The snow over Tokyo had intensified overnight.
What had once been a light winter dusting was now a full blanket of white. Roads were buried beneath layers of compacted ice, slush, and fresh snowfall. Streetlights reflected off frozen asphalt in dull orange streaks. Snowplows crawled through the streets, their heavy blades scraping loudly as they carved paths through thick accumulation.
It was early.
Very early.
4:00 AM.
The city was quiet — the kind of quiet that only comes when snow muffles everything.
Inside the dorm building, heaters hummed faintly behind insulated walls.
Agnes Tachyon lay sprawled across her bed, wrapped in blankets, half-buried in warmth. Agnes Digital had already left days ago to visit her parents, leaving Tachyon alone in the room.
She turned over lazily.
Then—
A soft knock.
Tachyon's ears twitched slightly under her pillow.
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
"Ugh… go away…" she mumbled.
Silence returned.
For about five seconds.
Then—
Another knock.
Not louder.
Just persistent.
Tachyon groaned and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling for a moment.
"…This better not be C.B…"
She sat up slowly, blanket falling off her shoulders. The cold air immediately bit at her skin.
Her bare feet touched the wooden floor.
Cold.
Very cold.
She shuddered slightly and shuffled toward the door, rubbing her eyes.
"Coming… coming…"
She unlocked it and pulled the door open.
Manhattan Cafe stood calmly in the hallway, already dressed in a heavy winter coat, scarf wrapped neatly, gloves in hand.
Tachyon blinked.
"Cafe?"
Cafe stepped inside without hesitation. Tachyon instinctively stepped back to let her in.
"So," Cafe said quietly, looking around the room once, "you ready?"
Tachyon scratched the back of her head.
"…Our trip to Naruto Skyline?"
Cafe nodded once.
Tachyon nodded back slowly.
"Yeah… I just didn't expect we'd leave this early…"
Cafe brought a hand to her face.
"Don't tell me you didn't pack your bags."
Tachyon immediately shook her head.
"No, no — they're packed."
She pointed vaguely toward the corner of the room where a duffel bag and backpack sat neatly arranged beside the wall.
Cafe exhaled.
"Oh. Good."
She turned toward the door again.
"I'll leave you to it then. We leave in thirty minutes."
The door shut gently behind her.
Tachyon stood still for a moment.
Then rubbed her eye again.
"…Right."
She looked at the clock.
4:07 AM.
"…I completely forgot."
She grabbed her towel from the closet and shuffled toward the bathroom, muttering under her breath.
"Winter road trip… Naruto Skyline… 4 AM departure…"
A small smirk formed.
"…Worth it."
Outside, snow continued to fall steadily.
And in the campus parking area below —
Engines would soon be waking.
Fifteen minutes later, the dormitory lot was alive with the low murmur of engines warming against the cold.
Snow drifted sideways through the pale blue haze of pre-dawn, collecting along spoilers, mirrors, and windshields before being brushed away by gloved hands. The sky over Tokyo was a heavy slate gray — not yet morning, but no longer night.
Five cars stood in a deliberate line, their silhouettes half-buried in frost.
Symboli Rudolf's Ferrari F40 — green even under the snow, sharp and defiant. Silently awaiting.
Maruzensky's Lamborghini Countach LP5000QV Twin Turbo — wide, low, aggressive. Even standing still, it looked like it was doing 200 km/h.
Silence Suzuka's Honda NSX NA1 — clean, balanced, understated. Its exhaust hummed softly, precise and calm.
Agnes Tachyon's Nissan S30Z — long-nosed and classic,
And beside them —
Mr. C.B.'s Singer DLS — blue, immaculate, the air-cooled flat-six ticking quietly as it warmed.
The air smelled of cold metal, fuel, and winter.
Tachyon approached alone, hands tucked into her coat pockets, her breath forming faint clouds in front of her. Snow crunched beneath her boots with each step.
She reached out casually and patted Manhattan Café's back, who stood beside the Singer DLS observing C.B. checking tire pressures.
Café turned.
"Ah. There you are."
Tachyon raised an eyebrow.
"And your car?"
Café glanced at the lineup.
Then back at Tachyon.
"Still in the shop. Turbo's gone. Apparently I was 'overboosting' again."
Tachyon blinked.
"Again?"
Café crossed her arms.
"Oh? Do you see my car anywhere here?"
Tachyon scanned the lot theatrically.
"…Nope."
Café gave her a flat look.
The two moved toward the S30Z. Tachyon popped the trunk with a metallic click. The lid lifted slowly, hinges creaking faintly in the cold.
They placed their bags inside — neatly packed, secured. Tachyon adjusted them so they wouldn't slide on the mountain roads ahead.
As she closed the trunk, her gaze shifted toward the Countach.
Snow gathered along its angular edges like powdered sugar on a blade.
"Oh?" Tachyon tilted her head. "Maruzensky bringing Chiyo too?"
Café nodded.
"Yep. Chiyo's been winning a lot this year. She needs a quiet getaway after all that."
Her tone softened slightly.
"Besides… she learned how to run from the best."
Tachyon hummed.
"Mhm. Undefeated, after all."
Café bumped her shoulder lightly.
"Hey. So were you. Before your hiatus."
Tachyon didn't respond immediately.
Instead, she watched the Countach.
Watched Maruzensky laugh.
Watched Chiyo's eager movements.
Watched the warmth.
"…Right," Tachyon said eventually. "I forgot."
Over by the Countach, Sakura Chiyono O peeked around Maruzensky's shoulder and spotted them.
She raised her hand slightly.
"Mornin', Tachyon! Café!"
Café gave a small wave.
Tachyon nodded back.
Maruzensky turned, gave a playful two-finger salute — and winked.
Even in this cold, she radiated summer.
Chiyo turned back, her tail swaying lightly.
"I'm really looking forward to this trip, Maruzen-san!"
Maruzensky smiled, brushing snow off the Countach's rear wing.
"I'm glad. You worked hard this season. You deserve to breathe a little."
Chiyo puffed her chest slightly.
"I've done great, haven't I?"
She glanced at the Countach.
Then back at Maruzensky.
"You think I'll get driving lessons again?"
Maruzensky laughed — warm, confident, effortless.
"Oh, you'll get more than that."
She walked around to the driver's side and pulled the door upward in a sharp scissor motion.
"We'll swap seats along the way. It's a long drive to Tokushima. Plenty of time."
Chiyo's eyes sparkled.
"Really?!"
"Really."
The wind picked up suddenly, sweeping snow across the lot in a white veil.
Engines idled.
Exhaust fumes curled like ghosts.
And from the far end of the row — the F40 sat silently. Awaiting.
Tachyon's eyes drifted toward it briefly.
Then away.
The road to Naruto Skyline would be long.
Snow-covered.
Treacherous.
Perfect.
She slid into the driver's seat of her S30Z, the leather cold against her back. Café entered the passenger side, closing the door with a solid metallic thud.
The cabin filled with the scent of aged leather and fuel.
Tachyon turned the key again — the inline-six responded with a deeper growl this time, fully awake.
She glanced once more at the lineup.
Five machines.
Five drivers.
One frozen road south.
"Thirty minutes," she muttered.
Right beside Maruzensky's Countach, Symboli Rudolf lowered the front clamshell of the Ferrari with deliberate care.
The carbon panel settled into place with a muted thud.
She knelt slightly, gloved fingers brushing away a trace of snow before pressing the latch inward. A firm click answered her.
Satisfied, she rose smoothly and looked toward the smaller figure nearby.
"Teio. Can you latch the other side?"
Tokai Teio looked down at the nose of the car, snowflakes catching in her bangs.
"Uhh… where, Kaichou?"
Rudolf opened the F40's door — the lightweight panel sounding hollow and purposeful — and leaned slightly outward.
"It's a black latch with a keyhole. Just push it in."
Teio crouched, brushing snow aside with her sleeve. She scanned the underside carefully, lips pursed in concentration.
"…Found it!"
With one finger, she pressed the latch.
Click.
She stood, brushing her hands together before stepping toward the passenger door. She pulled it halfway open, then tested it.
"It's locked, Kaichou!"
Rudolf inserted the key into the driver's side and turned it once.
"Perfect, Teio. I'll warm it up."
Teio nodded and gently shut the F40's door, careful not to slam the thin composite panel.
She walked around the rear of the Ferrari, past the mesh covering the twin turbochargers — faint metallic ticking already audible as cold metal met colder air.
Then she approached Agnes Tachyon and Manhattan Café by the S30Z.
"Hey there, you two!"
Tachyon and Café turned.
"Oh. Teio," Tachyon replied casually. "Morning."
Teio leaned lightly against the S30Z's right rear quarter panel, careful not to scratch the paint.
"So? Ready for the trip?"
Tachyon nodded.
"Of course. First proper long-distance run in this car."
Teio's eyes brightened.
"How is it so far?"
Tachyon glanced at the Z.
Snow clung to its long hood. The chrome bumpers gleamed faintly under the dim lot lights.
"It's been good. Reliable."
Teio pushed off the quarter panel and leaned closer to peer inside.
"Jeez… for something called the 'Devil Z,' you've tamed it pretty quick."
Then she paused.
Her gaze fixed on something behind the seats.
She pointed.
"Wait. Did you put a roll cage in there?"
Tachyon nodded.
"Half cage. Keeps entry simple. But gives me and my passengers some protection in case of a rollover."
Teio froze.
"Safety?"
She slowly turned toward Tachyon.
"That's a word I never thought I'd hear you say."
Café snorted softly.
Tachyon smirked.
Growth, after all, didn't always announce itself loudly.
Just then—
The F40's starter motor engaged.
A strained mechanical whirr cut through the morning stillness.
It cranked.
And cranked.
And cranked.
The cold did not favor Italian race engines.
Then—
Ignition.
The 2.9-liter twin-turbo V8 barked violently to life, the exhaust note sharp and metallic, echoing off the dormitory walls.
It stumbled immediately.
The engine coughed and choked, idle hunting erratically as raw fuel struggled to atomize in the freezing air.
Rudolf pressed the throttle gently.
The revs climbed — 3,000.
3,500.
4,000.
She held it there.
Then eased off.
The engine dipped toward idle — unstable.
She blipped it again. Controlled. Measured. Never near redline.
The rhythm repeated for several seconds.
Gradually, the idle smoothed.
The V8's note sharpened, settling into a tight mechanical pulse.
Rudolf slid open the polycarbonate side window with a dry scrape and climbed out, shutting the door behind her.
She rejoined the group, brushing her gloves together.
Maruzensky raised an eyebrow.
Rudolf shrugged lightly.
"What? It's a race engine. It doesn't like idling cold."
Maruzensky laughed.
"Relax, Rudolf! I didn't say anything."
She patted Rudolf's shoulder.
"I know race engines hate the cold."
Silence Suzuka nodded thoughtfully.
"I've seen something similar when the mechanics at McLaren cold-started one of their '70s Formula One cars."
She glanced toward the F40, exhaust vapor shimmering faintly behind it.
"With temperatures like this, the fuel mixture runs rich at startup. Unburnt fuel. That's why it sounds rough. Gentle throttle helps bring temperature up faster."
Special Week tilted her head.
"Doesn't that damage the engine, Suzuka-san?"
Suzuka shook her head calmly.
"It depends. If you're near redline while cold, yes. That's harmful. But controlled blips — low throttle, well below peak RPM — are fine."
She folded her arms lightly.
"It's about restraint."
The wind swept across the lot again, carrying powdery snow between them.
Maruzensky clapped her hands once.
"Alright! Who's leading?"
Rudolf raised her hand slightly.
"I will. I studied the route."
Maruzensky grinned.
"Perfect!"
Rudolf stepped forward slightly, her posture shifting subtly.
More composed.
More commanding.
"This is a six to eight hour drive," she began evenly. "If you need fuel or a stop for any reason, message the group chat. Immediately."
Everyone exchanged glances.
Then nodded.
"And if you feel tired," Rudolf continued, her gaze firm now, "switch drivers. Or drink something. Do not push through it."
Her eyes narrowed faintly.
"The last thing I want is an accident."
She turned her gaze toward Mr. C.B..
"Especially you."
C.B blinked and pointed to herself.
"Why me?"
Rudolf exhaled softly.
"Because I know you. You'll try to slide every corner."
C.B straightened dramatically, raising a hand as though taking an oath.
"I, Mr. C.B., solemnly swear to drive responsibly on this road trip."
Maruzensky burst out laughing.
Rudolf allowed herself a small chuckle.
"I'll hold you to that."
She crossed her arms briefly, scanning the lineup one last time.
Snow.
Engines.
Steam rising from exhaust tips.
Five machines ready to cut through winter.
"Shall we?"
Maruzensky looked at Chiyo.
Chiyo looked at the others.
The others exchanged glances.
Then — all eyes returned to Rudolf.
They nodded.
Rudolf smiled faintly, then turned and walked back toward the F40.
One by one, doors opened.
Scissor doors lifted.
Engines deepened.
Agnes Tachyon slid into the driver's seat and shut the door with a firm, reassuring thud.
The cold outside vanished instantly, replaced by the muted, insulated quiet of the S30Z's cabin. The faint scent of aged leather and fuel lingered in the air — familiar, grounding.
Manhattan Café followed moments later, lowering herself into the passenger-side bucket seat. She pulled the door shut with equal firmness, sealing them inside.
For a second, she just sat there.
Then she tilted her head upward, studying the half roll bar that arced behind the seats — matte black tubing bolted cleanly into reinforced points.
She glanced back over her shoulder.
"…Feeling much safer already with this new half cage."
Tachyon gave a low chuckle as she reached for the shoulder harnesses, pulling them across her chest with a metallic rasp.
"Huh. Really?"
Café laughed softly as she secured her own harness, tightening the straps with a firm tug.
"Seriously. Last time I rode with you, the only 'safety feature' you had was optimism."
Tachyon smirked.
"…Right."
Her hand moved to the ignition key.
She twisted.
The twin-turbo 3.1-liter L28 straight-six coughed once — then sputtered to life, the exhaust note deeper now, layered with the faint whistle of turbines beginning to spin. The idle was uneven for a moment before settling into a steady mechanical rhythm.
Outside, the parking lot came alive in sequence.
The sharp, exotic bark of Symboli Rudolf's Ferrari F40.
The aggressive growl of Maruzensky's Lamborghini Countach.
The smooth, composed hum of Silence Suzuka's NSX.
The crisp, air-cooled rasp of Mr. C.B.'s Singer DLS.
Five engines.
Five distinct personalities.
Snow continued to fall, lighter now — thinner flakes drifting across headlights and windshields. Wipers brushed steadily back and forth, clearing thin layers of frost.
For several minutes, no one moved.
They let oil circulate.
Let temperatures rise.
Let tires soften slightly against the frozen asphalt.
Finally, Rudolf's brake lights brightened.
The Ferrari rolled forward first — slowly, deliberately — its tires crunching over packed snow as it eased toward the dormitory exit.
One by one, the others followed.
Countach.
NSX.
Singer.
S30Z.
Tachyon eased off the clutch gently, feeding in throttle with careful precision. The rear tires shifted slightly before finding grip.
Café glanced out her window.
"Easy…"
"I know," Tachyon replied calmly.
The convoy crept onto the main road, turning south through sleeping Tokyo.
Streetlights reflected off icy patches like fractured glass. Snowplows worked distant intersections, orange lights rotating lazily in the pre-dawn gloom. Traffic was nearly nonexistent — only the occasional truck or early commuter moving cautiously through winter's grip.
No one rushed.
No one tested limits.
Not yet.
They drove in disciplined spacing — Rudolf at the front setting a steady, conservative pace.
The F40's taillights glowed red through drifting snow.
Tachyon's eyes remained focused, hands steady at ten and two. Even she respected conditions like this.
"This is different," Café murmured quietly.
Tachyon didn't look at her.
"…Yeah."
Not a race.
Not a sprint.
A journey.
The city skyline slowly began to fade behind them, swallowed by snowfall and distance.
Ahead lay highways, mountain passes, frozen coastal roads — and eventually, Tokushima Prefecture.
Four hours into the trip.
The world had changed.
Night had dissolved into a pale winter morning, and the sun now hovered just above the horizon — a soft amber disc filtered through thin cloud and drifting snow.
The five cars continued southwest along the Shin-Tomei Expressway, cutting cleanly through the frozen landscape.
Traffic was minimal — only the occasional semi-truck hauling goods between prefectures, their tires hissing against damp asphalt. The roads here were clearer than Tokyo, but patches of frost still lingered in shaded sections.
The convoy maintained formation.
At the front — Rudolf's F40.
Behind her — measured spacing, disciplined driving.
Inside the Ferrari, the atmosphere was calm.
There was no music.
Only the steady hum of the 2.9-liter Tipo F120A V8 and the sharper metallic edge of its Tubi exhaust resonating faintly through the thin interior panels. The cabin smelled faintly of fuel and warm composite materials.
Rudolf's eyes remained fixed on the road ahead.
Focused. Composed.
Beside her, Teio leaned slightly toward the right-side sliding Lexan window, watching the scenery blur past in winter tones of white and gray.
Then she spoke.
"Kaichou… I gotta ask you something."
Rudolf briefly glanced at her before returning her gaze forward.
"What's on your mind, Teio?"
Teio turned fully toward her now.
"Is this an early model F40?"
Rudolf nodded without hesitation.
"Yes. It is."
Teio raised an eyebrow.
"How can you tell?"
A faint smirk tugged at Rudolf's lips.
She shifted slightly in her seat, resting her left elbow near the exposed inner door structure.
"There are several indicators."
She gestured subtly toward the door.
"For starters — the windows and interior panels."
Teio followed her hand.
"The exposed pull cable. No door cards. No proper inner handle. Just a strap and mechanism."
Rudolf tapped lightly near the sliding Lexan panel.
"And the sliding windows. Later models had revisions."
She continued calmly.
"Then the interior. It's bare. No soundproofing. Lightweight seats. Racing harnesses. Everything here was built with weight reduction in mind."
Teio glanced around again — the thin carpeting, visible rivets, sparse trim.
Rudolf went on.
"Suspension and exhaust are also indicators. Later F40s were equipped with catalytic converters. Some even came with adjustable front lift systems."
She gave a slight nod toward the road.
"Mine has fixed suspension. No catalytic converters. The original exhaust system was shipped to campus storage. I kept it."
Teio leaned back slowly, processing.
Then she frowned slightly.
"But… aren't the seats supposed to be red? And the car itself… they all came red from factory, right? Yours is green."
She tilted her head.
"Doesn't that hurt the value?"
Rudolf shook her head lightly.
"Not significantly."
Teio blinked.
"How?"
Rudolf downshifted smoothly into fourth, the engine note rising cleanly as she moved into the fast lane to pass a slower semi-truck. The twin turbos spooled faintly — controlled, restrained.
"Well… F40s are already extremely valuable. Market value depends heavily on condition, mileage, and provenance."
Teio's curiosity intensified.
"With the modifications? The HRE wheels. The spoiler adjustments. Exhaust. Interior changes. And the color — how much would yours be worth?"
Rudolf tapped her chin thoughtfully for a moment before shifting back into fifth gear once clear of the truck.
"If I had to estimate…"
She kept her tone even.
"Three to four million dollars."
Teio's eyes widened instantly.
"That much?!"
Rudolf nodded.
"Pretty much."
Teio leaned closer now, brimming with disbelief.
"How much did you pay for it?!"
Rudolf glanced at her briefly — then back to the highway.
"Considering I knew the previous owner…"
A small pause.
"It was a steal."
Teio's eyes narrowed.
"How much?"
Rudolf allowed herself the faintest grin.
"One and a half million."
Teio nearly jolted in her seat.
"That cheap?!"
Rudolf chuckled.
"If you call one and a half million cheap, you're officially a multi-millionaire."
Teio laughed and lightly slapped Rudolf's shoulder.
"With the winnings I have? Of course I can say that!"
Rudolf shook her head slightly, amused.
"Right. Right."
Outside, the sun climbed higher, its light reflecting off the F40's paint — emerald catching gold along its sharp angles.
Behind them, the convoy continued steadily.
Inside Maruzensky's Lamborghini Countach LP5000QV Twin Turbo, the cabin felt warmer than the frozen world outside.
The low seating position, the sharply angled windshield, the wide rear haunches visible in the side mirrors — it all made the road feel immediate. Mechanical. Alive.
For the first stretch of the morning, Maruzensky had driven.
Now, she rested in the passenger seat.
And behind the wheel —
Sakura Chiyono O.
Her hands sat carefully at ten and two. Her posture was attentive, disciplined — exactly how Maruzensky had taught her.
The twin turbos hummed faintly behind them as the Countach cruised steadily down the Shin-Tomei Expressway, keeping even spacing with Rudolf's Ferrari ahead.
Chiyo glanced sideways.
"By the way, Maruzen-san… can I ask you something?"
Maruzensky cracked open her left eye, rubbing it lightly.
"Y-Yeah?"
Chiyo chuckled nervously.
"D-Do you know how to fly?"
Maruzensky blinked.
"…What?"
Chiyo shook her head quickly.
"I mean — from what I've heard. And from my Chiyonotes." She nodded firmly. "You have RayJay twin turbos, right?"
Maruzensky opened both eyes now and nodded slowly.
"Yes…?"
"Then why aviation turbochargers? Don't they work differently from car ones?"
Maruzensky gave a lazy smile.
"They work just fine with cars. Turbochargers don't really care what they're bolted to — as long as airflow and fuel are right."
She shifted slightly in her seat.
"The real issue is cost. Aviation components are… terrifyingly expensive."
Chiyo scratched the back of her head.
"Uh…"
Maruzensky chuckled.
"Most of the original setup was fabricated by Franz Albert. Same engineer who worked on the twin-turbo Ferrari flat-12 engines for Koenig-Specials."
Chiyo's eyes widened slightly.
"That's… intense."
"Mm." Maruzensky nodded. "But I've since upgraded."
She folded her arms loosely.
"I replaced the older turbochargers with more modern units designed to match characteristics similar to the Continental TEO-540 six-cylinder aircraft engine."
Chiyo processed that carefully.
"So the new ones make more power?"
Maruzensky shrugged, sliding lower into her seat again.
"Not by much. Peak numbers didn't change dramatically."
She glanced toward the rearview mirror briefly.
"But throttle response improved. Less lag. That matters more on mountain roads."
Chiyo nodded thoughtfully.
"Right… usable power."
"Exactly."
The Countach's engine note deepened slightly as they crested a gentle incline.
Maruzensky let her eyes close.
Just then—
Her phone rang.
She sighed softly, reached into her jacket pocket, and answered on speaker.
"Hello?"
"Ah, Maruzen! It's C.B!" The voice crackled lightly through the cabin.
Maruzensky straightened slightly.
"Ah. C.B. What's up?"
Inside the silver Singer DLS somewhere behind them, Mr. C.B. sighed audibly.
"Nothing much. It's kinda boring in here."
Maruzensky laughed.
"Heh. Can't blame you. You're driving solo."
"Yeah… I know…"
C.B's voice shifted slightly as she checked her mirrors.
"Hey — any idea where Halo-san went? Didn't she say she was coming?"
Maruzensky nodded.
"She went to visit her mother. Apparently, her mother's staying near Narutocho Takashima. The island across the bridge."
A brief pause.
"Ahhh. I see," C.B replied. "Are we heading there?"
Maruzensky shook her head instinctively before remembering she was on the phone.
"No. Rudolf decided we don't have enough time. We're only going as far as Iwaya City this trip. Not deeper into Tokushima."
"Got it."
A small sigh.
"Alright. I'll talk to you later."
"Drive properly," Maruzensky teased.
"Yeah, yeah."
The call ended.
The cabin returned to the steady hum of the engine and faint wind noise brushing past the Countach's angular body.
Maruzensky exhaled slowly and closed her eyes again.
"Wake me if you need anything," she murmured. "I'll get some more eye shutter."
Chiyo smiled faintly.
"Alright, Maruzen-san."
Her grip on the wheel remained steady.
Ahead, Rudolf's Ferrari cut cleanly through the winter light.
Behind them, the convoy stretched like a disciplined ribbon across the expressway.
The road south continued —
Long.
Cold.
And waiting.
The five cars continued southbound, steady and composed.
The winter sun had fully risen now, casting pale gold light across the highway. Snow had thinned along the coast, replaced by damp asphalt and streaks of salt near the shoulders.
The remaining hours passed smoothly.
Minimal traffic — a small miracle this close to Christmas.
No sudden braking.
No close calls.
No temptation.
Just five performance machines stretching their legs responsibly across western Japan.
Eventually, the convoy peeled off the expressway at Higashiura IC.
From there, they rolled into the quieter roads of Kusumoto — a small coastal town that felt worlds away from Tokyo's steel and glass.
The scenery shifted dramatically.
Mountains to one side.
Open sea to the other.
The five cars merged onto National Route 28, hugging the shoreline as it curved gently along the coast.
Waves rolled steadily against rock and sand. Seabirds drifted low against the winter breeze. Fishing boats dotted the water in the distance, their silhouettes cutting across the sunlight.
The convoy slowed slightly — not because they had to.
But because no one wanted to rush this stretch.
Inside Suzuka's NSX
The interior of Silence Suzuka's Honda NSX was calm, refined — a perfect contrast to the raw minimalism of the F40 or Countach.
Beside her, Special Week had her phone out, leaning toward the window as she snapped photo after photo.
"Wooow! It's so pretty here!"
The shoreline curved endlessly beside them — steel-blue water meeting pale winter sky.
Suzuka smiled faintly.
"It really is, Spe-chan."
Special Week leaned back into her seat, scrolling through the dozens of photos she'd already taken — waves, guardrails, sunlight reflecting off Rudolf's Ferrari ahead, Maruzensky's Countach framed against the sea.
"This is such a great way to end the racing season."
She turned toward Suzuka, eyes bright.
"You're looking forward to next year already, Suzuka-san?"
Suzuka remained silent for a moment.
Her eyes stayed forward, focused on the road — but something thoughtful lingered behind them.
Then she nodded.
"I am."
Her voice was calm, but certain.
"It's going to be a busy year."
Special Week leaned closer immediately.
"Ooooh! Tell me! What kind of busy?"
Suzuka chuckled softly.
"Just a tease, Spe-chan."
She glanced at her passenger briefly.
"All I can say… is that I'll be going around the world next year."
Special Week blinked.
"…Around the world?"
Her eyebrows shot up.
"You're racing internationally?!"
Suzuka's smile widened slightly.
"Something like that."
The sea shimmered beside them as the convoy continued along Route 28 — five silhouettes gliding along the coastline.
Ahead, the road curved gently toward the distant bridge spanning toward Awaji Island.
Behind them, Tokyo was already a temporarily a fading memory.
The engines hummed in harmony.
Winter air drifted past polished bodywork.
And for the first time in a long while —
There was no pressure.
No rivalry.
No starting lights.
Just friends.
Driving toward the horizon.
Cause they have made it safely.
To Naruto Skyline.