As the Night Progresses.
The rain hadn't let up—if anything, it hammered down harder, smearing the lights of Tatrasuna into long, wavering streaks across the soaked asphalt. Water cascaded in rivulets down the guardrails and pooled into the cracks of the mountain road, creating small lakes that glinted with the cold shimmer of streetlights. The oppressive weight of the storm pressed down on everything, muffling sound and thickening the air. The smell of wet tarmac, brake dust, and cold exhaust hung like fog.
Collei stood beside her AE86, soaked to the bone but vibrating with adrenaline. Her hands still twitched slightly from the aftermath, her breath slow but uneven. The boxy silhouette of her car—its rain-slicked curves gleaming under the intermittent flicker of sodium lamps—looked more like a beast at rest than a machine. Steam hissed from the hood vents, the engine ticking audibly as it cooled under the deluge.
She flinched slightly as footsteps squelched through the wet gravel behind her. Turning, she saw Ningguang, Clorinde, and Albedo approaching, their postures calm but purposeful. Rain streaked down Ningguang's ivory coat, yet she moved with the composed air of a woman unbothered by such trivialities.
Ningguang stopped a pace from Collei and gave her a slow, deliberate nod. Her voice, cool and deliberate, cut through the rain like a scalpel.
"Nicely done, Collei," she said, eyes studying her with a sharp gleam. "Forget the rest of it for now. Your focus should stay where it belongs—on the car. Maximize everything you can squeeze out of it. At the end of the day, that's what wins races."
She lifted a hand, palm up, letting the rain patter against it for a beat. "If something in your opponent's car seems better than yours, don't treat it like a dead end. Nine times out of ten, that's not a weakness in your own machine—it's your opening. That's where technique becomes the great equalizer."
Collei blinked, watching her with wide, uncertain eyes.
Ningguang went on, her gaze narrowing. "When I told you to think like Feixiao, I wasn't telling you to mimic her. This wasn't about recreating her famous inside counters or her late apex tricks. It was about mindset—strategic understanding. Anticipation. Exploiting flaws through reading, not reacting. You did that. And you did it with restraint."
Her lips curled—barely a smile, more like approval manifest in a facial twitch. "You made the first half yours. And the fact that you kept up with that Lotus Elise for so long? Most can't even see its tail lights after a minute on a wet course. So be proud of that."
Collei stood frozen in the drizzle, unsure how to respond. Ningguang's voice had always carried an edge of judgment, like an examiner taking mental notes. This felt… different.
Ningguang turned away with finality. "Take a breather. Time trials are suspended until the storm dies down."
Without another word, she stepped back into the shadows, Clorinde falling into rhythm beside her like a disciplined sentinel. Collei watched them go until only Albedo remained beside her.
Collei leaned in toward him slightly, lowering her voice. "She… she meant that as a compliment, right?"
Albedo's lips twitched in amusement. "Of course she did."
Collei let out a heavy exhale and sagged slightly, rain dripping from her bangs. "I should've figured it out earlier. If I'd passed him one corner sooner instead of waiting for the straight... I almost considered going for a second run. Hold him off, try it again dry."
Albedo barked a short laugh, shaking his head. "A second run? Are you suicidal or just sleep-deprived?"
She blinked at him. "W-what?"
"Ningguang would've buried you six feet under. Without a shovel," Albedo said dryly. "The rain's the only reason you had a fighting chance. If this road were dry? That overpriced Lotus would've torn you apart before the third sector."
Collei paled, then muttered under her breath. "Thank fuck for that."
On Kazuha's Side.
The atmosphere couldn't have been more different—tense, sour, the air heavy with the scent of frustration and hot oil.
Ayaka shoved Ayato against the side of his Lotus Elise, her soaked blazer clinging to her frame as her eyes flared with restrained fury. The rain didn't faze her—her glare could've split steel.
"What the hell happened back there?" she snapped, her voice a sharp hiss over the white noise of the storm.
Ayato raised his hands, palms up, trying to placate her. "I swear to the gods, I have no idea! One moment she was right behind me, headlights up in my mirrors. Next thing I know, she's just... gone."
Ayaka narrowed her eyes. "Bullshit. She was probably in your blind spot."
"No way," Ayato said quickly, shaking his head. "If she was in the blind zone, I would've felt it—heard something, seen the glare. But the road just went dark. No headlights. Nothing. Like she disappeared."
Ayaka let out a sharp breath, the fire in her dimming as understanding dawned. She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"…Of course. A vanishing line."
Ayato blinked. "A what?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she stepped back, folding her arms tightly. "Forget it. I let my emotions get the better of me. Sorry."
Ayato placed a damp, gloved hand on her shoulder. "Don't sweat it."
His gaze drifted past her to the AE86 parked across the way, the dim reflection of its pop-ups still etched into his memory.
"She's… impressive. Really. That move caught me completely off guard."
Ayaka's expression softened, her voice tinged with distant reverence. "Yeah. I get it. When I raced her last year, she did something stupid. Caught a dirt mound near one of the service paths mid-corner. Launched her car clear into the air like a lunatic."
Ayato stared. "You're serious."
"Dead serious," Ayaka said quietly. "I thought she'd crash. Instead, she landed mid-drift. Slid ahead like it was all part of the plan."
She gave a soft shake of her head, her tone haunted. "Still gives me chills sometimes..."
Back with Team Speed Stars.
Collei and Albedo made their way back to the AE86, its black-and-white frame now half-hidden by the mist and raindrops. The smell of oil, wet tires, and scorched brake pads lingered in the air like war paint.
Albedo tucked his hands into his coat, smirking. "A blind pass in this shitstorm? That was some next-level thinking. In weather like this, you were practically invisible. That wasn't just racing. That was warfare."
Collei gave a slow nod. "Only pull that move when there's no other option. If I'd messed up the timing, I'd have eaten guardrail."
Albedo chuckled. "Calculated madness. Ningguang would call it elegant improvisation. I call it bloody suicidal. But it worked."
Before Collei could respond, shouting echoed through the rain.
"There's our champion!"
She turned to see Amber waving like a lunatic, her yellow parka flapping as she trudged through ankle-deep water with the others behind her.
"Collei!" Amber beamed. "That was insane! You blew past us like a goddamn hurricane!"
Collei flushed red and scratched the back of her head. "Ehehe... uh... thanks?"
March waded up next, soaking wet but grinning ear to ear. "I swear to god, I thought we were gonna die! One second you vanished, the next you were charging right at us like a missile!"
"We forgave you, though," March added sweetly, nudging her with an elbow.
Seele, arms crossed and soaked to the bone, gave a grunt. "You almost clipped Beidou."
"I had to dive into the fucking bush!" Beidou barked, flinging mud off her jacket. "You owe me a dry-cleaning bill."
Collei laughed, genuinely now. "Maybe next time, don't stand in the middle of the road?"
The group burst into laughter, a jagged burst of warmth cracking through the storm. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but for a moment, the night didn't feel quite so cold.
As the group shared laughter and relived the night's intensity, the moment was shattered by a mechanical snarl that cut clean through the rain-soaked silence—a sound so distinct, it sliced through the air like a razor. It wasn't a typical exhaust note. No turbo hiss, no naturally aspirated rasp. It was the shrill, predatory whine of a supercharger, winding up with purpose.
Collei's ears twitched, her posture going stiff. She stepped forward instinctively, squinting through the curtain of rainfall and mist until her eyes locked onto a familiar silhouette easing into view. The shape was unmistakable—Kamisato Ayaka's AE86 Levin. But something was different now. The front end bore a new mesh grille, droplets dancing off a lightweight carbon-fiber hood that shimmered under the fluorescent lights. The car had been reborn.
Collei narrowed her green eyes, studying the Levin's modifications with a racer's scrutiny. "She's running a supercharger now?" she muttered, arms crossing as her mind ticked through the implications.
Almost on cue, Clorinde broke from the gathering, her pace brisk and no-nonsense as she strode toward Ayaka's Levin. The rain slapped off her jacket, her boots rhythmically splashing against the wet pavement. Without hesitation, the two women met mid-way, locking eyes before sharing a firm, decisive handshake. There was no need for small talk—their mutual respect was clear.
"Clorinde of Team Speed Stars," she said evenly, her voice carrying the cool authority of someone who didn't waste words.
Ayaka returned a faint smile, polite but sharp, her gaze steely. "Kamisato Ayaka. The pleasure is mine."
Clorinde cocked her head, eyes briefly sweeping over the Levin. "Last I heard, you were running a turbocharger. But from the sound of your startup just now… that whine wasn't a blow-off valve. That's centrifugal. Supercharged now, isn't it?"
Ayaka gave a slight nod, her voice laced with restrained pride. "That's right. After my battle with Collei last year, my engine got trashed. The turbo system sucked in a mess of debris from the downhill run—fried the bearings. Cost me more than just time." She glanced over her shoulder at the car, her gloved hand brushing across the carbon hood. "So I rebuilt the entire block. Swapped to a Roots-style charger. Linear powerband suits me better."
Before Clorinde could respond, Keqing's voice rang out, sharp and commanding above the drizzle.
"Cars to the starting line!"
The moment broke. Clorinde gave Ayaka a curt nod and jogged off toward her Lancia. The silence shattered as the beast came alive, its starter motor clicking before the ignition caught with a guttural whomp. The sound was deep, thunderous, laced with the throaty bark of its supercharged Lampredi four-cylinder. It wasn't just loud—it was angry.
Ayaka's Levin wasn't far behind. The distinct whine of her new setup sliced through the air like a circular saw, contrasting the Lancia's growl with mechanical clarity. The two machines rolled forward slowly, headlight beams cutting jagged shapes into the mist.
Both cars stopped at the line. Their engines settled into grumbling idle tones, each threatening to boil over. Rain intensified, tapping across metal surfaces like impatient fingertips on a desk.
Ningguang approached the Lancia with practiced poise, her heels clicking smartly against the soaked asphalt. She tapped once on the plexiglass window. Clorinde slid open the tiny slot, letting in a gust of cold, petrol-scented air.
Ningguang leaned in, her voice low and measured. "Same objective as last week. Execute Senna's throttle discipline. Precision over raw aggression. No glory, just results. Understood?"
Clorinde nodded once. "Understood."
A small, approving smile tugged at Ningguang's lips. She patted the Lancia's fiberglass roof. "Then go put the fear of God in her."
The window snapped shut. Clorinde grabbed the gearstick, slotted into first, and gave the engine a hard rev. Flames burst briefly from the exhaust, the noise echoing across the ravine like distant artillery fire.
Across the line, Ayaka cinched her harness tight, her breath fogging up the inside of her visor. Her fingers played across the Momo steering wheel, calm and focused. The Levin idled high, its supercharger whining every time she feathered the throttle. She planted her foot, revs rising and holding—steady, aggressive.
Both drivers were statues behind the wheel—every muscle coiled, eyes locked dead ahead.
Keqing stepped forward, one hand raised like a guillotine about to fall.
"We are starting in FIVE!"
"FOUR!"
"THREE!"
"TWO!"
"ONE!"
"GO!!"
Her hand dropped—and the road exploded.
Ayaka's Levin clawed for traction as the rear tires broke loose for a fraction of a second before gripping hard. Clorinde's Lancia launched in tandem, its rear-engine layout giving it superior initial bite on the rain-slicked tarmac. Both cars howled into the night, the mountain vibrating with fury.
The Lancia surged ahead, but Clorinde dialed it back—by choice. She stayed glued to Ayaka's tail, breathing down her neck without forcing an overtake. She wasn't here to drag race. She was here to study, pressure, and strike when it hurt most.
The first right-hander came fast. Ayaka threw the Levin in with surgical confidence, her rear end stepping out just enough to clip the inside line. Tires screamed as she countersteered and powered out. Clorinde followed, her line tighter, cleaner—Senna's touch. No slide. Just grip and torque and terrifying efficiency.
Ayaka peeked at her mirror. The Lancia hadn't fallen behind—it was closing.
"Torque won't matter past the next sector," she muttered, downshifting hard. "This becomes a battle of technique. And I'm not about to fold."
She punched the throttle. The Levin responded with a shriek, revs rising fast, the car twitching on the edge of grip.
First hairpin.
Ayaka braked late, turned in sharp, and initiated a controlled slide, feathering the throttle mid-drift. The Levin danced.
Clorinde didn't slide. She braked earlier, tapped the throttle with a quick, staccato rhythm—blip-blip-blip—modulating the car's weight across the rear axle. The Lancia gripped like a barnacle and rocketed out of the apex, closing another meter.
Ayaka's eyes darted to her mirror. "Shit. She's good."
"I need to make this a stamina battle," she whispered, jaw clenched. "Let's see how long you can keep up with a car that fights back every second."
Clorinde smiled to herself as her fingers flicked the shifter down a gear. The tach needle kissed 8,500 RPM, then she slammed it up. The Lancia bellowed, flames lashing from its exhaust like the breath of a dragon.
"I know how supercharged setups behave," she said under her breath. "The Levin may be agile, but the 037 was built to shred tarmac under pressure. This is more than horsepower. This is artistry."
Hairpin. Straight. Sweeper.
The chase turned relentless.
Ayaka's AE86 danced like a blade through mist, always moving, always pivoting at the edge of disaster. Clorinde's Lancia followed like a hunter—never rushing, never biting too early, but never letting the Levin escape.
Every throttle input was calculated. Every brake pressure a brushstroke. The 037 didn't slide—it flowed. Clorinde's footwork was pure finesse, the ghost of Senna in every heel-toe and mid-corner tap.
The rain thickened.
At the Base
Kazuha's voice sliced through the tension inside the Speed Stars' tent, relayed through the headset to Ayato.
"Your sister is still ahead," he said calmly, "but the Lancia's tightening the gap every corner."
Ayato, leaning against the hood of his Lexus, gave a slow nod. Rain ran off the brim of his jacket as he turned to face the telemetry.
Kazuha adjusted his glasses. "Clorinde's technique is… odd. During her match against Firefly, she used this rhythmic throttle pattern—quick blips, almost like she's playing an instrument. I haven't figured it out yet."
Ayato arched a brow. "And the Lancia? Of all cars, why pick something so… ancient?"
Kazuha pulled up a spec sheet on his tablet, fingers gliding across the screen. "It's not just any 037," he said. "This one won the WRC Constructors' title in '83. The driver, who also won the individual title that year, was gifted the car. Years later, after he passed… it went to his daughter."
He looked up. "Clorinde didn't buy it for $1.3 million, Ayato. She inherited it."
Ayato's expression shifted—respect replacing skepticism. "Her father was a legend, then."
Kazuha shook his head. "No. He avoided the cameras. Never gave interviews. Didn't even race under his name—just the Inazuman flag. Winning was never about fame. It was about the drive."
Ayato exhaled, arms folding across his chest. "Then it runs in the blood."
Back on the Race.
Ayaka and Clorinde pushed their machines to the brink, engines snarling through the downpour as they tore down the mountain's narrow straightaway. Water sprayed violently off their tires, sheets of rain hammering the windshields and reducing visibility to a blur of headlights and shadows. The treacherous straight loomed ahead, and with it—the storm-drained deathtrap disguised as a simple steel cover.
Ayaka's Levin hit the drain first. Ka-chunk. The front left tire struck it dead-on, jarring the suspension with a brutal jolt. The rear snapped loose for a split-second, hydroplaning before she caught it with a quick correction. She clenched her jaw and muscled the steering wheel, her breath caught in her throat as she stabilized the car.
The impact shook her rhythm. Just a fraction—but that was all it took.
"Shit," she muttered, white-knuckled on the wheel. "That damn drain cover. If I'd been angled just a bit more left, I'd be flying backwards into the guardrail."
A split second later, Clorinde's Lancia 037 slammed over the same cover—but the outcome couldn't have been more different. Its long-travel rally suspension absorbed the impact with a dull thud, the chassis remaining poised and balanced. The Group B beast barely flinched.
Clorinde's lips curled into a sharp grin as she felt the advantage shift in her favor. "There it is," she murmured, downshifting with a click of the gated shifter. "That's the opening I need."
She buried the throttle.
The supercharged 2.0L Abarth inline-four howled with raw fury. Flames spat from the side-mounted exhaust as the revs surged past 8,500 RPM. The tach needle danced in the red as she punched it into fourth. The Lancia lunged forward like a predator tasting blood. Every gear change slammed through with mechanical finality, each shift tightening the noose around Ayaka's lead.
Ayaka glanced into her rearview mirror, catching a flash of the Lancia's twin high beams slicing through the rain. Her knuckles whitened. "You're trying to rattle me, Clorinde," she hissed through gritted teeth. "But I'm not cracking under pressure."
—
A Watchful Eye.
High above on a service ledge, a lone figure stood beneath an umbrella, unmoved by the weather. Midnight-blue hair clung to his face as the wind whipped across the pass. his crimson eyes followed the two cars like a hawk tracking prey.
He smirked, muttering under his breath with disdain. "Typical two-wheel drive cars. So delicate on bumps. FRs are just pathetic little clunkers compared to the real machines."
The storm howled louder, as if affirming his judgment.
—
Back on the course, the mountain had transformed into a killing ground. Torrential rain turned every corner into a trap, every surface a potential coffin lid. The two racers clawed through the descent like fighters in a cage match—every move calculated, every mistake punished.
Ayaka's Levin clung to the racing line, her every input measured and precise. She felt the supercharger whining under the hood, the engine straining under the load, pushing her Eight-Six to its absolute limit.
Clorinde, inches off her bumper, matched her move for move, keeping the Lancia 037 pinned to the wet tarmac with pure instinct and experience. The Group B monster didn't flinch. Its rally-tuned suspension soaked up each bump, each ripple in the pavement like it was born in the storm.
"I can't see shit in these conditions!" Ayaka barked, blinking hard against the glare of her low beams. Water streaked down her side windows, blinding her peripheral vision.
They barreled into another tight left-hander—mid-speed, decreasing radius. Ayaka, feeling the road vanish ahead into darkness, tapped her stalk to flip the headlights to high beam.
It was the wrong move.
As she reached for the switch, her rear wheels kissed the edge of a rain gutter—just enough to unsettle the chassis. The tail broke loose.
"DAMN IT!"
The Levin's rear end whipped sideways violently, tires screaming as the car spun. Ayaka fought to recover, sawing at the wheel, feathering the throttle, but the momentum was too far gone. The world rotated, the trees and roadlights blurring together as her car spun out, broadside across the soaked asphalt.
Clorinde's eyes flared. Reflexes kicked in.
She yanked the Lancia toward the inside line, hooking her front wheels into the gutter—just enough grip to thread the needle. The 037 slipped past the chaos with millimeters to spare, Clorinde stomping the brakes as soon as she cleared the danger zone. Her rally tires screeched against the waterlogged pavement as she brought the Lancia to a controlled halt.
Behind her, Ayaka's Levin skidded to a stop in a cloud of mist and tire smoke, the rear bumper dangling inches from the concrete wall.
She sat motionless for a second. Then she let out a roar of pure frustration and slammed her palm twice against the steering wheel.
"SON OF A BITCH!"
—
Clorinde stepped out of the Lancia, her boots splashing in the shallow streams running across the road. Rain plastered her bangs to her face, but her eyes were sharp and steady as she jogged back toward Ayaka's Levin.
Ayaka threw her door open and stepped out, soaked to the skin in seconds, frustration radiating off her like steam from overheated brakes.
"You okay?" Clorinde asked, voice raised over the rain.
Ayaka nodded once, eyes narrowed, lips tight. "Yeah… I'm fine. I was adjusting my headlights when I hit the fucking rain gutter. Caught me off guard."
Clorinde exhaled slowly, her tone serious but calm. "That was way too close. You were lucky with your angle—but if it had been just a hair worse, you'd have slammed into me… or gone straight into the wall."
Ayaka leaned on the Levin's roof, breathing heavily, her wet bangs casting shadows across her face. "I know," she muttered. "I got lucky… again."
—
The descent continued in silence.
They didn't race anymore. The spirit of battle had passed, replaced by mutual respect and lingering adrenaline. The mountain echoed only with the fading growl of their engines and the soft, relentless patter of rain.
When they reached the base of the mountain, Ayaka stepped out of her Levin, rain cascading off her jacket. Her eyes were focused, but the weariness clung to her shoulders like lead.
Ayato and Kazuha approached, both silent until Ayaka finally spoke.
"It's over," she said, her voice low. "I spun out. She passed me. We lost."
Kazuha's eyes narrowed, disappointment flickering in his expression. "It's over… we lost. All of it." He turned, watching Clorinde's Lancia 037 idle beside Collei's Eight-Six at the edge of the lot. Both machines looked as if the storm couldn't touch them—gleaming, untouchable.
"But still…" Kazuha added softly. "Team Speed Stars is one hell of a team. All the best in your future expeditions."
The rain began to ease, the pounding storm fading into a light drizzle. But in Ayaka's chest, the thunder still rolled.
She had driven like her life depended on it. She had fought tooth and nail. And it still hadn't been enough.
But this wasn't the end.
Not even close.
They would climb the mountain again. They had to.
This was just one chapter in an unfinished story. The road would call again. And when it did… they'd be ready.