Dahlia could feel the energy pulsing through every corner of the car park, spreading through the concrete, vibrating through the rebar, and throbbing like something alive from the soles of her feet to the tips of her ears. It was nothing like her race with Lady, nor anything like the Kagetōge Kudari. This felt bigger, grander, and heavier than anything she had ever stepped into before, as though the entire structure had become a giant heart beating beneath Harajuku.
The bass from the stage struck hard against her chest, each thump landing like an invisible fist around her heart trying to tear it straight out through her ribs. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, exhaust, cheap liquor, perfume, and the sweat of everybody packed into that confined space, all of it pressing around her until every breath tasted like heat and metal. The last time Dahlia had felt this kind of feverish, palpitating energy had been at the Arima Kinen, and even then, she thought this crowd might have put the grandstands to shame.
As a child, when she watched racers warming up upon the turf, she had often wondered what went through their minds in those final minutes before the gate opened. She had wondered about the storm inside them, the excitement, fear, doubt, hunger, and desperation swirling together into a whirlpool that could either carry them toward victory or drag them into despair before the race had even begun. Now she no longer had to imagine it, because all of it was churning inside her at once.
She felt the weight sitting across her shoulders, the tightness beneath each breath, and the cold thread of sweat sliding along her cheeks despite the heat pulsing through the underground chamber. From her corner among the dozens of teams preparing for the race, Dahlia could not help feeling painfully out of place. Every other uma seemed to have an entire crew built around her, with some checking equipment, some going through strategy, and others tracking digital presence, fan reactions, betting chatter, and online momentum.
Light had told her that some teams even had designated handlers running public relations and social media, hyping the race beforehand and managing fans across Japan and overseas. Compared to all of that, Dahlia's setup felt almost painfully plain. When she looked over her shoulder, there was no emblem, no banner, no painted sigil, and no symbol of belonging waiting behind her, only the graphite wash of a bare concrete wall.
Logan was on one knee and gave Dahlia's equipment one final check, moving with careful precision from her boots to her jeans, then up along her jacket and gloves as the cigarette between his lips burned down in silence. Smoke curled from its tip while his hard eyes studied the straps of her cleats, checking every fastening as though a single loose point could be the difference between crossing the finish line and being scraped off the asphalt. Dahlia tugged one glove tighter around her hand and tapped the tip of her boot against the concrete beneath her.
Her gaze shifted toward Light, who stood beside them with a tablet in one hand and her eyes locked on the data glowing across the screen, where a program continued calculating the countless possible paths carving through Shibuya while tracking the condition of the ward through traffic flow, police presence, camera coverage, and every unstable variable the night could throw at them. With every chart that updated, Light's expression tightened further, her eyes narrowing by the smallest degree as tension gathered in her jaw and made it tremble despite her best effort to keep steady.
Dahlia could not help the amused grin that tugged at her lips as she studied Light's new outfit, which looked like someone had taken the sharp lines of a racing jumpsuit and softened them into something closer to a dress. White, black, and magenta intertwined from the fitted jacket down to the hem of her knee-length skirt, while a checkered black-and-white racing-flag pattern ran along one side, giving the whole look a flash of speed even while she stood still. Race-themed patches had been stitched neatly into the sleeves of her jacket, and her hair had been tied back into a ponytail beneath an uma headset that rested snugly over her ears, its microphone curving along her cheek until it hovered just beside her lips.
Her amusement soon faded. Even without looking directly, she could feel the attention drawn toward Logan, the sidelong glances, the whispers passed from crew to crew, and the weight of recognition settling wherever people realized who he truly was.
Yet Logan was not the only one drawing eyes.
Dahlia could feel them on her as well. When she looked ahead, she saw Yamino, Rekka, and Barbarossa all watching from their own corners of the car park, their gazes settling on her with different shades of hunger, amusement, and caution. They knew she was a rookie, and they knew she was in over her head, but none of them looked at her as if she could be dismissed outright.
Somehow, despite everything, despite her lack of a crew, reputation, and experience, Dahlia could feel the truth in the way they watched her. They were not afraid of her yet, but they were careful enough to wonder if she might prove them wrong.
"Keep your eyes to yourself, kid," Logan said, his words drawing Dahlia's dark eyes back toward him, his fingers tightening the straps on her boot. "Stop lookin' where you don't need to look. You keep measurin' yourself against every runner in this place, all you're gonna do is crawl inside your own head and start losin' the race before it even begins."
Dahlia was about to answer when Logan rose to his feet, giving one of the belt fastenings a final tug before stepping back with a satisfied nod. "All right, everything looks good. You're set," he said, patting her shoulder with a steadiness that softened his expression just enough to ease some of the pressure coiled between them. "Gear really went the extra mile on this setup, kid. She made damn sure every strap, stitch, and plate was ready to hold when the road starts tryin' to tear you apart."
Dahlia chuckled under her breath, though the sound carried more nerves than amusement. "Yeah, she was pretty excited for the Stakes herself." She rubbed the back of her head and glanced down at the cleats. "Said she was gonna drop a couple big ones on me, but I told her not to. Last thing I need is her losing money on my account."
Logan immediately fixed her with a level stare. "Really, kid?" he asked. "Hate to break it to you, but you can't win a war when you're already wavin' the white flag before the first shot's fired. Keep talkin' like that, and you might as well flush every day you spent runnin' drills, hittin' the bag, and draggin' yourself back onto your feet straight down the toilet."
Dahlia's expression went slack for a moment before she exhaled and gave a small, helpless shrug, one hand moving to her opposite arm as she leaned forward slightly and looked down at the concrete beneath her boots. "You're right. I'm sorry," she said, her ears lowering a fraction beneath the weight of the noise around them. "I guess I'm just overwhelmed. I mean, on paper this is supposed to be like a G3 in the Twinkle Series, but it sure as hell feels like a G1 from where I'm standing, and I've never made it that far before."
She lifted her gaze toward him, trying to steady herself against the roar of the crowd and the bass pounding through the car park. "I've seen Scarlet standing in the middle of all this more than once, and I thought I understood what it looked like, but it feels a whole lot different when you're the one neck deep in it."
Logan took the cigarette from his lips and exhaled a plume of smoke that curled upward into the neon haze above them. "All right, take a moment, kid, and breathe," he said, his words firm without turning harsh as he gestured with one hand and drew a slow breath in before letting it out. "Let all that noise pass through you first, then let it settle where it belongs."
Dahlia's ears twitched, but she followed his instruction, closing her eyes as she inhaled deeply and held the breath long enough to feel her chest loosen before exhaling through the tension in her jaw.
"Better?" Logan asked, and when Dahlia opened her eyes and nodded, he rested a hand on her shoulder. "Good. Now I ain't gonna sugarcoat it, so I'll give it to you straight. This is gonna be rough, it's gonna be dangerous, and most of all, it's gonna be balls-to-the-wall insane. But you've run your boots ragged getting here, you've taken as many hits on that mat as you've given, and you've done one hell of a job provin' you belong in this damn room."
His grip tightened slightly, steady enough to anchor her without holding her down. "Your body's only gonna carry you through half the battle. Your mind wins the rest."
Dahlia stayed quiet and listened, the noise around them seeming to draw back just enough for his words to reach her clearly.
"If you're gonna win this, then you're gonna have to want it," Logan said. "Not just kinda want it, not just think it'd be nice to have, but want it so bad you feel it in your bones and believe there ain't a single soul in this place who has more right to that finish line than you do."
A faint smile crossed his rugged face, softening the hard edges without taking away any of the weight behind his words. "And when everythin' goes sideways, because it sure as hell will, you fall back on your training. You've got the fundamentals, you've got the skills, and most of all, you've got the will to keep movin' when the road starts chewin' people up."
He gave a low chuckle and glanced toward the crowd. "Besides, provin' the ole' Hand of God's still got it would be a pretty damn good start."
Dahlia folded her arms as a grin finally pulled at her lips. "Yeah, because we gotta make sure there's something in it for you too, right?"
"Well, considerin' I footed the bill for your silks and the entry fee, it'd be a real kick in the balls to watch all that money go to waste now, wouldn't it?" Logan replied, smirking as he brought the cigarette back to his lips and took another slow drag. "Like I told you back when you raced Lady, kid, you've got this."
"All right," Light said, drawing Logan and Dahlia's attention toward her as she stepped closer and turned the tablet so both of them could see the map of Shibuya glowing across the screen, with multiple colored lines tracing possible routes through the city. "I've run the simulations, and I managed to narrow the course down to six likely routes. Based on online chatter, police comms, and camera footage, the entire city is already on watch, so I wouldn't be surprised if they have officers waiting on every major road, alley, and subway line they think the MRA might use."
Dahlia leaned closer to the screen, her eyes following one of the colored routes as it twisted through Shibuya's dense knot of streets. "Say, remember when you said there are no straight lines to the finish?" she asked, glancing at Logan while gesturing vaguely toward the map. "What's stopping racers from cutting the course short and just bolting straight to the end?"
Logan paused, then smirked as he took the cigarette from his lips and exhaled a plume of smoke through a low chuckle. "You honestly think the MRA's that dumb, kid?" he asked, shaking his head before looking toward Light. "Go on, clue her in."
Light's ears twitched as she reached into her front pocket and pulled out a rubber bracelet that resembled a watch, though instead of a face, it had a compact tag built into the band. "Logan's right that there are no straight lines to the finish, but that doesn't mean the runners can go wherever they want." She held the bracelet up between them. "This is a Race Tag. It locks onto your position through GPS, records your vitals, and keeps the system updated on whether you're still running under your own power."
She tapped the screen again, and the routes lit up with a sequence of glowing dots from start to finish. "Here's an example. See, every course has checkpoints built into it, and each checkpoint has a set radius. That means you can take rooftops, underground paths, service corridors, alleyways, even cut through buildings if you can make it work, but you still have to pass through those checkpoint zones in the right sequence."
Dahlia leaned in closer, her brows tightening as she followed the dots across the map.
"If you miss two checkpoints in a row, you're immediately disqualified," Light continued. "If you stray too far from the designated course area, you're disqualified. If your tag goes offline or off-grid for more than a minute, you're disqualified. If your vitals come back flat in a way that suggests you're riding in a vehicle instead of running, and the footage confirms it, you're disqualified."
Light paused, then glanced down at the tablet as the route simulations continued shifting across the screen. "Furthermore, unless the race uses a predetermined course, like most Garnet or Quartz-level events such as the Kagetōge Kudari or the abandoned car park race you ran against Lady, the MRA doesn't give runners the full route from the beginning," she said. "Once the race starts, the course is revealed only to the Navigator, and from there, it becomes their responsibility to guide their runner all the way to the finish line."
She looked back at Dahlia, her expression turning serious beneath the glow of the screen. "Basically, the runner is completely dependent on their Navigator. That's why Sapphire-grade events and anything above them require every participant to have one before they're even allowed to enter, because at that level, speed alone won't get anyone across the finish line alive."
Dahlia's eyes widened, and her mouth opened as if to ask the obvious question, but Logan cut in before she could get the words out.
"And before you ask, yeah, plenty of girls got a little too smart for their own good and tried tamperin' with the tags or gamin' the system," Logan said, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Didn't end well for them. Rules and consequences, kid. The MRA might be a lotta things, but if there's one thing they hate, it's cheaters."
Dahlia swallowed hard, her gaze dropping briefly to the Race Tag in Light's hand.
"That's why Navigators like Light matter so much," Logan continued. "They keep you on track, warn you before you're about to get cut, steer you away from bad paths, and keep you outta the cops' hands as long as they can. If the other racers don't get you, the cars don't flatten you, and the cops don't cuff you, then the MRA's gonna do a whole lot worse than all of 'em combined."
He rubbed his temples with a weary exhale, his cigarette hanging between his fingers. "Honestly, if she hadn't been tied down dealin' with Lady, Light would've been snatched up by one of the top teams a long time ago, and the Navigators sittin' pretty at the top make serious money."
Logan shifted his gaze toward Light, and for a moment, the hard edge in his expression softened into the faintest smile. "And from what I've seen these past few weeks while we've been trainin' together, you're one hell of a wiz at what you do," he said, flicking his cigarette to the concrete before crushing it beneath his boot.
"I mean, you built a goddamn MRA nav system from scratch using YouTube tutorials and how-to pages from Reddit. If that ain't impressive, I don't know what is. You've got a gift, kid. It might not be on the track, but make no mistake, you'd put half those Tracen umas to shame."
Light's face flushed bright red as her eyes widened, and she bit lightly into her bottom lip while rubbing the back of her head. Her ears twitched beneath the headset, and her tail gave a small, embarrassed flick behind her. "T-thank you, Logan-san," she said, softer than usual. "That means a lot coming from you."
"You earned it," Logan replied, then turned his attention toward Dahlia. "And honestly, she might be the one real advantage we've got against everyone else in this place."
His eyes moved across the car park, sweeping over the crews, the runners, the banners, and every competitor waiting beneath the pulse of neon and bass. "And frankly, luck ain't gonna cut it. Not tonight."
Dahlia and Light followed Logan's gaze toward the competition, and the tension in their bodies tightened as they felt the weight of every stare looking right back at them. Then the sound of frantic footsteps broke through the bass and crowd noise, clumsy and quick against the asphalt, drawing eyes from every crew as a young man stumbled through the gathering and pushed his way past the wall of bodies.
Daichi's hair was disheveled, his white shirt wrinkled, and the black jeans and yellow-accented sports shoes he wore caught the halogen lights as he looked back at the crowd with both hands raised in visible frustration, shaking his head as though he had been trying and failing to explain himself the entire way in. When he finally looked ahead and saw Logan, Dahlia, and Light, he stopped for a moment, drew in a steadying breath, let it out, and walked toward them with the expression of someone who already knew he had no easy way out.
Dahlia stared at him as her expression tightened behind the mask, while Light's concern grew more visible with every step he took.
"Um," Daichi said when he stopped in front of them, rubbing the back of his head as he glanced at Logan first, then turned back to Dahlia. "I guess I owe you an explanation."
"I heard," Dahlia said, folding her arms. "Light told me everything. About the store, about the Gurentai…" Her gaze shifted briefly toward Logan before returning to Daichi. "About Logan too. But what I really want to know is why you didn't say anything."
Daichi bit his bottom lip and looked away.
"I lost count of how many texts I sent you," Dahlia continued. "I went down to the store and found it wrecked. I texted your manager, and even he said he hadn't heard from you. Then, I went to your apartment more than once, knocked on your door, and you still didn't answer."
"Look," Daichi began, only for the words to catch as he lowered his eyes again. "I was in a bad place, okay? I had all this noise in my head, and I kept telling myself I was scared, that I was terrified, because those goons put a gun to my head, Dahlia, and if Logan and Detective Harlow hadn't been there…"
He exhaled shakily, his hands curling at his sides as though he was still trying to hold himself together. "I don't know what I was supposed to think or feel after that. But most of all, I didn't answer your texts because I didn't want you worrying about me, not you, not Light, not when you had the Stakes hanging over your head."
His strained laugh came out thin and bitter as he finally looked at Dahlia. "I'm a grown man. I should have my shit together by now, but I guess I'm just a dumb kid after all."
Dahlia stepped forward, and Daichi flinched, but before he could brace himself any further, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly enough to make the words catch in his throat.
"For what it's worth," she said against his shoulder, "I'm just glad you're safe."
Logan and Light both softened at the sight, watching as Daichi's stiffness slowly eased and his arms came around Dahlia in return. "Me too," he said, the words rough with relief as he held her for a moment longer before they finally stepped back from each other.
Daichi took a breath, let it out, and managed a small smile that still carried the edges of everything he had not said. "So, you ready for this?"
"As I'll ever be," Dahlia replied. "Honestly, I don't know what's going to happen, and I sure as hell don't know what's waiting for me at the end of this course." A faint smile touched her lips as she looked from him to Light and then back again. "But I guess we're just gonna have to find out together, aren't we?"
Daichi's grin returned, a little crooked and a lot more nervous than he probably intended. "Yeah, about that," he said, glancing around before leaning closer. "Just so you know, I put fifty big on you. I covered half myself, and the rest was, uh, technically a loan, so…" His grin tightened with sudden panic. "Please don't lose."
Dahlia's expression went flat at once, and she stared at him through half-lidded eyes as if she were seriously reconsidering the hug. "I swear, if the MRA has a human equivalent of an Umagoya, I hope they ship your ass straight there."
"I think those are called brothels, Dahlia. 'Sides, wasn't there some old term for it?" Logan asked, tapping a finger against his temple as he searched his memory. "I remember seein' somethin' about it on the Discovery Channel once."
He snapped his fingers when the word finally came back to him.
"Kagema, that's it." Logan then folded his arms and looked Daichi up and down with an increasingly wicked smirk, taking particular satisfaction in the way the younger man immediately began to tense. "And with sweet cheeks like yours, kid, I reckon they're gonna make you the belle of the ball."
Daichi visibly paled. "Please don't joke about that, Logan-san," he said, recoiling slightly. "I've seen enough hentai to know exactly how that kind of thing ends, and I am not built to survive being some ugly bastard's personal entertainment."
"Well, maybe you should have thought about that before betting cash you don't even have," Dahlia said, her smirk returning as she folded her arms. "That one's on you."
"All right, all right, fun's over," Logan said, clearing his throat as he pulled back his sleeve and checked his watch. "Race is about to begin. Light's gonna head off to the Command Center, and you're gonna make your way to the startin' line."
"Command Center?" Dahlia asked, her ears twitching at the unfamiliar term.
"Yeah," Light said, hugging the tablet a little closer to her chest. "The MRA has a designated area for all Navigators during major races. It's usually kept at a secret location, and Navigators aren't allowed to reveal where it is for security reasons."
Her expression tightened as she glanced toward the restless crowd around them. "In the past, some teams tried to rig races by going after a rival's Navigator before or during an event, so now the MRA keeps the whole place locked down under heavy security."
"Pretty much." Logan lowered his wrist and looked at Dahlia as the briefing took over. "Back on topic, Yamino, Rekka, and Barbarossa aside, you've got nine other racers to worry about. None of 'em really stick out on paper, but they're a bag of locals and foreign umas, and that makes 'em dangerous in a different way because you don't know what they're bringin' until they're already on top of you. Keep your eyes on the big three, but don't forget to look over your shoulder for the rest."
Dahlia nodded, her jaw tightening beneath the pressure of his words.
"Like we discussed, don't throw hands unless you absolutely have to," Logan continued, gesturing with one hand. "Yamino's gonna bulldoze through the competition the second she gets an openin', so hang back enough that you're not the first thing she runs through, but keep far enough ahead that she doesn't suck you into her shredder."
Light's ears twitched at the comparison, while Daichi looked as though he had just imagined something deeply unpleasant.
"Also, keep at least an arm's length from Rekka," Logan added, pointing toward Dahlia with two fingers. "She's handsy, she's mean, and she'll send you face-first into a bus if she thinks it'll get her half a step ahead. Once she gets hold of you, unless you can break free fast, you're done."
Dahlia's eyes narrowed as if she had already begun forming a counterargument, but Logan cut her off before she could speak.
"And put that thought right outta your head," he said. "You ain't Queen, so you don't have the skill to dance through whatever bullshit Rekka throws at you, and you ain't Melody, so you don't have the genius to pull some miracle straight outta your ass at the last second."
Dahlia scowled, while Light raised one hand to her mouth and barely managed to stifle a laugh.
"Most important of all," Logan said, his gaze snapping toward Barbarossa, who glanced their way for a moment and answered with a grin before looking away again. Dahlia, Light, and Daichi followed his line of sight as the Captain of the Crimson Tides lounged among her crew with the confidence of someone already picturing the finish line. "Watch out for Barbarossa. Don't let her set the pace, and for God's sake, don't let her drag you into hers."
His gaze hardened when he looked back at Dahlia. "I'm willin' to bet every dollar I've got that she's gonna say some pirate-lingo crap about draggin' you down to the depths, but once she gets you inside that maelstrom, you're not gettin' out easy."
"Logan-san's right," Light said, her expression turning serious. "I've seen recordings of Barbarossa and the Crimson Tides. She looks lighthearted and fun when she's playing to the crowd, but on the road, she's absolutely ruthless." She bit her bottom lip, glancing toward Dahlia with clear concern. "One of her signatures is slamming a runner down and dragging her face along the asphalt at full speed. She calls it Keelhauling."
"Keel… what?" Daichi asked, scratching his head.
"Old pirate torture," Logan said. "They'd tie a sailor up, throw him overboard, drag him under the ship's hull, then pull him out the other side and let the barnacles do the rest."
Daichi flinched.
Dahlia sighed, though her eyes stayed fixed on Barbarossa across the car park. "So, what you're saying is, if I want to keep my face the way it is, I need to make damn sure she doesn't get her hands on me."
"Pretty much," Logan said. "Other than that, you'll manage. Just remember, you and Light are in this together now. This ain't training anymore, kid. This is the real deal."
He looked between Dahlia and Light. "If you're gonna win, then win. If that's not in the cards, then you come home with all your limbs, all your ribs, and preferably your face still attached." He tilted his head slightly. "Got it?"
Dahlia and Light nodded, both of them wearing the same determined smile despite the pressure gathering around them. Logan ran his fingers through his hair and pushed it back with a tired exhale before looking between them. "All right, I'll see you both at the finish line," he said, then shifted his gaze toward Daichi. "Kid, how about you and I hit the bar first? Beer's on me, and I sure as hell need somethin' stronger than coffee right now."
Daichi's eyes widened as though he had not expected to be included in anything Logan suggested. "Um, sure?" he blurted out.
Logan gave Dahlia and Light one last look before tilting his head for Daichi to follow, then stepped past them and moved into the crowd. Daichi looked back at the two girls and smiled, nervous but genuine. "Good luck out there," he said before turning after Logan, his words carrying over the music as he hurried to keep up. "You know, I heard the Stakes were gonna start somewhere big, but I never thought it'd be under Omotesando Hills, right in the basement. I mean, how the heck did they keep all this hush-hush?"
"Word of advice," Logan said without looking back. "Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to."
Light watched them disappear into the movement of crews and spectators, then turned back to Dahlia and placed the Race Tag in her hand before passing over the communicator. "I'll run a comms test once you reach the starting point," she said, her tone steady even as her fingers lingered for a brief moment against Dahlia's palm. "I'll be watching everything on camera, but don't go silent on me out there. This has to be a two-way thing if we're going to get through it together."
Dahlia slipped the strap over her wrist and fitted the earpiece into place, flicking one ear slightly until it sat comfortably. "You don't have to tell me twice," she said, then gave Light a confident smile that tried to carry more certainty than either of them truly felt. "And don't worry. We can do this in our sleep."
She placed a hand on Light's shoulder, and her expression softened beneath the mask. "If I take the pot tonight, I'll make sure you get enough to hire a real lawyer for your dad. I promise."
Light's smile turned quiet and fragile, but it held. "I'll hold you to that." She stepped back, her tail flicking once behind her as she hugged the tablet to her chest. "All the best, Dahlia."
Then, she turned on her boots and headed toward one of the nearby doors, where MRA security personnel were already waiting to escort the Navigators to wherever the Command Center had been hidden. Dahlia drew a slow breath and flexed her fingers inside her gloves before lifting her gaze toward the path ahead. For a moment, the bass, the shouting, the neon, and the pressure of every stare around her seemed to narrow into a single point. Her eyes hardened behind the mask.
"All right," she said under her breath. "Let's do this."
She stepped forward and headed toward the starting line, and around her, the other racers began moving as well. Yamino glanced over her shoulder with a hard, unforgiving gaze, Rekka walked with her hands behind her head and a wide grin stretching across her face, while Barbarossa rested one hand on her hip, her expression fierce and certain above the red sash masking her mouth. One by one, they moved through the crowd toward the same place, every crew, spectator, gambler, and rival watching them go with the shared understanding that whatever happened tonight, the Shibuya Stakes would be the race of a lifetime.
****
The cab pulled away with a scratch of rubber and shifting gravel beneath the tires, leaving Melody standing before the Showadori Building, or more precisely beneath the glowing signboard marked PASELA. Its light spilled over the army-green hoodie jacket she wore above an off-shoulder dark-yellow top and black tank beneath, catching against her black jeans, dark leather boots, and the silver necklace resting at her collarbone, where a crystal bee pendant gleamed softly whenever she moved. Her ears twitched as she raised one eyebrow, her tail flicking once behind her while she stared up at the building in complete bewilderment, still unable to understand how or why Gurren had invited her to a karaoke parlor in the middle of Akihabara.
She scratched the side of her head and glanced down at her phone, almost certain she had somehow entered the wrong address, only to find the chat bubbles on the messenger app confirming exactly where she stood. No mistake, no typo, no missing landmark. This was the place. The night had deepened enough to quiet most of the surrounding streets, with storefronts already shuttered and the crowds thinned to scattered adults moving between late trains, restaurants, and whatever businesses still kept their lights on.
Akihabara was not exactly lifeless at that hour, though this particular stretch was hardly famous for nightlife, and the only sounds around her came from the buzz of neon and halogen signs, the passing murmur of pedestrians and vehicles, and the soft music drifting from nearby screens that scrolled through advertisements for various shops and restaurants.
Melody drew a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped inside, where she was immediately greeted by the attendants at the front desk. She lifted her phone and pointed to the room number on the screen, signaling that she already knew where she was supposed to go, and the attendants responded with practiced smiles before one of them gestured down the hall with a polite wave. The lobby was quaint in the way most karaoke parlors tended to be, clean, compact, and bright enough to feel almost detached from the quieter street outside, with several corridors branching off toward rooms of different sizes.
Despite the soundproofing, voices still leaked through the walls and doors as she walked deeper inside, some surprisingly melodious, though most sounded like nails dragged across a chalkboard by people butchering songs they had no business attempting, or slurring lyrics beyond recognition after one beer too many.
Melody's crimson eyes traced the numbers on the doors as she moved down the hallway, quietly mouthing each one she passed until she reached the end and turned right. There, at the far end, was the room she had been given. As she drew closer, she glanced down at her phone, then back up at the plastic sign mounted beside the door. The number matched, but beneath it, engraved in neat lettering, were the words Champions Room.
Her ears flicked. She knew she should not have been surprised, since karaoke parlors loved themed rooms almost as much as they loved overpriced soda and food platters, but even then, she could not help feeling that this was a little too much. With a small sigh, she lifted her hand and rapped her knuckles against the door.
Less than a second later, the knob turned, the door swung open, and Melody was struck full in the face by music blasting at an obscene volume, followed by the enthusiastic voice of some girl inside singing along to the highlighted lyrics with far more confidence than accuracy.
"There you are!" Gurren exclaimed.
Melody barely had time to react before Gurren seized her by the wrist and yanked her inside with a startled yelp, then shut the door behind them to seal the noise back into the room. "We were wondering when you were gonna show up, or if you'd show up at all."
Melody stared around the interior with wide eyes. The room was far larger than the average karaoke booth, at least twice the size, with three couches arranged neatly in the middle and facing a pull-down screen where a projector played the music video and scrolling lyrics. At least a dozen and a half girls had packed themselves inside, which meant the little gathering had grown significantly since the last one in the dorms.
They came from different years, classes, and dormitories, with familiar faces mixed among obvious newcomers, and several of them were classmates Melody recognized at once. One girl was currently singing while attempting a poor imitation of the Teio Step, missing both the notes and the rhythm at a volume that made Melody cringe inwardly.
"Hey, everyone, Melody's here!" Gurren called.
She wore a simple white shirt, green short-shorts, and black sandals, her outfit catching the rotating spotlights as they swept across the room and bathed her in soft shifting colors.
"Aw, man!" one of the girls groaned from the couch. "There goes my five hundred yen."
"And the champion graces us with her presence," another said, raising her drink with a grin. "Congrats, by the way."
Melody smiled nervously and nodded, though the noise, the attention, and the sheer number of girls staring at her made her tail flick once behind her. There were no cigarettes or alcohol in the room, that much was obvious, but a thin stale smell still clung to the walls, furniture, and carpet despite the artificial floral fragrance doing a terrible job of covering it. The décor did nothing to make the space feel any less overwhelming.
Pictures of champion umas covered the wallpaper, from Symboli Rudolf to Narita Brian, Air Groove, Special Week, Kitasan Black, Tokai Teio, and Mejiro McQueen, while replica trophies and winning sashes sat arranged along the shelves with enough reverence to make the room feel less like a theme and more like a shrine maintained by an overzealous fan. Even the floor had the URA emblem fixed across the tiles, as if the room itself had decided subtlety was for cowards.
"So, we've got the Oguri Cap Party Platter and all-you-can-drink soda pop," Gurren continued, gesturing toward a small table in the corner covered with food, cups, and bottles. "Help yourself."
"Um, Gurren, I don't mean to be a drag, but…" Melody glanced around the room again, her words lowering with uncertainty. "Aren't we supposed to be…" She trailed off and made a vague gesture with one hand, hoping the implication was clear enough.
Gurren rolled her eyes as if Melody had asked whether they planned to breathe at some point tonight. "We're getting there."
She grabbed the remote and cut the song off without warning, leaving the girl on the screen-facing side of the room frozen mid-step with the microphone still raised to her mouth. The sudden silence seemed almost as loud as the music had been, and as Gurren turned back toward the group, a sharp grin spread across her face.
"All right," she said. "Fun's over. Time to get the real party going."
Around the room, one by one, the other girls answered her with the same grin.
As the girls began taking their seats, one of them pulled a laptop from her bag, placed it carefully on the glass coffee table, and flipped it open. Her fingers moved quickly across the keyboard, pausing only when she glanced up at the projected screen before looking back down to continue whatever she had set in motion. Melody leaned slightly to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of what she was doing, while Gurren stood beside her with her arms crossed and a grin that already looked far too pleased with itself.
"Um," Melody began, her ears twitching with suspicion.
"Remember what I said about the surprise?" Gurren asked, then lifted one hand toward the screen as if she were unveiling a grand stage act. "Well, surprise, Little Saint."
The girl at the laptop typed one final line, the keys clicking loudly in the brief quiet before she hit enter. A moment later, the projector screen flickered, the karaoke system vanished, and the room was filled instead with the rotating logo of the MRA livestream as it waited for the Shibuya Stakes to begin. Melody's eyes widened as her expression went slack, her gaze darting from the stream to the superchat flooding beside it, where messages from viewers across the world raced upward in a blur of hype, insults, emojis, and reckless predictions. Above it all, golden numbers gleamed over the feed, showing the pot sitting at thirty-two million yen and still climbing.
Melody turned slowly toward Gurren, unable to decide which question should leave her mouth first.
"I told you we were gonna have a private space of our own without Fuji-senpai breathing down our necks," Gurren said, spreading both hands with shameless pride. "So, ta-da. And don't worry about the noise either, because I picked the room with the best soundproofing they had, which means we can go wild in here without anyone sticking their head in."
"Gurren, isn't this…" Melody's hands flailed helplessly as she looked from the laptop to the screen and then back again. "Isn't this illegal? You didn't just hijack their facilities, you're streaming the race in here. What if they find out? What if they call the cops?" Her hands rose to cup her face as the full disaster bloomed in her mind. "What if this gets back to Miss President?"
"And there she is," Gurren said with a sharp exhale, closing her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "The little saint remembered her halo."
Melody stared at her in horror.
"Relax, Melody," Gurren continued, dropping her hand and gesturing around the room. "They don't walk in on customers unless somebody's breaking furniture or throwing up on the carpet, and even if they did, they are definitely not paid enough to care about what a bunch of schoolgirls are watching on a projector. Besides, with all the drunks in this place singing like dying animals, nobody out there is gonna hear the race over all that suffering. Trust me."
Gurren moved behind Melody, placed both hands on her shoulders, and steered her around the couch before pushing her gently down into a seat, leaving Melody staring up at her with wide eyes and a slackened expression. "Now you just plant your pretty little tail right here while I go get you some pop and popcorn," Gurren said, pointing toward the table before hurrying off with her tail flicking behind her. "Hope you like strawberry!"
"Sure is convenient that the MRA decided to hold the Stakes on a weekend," Gurren said from the table as she reached for another handful of snacks. "We got the all-night package, which means we can stay out late, live it up, and enjoy the race without worrying about Fuji-senpai, Hishi-senpai, or, God forbid, Tazuna-san suddenly appearing out of nowhere to ruin our fun with that terrifyingly polite smile of hers.
Melody could only blink after her before the girl at the laptop suddenly perked up. "Oh, Nyami's streaming!" she exclaimed, clicking one of the open tabs and bringing up a feed of the familiar CG catgirl avatar.
"Konnichi-nya, everyone!" Nyami's voice came through the speakers, bright, bubbly as her animated cat ears twitched above her head. "Oh my gosh, tonight is, like, totally the night, the Shibuya Stakes, and we have, like, the biggest crowd ever. Literally seven hundred million people are tuning in from all over the world, so you guys better be, like, super excited, because this is gonna be the biggest race of the year!"
Melody watched the bouncing digital avatar move across the screen, its CG model reacting to the flood of chat messages and live updates pouring into the feed. Once again, that strange, deeply familiar feeling resurfaced inside her, the uneasy sense that she somehow knew the real person behind the voice, even though the answer remained just out of reach no matter how hard she tried to place it.
"Ugh," Gurren groaned as she returned with a cup of cherry-pink soda filled with ice in one hand and a red-and-white bag of popcorn in the other. She passed both to Melody, who accepted them while still staring at the screen. "Seriously, this is so cringe I can feel the ends of my tail splitting the longer I listen to her."
"Aw, come on, Gurren, she's not that bad," one of the girls said from the couch, leaning back with a grin. "Besides, I think she's kinda cute."
Several heads turned toward her at once, and the girl's eyes widened as her ears twitched in immediate panic. "I mean, not the model. I mean her voice. I'm not into 2D girls or anything weird like that!"
Another girl pushed her glasses up with one finger, her expression carrying the merciless judgment of someone who had already prepared an essay on the subject. "Honestly, I have to agree with Gurren. All Nyami does is appeal to otakus and shut-ins, especially those middle-aged, overweight creeps with no sense of personal hygiene who show up at our concerts wearing T-shirts two sizes too small." Her eyes narrowed with visible disgust. "Appalling."
"Ouch," Gurren said, visibly flinching as she dropped onto the couch beside Melody. "Harsh much? I mean, I'm not gonna deny they're…" She waved one hand vaguely, searching for a word that would not make the whole room turn on her. "Weird, but you can't deny they're the ones who spend the most on merchandise."
The girl gave her a deadpan stare. "Please. I would rather live under a bridge than stand there smiling while I shake their sweaty sausages pretending those things are hands."
"So, as we all know, this is the first time Japan's number-one rookie, Midnight Queen, won't be participating in the Shibuya Stakes," Nyami continued as her digital cat ears twitched with exaggerated excitement. "Which means tonight is, like, totally wide open, and without Queen sitting on top of the mountain, we're looking at a full-on toss-up between the heaviest hitters among Tokyo's top MRA rookies."
The first image flashed onto the screen, showing Yamino Breaker with her hard stare, battered gloves, and the kind of presence that made several girls in the room lean forward at once.
"First up, we have our hard-hitting, bulldozing, take-no-prisoners bruiser of the asphalt, Yamino Breaker," Nyami announced, her animated tail flicking behind her. "Seventeen wins across Quartz to Sapphire-level races, and for anyone new here, that's basically Non-Graded up to around G4 level in Twinkle Series terms. She's rough, she's tough, and if you stand in her way, she will, like, totally grind you into dust before you even realize you picked the wrong lane."
The screen shifted again, and Rekka Blaze appeared next, smiling with sharp confidence beneath the glow of neon.
"And of course, we have Rekka Blaze," Nyami said, drawing out the name with a playful lilt. "Fifteen wins from Quartz to Sapphire, fast enough to slip through a gap before you blink and slick enough to make you regret ever letting her get close. She's stylish, she's dangerous, and if you aren't careful, she'll send you packing down the highway at full speed with, like, zero apology and zero remorse."
Then the third image appeared, and the mood inside the karaoke room shifted at once. Some of the girls straightened, others exchanged looks, and even the ones who had been laughing moments earlier went quiet as Captain Barbarossa filled the screen with one hand on her hip and that red sash masking the lower half of her face.
"Now find your sea legs and hold on tight, because here comes Captain Barbarossa, Japan's number-two rookie and the absolute terror of the tides," Nyami said, still cheerful but touched with enough dramatic flair to make the room feel the weight of the name. "Twenty-five wins from Quartz all the way to Emerald, which is basically the equivalent of a G3 title, and she and the Crimson Tides have swept races from Tokyo to Osaka like they were collecting treasure off a sinking ship. With Queen out of the running, Barbarossa is, like, totes, the favorite tonight, and every racer standing at that starting line knows she isn't just here to win."
Nyami's grin widened across the digital avatar. "She's here to drag somebody down with her."
Melody chewed on a handful of popcorn and swallowed with visible difficulty. Her crimson eyes fixed on the screen as the room seemed to tighten around Barbarossa's image. Beside her, Gurren mirrored the tension despite herself, one ear twitching as she tried to look unimpressed and failed by the smallest margin.
"But putting all that aside," Nyami continued, her tone bouncing back into its bright, bubbly rhythm as the screen shifted again, "we, like, totes have ourselves literally a real dark uma running in this year's Stakes."
An image appeared of a black-haired uma wearing a black mask, and Melody's eyes widened at once.
"You know her, you remember her, and you were, like, totally losing your minds during her race with My Fair Lady a few months ago," Nyami said as her animated cat ears perked up. "From the pole slide to that final dash, everyone watching knew right then and there that this girl was the rookie to keep an eye on."
The avatar bounced as animated sparkles flashed around the frame.
"Nightingale!"
Several girls in the room cheered and whistled, and Melody could not help the smile that tugged at her lips, because for all the nerves tightening in her stomach, it felt good to know she was not the only one watching her with hope.
"The clueless newcomer once called Blackie, who got her tail totally creamed in her very first run, came back with a vengeance and made everybody sit up real fast," Nyami continued. "And the biggest surprise of all? She came back with a trainer, but not just any trainer."
The feed cut to a stylized image of Logan as animated confetti burst across the screen.
"The disgraced former legend once known across the world as the Hand of God, Logan Deschain!" Nyami announced.
Melody almost dropped her popcorn, her jaw loosening as the colour drained from her face while she stared at the picture on the screen. The grizzled man with black hair and a hardened expression looked back at her from the stream as though the whole room had suddenly narrowed around him, and in that instant, the air inside seemed to lose all warmth. A coldness brushed against her cheeks, her throat tightened until she could barely swallow, and her body went utterly still beneath the weight of a truth that had been standing in front of her for weeks without ever revealing its full shape.
The room seemed to mirror her shock, and one by one, the other girls turned their eyes toward her as the silence thickened between the couches, the projector, and the glowing screen. The girl behind the laptop had her jaw hung open as she pointed at the image with a hand that looked a little less steady than before. "Melody," she said. "Isn't that…"
It was him. Melody remembered him all too clearly, the man from the church all those weeks ago, the man she had known only as Logan, the same man who had appeared at her race during the Shūka Shō and watched her as if he understood something about her that even she had not yet managed to name.
All this time, she had thought the name was a coincidence, nothing more than a strange overlap in a world full of strange overlaps, but now there was no room left for denial. He was Logan Deschain, the Logan Deschain, the legend who had trained her mother, and the moment that truth settled into place, everything clicked with terrible clarity.
"That's right, fam, the man behind the Godly Fifteen, the same guy who had that, like, totally insane convention back when, is now standing in the MRA with Nightingale at his side. I know all of you are still asking the same thing, because honestly, so am I. How did she manage to snag a legend like that? Do you think I can get an exclusive with him after this? Drop those superchats and let me know, because your girl is, like, super curious."
Nyami paused just long enough for the chat to explode beside the feed before her smile sharpened.
"Of course, the odds are not exactly in her favor, because other than that one little race, she does not have any official wins to her name," she continued. "Even Midnight Queen herself said Nightingale should sit this one out, but apparently, she didn't listen, which means we're all left wondering what kind of story she's about to give us tonight."
Her animated cat ears twitched as the countdown graphic pulsed at the corner of the screen.
"Are we gonna see something boring, something exciting, or something totally tragic?" Nyami asked, dipping into theatrical suspense before springing back into cheer. "The race starts soon, so put in your final bets, hold onto your seats, and keep those eyes glued to the stream, because tonight is about to get absolutely wild!"
The screen minimized back to the original race stream, where the MRA emblem continued rotating in the blackened space while the countdown timer dropped from ten minutes. In the silence that followed, Melody could feel every eye in the room fixed on her, every girl present caught somewhere between shock, confusion, curiosity, and the dawning realization that whatever connection Melody had to the man on the screen was far more personal than any of them had expected.
Gurren pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezed her eyes shut, and shook her head as if the night had already become too absurd to process. "Sweet tea and mochi, this just gets better and better," she muttered before opening her eyes and looking back at Melody with a little more concern than sarcasm. "You okay?"
"I-I don't know what to feel," Melody admitted, her hands tightening around the popcorn bag as she stared at the screen. Then her expression shifted, and she looked at Gurren as if only then realizing something was off. "Hold on, why aren't you surprised?"
Gurren rolled her eyes, though the gesture looked more tired than dismissive. "Please, this isn't exactly breaking news. The MRA kinda doxxed him after that race with Lady," she said. "Of course, the chatter died down after a while, and I'm guessing you don't spend a whole lot of time on the forums."
Melody gave a nervous little smile and touched her fingers together, her ears twitching with embarrassment. "I, um, mostly just watch the races and listen to the music," she said. "I don't really like reading through the forums. The people there are kind of mean."
"That's the internet for you," Gurren replied, tilting her head as if that explained everything wrong with humanity.
Melody bit her bottom lip and looked down at the popcorn in her lap before speaking again. "I actually ran into him once, back at church."
Gurren turned fully toward her, eyes wide, while several of the other girls leaned closer as though the room itself had tilted toward Melody. "Wait, hold on, you actually met Deschain? That Deschain?" she asked, pointing sharply at the screen. "And you didn't tell us?"
Melody flinched and jerked back, one hand lifting defensively while the other clutched the popcorn bag hard enough to spill several pieces onto the couch. "I didn't know, Gurren, honest!" she blurted out. "He looked nothing like the old pictures, and he acted nothing like the videos people used to post of him."
Gurren blinked, then let out a long sigh. "Well, yeah, didn't he, like, go away for something?"
The girl with glasses gave Gurren a flat look. "Yes, and you would have known that if you had paid attention in class," she said, ignoring Gurren's immediate scowl. "He murdered someone. Ten years. Based on the dates, I would say he was released two years ago, though as for why he is in Tokyo now, that remains anyone's guess."
Melody nodded slowly, her gaze drifting back toward the screen as the rotating MRA emblem reflected faintly in her crimson eyes. "After that, he pretty much faded away," she said. "I didn't even know he was still alive, let alone here." She paused as the truth settled heavier in her chest. "And now he's in the MRA, training Nightingale."
"Man, talk about a fall from grace," Gurren said, scratching her fingers through her hair as she looked back at the screen. "I mean, people used to worship the man like he was an actual god. Trainers treated him like an idol, the one impossible peak they all wanted to surpass, while every uma he trained became the standard every other girl was expected to chase."
She glanced toward Melody, her expression turning more serious. "Even Shachō-san, with all her glory, can't stand in front of the world and call herself a two-time undefeated Triple Crown champion, or someone with over thirty G1 wins to her name."
"Yeah, but—" Melody started.
"No buts about it," Gurren cut in, folding her arms as her eyes remained fixed on the glowing screen. "I guess, in a way you'd understand, Logan Deschain used to live in heaven, and now he's been thrown out and sent straight to hell."
Her gaze hardened as the words began taking shape inside her mind. "That's kind of symbolic, isn't it? The URA as heaven, the MRA as hell, two worlds split between light and dark. The umas who win in the Twinkle Series get worshipped by the world, dressed in silk, crowned beneath spotlights, and remembered like saints, while the ones left behind end up running through blood, fire, and darkness just to prove they were ever alive."
A small, thoughtful chuckle escaped her as her eyes brightened with sudden inspiration. "Oh, I gotta write that down."
"Great, more literary fodder for one of your yaoi fanfics," the uma with glasses said, her tone dry enough to cut through the room's tension. "Honestly, Gurren, you make Digitan-senpai look normal."
Melody blinked and turned toward Gurren, whose face had gone bright red in the span of a heartbeat. "You write yaoi fanfics?"
"No!" Gurren blurted, waving both hands so frantically that her tail nearly smacked the side of the couch. Around the room, several girls pressed their hands to their mouths as they tried and failed to stifle their laughter. "I don't write yaoi fanfics. In fact, I don't write at all, because writing is stupid and time-consuming and she's making stuff up."
"That's not what I heard from Digitan-senpai," the girl with glasses continued, completely unmoved by the glare now aimed at her. "She said she's a fan. Besides, it isn't exactly a secret, since everyone knows you're SunshineBoyLover on Pixiv."
The room exploded with laughter at once, and Gurren's ears shot straight up as if someone had fired a starter pistol beside her head.
"Shush!" Gurren hissed, pointing at the girl with glasses as her face burned even redder. "Before I rip your ears off." Then she swept that warning glare across the rest of the room, daring anyone else to say another word. "And that goes for all of you."
Melody chuckled quietly despite herself, the tension from before loosening just enough for the room to feel warm again, but Gurren immediately snapped a finger toward her with wounded betrayal written all over her face. "Not you too!" she exclaimed before groaning and dragging both hands through her hair. "Argh, I hate every single one of you."
Gurren shrugged, drew a deep breath, and let the threat die for the moment, though the grin that returned to her face made it clear she had not forgiven anyone in the room. "I'll get all of you later, but for now…"
She lifted her drink toward Melody, causing the girl to blink in surprise as her ears twitched and her head tilted slightly.
"Before we all forget, Stakes aside, there's another reason we're gathered here tonight," Gurren said, her grin softening into something more genuine. "We're here to celebrate Melody's win at the Shūka Shō."
Melody flushed at once as the girls around the room raised their drinks, their earlier laughter giving way to excited cheers and bright smiles.
"Melody-san, that was amazing!" one of them said. "That move you pulled at the end was incredible!"
"Hey, hey, you have to teach me when you get the time!" another added, leaning forward with both ears perked.
Melody bit her bottom lip and fidgeted where she sat, her shoulders drawing in slightly as her tail whipped behind her in embarrassment. Gurren watched her for a moment before lifting her cup a little higher. "I'm pretty sure I can speak for everyone here when I say we're all gonna be gunning for you next season," she said with a grin. "This is your first G1, Melody, and here's to many more to come."
She raised her glass fully. "Kampai!"
"Kampai!" the other girls cheered, and together they took a drink.
Melody quickly rose to her feet, straightened, and bowed so deeply that several girls laughed fondly. "T-thank you!" she exclaimed. "I really appreciate it."
"So, what's next, Little Saint?" Gurren asked, still grinning as Melody straightened. "Other than the obvious, I mean."
Melody blinked, and Gurren rolled her eyes as if the answer should have been written across the ceiling. "The Classic Triple Crown, undefeated, just like your mom. Come on, that part's practically glowing over your head already. I'm asking if there's anything beyond that."
Melody rubbed the back of her head, her smile turning sheepish. "Um, honestly, I don't think I've ever thought that far beyond it. Maybe the Arima Kinen, but other than that, the Triple Crown has been the only thing on my mind."
"Yeah, along with every uma who ever ran the classics," Gurren said, giving her a deadpan stare over the rim of her cup. "Come on, Melody, don't tell me racing is the only dream rattling around in that saintly little head of yours."
Melody fell quiet for a moment, her gaze drifting toward the screen before a softer smile touched her lips. "Well, there is one other thing," she said. "I'd like to visit Strider Academy in Louisville someday, the place where Logan Deschain made the Godly Fifteen, and where my mom went to school."
Her smile deepened, gentler now, as if she were looking at something far beyond the walls of the karaoke room. "I'd love to bring my trophies and sashes there, then visit the places where my mom ran her Triple Crown. I know it probably sounds silly, but I think I'd like to stand there and feel a little closer to her."
The room grew quiet, though not in the awkward way it had before. One by one, the girls looked at her with softer smiles, and even Gurren's usual sharpness faded for a moment before she grinned and raised her drink again.
"Well," Gurren said, "I'd drink to that."
She looked over her shoulder toward the rest of the girls. "What about you?"
"Kampai!" they all exclaimed, lifting their cups once more.
Melody's smile lingered for a moment before her gaze returned to the screen, and as the laughter around her slowly faded back into excited chatter, her thoughts drifted once more to the man in the picture. Logan Deschain had known her mother. More than that, he had trained her, shaped her, and led her to the very top of the Twinkle Series, which meant he carried answers Melody had spent most of her life reaching for without ever knowing whose door she was supposed to knock on.
She had been so close to him, close enough to speak with him beneath the quiet roof of a church, close enough to look him in the eye, and yet she had not known enough to ask the questions that now pressed against her chest with painful weight. Questions about her mother, her father, the life she had once had, and the life that had been taken from her before she could understand what had been lost.
Her grip tightened around the bag of popcorn as another realization settled into place. Father Hasegawa had known him too, or at least he had reacted to Logan with a familiarity that no longer felt accidental. If Melody wanted an audience with the man who had once stood beside Kadokawa Hornet, then Father Hasegawa might be the only way to reach him. It was a long shot, and she knew that, but she also knew she had to try.
She nodded faintly to herself, making the decision in silence. Tomorrow was Sunday, and there would be no better time. For now, she forced herself to set those questions aside and turned her attention back to the screen, where the countdown had reached four minutes and continued ticking down toward the start of the Stakes.
****
Smoke curled from the tip of Okabe's cigarette as he drew deeply and let it drift toward the crude concrete ceiling of the staging area beneath the precinct. He leaned against the side of his patrol car beneath the unforgiving glare of the halogen tubes, their white light carving hard shadows across his face while officers moved restlessly among the rows of waiting cruisers. Everyone had been stretched thin by the Shibuya Stakes, from the patrolmen running the streets to the commanders buried beneath maps, contingency plans, and an endless procession of worst-case scenarios.
For days, the department had survived on fractured sleep and enough caffeine to leave hands trembling, haunted by every possibility of what might happen once the race began and whether the measures they had prepared would be enough to contain it.
None of that was what had Okabe grinding his teeth into the cigarette filter.
What sickened him was knowing that C.H.A.S.E. would finally receive the spectacle they had been waiting for, with the gaijin bitch at its head and her washed-up squad stepping into the spotlight as though the entire night had been arranged for their benefit. They would sweep in, make their arrests, and parade before the cameras while Tokyo watched the Metropolitan Police Department appear helpless against the MRA.
The humiliation had been building ever since that pig masquerading as Tokyo's governor began dragging the department through the mud to promote his pet project, exploiting public frustration and turning C.H.A.S.E. into another prop for his reelection campaign. Okabe had watched officers who had spent their lives on the street reduced to punchlines so a politician could polish his numbers, and he had endured all of it with the same answer from his superiors. Remain professional, follow protocol, and accept the new arrangement.
He had given the force a better part of his life and built a career most officers would have envied, yet Internal Affairs still treated men like him as though they were the problem. Those cowards did not run the streets. They did not wrestle drunks from alleyways, scrape bodies from the road, or face the kind of filth that knew exactly how much restraint the law demanded from the people enforcing it.
Protocol had made the police weak, and criminals had learned to use that weakness against them, secure in the knowledge that every officer had to consider policy, paperwork, and public perception before doing what needed to be done. The modern force lacked conviction, while the government itself seemed to view the police as little more than hired muscle to be pointed toward whichever agenda served it that week.
Okabe took one final drag before dropping the cigarette onto the floor and grinding it beneath the heel of his loafer. When he raised his head, his dark eyes swept across the two dozen officers gathered beside their cruisers, many of them carrying the same sleepless anger that had been eating at him for months. A sharp grin spread across his face. C.H.A.S.E. might have been preparing for its grand debut like a team of girls waiting to take the stage after the Twinkle Series, but Okabe had no intention of allowing them their Winning Live.
"I know you've made your intentions clear," Narukami said from beside him, pushing his glasses higher along the bridge of his nose while tension worked through his jaw. "But you do understand what happens afterward, don't you? Even if everything goes exactly the way you think it will, there will still be consequences."
"And I'm telling you to screw the consequences," Okabe replied, baring his teeth as he turned toward his partner. "I'm not sitting here while that gaijin bitch and her gimp take all the glory, and I'm sure as hell not watching the MRA run over us again while everyone in this city laughs."
His gaze moved toward the officers waiting around them, many of whom met it without hesitation.
"I'm not the only one who's had enough," he continued as he looked back at Narukami. "You know it, I know it, and every man standing in this garage knows it. We're done with the Chief, we're done with that pig Omura, and we're done with those bitches tearing through our streets like nothing can touch them."
Narukami's expression hardened, although unease remained behind his eyes. "Okabe, HR made the arrangement perfectly clear. We're part of the fraternity, and because of their..." He paused, glancing toward the others before clearing his throat. "Partnership, with the MRA, we cannot interfere with their operations outside the agreed rules."
"Screw HR!" Okabe roared, slamming his fist onto the cruiser's roof hard enough for the impact to thunder through the enclosed staging area.
Every conversation died at once, and the officers nearest the cruisers turned toward him as the echo rolled between the concrete pillars.
"Screw those asswipes who would rather get on their knees and suck off the MRA than admit they have lost control," Okabe continued. "They want to stand back and watch C.H.A.S.E. win because they are too scared to do anything themselves, but I am not giving them that satisfaction."
He stepped closer until Narukami instinctively leaned away, though there was nowhere for him to retreat without striking the cruiser behind him.
"And whether you like it or not, you're already in this with the rest of us," Okabe said. "You talk, you walk, or you snitch to anyone about what happens tonight, and you're going down with us. When this is over, nobody will be cheering for HR, C.H.A.S.E., or that old bastard Nishimura. They will be cheering for the men who finally had the balls to clean up the streets."
Narukami studied him for several moments, his face tightening as though he were searching for some trace of the partner he had once trusted beneath the rage now standing before him.
"We've worked together for a long time, Okabe, and throughout all of it, you have never had much trouble confusing recklessness with courage," he said. "This time, however, you are not talking about ignoring a direct order or roughing up some street punk who deserved it. If you go through with this, you will make enemies of the department, HR, C.H.A.S.E., and the MRA all at once, and that is a hole even the Chief will not be able to pull you out of."
He lowered his tone, although every officer in the garage could still hear him. "I have read the reports from across the world. The understanding exists for a reason. You break that agreement tonight, and you will open the floodgates to something neither you nor this department is ready to face."
Okabe stared at him before slowly straightening his coat, his grin returning with an almost boyish satisfaction.
"Well, I suppose that makes it a gamble," he said. "Isn't that what the MRA is all about?"
He turned away from Narukami and faced the officers, raising his voice so it carried to the farthest end of the staging area.
"All right, boys, saddle up. We're going hunting, and remember, every warm body you leave on that road earns you a pint from me."
The garage erupted as officers cheered and rushed toward their vehicles, the same ugly smiles twisting across their faces while doors slammed and engines roared to life beneath the concrete ceiling.
Narukami remained where he was, surrounded by flashing lights and exhaust fumes, his gaze lowered as he adjusted his glasses with a trembling hand.
"Lord help us all," he murmured.