"I'm telling you," Tojo snapped, waving a gloved hand in the air, "suspension stiffness doesn't matter on a rental kart. They're direct-mounted. No suspension at all."
Hojo leaned back in his chair, arms folded smugly. "Not true. It still matters through chassis flex and seat positioning. That counts as suspension when you're karting at this level."
Tojo scoffed. "That's like saying a rubber steering wheel has feedback."
"It does," Hojo fired back. "If you're sensitive enough."
Haruka, seated nearby and nursing a bottled tea, didn't even lift his head. "Here we go…"
"Besides," Hojo continued, "if you set the seat a little off-center or change the rear width by even five millimeters, you change the whole handling balance. You think that's just a coincidence?"
Tojo leaned forward now, elbows on knees. "It's not suspension! That's just chassis tuning! There are no springs. No dampers."
"Senna didn't need stiff chassis to make the Lotus dance," Hojo said smugly.
"Don't you dare bring him into this," Tojo hissed. "If I hear one more word about 1978 Lotus ground effect theory, I swear to God-"
"-It was revolutionary," Hojo grinned, now clearly provoking. "Colin Chapman changed everything with that car. You think Izamuri's throttle blipping wasn't a direct reincarnation of Senna in a Lotus 97T? Come on."
"You mean the 98T, you absolute buffoon," Tojo shot back, pointing an accusatory finger. "The 97T was 1985. The 98T came in '86, and that's when Senna really started blipping the throttle to manipulate turbo spool and engine balance mid-corner."
"Same concept!" Hojo shouted.
"Same concept doesn't make it correct, you glorified Wikipedia page!"
Nearby, Rin just stood against the Subaru GC8, sipping an energy drink and watching them like a nature documentary. "God, it's like watching two old men argue over which ramen shop invented noodles."
Ayaka snorted, lounging in the shade next to Hana. "I mean, it's better than them fistfighting like last time."
"That was over who would've won in a fight. Senna or Schumacher," Hana muttered, rolling her eyes.
A few feet away, Rin slouched in a canvas chair with his helmet on his lap, watching them with the deadpan expression of a man who had heard this same argument twenty-seven times already. "Here we go again," he muttered to himself.
Hana sipped cold tea beside Ayaka, smirking. "Place your bets?"
Ayaka shrugged. "Hojo'll bring up differential preload and the Brwan GP Team next, I guarantee it."
Haruka, kneeling beside his kart to double-check the tire pressures, laughed softly. "You'd think they were engineers or something."
"They are," Hana reminded him. "Kind of."
"They're twin chaos engines fueled by caffeine and pure ADHD," Rin added, glancing at the sky like he was waiting for divine rescue.
The argument spiraled rapidly, tire heat, chassis thickness, corner entry load balance, even the mass of the driver's right foot became ammunition. Soon, the bickering veered violently off course and boomeranged back to F1.
"And don't even get me started on ground effect!" Tojo added, jabbing a finger in the air.
"Oh my god," Hojo groaned. "Here it comes…"
"Lotus 79 revolutionized racing! Colin Chapman literally changed how air worked in motorsport!"
"Except it almost killed people. Remember the 'porpoising' during the Arrows A2 era? They were bouncing like broken vending machines!"
"Better than dying of boredom watching pre-70s cars with no aero!"
"That's rich coming from someone who thought the BT46B was overrated."
"IT HAD A FAN, HOJO. A FREAKING FAN. IT WAS BANNED AFTER ONE RACE FOR BEING TOO AWESOME!"
"You mean banned for being illegal."
"Chapman would've approved."
"You're thinking of Gordon Murray, you absolute potato!"
Up on the rooftop, Daichi's eye twitched. At first, he had simply listened with mild amusement. But now? His grip on the metal railing had turned white-knuckled. His jaw clenched tighter with each misquoted historical fact, each butchered technical reference.
"Lotus 78 had ground effect first, you walking Wikipedia typo…" he muttered under his breath. "The 79 just made it reliable…"
His foot tapped restlessly. He leaned forward as if he might jump down and correct them right then and there. But he didn't. Couldn't. Joining in meant exposing himself. And Daichi Fujiwara. silent observer, analyst in the shadows—wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Still, the temptation was unbearable.
He whispered harshly, like a radio commentator trying not to scream. "Chapman didn't even live to see active suspension take off. And everyone knows the Brabham BT46B wasn't banned. They withdrew it voluntarily!"
"God help me, if one of them mentions James Hunt winning the '82 championship…" He didn't realize he was biting his lower lip until it hurt.
As the twins continued their increasingly obscure debate. now, something about Arrows A2's baffling aerodynamics. Izamuri sat quietly near the edge of the canopy, slowly sipping from his water bottle. His gray rental suit was half-unzipped, the sleeves tied around his waist. No one spoke to him directly, not because they were ignoring him, but because no one quite knew what to say.
He had been terrifying out there. Not dangerous. Not reckless. But too sharp. Too fast to be natural.
Izamuri kept to himself, his mind still echoing the rhythm of the throttle. He could still feel the twitch of the wheel in his palms, the tick-tick of the kart frame over painted curbs. The sensation hadn't left him. His eyes scanned the pit lane, then the track beyond the fence. Corners shimmered in the midday heat, warped slightly by vapor, yet still vivid in his memory like he had been racing them all his life.
Haruka approached and squatted beside him. "You okay?"
Izamuri nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just… still thinking."
Haruka offered a crooked smile. "That was one hell of a run."
Izamuri didn't reply. His fingers tapped lightly on his knee. three taps, then a pause. The same rhythm as his throttle blips.
Haruka noticed. "You know… I've watched a lot of guys kart for the first time. Even talented ones. But no one's ever moved like you did."
"I wasn't trying to go fast," Izamuri muttered. "I was just… trying to keep up."
"Well, you did more than that," Haruka replied, clapping his shoulder. "But now it's the real deal. No guidance. No radios. Just the race."
Izamuri looked up. "Where am I starting?"
Haruka hesitated. "We decided… to put you at the back."
There was a pause. Then Izamuri simply nodded. "Okay."
"You're not upset?"
"No," he said calmly. "I'd rather have space."
Haruka blinked. "Huh?"
Izamuri looked out toward the track. "I don't want the others to be stuck behind someone in Turn 1 if I panic. Back row's fine. Besides, back of the grid means I get to watch everyone else, and learn from them."
Haruka raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Smart."
Hana stood, stretching. "We've got ten minutes to grid. Everyone hydrate, check your karts, and for the love of god, make sure your visors are clean. Someone almost ate a bug last time."
Tojo stood up from his chair, brushing dirt off his race suit. "I'll go recheck tire pressure."
"I already did that," Hojo said, arms crossed.
"Well, I don't trust you not to sabotage me," Tojo said, looking at Hojo suspiciously
"I sabotaged you once. Three years ago. You broke my TV."
"Because you loosened my rear axle bolts!"
"Details," Tojo said sheepishly.
Back near the trailer, Ayaka walked over with a clipboard and marker. "Alright, everyone," she called out, "listen up!"
Ayaka pointed at the small whiteboard set up beside the timing shack. "Grid's set. Ten laps, rolling start, one warm-up lap. Race order is as follows:
Pole: Rin
2nd: Takamori
3rd: Ayaka
4th: Haruka
5th: Hana
6th: Tojo
7th: Hojo
8th: Izamuri
"You're last, rookie," Tojo grinned.
Izamuri gave a quiet thumbs up. "Fine by me."
Ayaka continued. "We're doing 1 race today. This is a 20-lap race. If you do crash. congrats, you're on sweeping duty."
"Wait, what if I crash so hard it causes a restart and crash again on the restart?" Hojo asked.
"Then you're not racing anymore. You're mowing the lawn," Ayaka deadpanned.
Laughter erupted from the group.
"Ten minutes," Haruka added, checking his watch. "Go warm up, prep your karts. Remember, these 2-strokes don't like being babied. Don't lug the engine. Keep revs up."
The group dispersed to their respective karts. The staff rolled each one into position on the starting grid on the main straight. Engines were double-checked. Tires were tapped. Fuel caps tightened. Some helmets clicked shut with practiced routine. Others, like Izamuri's, felt heavier, looser, older. But it didn't matter.
Izamuri stood at the very back of the grid at eighth. He sat quietly in his kart, visor down, both gloves resting gently on the steering wheel. Around him, engines began to whir to life, coughing smoke and noise as they ignited. One by one, the others rolled forward into formation. Ahead of him: Hojo, Tojo, Hana, Haruka, Ayaka, Takamori, and on pole… Rin.
"Alright!" Hana's voice cracked over the comms as the race official raised the green flag. "One warm-up lap! Formation start!"
His kart. a gray rental with no markings. idled gently. But the boy inside? He wasn't nervous. Not anymore. His grip on the wheel was light. His vision tunneled on the back of Hojo's helmet, lined up in front of him. The others ahead were barely shapes. obstacles. Lessons. Targets.
The karts surged forward, engines screaming, tires humming against the rough surface. Izamuri followed suit, his kart jerking slightly before smoothing into motion. His eyes locked onto the movement ahead, he leans into each corner, the tire paths, the exhaust trails left behind.
The pack snaked through the track, slowly organizing itself two by two as they approached the final corner. Tension reached its peak.
Green light. The formation scattered into controlled chaos.
Lap 1 begins. Rin and Takamori launched evenly from the front row, Ayaka keeping tight behind in third. Haruka challenged on the outside. Behind them, Hana swept to the inside. Her line precise and calculated, and overtook Haruka in Turn 1 with a clean move. The twins tangled behind, Hojo nudging Tojo wide.
By Turn 2, Tojo and Hojo were still bickering over the inside, elbows nearly touching. Hojo tried to push wide, Tojo shoved back. Izamuri waited, watching, analyzing. He saw the hesitation. The minor twitch in Hojo's steering. The early brake from Tojo. He adjusted.
At Turn 3, the trio bunched up tightly. Tojo tried again to reclaim space. Hojo defended harshly, running shallow. Both were focused on each other. Izamuri? He was silent. Focused. Reading. By Turn 4. the lead-in to the double-apex Turn 5–6 chicane, the tension was already crackling.
Tojo went inside. Hojo blocked it. Both of them committed early, and that was the mistake. Izamuri widened his entry, delaying his brake by a half-second. He flew toward the chicane faster than either twin.
His kart vibrated violently, but he was calm. The rental chassis bent under pressure as he threw it into the first apex, perfectly threading between Tojo and Hojo. Neither twin had expected it. Tojo gasped, reacting late. Hojo swerved left to avoid contact. Izamuri was already gone, slicing through both of them in a single corner like a scalpel. Double overtake. In one chicane. On Lap 1.
Ayaka turned her head mid-corner, caught a flash of grey and orange streak past the twins behind her, and muttered, "He's already that far up?"
Haruka, regaining focus from the opening scuffle, was charging forward. He had been thrown off by Hana's early move but was closing the gap by the sector's end. In the long left-hander before the hairpin, he tucked behind her, lining up the exit. She defended bravely, braked hard into the final corner—but Haruka went wide on entry, cut in late, and exited with a clean over-under. By the time the two crossed the start/finish line, Haruka was back in the lead. But Hana's eyes weren't on him anymore. She glanced ahead, but her focus was behind now. She couldn't see it, but she could feel it—something closing in.
Lap 2 began with Haruka retaking control, but all eyes drifted back to the kart that started dead last and had now risen to fourth. Izamuri was right behind Hana. There were no radios. No mirrors. But the sense of pressure was real. In karting, presence wasn't something you heard—it was something you felt. And Hana could feel him. The slight shift in air, the faint engine pitch growing closer at each apex. It was like being stalked.
Into Turn 1, she tightened her line to block the inside. Izamuri followed the motion exactly, not lunging, but hovering just close enough that she could tell he wasn't waiting for a mistake—he was preparing for one. Turn 2 came and went. Hana braked sharply again and powered out hard. Izamuri stayed right on her tail. His kart moved with eerie fluidity. He wasn't pushing to overtake yet, but he was reading her. Every line she chose, every micro-adjustment—he logged it, adapted instantly.
At Turn 4, she tried baiting a dive, slowing early and leaving a false gap open. Izamuri didn't take it. Instead, he swung slightly wide and tucked back in, preserving his momentum. Hana clicked her tongue under her helmet. "So he's not falling for that either."
The chicane came again. Turn 5 into 6, the very spot he'd embarrassed the twins—but this time Hana was ready. She braked late, early-apexed the corner, and parked the kart right on the inside line to block any entry.
Izamuri lifted early, avoiding a dive. Instead, he took a wider arc, sacrificing a bit of time to get a better exit. His kart twitched on throttle, fighting for grip—but he stayed glued to her rear bumper.
Turn 7 and 8 were fast, flowing bends where kart control mattered more than brute speed. Hana took a defensive middle line, trying not to give up any real estate. Izamuri traced the outside edge, keeping his kart stable, searching for a way to slip past.
By the time they reached the final hairpin, he made his first real move, dipping a tire to the inside under braking. Hana reacted immediately, shutting the door with precise timing. No contact, but close enough to make them both sweat. The second lap ended with the two of them still locked together, neither giving an inch.
Back on the rooftop, Daichi leaned on the railing, his jaw tight. "He's testing her. Lap by lap."
The staffer beside him raised an eyebrow. "Is he going to pass?"
"Eventually," Daichi said quietly. "But he's not rushing. He's mapping her first. Like a hunter."
Down below, Hana kept her foot down and her eyes sharp. She hadn't been this focused in ages. She didn't know who this new guy was or why he was so fast, but one thing was certain… He wasn't getting past her without a fight.
And for two laps straight, she made damn sure of it.