Scene 1 — Harbor Noodles (Night, 2070)
The storm didn't bother to wait for permission.
Rain hammered the corrugated roof of Harbor Noodles as Kenta dried bowls by the sink. Outside, the street lights blurred into thin white streaks. It felt like the whole city was smudging at the edges.
Kaiya:
"Rough delivery today?"
Kenta didn't look up.
Kenta:
"Just… people being people."
Kaiya:
"You want tea?"
He nodded. He didn't say why the silence felt heavier tonight—why that stupid van drift kept following him from kitchen to dreams. Why the garage men laughed the way they did.
The door slid open.
Teo stepped in, shoulders damp, carrying a sealed envelope.
Teo:
"Kenta. This came for you."
The paper was thick. Handwritten.
Inside: a single line.
KURAGE RUN. MIDNIGHT.
BRING THE VAN. — R
Kenta held it like it might bite.
Kaiya:
"You're not going."
Teo:
"…Let him decide."
Kenta didn't answer.
He already knew.
Some mistakes come with headlights.
Scene 2 — Rain at Mount Kurage
Midnight didn't wait.
The curve of Mount Kurage glistened like polished stone, fog rolling over the guardrails.
People were already there—mechanics, spectators, bored university kids with umbrellas. Phones up. Streams already running.
At the front:
A white GR86, rebuilt but scarred.
Its engine idled low, like a predator trying not to grin.
Then the owner stepped out.
Ryohei Takuma.
Tall. Unshaved. Jacket half open despite the weather. A man who looked like he had survived several lifetimes of "bad decisions at speed."
Ryohei:
"You the Ghost? The one in the grandma van?"
Kenta:
"…It's not a grandma van. It's just beige."
The crowd laughed.
Someone yelled, "GOAT OF DELIVERY!"
Someone else streamed him with a filter that gave him a halo.
Ryohei flicked his cigarette into the rain.
Ryohei:
"One race. Downhill. You win—I give you the car.
You lose—you fix my mom's ramen deliveries for a year."
Kenta blinked.
Kenta:
"…Wait, your mom orders ramen?"
Ryohei:
"She hates cooking. And me."
Fair enough.
Kenta touched the van's door. The paint was fading. The engine was honest but exhausted. It wasn't built for racing.
Neither was he.
But he kept hearing that line from the garage…
"You're not good. You're just impossible."
Kenta:
"Fine."
The crowd roared.
Scene 3 — The Downhill
Engines hummed.
Steam lifted from the pavement.
The starter raised his hand.
Ryohei's GR86 snarled, tail twitching with confidence.
The van… coughed.
Hand drops.
GO.
The GR86 launched like a bullet.
The van followed like a very determined household appliance.
Spectators flashed by in streaks.
Fog curled around the curves.
Ryohei took the inside line, perfect and sharp.
Kenta held the outside, steady hands, steady breath.
He didn't overthink.
Didn't plan.
He just felt the road—every bump, every groove he'd crossed delivering noodles up this mountain a hundred times.
Then the critical section:
The long blind left where moisture always gathered.
Ryohei braked late.
Too late.
The GR86 fishtailed—just a snap, just a whisper of imbalance—
Kenta didn't brake.
He eased off the throttle, let the van slide, let the weight shift naturally.
No technique.
Just instinct.
The van drifted through the fog like it was shrugging.
The crowd exploded.
Ryohei regained control—barely—but momentum was dead.
Kenta crossed the line first.
Silence.
Someone dropped their umbrella.
Someone else whispered, "No way…"
Ryohei stepped out of his car, hands in pockets, rain soaking his hair.
He stared at Kenta.
Then he laughed.
A real, broken laugh—one that sounded like it had been stuck in his chest for years.
Ryohei:
"I hate you."
He tossed the keys.
Kenta caught them awkwardly.
Ryohei:
"She's yours.
Try not to drive her like a kitchen appliance."
Kenta:
"…No promises."
Scene 4 — Harbor Noodles (Dawn)
The tow truck pulled up as the morning light crept in.
Teo stood at the entrance, sipping coffee.
The white GR86 rolled down the ramp and came to rest beside the beige van.
Rain still clung to its panels.
Teo walked around it once.
Silent.
Hands in pockets.
Teo:
"…This car."
Kenta:
"You know it?"
Teo didn't answer immediately.
Just placed a hand on the hood, like greeting an old ghost.
Teo:
"It has history.
Not all of it good."
Kenta:
"…Should I return it?"
Teo:
"No."
He set the coffee down.
Teo:
"Just drive it right."
Kenta crouched by the GR86, touching the still-wet fender.
He whispered:
"We'll figure it out."
In the distance, the sea hit the docks one wave at a time—slow, steady, approving.
End of Episode 3 — "The Race for the White Ghost"