing but bad memorIES.

RathER, if the bad publicity from those days remainED, we wouldn’t be able to be the idols we are todAY.

Rei: Yep. It’s all because the revolution that took place within Yumenosaki had been conveyed to the world in only a vague manner.

This time around… It’s possible for us to recapture that tragedy as a comedy this time around.

To say it wasn’t a tragedy—No one was unhappy, no one was ruined, no one was hurt, no one cried…

To say so is a deception, of course, but I’d like to make it “fact”.

I do not wish to carry a heavy cross as I walk. At least, that’s not what I personally want.

That is why this “OO” is a festival to turn that tragedy into a comedy.

So from now on, when we hear the name Five Eccentrics, we can reminisce about this madness rather than that sad and bloody conflict.

That is what I hope for.

Of course, if you feel otherwise, that is fine. If you cannot stand the student council, then slap them in the face with your sarcasm and hatred.

I just cannot agree with that. We’ve had enough of hurting each other.

Shu: I don’t plan to call you a hypocrite, Rei, you can do as you please. To do as you wish is what makes who you are—no, what makes us the Five Eccentrics.

However, as I will not deny you, I won’t allow you to deny me either.

To me, this is a wonderful opportunity. This time around, I’ll face those shameless bastards head on.

I’ll show them the disparity between us.

I’ll engrave that reality into them.

Although I despise remembering those days of strife, I know if it hadn’t been for those dastardly conspiracies, it would have been us who’d have won.

Allow me to prove this self-evident truth that they couldn’t dare prove.

That is why you planned this farce in the first place, isn’t it, “Natsume”?

Natsume: ……

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