Chapter 4: What the Tires Say

Arakawa Tunnel. 11:17 PM.

The place wasn't on any map. A semi-condemned back road, squeezed between two old industrial routes, with walls covered in graffiti, names, numbers, and shouts. This was where the real races happened.

Naomi stepped out of Yumi's car. Her boots met the asphalt as if stepping into an arena. "Are you sure we can stay here?" she asked, a little skeptical. "As long as we don't touch the starting lines, it's fine. And you look more like a mechanic than a cop," Yumi replied with a wink.

Around them, about twenty people. No yelling, no cameras, just focused gazes, discreet beers, and phones held like oracles. Two cars were getting ready: a yellow RX-7, engine vibrating, ready to bite, and a black Supra, low-profile, sleek, almost silent. "It's the duel of the night," a guy whispered nearby.

Naomi crossed her arms, leaning against a guardrail. "Who are they?" "The guy in the RX-7 is named Kenshiro, a former pro banned from official circuits. The other one is Eizo; we know almost nothing about him, but he drifts like a ghost."

The engines roared. A silence settled. Then a whistle, a discreet signal. The cars took off. The sound was immediate. Not a simple screech, but a tearing song between fire and rubber.

The two cars plunged into the tunnel. Headlights reflected against the walls. The asphalt vibrated. First turn: the RX-7 slid with a clean, brutal, sharp movement. The Supra followed... slower, but with an icy grace. Its tires brushed the white line like a caress. "He's playing with the trajectory…" Naomi breathed, unconsciously. Yumi smiled. "You're starting to talk like us."

The engines screamed in the tunnel's echo. Spectators watched the drone screen floating above, transmitting images to phones via a private network. Second turn: the RX-7 pulled ahead, but corrected too quickly. A small slide made the crowd rumble. Naomi frowned. "He lost traction too early on the throttle. Bad read." "You're quick to see it." "I'm a mechanic, and I've lived with living weapons and gods. A car is just a heart that speaks louder."

Last turn. The Supra cut the inside line, its rear tire brushing a traffic cone. A murmur of admiration. Naomi said nothing; she was still replaying the trajectory in her head: every brake, every acceleration. She saw it all again.

Yumi watched her. "You didn't break away for a second." Naomi slowly turned her head. "I thought it would be noise and ego, but it's like drawing at full speed." "Yeah, welcome to real drift."

Naomi straightened up. The wind ruffled her pink hair. Her gaze still fixed on the end of the tunnel. "And is it always like this?" "No," Yumi replied. "Sometimes it's worse. Sometimes it's more beautiful. And sometimes there's someone like you who ends up behind the wheel." Naomi raised an eyebrow. "Me?" "You have a Pinkbolt sleeping in your garage. It deserves better than snoring next to broken Civics."

A silence. Then a short, genuine laugh. "We'll see. For now... I'm listening." And in a discreet turn of the Arakawa tunnel, somewhere between the neon lights and the silence, a forger of worlds began to love the smell of asphalt.

End of Chapter 4 — What the Tires Say