The workshop lights flickered softly as the Civic sat poised at the bay entrance, the nose of the white EK9 catching reflections from every overhead fixture. A silence hung in the air—not nervous, but focused. Controlled.
"Alright," Haruka said, exhaling through his nose. "She's ready."
"Not quite," Nikolai corrected, dragging a small rolling chair across the floor.
Rin raised an eyebrow. "What now?"
"We need to install the passenger seat," Nikolai said bluntly, gesturing to the pile of parts beside the car. "I'm not monitoring the ECU from a folding crate."
"Oh, right." Haruka scratched the back of his head. "Took it out to save weight. Never thought we'd need it for this."
"Yeah," Ayaka added, dragging the rails over. "Not really a solo mission anymore."
Hojo pointed at the floor. "What about the lap belt?"
"Already in the box," Hana said, tossing it over. "We're not going on a joyride. He just needs to hold the laptop and scream if something catches fire."
"Very comforting," Nikolai muttered.
Takamori and Rin made quick work of bolting the passenger seat in. It wasn't fancy, just a stock Recaro taken off the shelf, but it was secure.
"Don't forget the OBD relay cable," Ayaka said, handing it to Nikolai along with the ECU logger.
"I can't believe we're doing a full diagnostic run… in the middle of Tokyo," William mumbled from the couch, chewing on a vending machine protein bar.
"It's Haruka," Daichi said calmly. "Would you expect anything less?"
With the seat in and all safety measures triple-checked, Haruka climbed into the Civic and adjusted the harness. The cabin felt tight and familiar. The B18C under the hood hummed with quiet anticipation. He gave the throttle a gentle blip, just enough to feel the motor's eagerness.
Nikolai clambered into the passenger side, laptop balanced on his knees, cables running from the OBD port up to his diagnostics program. "I'll be reading live VTEC cross, ignition trims, air-fuel ratio, and knock readings," Nikolai said. "Don't kill us."
"I won't," Haruka replied.
"You good to ride shotgun?" Haruka asked as he walked up, helmet bag in one hand, ignition key in the other.
Nikolai grinned. "I survived post-Soviet development with duct-taped dynos and angry sponsors. This? This is a vacation."
The support van, preloaded with backup tools and spare fluids, rolled out of the back lot behind them. Rin was behind the wheel, Takamori in the passenger seat, both dressed like underpaid delivery drivers with matching deadpan expressions.
"Rin, Takamori," Haruka called over his shoulder, "follow in the van. If I pull off, don't ask questions. Just be ready."
"This is a terrible idea," Rin muttered.
"It's a Haruka idea," Takamori corrected.
"Same thing."
The van would keep its distance, not too far, not too close. Just enough to act if anything went wrong. "We're not racing tonight," Haruka had reminded them, "just testing."
Still, the Civic looked ready to launch into orbit. The clean white EK9 sat low on its coilovers, idling with the steady rhythm of a heart ready to be pushed. The B18C hummed beneath the hood, smooth and restrained, for now.
Nikolai adjusted his glasses and leaned into the cabin with a laptop tucked under his arm. "Logging software is loaded. Knock sensor active. AFR on display. Let's see what this baby can do."
With a flick of the headlights and a light tap on the throttle, the EK9 pulled out of the garage and onto the darkened Tokyo street. Outside, the support van was ready to tail them at a distance, driven by Rin with Takamori in the passenger seat and both twins squished in the back like overexcited kids on a school trip. They'd been banned from riding in the Civic after arguing over which anime decal should go on the fuel cap.
"Don't forget, this is a shakedown, not a midnight battle," Haruka warned as he pulled away from the workshop lot.
"Save the clichés," Nikolai grumbled. "Just drive."
Tokyo's night lights cast reflections over the Civic's crisp white paint as they rolled down the surface streets. Haruka took a familiar route, weaving through the late-evening traffic of Shinjuku and over toward the inner city. Towering concrete pylons and looming overpasses gave way to a darker tunnel-like stretch as they approached the entrance ramp to the expressway, through the Yoyogi ramps and toward the entrance of the Inner Circular Route, the C1 Loop.
Nikolai looked up from his screen briefly. "So this is it?"
Haruka nodded. "Yeah. Shutoko. The urban arteries of Tokyo."
They merged onto the on-ramp, the Civic's suspension loading slightly as it rolls through the toll gates in Shutoko expressway, blending into late-night traffic. The Civic was tame for now, idling smooth, gears shifting cleanly. But there was something coiled beneath the surface. Something waiting. The lights stretched out in ribbons ahead of them, orange sodium vapor, the ever-glowing skyline, the occasional glint of another car a kilometer away.
"Some people call it just an expressway," Haruka said, "but if you know what you're looking for… it's more than that. This place isn't just a ring of concrete. It's a stage. Back in the 90s and early 2000s, before street cameras and stricter patrols, this road saw things you'd think were fiction. Tuning culture lived here. Bled here."
"Romanticize it all you want," Nikolai replied. "Still just asphalt and traffic signs."
Haruka gave a quiet smile. "Depends on who you ask."
He tapped the steering wheel lightly with a finger. "The C1 is the Inner Loop. Circles central Tokyo. It's tight, short straights, constant corners. The real test is in rhythm. It's not about top speed, it's about keeping flow without losing control. You lift too hard, you ruin your lap. You push too much, you understeer into the guardrail."
Nikolai raised an eyebrow. "So what, a bigger Touge with more traffic?"
"Sort of. But man-made. A playground built on concrete pillars. Shutoko. The C1 loop. The Bayshore Route. These roads, used to be the proving grounds for the best. Not officially, of course. But everyone knew."
They slipped into the right lane, merged cleanly onto the C1 loop. Haruka took the inner lane, staying well within limits, but already feeling the grip of the tires on cold asphalt, the subtle play in the steering rack, the balance shifting mid-corner. Haruka kept the revs steady. The B18C purred confidently beneath the hood, the VTEC crossover untouched for now.
"Back in the day, this place was where people came to tune, to race, to prove themselves," Haruka continued. "But for Wangan? You wouldn't believe the machines that used to haunt those route."
Nikolai chuckled. "Sounds dramatic."
Haruka grinned. "You say that now, but ask any local who's been on the Wangan at 3AM. There's something in the air. The engine noise bounces off the guardrails, the city lights blur, and for a moment… you forget this place is a highway. There was this rumor,"
Haruka said as the Civic gently swerved around some light traffic, "You ever hear stories of the Devil?" Haruka asked. he asked suddenly.
Nikolai raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a load of bullshit."
"Only to outsiders," Haruka grinned. "To us locals? It's legend."
"Some people say they've seen a midnight-blue S30Z out there… chasing down Porsches, GTR, Supra, Ferrari, and RX7's like ghosts. People called it the Devil Z. People say it was cursed, drivers couldn't tame it, couldn't outrun it. But it always came back."
Nikolai looked up. "Urban legend?"
"Maybe. Or maybe just a ghost that outran time."
Another curve. The B18C sang in second gear, light, responsive, alive.
"There was also a Porsche. A black 911 Turbo. Everyone called it Blackbird. Guy behind the wheel? He was a Cardiac Surgeon by day… Speed demon by night. He always chasing something. The car. The rush. The Z."
Nikolai glanced sideways. "And what happened to them?"
"Some say they crashed. Others say they vanished. Or maybe they finally stopped chasing each other. Who knows."
The Civic gripped through a tunnel exit, the lights strobing across the dash like flashbulbs.
"You mentioned monsters," Nikolai said. "Down in the bay route."
Haruka gave a knowing smirk. "Yeah. A lot of them wore wide-body kits and revved past 320 kilometers an hour like it was nothing. But none of them existed without the hands behind the machines."
"Like who?"
"There was a guy who built both cars. Old man with eyes like a hawk. Not a racer. Just a mechanic. Genius, probably mad. I think his name was Jun. He never needed the spotlight. But if you ever saw a machine that shouldn't be alive still pushing past its limit, that was probably his work."
Nikolai's laptop beeped softly, fuel trims holding steady, lambda sensor reading clean. "He didn't just tune cars, he unleashed them. They say he could hear what the engine needed just by listening. And if he built it, you'd better pray the driver could survive it." Haruka continued. "Thats why people called him… The Tuner of Death"
"You knew them?"
"No. They were gone long before my time. But every kid who grew up in Tokyo knows those names. They're not racers, they're myths. And this road… carries echoes."
The Civic moved like a shadow through the city's veins. With each turn of the loop, Haruka felt more connected to the car. The B18C whispered in perfect sync through third gear, the shifter gate tight and tactile.
"It's light on the nose but stays planted," Haruka muttered, half to himself, half to Nikolai. "LSD locks smoothly under corner exit. Rear rotates but never oversteps."
Nikolai watched the live data. "Fuel pressure's consistent. Water temp steady. No voltage drops."
They passed under Shiodome, the city lights reflecting off the windshield in streams of orange and blue. Traffic was light, and the road was mostly theirs. The Civic hummed at 5,800 rpm as they passed Kasumigaseki.
Haruka shifted down, the blip of throttle perfect. "Clutch feel's golden. VTEC crossover hits at 5,400. She doesn't scream. She sings."
Nikolai cracked the ghost of a smile. "Then let her keep singing."
The Civic flew through the city's arteries, each turn sharpening the car's rhythm. The C1 loop's neon curves stretched and compressed like veins of light, never-ending, always demanding. Nikolai's eyes were fixed on his screen. "Throttle response is consistent. Fuel trims are optimal. VTEC's clean. The air temps are climbing a little, but still within safe limits."
Haruka didn't respond, his focus locked into the flow of the road. The B18C hummed in fourth, fluttering on the edge of VTEC engagement. The chassis, rigid and precise, danced lightly through the transitions. Even in the world of illegal shakedowns, this car was whispering promises.
They swept through a section under Tokyo Tower when Nikolai looked up from his screen and glanced into the side mirror.
"You have a follower," he muttered.
Haruka flicked his eyes to the mirror. Headlights. Close. Then a flash. Twice. A brief blink of high beams. Not aggressive. Intentional. Then he saw it. A low-slung figure. Pearlescent white, wide-fendered and sharp. A Mazda RX-7, unmistakable in silhouette. But this one wasn't just modified, it was refined. A full Nengun Performance body kit hugged every angle, functional and aggressive. The round pop-ups were down, the headlights narrowed and focused. It moved like a shark trailing a scent.
"Looks like someone's bored tonight," Haruka muttered.
Nikolai raised a brow. "Friend of yours?"
"No. But that kit... That's not a show car."
The RX-7 tucked into the right lane behind them, keeping its distance, before flashing again. Twice. Haruka downshifted and moved to the left, letting the Civic ride steady. But the RX-7 didn't pass.
It matched speed. Then pulled closer. Flash. Flash.
"He wants to run," Nikolai said, flatly.
Haruka bit the inside of his cheek. "Of course he does. C1 etiquette."
"What happened to 'no racing'?"
"This isn't racing," Haruka said, a sly grin growing. "This is data acquisition under duress."
The RX-7 pulled forward slightly, hovering just beside them for a brief second, then dropped a gear and surged forward, its turbo flutter echoing off the walls.
Haruka's smile flattened. "Alright then."
He clicked the shifter into third, VTEC snapping in with a mechanical snarl. The Civic leapt forward, engine screaming in high pitch while the RX-7's deeper exhaust tone growled like thunder beside them.
Nikolai clutched the laptop a little tighter. "Try not to kill us."
The two cars weaved into the next corner, a long sweeping left through Shiba Park. The RX-7 had the legs, but Haruka had precision. The Civic, lighter and better balanced, danced through the apexes. The B18C hit 8900 RPM with a clean scream as Haruka shifted with surgical smoothness.
The RX-7 drifted wide before cutting in again, keeping just ahead, its tail twitching slightly as boost spooled mid-corner. Haruka held the Civic steady, tucking in behind.
"Damn, he's fast," Haruka murmured. "That thing's running serious boost."
"He has grip," Nikolai noted, "but he's scrubbing it mid-exit. We're tighter on line."
They entered a straight under the Hibiya exit. The RX-7 pulled ahead slightly, but not by much.
Haruka clicked into fifth. "If I had another 10 horsepower..."
"Too bad. You have finesse instead."
The road split slightly ahead. one of two dangerous segments on the loop. Narrower lanes, divided by a thick concrete barrier. Two options, left or right. A deadly funnel where mistakes became metal.
The RX-7 darted right.
Haruka veered left.
The walls closed in. Headlights flickered against the barrier as both cars sliced into the separate channels. One moment of blindness. Two different lines.
"Eyes up," Nikolai warned, reading data with one hand, the other braced against the dash.
Haruka took the left chute clean, hugging the wall with millimeter precision. He downshifted into fourth, catching the Civic's rotation with nothing but instinct and throttle play.
The walls blurred. Then they were out, rejoining at the merge, the RX-7 just a nose ahead. "Damn!" Haruka growled, downshifting again. "He took the better line."
Nikolai raised a brow. "But look. His turbo lag's catching him."
Sure enough, the RX-7 bogged slightly before spooling up again. The Civic surged, closing in tight. Then came the second split, a mirror of the last. Once again, the RX-7 lunged into the right, and Haruka dived left.
"Let's try it tighter this time," Haruka muttered.
"You're going to shave the paint."
"Then it better be aerodynamic."
The Civic darted into the narrow lane again, concrete and steel blurring past just inches from the mirror. The tires gripped, squealing slightly, alive, alert, balanced. Haruka held it steady. VTEC cracked at the exit, the B18C's scream bouncing through the underpass like a war cry.
They rejoined again. This time side by side.