Days had passed since Team Speed Stars claimed a decisive victory on the soaked mountain roads of Kannazuka. Collei and Clorinde had conquered both the downhill and uphill courses under a torrential onslaught, their machines dancing on the knife's edge through a storm that chewed lesser drivers alive. The memory of that night still lingered—fresh in rubber-streaked guardrails, scraped bumpers, and shaken rivals. But time didn't slow down for anyone. A new day was already carving its way into the timeline of Yougou's street racing scene.
4:00 AM.
Darkness still clung to the ridgelines like a wet sheet. No birdsong. No sunrise. Just the heavy hush of pre-dawn silence blanketing the wooden home tucked away in the mountains—until Arlecchino's voice cut through it like a razor.
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!"
The thunder of her voice cracked through the paper-thin walls. Inside, muffled groaning. A thump of limbs tangled in futon sheets.
"I'm up, I'm up..." Collei croaked, voice hoarse, dragging herself upright like a rusted machine.
She shuffled to the door in a daze, her hair an unbrushed halo of chaos. Sleep still clung to her body like static. Her eyes were barely open, one foot halfway into a slipper when a sound cut through the morning silence—low, guttural, and unmistakable.
An engine, purring like a caged animal. Turbo-fed, finely tuned, teeth-bared.
Collei paused mid-motion, one brow twitching. She turned her head slowly toward the source. The rumble wasn't coming from the main road—it was right outside.
"What's that sound?" she murmured, now fully awake.
She stepped outside, the sliding door hissing open. And there it was.
A Nissan Skyline GT-R R34—drenched in Bayside Blue, clean enough to catch what little light the town offered, its lines gleaming like a blade. The Rays Volk RE30s tucked tight beneath fenders, polished lips flashing cold steel under the streetlamp. Its idle was deep, wet, and full of coiled violence. The exhaust note didn't sing. It growled.
"Holy shit…"
The words fell out of Collei's mouth before her brain could stop them. She walked around the car slowly, reverently, like it was some kind of summoned beast. Every angle radiated aggression—stance tight, aero slick, nothing showy. Just pure function. Engineered threat.
"What the hell is this?"
Arlecchino stepped out behind her, arms crossed, grinning like a devil caught mid-prank.
"Wipe that dumbass expression off your face. You know damn well what car this is."
Collei blinked, confused.
"It's yours. Today, you're running deliveries in the GT-R. You're splitting time between this and the Eight-Six going forward."
The words hit like a sucker punch. Collei's mouth worked soundlessly for a second, her eyes locked on the machine in front of her.
"Huh?"
Arlecchino raised an eyebrow. "Kid, you alright?"
Collei nodded absently, still staring at the car. Her eyes flicked down to the license plate. The same plate she'd seen that night. The one that came up behind her like a ghost. Matching speed. Matching technique. Gutter-to-gutter.
It hit her all at once.
She dropped into a crouch, hands over her face.
"Son of a bitch… I should've known. That night—you were gone early, and then that damn car shows up behind me—"
She looked up at Arlecchino, eyes wide with realization.
"That was you, wasn't it? You were the one tailing me in the rain, matching every move."
Arlecchino shrugged with that same crooked grin. "Only one person in this town knows the Eight-Six well enough to mimic its lines perfectly, right?"
Later that morning, the GT-R R34 roared down the mountain, its all-wheel drive system chewing through wet tarmac with unrelenting grip. Collei had wrapped up deliveries, and now she was getting serious—testing the limits of the new machine under her hands.
She approached the first corner—a medium-speed left-hander—with a stab of the brakes, dropping to third. The R34 responded instantly, the front end diving slightly before the ATTESA E-TS system sorted out weight distribution. She leaned in, felt the front tires take the load… but something was off.
Too fast.
She downshifted again—third to second—heel-toe smooth, and the rear snapped tighter into the curve. The GT-R barely missed the rail, the inside tire kissing a wet leaf.
"Jesus. Great grip… but I wanna see it slide."
She gunned it through the next straight. Turbo spooled, boost slammed in. The RB26 engine sang its high-pitched siren call, and the car surged like a beast unchained.
Next: the first real hairpin. Tight. Downhill. She braked hard, heel-and-toed a crisp drop from fourth to second, weight slamming forward.
She yanked the wheel with a feint, flicked it in hard.
The tail came loose.
Sort of.
The GT-R didn't step out like the Eight-Six. It gripped. The torque vectoring yanked the car back toward center, and Collei had to fight the countersteer with both hands, her arms tense, body shaking.
"Tch—what the hell?! This thing doesn't slide, it bites!"
She came out of the corner clean, but wide-eyed and tense.
"How the hell does she call this car 'easy' and 'practical'? This ATTESA system's just like Beidou's R32—over-corrects, under-rotates…"
She exhaled, jaw tight. "I need more runs."
That afternoon, as the sky turned gold and long shadows stretched across the pass, a small crowd had gathered at the usual overlook: Seele, Beidou, Pela, Amber, and Lyney.
They lounged near the shoulder, leaning on hoods, water bottles in hand, talking shop.
"Wait—hold up," Lyney said, brows raised. "You're telling me she raced a Lotus Elise?"
Beidou nodded, arms crossed, looking dead serious. "It was one. Looked like a Series 2. Lightweight, twitchy as hell, perfect for downhill."
"Huh." Lyney rubbed his jaw. "That's no joke. Those things are basically giant go-karts."
Pela smirked. "Yeah. And she made it look easy."
Seele snorted. "She passed it—with her damn headlights off."
Lyney blinked. "What? Say that again?"
Amber leaned in, animated. "I was there! It was insane. She just… turned 'em off in the middle of the run!"
Lyney's eyes narrowed, but his grin was widening.
"Pop-up headlights, right? That makes sense. With them retracted, she shaved off some wind resistance. Not a lot, but every bit counts."
He gestured with a tap of his fingers to his temple.
"But that's not all. It's also psychological warfare. Pitch-black corners, your opponent behind you—if they can't see your tail lights, they lose depth perception. It rattles 'em. Forces a mistake."
Beidou glanced out toward the descending mist.
"Makes me wonder… is there anyone who can beat her on a downhill?"
Lyney tilted his head. "Maybe. But it's gotta be the right matchup. In the open world? That's another game entirely."
Beidou sighed, folding her arms behind her head. "Still. She's changed. Look at her with Ningguang lately. She's… further away."
Lyney laughed softly. "Relax. She still drops in. Night shifts, random visits. Three times last week."
He cracked open a can of soda and raised it in a toast to no one.
"She's not going anywhere."
As if on cue, a low, throaty rumble rolled in from the winding road ahead—deep and heavy, the kind of engine note that made your ribs vibrate and your instincts sharpen. The growl intensified as it climbed the final stretch of asphalt, reverberating off the cliffs until the car emerged into view like a predator stepping from the shadows.
A Bayside Blue Nissan Skyline R34 rounded the corner, its projector headlights piercing the early light. The wide-body presence, the deep-chinned bumper, the GT-R badge catching a glint from the sun—it commanded attention, even at idle. The twin-turbo RB26 hummed with restrained power, burbling slightly through its titanium exhaust as it came to a smooth stop in front of Beidou's R32.
Beidou squinted toward the tinted glass, her brow knitting in suspicion. "Who the hell…?"
The driver's door clicked open, and Collei stepped out, tossing a wave toward the group with casual confidence.
Beidou's jaw slackened for a second before she caught herself. "No way! Collei?! Is that your new car?"
Collei shook her head and shut the heavy GT-R door with a solid thump. A small smile tugged at her lips. "Nah. It's my dad's. She said I should take it out today, get used to how it moves."
Lyney raised an eyebrow, smirking. "So? What's the verdict on Arlecchino's latest toy?"
Collei exhaled slowly, shoulders drooping just a bit. "It's not bad, really. It's fast—stable, too—but in the hairpins and tight switchbacks, it feels like it's trying to hurl me straight into the guardrail every time I push it."
Beidou stepped forward, now fully interested. "Could be the ATTESA E-TS kicking in too hard."
Collei nodded, her expression tightening. "I think so. Earlier today, I tried to throttle out mid-drift while countersteering, and the car just—lunged. It bit the front end and snapped toward the outside like it wanted to punish me for trying to slide. It's not like the Eight-Six… where I can dance on the throttle and keep it on the edge without thinking about it. This thing feels like it's forcing me to unlearn everything I know."
Amber gave her a playful bump with her shoulder. "Hey, don't talk like that, sweetheart! That Eight-Six is basically your second skin at this point."
Collei cracked a faint chuckle, shaking her head. "I haven't forgotten it. I couldn't if I tried. But this…" She gestured back at the R34. "This feels like Arlecchino's way of throwing me into a slump on purpose. Like she's telling me: 'Adapt or drown.'"
Beidou folded her arms, her eyes narrowing in thought. "Maybe I can help sort this out."
She took a step closer, dropping into her seasoned, instructive tone—the one she used back when she used to guide rookies in the first few weeks of Redtail. "The ATTESA E-TS system in the GT-Rs—R32, R33, R34—it's a predictive torque split. Under normal conditions, the car's rear-wheel drive. But when the system detects rear wheel slip, it sends torque to the front wheels—sometimes even before you realize the car's losing traction."
"In straights, you don't notice it. But in corners, it's tricky. It gives just enough to the front to stabilize things, especially in transitions. So when you're drifting through a tight switchback, if you countersteer too much—like you would in the Eight-Six—you're working against the system. It wants to keep you pointed forward."
"You want to slide?" Beidou leaned in, tapping her temple. "You've gotta trust it. Minimal countersteer. Let ATTESA do its thing, and just balance the throttle. That's the trick."
Collei nodded slowly, digesting the information like a racer absorbing sector times. "Got it. I'll try to ease up on the countersteering and let the front wheels grip into the exit."
Beidou gave her a solid nod. "Exactly. Don't fight it—flow with it."
Before heading back to the R34, Collei pulled Amber into a quick hug and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. The group went quiet—just for a second—as Collei slipped back into the Skyline, shutting the door with that same heavy, confident thud. She fired up the engine, the RB26 snarling awake, and pulled away in a deep mechanical growl.
Beidou scratched the back of her neck. "That's... different."
Seele folded her arms. "No kidding. I expected Collei to sync with any car that can drift. Even a stubborn beast like the GT-R."
Lyney tilted his head toward the silhouette of Mount Yougou above, his voice soft. "Looks like Arlecchino's kicking her training into overdrive…"
Morning light broke over the mountains as Collei took her Eight-Six down the familiar pass, engine humming in its Group A powerband. The roads still carried the slick sheen from the night's dew, treacherous and gleaming.
She approached the first of five tight hairpins, braking hard, tires squealing as she initiated a four-wheel drift. But the feedback was wrong. The car fought her—light in the rear, numb in the front. The grip was vanishing too early.
She barely clipped the apex and brushed past the guardrail with a flash of steel. Her eyes narrowed, jaw clenched.
"That was too close. Way too close," she muttered, tightening her grip on the wheel.
Every input felt off by half a beat, like her instincts were out of phase with the car she knew like her own heartbeat. As she cleared the last turn, her frustration boiled.
"I need to drive that Skyline again," she muttered. "I need to understand it… and how to bring that back into the Eight-Six."
That night, the gas station was silent, bathed in a haze of fluorescent light and gasoline vapor. Arlecchino leaned against the R34, arms crossed, cigarette burning low in the corner of her mouth. Its blue paint reflected every flicker from the overhead lamps like liquid cobalt.
Lyney stood nearby, watching her, the air between them thick with unspoken questions.
"So," he said, exhaling smoke into the heavy air, "what's your plan with Collei's training? Because right now, she's in a slump… and this feels like a shit time for one."
Arlecchino's gaze dropped slightly, her voice cool and deliberate. "I want her to find a way to make the Eight-Six grip when she needs it to—without sacrificing her ability to slide."
Lyney narrowed his eyes. "There's more to it than that."
A smirk curled across her lips. "Of course there is. The Skyline fights her. It demands a different kind of control. If she can learn to bend its weight, its system, its traction bias to her will—then she'll come back to the Eight-Six sharper. Smoother. More complete."
Lyney's voice rose, disbelief coloring his tone. "Wait—don't tell me you're planning to pull her out of the Eight-Six for good."
Arlecchino laughed under her breath. "Relax. I'd never do that… not unless the Eight-Six blows up."
She took another drag and let the smoke trail off slowly. "But the truth is, if she doesn't conquer this, she'll plateau. She needs this wall. And she needs to learn how to break it."
Morning. Rain slicked the asphalt at Mount Yougou. A light drizzle danced on the windshield as Collei gripped the wheel of the R34, eyes narrowed as she roared through the straightaway near the skating rink, full throttle.
Approaching the left-hander, she braked hard and flicked the car sideways. The ATTESA kicked in—but this time, she didn't fight it. No excess countersteer. Just a light touch on the wheel, her foot feathering the throttle.
The car held firm. It slid—yes—but with purpose. With stability.
Her hands tightened as she transitioned into the following right-hand corner. The weight shift was smooth, predictable. Torque gripped the front end, pulling her cleanly into the exit.
By the next hairpin, she braked late, flicked the car in, and let it slide—again, keeping her countersteer minimal.
The GT-R obeyed. Not with aggression, but with mechanical grace.
A rare smile spread across her face. "Beidou was right. This thing... grips as it slides."
Nightfall. The pass was dark again as Collei returned to the Eight-Six, the cockpit familiar and intimate. She breathed deep, then slammed on the gas down the longest straightaway, engine screaming in perfect tune.
Right-hand hairpin.
She braked late, turned in hard, and applied just a taste of throttle.
The rear stepped out—but only a little. The car balanced better. The weight transfer felt natural again.
"This is working… I'm learning," she muttered.
Then came the left-hand hairpin. Tricky. She entered hot—too hot. Braked hard, pitched the car sideways, and rolled into the throttle.
Too much.
The rear snapped out. Tires screamed. The tail of the Eight-Six broke loose and spun wide. Collei fought it—but the inertia was already gone. The car whipped around, sliding backward toward the edge. She locked the brakes, tires howling, and came to a jarring stop—mere inches from the guardrail.
Inside the cabin, silence.
Her hands trembled against the wheel, chest heaving.
"…Fucking hell…"
A pause. Then:
"FUCK!"
She slammed her palm into the steering wheel, the sound sharp and angry.
"I don't fucking get it!"
Later. At the base of the pass, moonlight illuminating the starting line, Collei leaned back against the Eight-Six. The chill night air cooled her flushed skin, but did nothing to soothe her spinning thoughts.
Her voice came low and bitter. "I need to understand… all-wheel drive. Four-wheel drive. Whatever this complexity is—I need to own it."
She pulled her phone out, scrolling through her contacts. Her thumb stopped on a name.
Kamisato Ayaka.
"She's got an Eight-Six too," Collei whispered. "Maybe she can help."
She hit the call button.
Five rings.
Then: "Hey, Collei! How's it hanging?"
The familiar voice hit like warm tea on a cold morning.
"…Hey Ayaka. Can we meet tomorrow night? I need to talk."
"Of course," Ayaka replied brightly. "I'll stop by the gas station."
"…Thanks. See you then."
"Likewise!" Ayaka chirped, and the call ended.
Collei slid the phone back into her pocket. Her eyes drifted back toward the mountain—the shadows, the curves, the lessons etched into every turn.
"I need to understand this…"
Her voice was steady now.
Her resolve… unshakable.