Thinking about it carefully, Satoru had entered Sword Art Online, that terrifying death game, when he was twenty. Two years later, at twenty-two, he had settled every grudge and entanglement and become the savior of the remaining six thousand players. This year, Satoru had finally, after a long absence, welcomed his twenty-third birthday in peace.
He was already a working adult.
If he did not act a little more mature, people would laugh at him. In the end, all he had done over the past few years was play games. Wasn't it about time he thought about something practical?
He sighed soundlessly, both hands on the steering wheel. Under his foot, he pressed and released the clutch, searching for the right strength and rhythm. The test car felt completely different from the training car. If he did not go slowly, it would be very easy to make a mistake and lose points.
Every white test car on the course was different from cars out on the road. They all crept forward like turtles. The examinees could not relax with one hand on the wheel the way experienced drivers did. There was a camera inside the car, and anyone with improper posture would lose points. The seat belt across his chest was rather tight.
Fortunately, it was autumn heading into winter. Inside the stuffy car, at least breathing was not difficult.
Driving in the height of summer was what truly wore people down, especially delivery drivers. Their backsides often got rubbed raw from sitting in sweat all day.
Footage of Satoru's driving was also being broadcast on the big screen in the candidates' waiting hall. His expression was fairly serious. Then again, people rarely smiled and joked around here.
It was funny, really. The delinquents who looked down on school exams would come here and put on tense, focused faces.
Newly adult boys, mature middle-aged men, older men who were not quite elderly yet, every sort of person could be seen.
People from every walk of life took the same test seriously.
In the end, it was because they all knew this really was good for their future. Having a driver's license made it easier to find work, and it was a skill in its own right.
That was what growth looked like. It was normal to be reckless and wild when young. That was the privilege of that stage of life. But if someone was still acting like that in their thirties or forties, then something was genuinely wrong with them. Being loose and free was fine. They only had to understand what truly deserved effort.
At the very least, they needed self-awareness, not empty-headed carelessness.
Satoru drove steadily through the curved-driving section. Ahead was the reverse parking test. If he remembered correctly, the car in front of him was driven by a young man with a striking mohawk. That test car was moving even slower than a turtle.
Very cautious.
Satoru thought that while stopping in place for the moment. As long as he did not stall, that was allowed. The reverse parking area was small. If he drove over now, he might make it harder for Mohawk to maneuver. Waiting a little was fine.
He rested both hands lightly on the steering wheel and watched Mohawk operate the car.
Unfortunately, no matter how careful the young man was, the tire still brushed the boundary line. Mohawk seemed to notice as well. He stuck his bright red-haired head out the window, his face full of frustration and irritation, then shrank back in and drove out.
Satoru gave a small sigh, released the clutch, and moved forward.
His face was gloomy, but his control of the test car he had never driven before remained calm. He reversed into the space at an unhurried, textbook pace, then drove out to the right.
That was the final item.
In truth, the closed-course test was simple. Anyone could pass by memorizing the techniques. The real problem was that people got strangely nervous, and if the sole of their foot relaxed even a little, poor control could cause the engine to stall.
"Test passed."
The machine beside Satoru issued an emotionless electronic voice.
Satoru still looked stern.
He was thinking about what came next. He could earn money through games, but no matter how he looked at it, it did not seem like a proper path he could follow for the rest of his life. Should he go to Kyoto and look for his uncle? Come to think of it, those two had been so lovey-dovey lately, sharing photos on social media every day. They were probably about to get engaged.
Lost in thought, he ignored the course proctor waving at him.
His left hand moved almost automatically. With quiet, practiced ease, he shifted into second gear. The clutch came up, the accelerator went down, and the speed rose. A second later, he shifted again. Third gear. The clutch came up once more, and the accelerator sank two-thirds of the way down.
Vroom!
The turtle-paced test car that had just rolled out of the testing area suddenly shot forward, blasting past the proctor and racing toward the gate.
"Hey, hey! Where the hell are you going, kid?! Get out of the car already!"
After a full second of stunned silence, the proctor sprinted after the car and shouted himself hoarse.
Three minutes later.
"I'm very sorry... I did it without thinking."
Satoru bowed ninety degrees toward the proctor, who was drenched in sweat.
"I've worked here for years, and you're the first lunatic I've ever seen who passed the test, shifted into third gear, hit fifty or sixty, and tried to drive the damn test car home!"
"Yes. I'm sorry..."
"Fine, fine! Just hurry up and get your result sheet already!"
Satoru scratched his head and slowly walked toward the exit. With his head lowered, he did not look like someone who had just passed at all. Meanwhile, the other students who passed were practically glowing, walking around like they had just received acceptance letters from elite universities instead of passing a driving test.
He shrugged and shoved both hands into the warm pouch pocket at his waist.
Today's Satoru was gloomy as ever.
But it definitely was not because of the driving test.
When he was sixteen, he had already driven without a license.
Back then, at the shop where he worked part-time, Uncle Yamamoto, who handled deliveries, got completely drunk. Satoru had no choice but to take over. Before collapsing unconscious into the passenger seat, the man forced out the last scraps of awareness to explain the controls.
"This is the steering wheel. This is the accelerator. This is the brake... All right. The rest is up to you! Please! The salted fish in the back... I leave them in your han..."
Before he could finish, he slumped down like mud and started snoring. No matter how Satoru called him, he would not wake up.
That night, the young and inexperienced Satoru touched the world of adults for the first time.
Trembling all over, he drove the entire route at thirty kilometers per hour. Sweat soaked him from head to toe. His whole body hunched over the steering wheel like a shrimp, terrified of missing even a single passing car or traffic light. His feet went numb from tension.
In his eyes, every passing vehicle looked like a man-eating beast.
Even so, he somehow completed the delivery without disaster.
And that night was also the last time Satoru ever felt nervous while holding a steering wheel.
People with experience said that passing the test meant nothing. Only someone who could actually drive on the road was a real driver, and only someone who had crossed countless battlefields could be called a veteran.
Satoru skipped the test entirely and went straight onto the battlefield.
Mountain roads, no less.
His qualifications as a driver were proven directly.
After that, whether because Uncle Yamamoto had a screw loose or because he was doing it on purpose, the man kept getting drunk, and Satoru kept covering for him.
At first, Satoru drove with absolute seriousness.
Then, little by little, he began resting his head on one hand.
Eventually, he drove with a cigarette between his fingers.
Satoru's driver instincts were being forged.
That plain little truck slowly transformed as well. From a kitten into a vicious dog. From a dog into a lion and tiger. On the mountain roads late at night, where few people passed, people would occasionally catch sight of the little truck taking corners at terrifying speed. Its dim red taillights dragged a streak of freedom behind them.
On that mountain road, something terrifying had awakened.
That was the rumor among the city's street racers.
A proud racer once deliberately waited on that mountain road because of the rumor and challenged it.
Very few people witnessed that race. But according to those who did, the flashing taillights crossed like blades on the winding road. The howling engines sounded like warriors screaming before death. The shriek of tires clawing at the pavement sounded like the gates between life and death being forced open.
The challenger himself was also a legend, the city's top street racer.
After that night, nobody ever saw him or his Enzo on the mountain roads again. On the asphalt scarred by tire marks, only a half-smoked Seven Stars cigarette remained behind, as if trying to tell later generations something.
One legend ended.
Another legend rose.
Afterward, the boss discovered that Satoru had been driving without a license and fired both him and Uncle Yamamoto...
And so that legend ended too.
The new king had slain the old king, yet refused to sit on the throne himself, leaving it empty behind him. That broke the rules, and it made the street racers hate him.
But nobody could find the driver who had crossed the night sky like a meteor, brief and deadly.
Of course, Satoru himself knew nothing about any of that.
He only felt that he would probably never again experience the pressure that red Enzo had once given him. That was a little disappointing.
Now, after so long, he had returned to the battlefield where drivers fought each other, but he still could not feel satisfied.
The racers here were too young.
He vaguely remembered what Uncle Yamamoto had said when they parted. The usually shameless, sleazy older man had spoken with rare seriousness.
"Satoru, there is nothing more I can teach you. Open the road ahead with your own hands. Someday, somewhere far away, I'm sure I'll hear your name again."
"But remember this. The king is lonely, because there is nobody ahead of him to surpass... and nobody behind him capable of catching up."
After that, Satoru never saw the man again.
And after spending a month feeling sentimental about it...
He went back to playing games.
Satoru glanced back at the nervous crowd, shook his head in disappointment, and walked alone down the road home with the perfect-score result sheet in one hand.
In the cold wind, his thin back looked terribly lonely.
The wind brushed across his sorrowful brow.