Legends Arrive
The low, uneven hum of rotary engines echoed up the slope like a warning, rippling across the trees and the cracked asphalt of the mountain pass. The air was thick—humid with the scent of burned rubber, clutch dust, and high-octane gasoline. Every breath came with a subtle burn, as if the night itself were scorched by what was arriving.
Two RX-7s rolled into the summit with silent authority.
The first to arrive was a Midnight Purple RX-7 FD3S, its silhouette fluid and serpentine under the moonlight. Its engine growled in that unique rotary tone—uneven at idle but full of threat, like a lion pacing in a cage. The headlights glowed softly, illuminating a haze of vapor curling off hot brake rotors. The car eased to a stop with surgical grace, the body settling on its suspension with a soft hiss of compressed air through coilovers still warm from the climb.
The door unlatched with a clean click, and stepping out came a woman as striking as the car itself. Keqing. Violet hair framed a face carved from resolve, her golden eyes scanning the surroundings with pinpoint precision. She stood still for a moment, one hand resting on the roof of the FD, her other on her hip. She wasn't just looking at the summit—she was sizing it up, calculating its rhythm, its limits, its threats.
Moments later, a second engine approached—a cleaner, tighter note, still rotary but more restrained. The White RX-7 FC3S pulled in beside the FD, its idle smooth, balanced, almost unnerving in how perfect it sounded. It came to a stop without a single tire squeal, its movements almost too clean for a car that had clearly just devoured a mountain road.
The door opened fluidly, and out stepped Ningguang. Her long, silver-white hair shimmered under the floodlamps, and her tailored jacket billowed just slightly in the mountain breeze. Her expression was unreadable—cool, composed, the eyes of someone who was already three moves ahead of everyone around her. Where Keqing was sharp like a knife, Ningguang was silent like a loaded gun.
They stood there for a moment—these two women, the apex predators of their own ecosystems, side by side, saying nothing and needing to say nothing. The summit had been silent just moments ago. Now, it felt like it was holding its breath.
Behind them, a cluster of drivers stood frozen.
March's eyes widened to the size of saucers, her jaw practically unhinged. She latched onto Collei's arm with both hands, nearly vibrating out of her shoes.
"Collei—Collei—do you even know who those two are?!"
Collei blinked slowly, still trying to recover from the ride up the pass, her stomach barely settled. "Uh… no?"
March spun on her with the intensity of a woman personally betrayed. "You don't know?! Collei, that's Keqing and Ningguang! They're not just drivers, they're the ones the legends are about!"
At the sound of those names, Beidou's head turned, sharp and focused. Seele's lips parted slightly in disbelief. Even Pela, who typically didn't flinch for anything, furrowed her brow. The sheer gravity of those names cut through the air like a dropped wrench on concrete.
March fumbled for her phone with shaking hands, frantically opening an old bookmarked article from Inazuma Motorsports Illustrated. Her thumb scrolled like a madwoman.
"Listen up! Keqing's the one behind the Midnight Purple FD. She's fucking infamous for her throttle control—insane footwork, razor-sharp cornering. Her lines are surgical. She doesn't slide unless she wants to. She was clocked as the second fastest driver on Mount Araumi."
She held up one finger, pausing dramatically. Her voice dropped to a reverent whisper.
"And the one who is fastest on Araumi? That's Ningguang. White FC3S. Drives like a grandmaster playing chess at 300 kilometers per hour. She doesn't win by taking risks—she wins by planning everything three turns in advance. Her telemetry breakdowns got published in pro circuit forums, and she's never even raced competitively. She's that good."
Seele let out a slow, impressed whistle. "Shit… never thought I'd see them here."
Beidou narrowed her eyes, studying the RX-7s like a boxer studying tape before a fight. "This isn't a coincidence. If they came all the way out to Yougou Pass, they're not just here to cruise."
Collei stared at the two cars, her expression shifting from confusion to awe. She didn't know much about racing, but even she could feel the pressure in the air. This wasn't like watching Beidou or Seele or even Yelan show up. This was something… different.
Something big.
Keqing was the first to approach. Her steps were measured, calm, and each one landed with the confidence of someone who knew they could walk into any arena and come out on top. Her golden eyes locked onto Beidou's like lasers, sharp and unblinking.
"You're the one they say is fastest on Yougou, right?"
Beidou raised an eyebrow. She didn't back down, didn't flinch. Her smirk curled slow and steady, arms folding over her chest like she was waiting for this moment.
"That's what the local rumor mill says. Depends who you ask."
Behind her, March was shaking again—this time from pure excitement. Her grip on Collei's jacket was iron.
"Holy shit holy shit holy shit, Collei, do you get it now?! This is insane! Keqing and Ningguang don't visit mountains like this—they conquer them!"
Ningguang stepped forward, joining her partner with a quiet grace. Her voice was smooth, almost amused. "We've heard of Yougou. The pass, the layout, the drivers… but no names have made it out of this mountain. Not until recently."
Her eyes flicked over Beidou's R32, then over Seele's Z.
Keqing kept her arms crossed, voice level but laced with challenge. "We're planning to run the downhill tonight. Just observation, no pressure. But if someone here wants to show us what Yougou's made of…"
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to.
Beidou's smirk sharpened. "You want to see what we've got? Alright then. Let's see if the rumors live up to the road."
Keqing and Ningguang exchanged a single glance—years of racing together compressed into a one-second eye contact that said everything.
Without another word, both turned, heading back to their RX-7s. Keqing's FD let out a throaty bwahh as it came to life. Ningguang's FC answered with a tightly wound purr, like a lioness ready to pounce.
They rolled out onto the starting line, engines revving in synchronized harmony.
And then they were gone.
The tires chirped once—just a whisper of rubber—and both RX-7s launched down the pass, their taillights streaking through the trees like comets. The sound of dual rotaries screamed into the night, weaving through the valley like battle cries from another world.
Silence settled back over the summit, as if the mountain itself needed a moment to catch its breath.
Pela adjusted her gloves, voice low and firm. "We're not just gonna stand around, are we?"
Seele cracked her knuckles, grinning like a wolf. "Nope. Time to heat the tires."
Beidou's hands twitched—subtle, but unmistakable. The itch. The hunger. She turned toward her R32, already moving before anyone else.
March grabbed her by the arm. "Beidou! Let us ride with you! Me and Collei—come on, just this once!"
Beidou gave a short laugh, her hand already on the driver's door. "Not tonight, March. Serious runs mean no distractions. I drive alone."
March let out a groan so loud it probably echoed halfway down the pass. "This SUUUUCKS."
With a laugh and a flash of her taillights, Beidou dropped the clutch, and the R32 launched like a missile into the dark. The howl of the RB26 bounced off the trees, fading into the distance in seconds.
Collei and March stood in the wake of that thunderous departure, staring into the dark like kids left behind by the older kids going to war.
March crossed her arms, huffing. "I swear… we need a car of our own."
Collei didn't respond immediately. Her gaze stayed fixed on the road. Something was brewing behind her eyes.
"…Hey, March?"
"What?" March asked, still grumbling.
Collei's voice was soft. "Why do you love racing so much?"
March blinked. "What?"
Collei turned toward her. The question wasn't sarcastic. It wasn't rhetorical. She looked genuinely confused. "I don't get it. Everyone's so excited all the time—Seele, Beidou, you. But what's so great about it?"
Her voice dropped.
"I don't… feel anything when I drive. I just do it. I don't even like going fast. I don't even like cars."
She looked down at her hands.
"Is it really supposed to be exciting?"
March's jaw dropped. She looked at Collei like she'd just said gravity was optional.
"Are you kidding me?!"
She turned and pointed down the road where the RX-7s had vanished. "Collei, it's everything. The grip, the slide, the engine screaming at redline while your heart tries to keep up. When you're on the edge of control, dancing with disaster and somehow making it through—that's living. That's the only time I ever feel real."
Collei stared at her, unmoving.
March flailed her arms in exasperation. "Ughhh! You're hopeless! We need to get you a real car and a real reason to love this."
Collei looked away again, toward the winding black road lit by moonlight.
She didn't say it, but something had started to shift.
Something she couldn't explain yet
A Call from the Past
The distant hum of the city buzzed beyond the warped glass windows of Hearth's Tofu Shop, the neon signage outside bleeding pale blue onto the worn wood counter. The walls smelled faintly of steam and soy. It was late—past delivery hours. The street was empty.
Then the old landline rang.
Its shrill ring cut through the quiet like a slap, sharp and sudden, echoing in the silence like a blade unsheathed.
Arlecchino plucked the receiver from the cradle with one hand, already halfway to lighting a cigarette with the other.
"Hearth's Tofu Shop," she said, voice calm and dry, like she'd been expecting this call for years. "How may I help you?"
The voice on the other end chuckled. Familiar. Effortless. A little too amused.
"Well, well…"
She froze for a half-second, then leaned back, propping one boot against the counter. A curl touched her lips—not warmth, but recognition.
"It's been a long time since I heard from you, Lyney. Your voice is the last thing I expected tonight."
Across the City
A block of silence filled the gap, save for the gentle clink of aluminum as a tab was cracked.
The soft whirr of a vending machine hummed behind him, casting sterile white light across the gleaming paint of a Toyota Century G50. Jet black, polished like obsidian. Still warm from a recent run.
Leaning against the fender, Lyney sipped canned black coffee, steam curling through the night air. His scarf fluttered slightly in the breeze.
"Come on," he said, tone cocky but coiled with something else. "Don't tell me you're not happy to hear from an old friend."
"I'm always happy to hear from ghosts," Arlecchino replied, voice laced with a smirk. "But ghosts usually don't call."
Lyney tilted his head back, watching the stars, then shifted his weight. The coffee swirled in the can. His grin faded a fraction.
"You know…" he began slowly, "last night, I passed you. Coming down from Mount Yougou. You were in the AE86. Same as always. I flashed my lights—two long, one short. The old code. Figured you'd slow up, but…"
He trailed off. Arlecchino said nothing.
"You blew past me like I was parked."
She chuckled, low and dangerous.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Lyney," she murmured, "but that wasn't me."
A Shocking Revelation
For a second, the only sound was the quiet hiss of steam from Lyney's coffee. He let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.
"Come on. Don't fuck with me. I saw it with my own eyes. It was your Eight-Six."
Arlecchino exhaled slowly. Smoke trailed from her lips. "It was my car. But I wasn't behind the wheel."
The silence snapped like a rubber band.
"Wait…" Lyney pushed off the fender of the Century. "Then who—?"
She scratched her cheek lazily, like this whole thing was obvious.
"Collei."
"...What?"
"She's been handling the hotel deliveries."
Lyney stared blankly at the vending machine, as if it had just told him the same thing.
"Hold on. Collei? As in—your kid?"
"She's not a kid anymore."
He blinked. "Since when?"
Arlecchino glanced at the ceiling, feigning thought. "Give or take… five years."
Lyney nearly choked on his coffee. He wheezed out a cough, barely catching the can before it slipped from his fingers.
"She's been doing downhill tofu deliveries since she was in seventh grade?!"
She let the silence sit. Let him marinate in it.
Her chuckle was quiet, but it landed like thunder.
The Battle at Mount Yougou
The summit breathed darkness—dense, heavy, silent save for the brutal snarl of engines splitting the night open like torn fabric. The streetlights were few and dim, their glow too weak to matter.
What did matter were the headlights.
Seele's S30Z snarled through the downhill, its low-slung body twitching at the edge of traction. She downshifted with a snap—heel-toe technique sharp but forceful. The tach slammed upward. Third gear screamed. Tires chirped at the limit.
In the rearview, a white silhouette closed like a ghost.
Ningguang's RX-7 FC trailed just behind. Controlled. Precise. Surgical.
The rotary engine buzzed, higher-pitched than Seele's deep growl, like a wasp circling its prey. And every corner? Every flick? Ningguang was smoother. Cleaner. Quieter.
Seele cursed under her breath, arms locked in a death grip on the wheel. "She's dancing back there. Fucking dancing."
She braked hard into the next right-hander, tires howling in protest, the Z's nose dipping violently. The car jolted sideways, nearly stepping out. Seele countersteered, eyes locked on the corner exit.
But the FC floated through like it was skating on glass.
A Different Battlefield
Farther down the mountain, Beidou's R32 roared—feral, heavy, brutal.
Her right foot stomped the throttle on every exit, turbo boost spiking instantly. The car rocketed out of hairpins like a missile, AWD gripping like a vice.
But the FD was gone.
Up ahead, Keqing's midnight purple RX-7 traced clean, impossibly fast lines. Her brake lights flared for an instant—just enough to unsettle the car—then disappeared.
Beidou scowled.
"She's not even fighting the car. It's like the mountain's making space for her."
Inside the FD, Keqing's golden eyes scanned apexes like a hunter sighting prey. Her hands moved in small, exact motions—no drama, no wasted energy.
Left-foot brake. Tiny throttle blip. Shift. The tach fluttered but never dropped out of the powerband.
She didn't power through corners.
She threaded them.
The Aftermath
The rest area atop Mount Yougou steamed with heat. Brake rotors ticked as they cooled. Oil scents lingered. Tires still hissed.
Seele slammed her palm onto the hood of her Z. Her hair was matted with sweat.
"Shit. Shit! I don't like this. They're faster. They're smarter. And we're the home team."
Beidou leaned against the R32's fender, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"Losing on your own turf… that shit stays with you."
Pela adjusted her glasses, mind already calculating. "We're efficient on the straights. But their cornering entry and exit speeds are above our data projections. It's not just experience. It's control. Surgical precision."
Nearby, Keqing leaned against the vending machine, arms folded. Ningguang sat beside her, sipping another can of coffee like this was a casual social call.
"They're fast," Ningguang murmured, "but predictable. Beidou overcommits on throttle. Seele overshoots her apexes."
Keqing gave a faint nod. "If this is their top form, I might not even need to push."
Ningguang's gaze sharpened.
"No," she said. "You're going to set a record. I want you to bury their best time so deep, they'll need a shovel to even see it."
Keqing paused, then gave a nod. "Understood. You heading back?"
"Yes. You can stay if you want. If so. Study the lines. Learn the pulse of this mountain."
Ningguang stood, her FC purring quietly as she rolled off into the night.
The Descent
Gravel crunched underfoot. The wind had picked up. Cold. Sharp.
Beidou walked ahead, hands behind her head, her jaw clenched. The others followed behind in silence—Collei and March trailing near the rear.
The battles still lingered, raw and unresolved.
Somewhere far above, an engine screamed in the distance—someone was still up there, still pushing, refusing to accept defeat.
Then Beidou spoke.
"If you didn't know," she said, voice low but cutting, "street racers like us don't take losing lightly."
March looked up. Collei did too. Something about the tone made their stomachs twist.
"Sometimes," Beidou continued, "we take these challenges too seriously. But the worst thing—the worst—is losing to outsiders. Especially on your own mountain."
Collei frowned. "But… isn't it just a race?"
March spun around so fast she nearly tripped. "Just a race? Collei, what the hell part of this looks casual to you?!"
She threw her arms out. "This is pride. This is reputation. You lose out here, your name doesn't get whispered. It gets erased."
Collei said nothing. Her hand clenched around her jacket sleeve.
Beidou sighed and looked back over her shoulder.
"You'll get it eventually."
They walked the rest of the way down in silence.
Only the distant wail of that unseen engine broke the quiet—still carving lines into the dark, long after the battles were over.
The Mountain Doesn't Sleep
The night was soaked in the stink of burnt rubber and the throat-scorching reek of spent high-octane fuel. The summit of Mount Yougou, a place that usually drifted into silence past midnight, still crackled with energy—faint echoes of cooling engines ticking away in the darkness like war drums finally quieting. The asphalt radiated heat from countless tire slides, the surface scuffed and glossed by hours of punishment. Above, the sky was bruised and bleeding—black slowly giving way to the deep steel-blues of approaching dawn. Streetlights flickered tiredly, casting halos of light that stretched across the pavement like spotlights on a stage now empty.
Keqing stood at the edge of it all, arms folded tight across her chest, back turned to the FD that had brought her here. Her violet-tinted hair danced in the wind as she stared at the mountain's lip, where road met horizon, the air thin and cool in her lungs. The RAYS wheels on her RX-7 FD were still warm to the touch. So was the hood, even now. A thin line of brake dust traced the curvature of the front calipers, and the smell from the rubber clinging to her fenders had not yet faded.
Her mind wasn't on the machinery, though.
It was on the runs she'd just done.
Perfect lines. Textbook apex control. Seamless downshifts. No mistakes. Her hands were steady on the wheel all night, feet dancing across the pedals like they were hardwired to the car itself. The FD had purred and screamed in all the right places.
And still, something about it felt unfinished.
"Hey, still here? Where's Ningguang?"
One of her teammates approached, rubbing sleep from their eyes and stretching their arms like a student after finals. Their tone was casual, but the bags under their eyes told the story of how long this night had dragged on.
Keqing didn't even turn to face them.
"She left a while ago. She's probably out cold by now."
The teammate chuckled, checking the time on their phone. "Shit… four-thirty already? Damn. No wonder everything's starting to look like a dream. No point in sticking around if we're all running on fumes."
Keqing didn't answer.
Not immediately.
Instead, her hand drifted to the FD's door handle. She ran her fingers along the cool metal, reading the vibrations still humming under the skin of the car like it was a living thing.
Then, to no one in particular, she muttered:
"One more run."
The teammate blinked. "You serious? Right now?"
But she was already lowering herself into the cockpit.
The Recaro racing bucket gripped her like a harness. She snapped her seatbelt into place, rolled her shoulders once, then reached out with practiced precision and turned the key.
The 13B-REW rotary engine coughed once—then barked to life.
A clean, rich idle poured out of the titanium exhaust, burbling low and angry. The Apexi Power FC controller lit up, its digital display flickering with data: coolant temp, air intake temp, RPM. The FD trembled like a caged animal eager to pounce.
Keqing tapped the throttle twice. The engine responded with a quick rise and fall in revs, each one smooth and razor-sharp. No lag. No stutter. The turbo spooled clean.
She didn't give them an answer. She didn't need to.
The scream of tires on cold pavement did the talking.
She launched.
The Descent
Mount Yougou wasn't kind to the sloppy or the overconfident.
Its narrow roads coiled around the mountain like razor wire. Elevation changes came fast, hidden behind blind corners and sudden cambers. Some turns didn't even have rail guards. One mistake, and your car could end up 200 feet below, flipped and on fire.
But Keqing didn't just know this course.
She owned it.
She hit the first left-hander in third gear, heel-and-toeing her way into a smooth downshift to second. The revs blipped perfectly—no jerk, no lurch. She turned in late, letting the weight shift forward, tires loading just enough to bite. The car rotated on command.
Her rear slid, just barely.
A clean, shallow drift.
She feathered the throttle, caught the slip, and powered out.
Perfect.
The next series of S-curves came fast. She danced through them with fluid rhythm—brake, turn, gas, weight transfer, throttle modulation, steering corrections so minimal they looked telepathic. Her hands were quick but light. Like she was painting with the wheel.
And then she saw them.
Uninvited Guest
Headlights.
Distant at first. Faint, yellowish. Not HID. Not LED.
Old.
She didn't care—until they stayed in her mirror.
Keqing squinted, her eyes narrowing. That wasn't an R32. Not a Silvia. Not a teammate's RX-7.
It was squat. Low. Wide-set headlights.
Boxy profile.
A Corolla?
No… not just any Corolla.
Her breath hitched.
An AE86.
"What the hell?" she whispered.
That old relic was gaining.
The FD's rotary screamed as she dropped a gear and floored it down the next straight. The Garrett turbo spooled, forcing a rush of power through the drivetrain. The chassis gripped hard. The G-forces shoved her into her seat.
The AE86 didn't fall back.
It was closing.
Keqing gritted her teeth. "Alright, asshole. Let's dance."
The next hairpin was tight—second gear only.
She braked hard, clutch in, downshift, feathered throttle, weight transfer—turn-in sharp and aggressive. The rear broke free in a controlled slide, tires singing against the tarmac.
She flew out of the corner clean.
She looked again.
The AE86 had gained.
No fucking way.
And then it happened.
The hatchback shifted violently—right, then left. A snap motion, like its suspension was made of nerves instead of steel. The chassis rotated with insane momentum. The tires bit late, but they bit hard.
The rear swung out with brutal, perfect timing.
It didn't slide—it glided.
Keqing's mouth went dry.
"That's an inertia drift…"
Nobody used that move anymore.
It was reckless, violent, dangerous—and impossible to pull off unless you knew exactly what you were doing. She watched, half-horrified, half-mesmerized, as the Eight-Six executed another.
And another.
Each one tighter than the last.
Every time she tried to break away, it reeled her back in.
She was driving her limit.
That car was breaking physics.
The Overtake
They reached the final section—a long right followed by a brutal decreasing-radius hairpin with zero runoff.
Keqing hit the brakes. ABS chattered. Her weight shifted forward—just as planned. She prepared to tuck into the apex.
The AE86 didn't brake.
It dived.
Inside.
Suicide line.
No margin for error.
Keqing's eyes went wide as she watched the AE86 compress under braking, shift weight forward hard, and flick sideways with almost surgical precision. The front tires kissed the inside curb. The rear end countered just enough. Not too much. Not too little.
It held.
It held.
It passed.
The taillights flashed in front of her.
Black Watanabe's spinning like buzzsaws.
She hesitated.
Just a second.
Too long.
Her line was ruined. She corrected—too sharp. The rear broke free. She tried to catch it—too late.
The FD spun.
Her world went sideways.
Tarmac. Trees. Guardrail. Headlights.
When the car finally skidded to a stop, tires steaming and heart pounding, Keqing sat frozen, hands gripping the wheel like it might vanish from her grasp.
Silence.
Then—
Engines.
Her teammates arrived, brake lights flaring as they pulled to a stop.
"Keqing! What the hell happened!?"
"Did you spin out?!"
She didn't look at them.
She didn't answer right away.
Finally, her voice emerged—low, almost growling:
"Did you see that freak in the Eight-Six?"
The others glanced at each other.
"…Yeah. I saw it."
Keqing's hands trembled.
Her golden eyes burned, not with embarrassment, but with fury.
"I'm not fucking happy about it."
That car. That driver.
They broke every rule.
And made her look like a beginner.
No RX-7 FD should ever lose to a relic like that.
But it had.
She stared down the road, as if her vision alone could chase the AE86 back into view.
"I don't care who they are," she muttered. "Next time…"
Her fist clenched.
"…I'm taking them down. One-on-one. No holds barred. No mercy."
And the mountain would be the judge.