The call came just as Hen Akoto Takawara was finishing a run with his crew. The owner of the Lexus, an old acquaintance, couldn't stop raving about a mysterious black Nissan S13 that had shown up out of nowhere during a faceoff against Tawa, one of Drift One's fiercest drivers.
"Tawa's no joke," the owner had said, his voice laced with awe and disbelief. "But this S13… it wasn't just good—it was surgical. Clean entry, perfect control, and the way they handled the switchbacks? Unbelievable. Tawa couldn't keep up."
Hen's interest piqued instantly. Tawa wasn't someone who lost easily. He was aggressive, skilled, and well-versed in the art of corner dominance. The fact that someone not only kept up with him but outright won was enough to light a fire in Hen's competitive soul. Drift One was notorious for sniffing out talent like bloodhounds; they either absorbed promising racers or snuffed them out of the scene. If this S13 driver wasn't already claimed, Hen needed to act fast.
Using what little information he had, Hen tracked the car to a parking lot outside Shigure Diner, a local hangout known for catering to night owls and racers alike. There it was, parked under the dim glow of the streetlight—a black S13, its presence quietly commanding attention even at rest.
Hen spotted someone leaning against the car, a cigarette glowing faintly in the dark. He strode over, his pulse quickening. The figure looked older, with a grizzled air of someone who had seen their fair share of races. Could it be the driver?
"Nice car," Hen said casually, nodding toward the S13.
The man took a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling, shaking his head. "Not mine," he said simply, his tone making it clear he wouldn't be offering more.
Hen pressed, but the man remained tight-lipped. Frustrated yet intrigued, Hen left his card with the older lad, hoping it would reach the right hands. Whoever owned this car, they weren't just good—they were exceptional. And he needed to see it for himself.
There were only two places around where someone could practice at this level: Tatsumi Pass and Hokuto Slope. Tatsumi was the go-to for most local racers, a place where Hen and his crew often dominated. But if this driver was this skilled, they wouldn't stick to the obvious. Hokuto Slope was more secluded, its narrow, winding paths demanding precision and courage. If the S13 was out there, Hen would find it.
He spent the night prowling the streets, the anticipation building with every passing hour. The quiet hum of the city gave way to the sharp echoes of distant engines, and Hen's senses sharpened. It wasn't long before he caught sight of it—a sleek black S13 carving through the empty streets with unparalleled grace. The car seemed to glide rather than drift, its movements fluid and calculated.
Hen's skin prickled with excitement, a grin spreading across his face. "Let's see what you're made of," he muttered, slamming his foot down on the gas.
The chase was on.
The streets were quiet, bathed in the glow of dim streetlights, as Hisashi relaxed behind the wheel of her black S13. The hum of her engine was the only sound breaking the silence. She had just completed one of her uncle's exclusive deliveries, a late-night job she didn't mind. The empty roads gave her a chance to unwind and sharpen her driving skills on these familiar routes.
As she rounded a gentle curve, the sharp beam of headlights appeared in her rearview mirror, accompanied by the distinct growl of an engine. Her eyes narrowed, focusing on the car behind her. A white vehicle was closing in fast, its movements precise and confident.
Her mind raced as recognition hit her. It's him. The guy from the diner. Takawara, wasn't it?
The white car's headlights flashed, signaling its intent.
Does he want to race? Hisashi thought, her pulse quickening. Her uncle had always drilled into her the importance of safety, especially on the streets, but he'd also made it clear: if no civilians were involved, sometimes instinct took over.
She scanned the area. The streets were deserted, just the two of them. A grin tugged at her lips as she gripped the wheel. "Well, Mr. Takawara," she murmured to herself, her excitement building. "Buckle up. You're in for a ride."
Her engine roared in response, the S13 coming to life with an exhilarating burst of speed. Within seconds, the two cars were side by side, the tension thick in the air. Hisashi glanced in her rearview mirror, taking in the steady precision of the white car's movements.
He's good, she thought, her respect growing as they raced neck and neck.
The way the white car mirrored her every maneuver was uncanny. Each drift, each adjustment she made, he matched flawlessly. It was like having her movements reflected in a mirror, his skills undeniable.
I'm impressed, she mused, the thrill of competition coursing through her veins.
Her uncle had warned her about this world, one dominated by men who often underestimated her. It was one of the reasons he had trained her so rigorously, knowing she would face discrimination and skepticism. But that skepticism was her greatest weapon. No one expected a woman to handle a car with such finesse, to drift through tight corners with effortless precision.
And tonight, she was ready to show what she was made of.
As they approached the first set of corners, Hisashi pushed her S13 to the limit. The car glided around the bends, tires screeching and smoke billowing in her wake. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins, her connection to the car seamless. But what truly surprised her was the white car behind her—it didn't falter. It followed her every move, carving through the corners with an ease that matched her own.
Damn, he's good, she thought, her competitive edge sharpening. If this was Hen Akoto Takawara, leader of a team as renowned as DFurious, his reputation was well-earned.
The next set of turns demanded more, and Hisashi welcomed the challenge. Her hands moved instinctively on the wheel, her foot controlling the throttle with masterful precision. The S13 danced through the twists and turns of the road, and yet, the white car stayed right on her tail.
Let's see how far you can keep up, she thought, a smirk playing on her lips as she prepared to up the ante. The race had only just begun.
Hen Akoto Takawara's grip on the wheel tightened, his blood surging with adrenaline. The corners rushed by in a blur, tires screeching as his car hugged the asphalt. He was transfixed by the black S13, matching his movements turn for turn, line for line.
He's good, Takawara thought, his pulse racing. It had been far too long since he had encountered someone who could rival his skills. His team members were talented, sure, but none had pushed him beyond his limits. None had ignited this hunger for true competition.
The driver of the S13 had it—the precision, the nerve, the rhythm. And it was reeling him in, feeding his adrenaline, fueling his obsession.
He didn't try to overtake. He could have, but he didn't. The thrill of running side by side, matching every move, was intoxicating. The black car moved with a grace and control that mirrored his own. He was savoring this—every drift, every corner.
As their cars sped along, their windows almost level, Takawara's eyes instinctively flicked toward the other driver. The windows were tinted, but in a fleeting moment, he caught a glimpse—a subtle movement, long hair flowing within the cabin, and the silhouette of a slender figure.
What the hell? His mind faltered, the image disrupting his laser focus. His foot hesitated on the throttle, the rhythm he had maintained breaking for the briefest of moments.
The black S13 roared ahead, its engine growling like a victorious predator as it widened the gap between them.
Did I just see that right? Takawara's thoughts raced as fast as his heart. Was there... a woman driving?
The realization hit Takawara harder than a high-speed drift gone wrong—a woman, behind the wheel, commanding the car with such precision and fluidity. In a scene dominated by aggressive egos and relentless competition, this was almost unheard of. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, a mix of disbelief and unrestrained exhilaration lighting up his face.
"Well," he muttered, his voice filled with a newfound enthusiasm, "this just got a hell of a lot more interesting."
As the black S13 roared ahead, its taillights disappearing into the night, Takawara eased off the throttle, letting the rush of adrenaline settle. He replayed the brief glimpse in his mind—the silhouette, the flowing hair. It was a fleeting moment, yet it had left an indelible mark.
For the first time in a while, Takawara felt his anticipation rising beyond just the thrill of speed. The weekend was approaching, and with it, the prospect of seeing this new driver again. Girl or not, whoever they were, they had something rare, something electric.
He couldn't wait to see if they'd show up again. The mere thought of another run against the mysterious S13 sent a pulse of excitement through him. The game was on.