Act: 2 Chapter: 3 | The Rematch Lancer Evo IX VS FC3S

The Night Ignites – Araumi Pass

The mountain was alive, a beast of its own—its breath carried on the chilled night air, thick with the scent of scorched rubber, unburnt fuel, and adrenaline. Rows of spectators leaned dangerously close to the road's edge, phones held aloft like votive candles. The glow of neon signage and floodlights cast shifting shadows across moss-covered guardrails and cracked asphalt, bathing everything in a fever dream of pale blue and gold.

The vibration of idling engines ran through the earth itself, a low-frequency hum that rattled water bottles, lit cigarettes, and the hearts of every single onlooker.

Feixiao's Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution IX rumbled like a caged apex predator, its pearl-white paint shimmering under the cold light. The car squatted low, suspension taut, every panel honed for function over form. Steam hissed softly from the blow-off valve. The turbo spooled like a storm ready to break.

Across from her sat Ningguang's Mazda RX-7 FC3S—a lean, low-slung panther in deep metallic crimson. Its pop-up headlights glared forward, fixed on the winding descent like twin laser sights. Not a speck of carbon buildup in the exhaust. Not a single unnecessary decal. It was clean. Purposeful. Deadly.

The two cars were silent no longer. Their revs climbed in unison, harmonizing into a symphony of mechanical violence. A duel of philosophies—grip vs. glide, AWD vs. RWD, brute force vs. surgical precision.

And between them, walking without fear, was Keqing.

Her black boots crunched against the gravel as she passed through the heat radiating off both hoods. Her ponytail fluttered with the gusts coming from the screaming turbos. When she raised her arms, the crowd's noise dropped like a curtain.

"ALRIGHT! HERE COMES THE COUNTDOWN!"

Feixiao's left foot hovered over the clutch. Her right danced on the throttle, modulating launch control with practiced finesse. Inside the cabin, her gauges danced—oil pressure steady, AFR perfect, boost spiking with precision timing.

The Evo spat a succession of concussive pops from its exhaust—anti-lag flaring hard. Flames licked the ground behind her bumper.

Across the line, Ningguang's red-gloved hands were steady at ten and two. Her breaths came slow and deliberate. Her eyes were forward, narrowed, unblinking. The FC's turbo spooled with a banshee whine, high-pitched and urgent.

"FIVE!"

Feixiao's shoulders tensed. Her eyes narrowed. Every nerve ending was wired into the Evo's frame.

"FOUR!"

Ningguang adjusted nothing. Not her hands. Not her breathing. She was a statue of focused calm—waiting, watching, calculating.

"THREE!"

A bead of sweat slid down Feixiao's neck. She didn't feel it.

"TWO!"

The turbos of both machines screamed.

"ONE!"

Keqing's arms dropped like a guillotine.

"GO!"

Ignition – The First Strike

The Evo IX launched like a goddamn missile, its AWD drivetrain hooking instantly. Torque split dynamically adjusted—70% to the rear, 30% to the front. The front tires bit in, the rears lit up with a scream, and the car catapulted forward, suspension compressing hard, rear bumper nearly kissing the asphalt before stabilizing.

Feixiao's head was thrown back into her seat, but her hands remained still—perfect control. Her tach hit 8,000, and she slammed the shifter into second with a harsh metallic click.

Ningguang's FC? A half-second delay.

Her rear tires spun too freely, rotary torque overwhelming the worn asphalt. The car fishtailed—minimally, but enough. She corrected with a swift flick of the wheel and a breath off the throttle, but Feixiao had already gained ten meters.

From the sidelines, a dozen phones caught the burst of motion.

Keqing's eyes tracked the tail lights vanishing into the dark like red comets.

"Go get them, Ning," she murmured under her breath. "You can take that Lancer."

The Chase – First Blood

Feixiao tore down the initial straight. Her Evo clawed into the road like a wolf chasing blood. The MIVEC VVT timing kept her boost consistent through the lower rev band, and she shifted with violent efficiency—second, third, fourth. The growl of the engine turned to a scream.

But behind her, the demon awoke.

Ningguang's FC surged, its rotary engine howling like a siren of vengeance. The sound was ethereal—metallic, eerie, rising in pitch like a razor being drawn across steel. Her turbo kicked hard at 4,500 RPM, and the FC lunged forward like a spring uncoiled.

The gap closed.

On the roadside:

"Go get 'em, Ningguang!" a high voice shrieked from the crowd.

Ayaka stood wide-eyed in her school uniform, clutching her phone with white-knuckled intensity.

Another voice joined her.

"Ayaka! Well, look who it is!"

Ayaka spun. "Yoimiya!?"

The pyrotechnic smiled wide, bumping shoulders with her friend. "Long way from Kannazuka, huh? Bet you burned half a tank just to catch this!"

Ayaka gave a shy laugh. "I had to come. I couldn't miss this rematch…"

Araumi's Twisting Fangs

Feixiao braked early for the first left hairpin—slamming her foot down and letting the anti-lag explode in a fury of red fire. The downforce shift was instant. Her suspension dipped. Brake rotors glowed faint red.

But Ningguang?

She didn't brake.

Not yet.

She waited.

She watched Feixiao commit.

And then—snap decision.

Left foot on the clutch. Right toe still feathering throttle. Heel clicks brake pedal. Downshift. Engage.

She dove inside.

Her FC's nose slipped under the Evo like a blade through silk. The car rotated cleanly, rear sliding at a calculated angle—no loss of traction, just a controlled slide born of trust in her tires and technique.

The crowd roared.

Ningguang's FC exited the turn first.

Mind Games at 140 km/h

Feixiao's jaw locked. Her fingers tightened on the MOMO wheel.

"Tch… you really think that'll be enough?"

The Evo surged forward, staying glued to the FC's rear bumper. Boost built like a dam about to break.

Feixiao wasn't panicked. She wasn't reckless.

She studied.

She watched every inch of Ningguang's motion—the flick of her wheel, the minute feathering of throttle before each apex, the angle of her rear slip.

She saw it.

The pattern.

And then she smiled.

"This isn't a race," she muttered. "It's chess at 140 kilometers an hour."

The Battlefield Unfolds

Down Araumi Pass they flew—two streaks of sound and fury.

Ningguang's rearview mirror filled with headlights. Feixiao was coming.

A long, sweeping right came next. The perfect place to pressure a mistake.

Feixiao went for it.

Late brake. Later than should be possible.

The Evo shuddered under the force. Weight transferred forward—tires chirped as she forced a tighter line than the car liked. It was a bluff and a play for position.

Ningguang's eyes narrowed.

"Hmph."

She adapted.

She didn't tighten her line. She did the opposite.

She drifted wider—but with exact, razor-thin control. Not sloppy. Not desperate. Deliberate.

The Evo surged.

Right into the trap.

The FC snapped its rear back into alignment just as Feixiao went to pass.

The Evo had to brake—or crash.

Feixiao stabbed the middle pedal. Tires screamed. The car bucked.

Momentum lost.

And just like that…

The FC was gone again.

The hillside screamed. Fans pounded their fists against barriers. A wave of euphoric chaos swept through Araumi Pass.

Feixiao's Snarl

Inside the Evo, Feixiao punched the wheel.

"Son of a BITCH."

Not at Ningguang.

At herself.

She got baited.

She bit.

And Ningguang reeled her in.

But this wasn't over.

Hell no.

She cracked her neck. Took a long, measured breath. Let her eyes go dead calm.

The next sector was tighter.

Technical.

And that's where she hunted best.

She muttered to herself, the fire rekindled in her chest.

"Next corner's mine. This isn't over. Not even close."

She downshifted hard—engine snarling, turbo breathing fire.

The Evo dove into the dark like a bullet finding its mark.

One Year Ago – The First Battle at Araumi

The memory crashed into Feixiao's mind like a tidal wave—cold, merciless, and absolute.

The night air had been just as frigid, each breath laced with the sting of damp asphalt and lingering exhaust. The neon signage buzzed harshly above the pass, casting jagged shadows that bled across the pavement like scars. Even now, the scent of burnt rubber and high-octane fuel clung to the ground like ghosts—remnants of a battle lost.

Her Lancer Evo IX sat idle behind her, its engine ticking erratically as it cooled down, heat waves rising from the carbon fiber hood in shimmering distortions. The metallic tang of defeat filled her mouth—hot, bitter, like biting down on bloodied steel.

And there stood Ningguang. Silent. Composed. Perfectly poised in the aftermath.

Unshaken. Unapologetic.

As if Feixiao's failure had been written in the stars long before the race had even begun.

Feixiao's hands trembled at her sides, fists curling tight enough for her knuckles to go white. She took a defiant step forward, boots scraping against the gravel.

"Don't let this race go to your head, Ningguang." Her voice came out sharp, serrated with fury—but beneath that, buried and choking—was something far worse.

Uncertainty.

"Street racers like you are the lowest of the low in racing! There's no way a street racer's technique can compare to a professional's. No way! Our techniques are tested, trained, and perfected to push the limits of speed and precision. Everyone knows it!"

Ningguang didn't blink. She adjusted the cuff of her pristine racing jacket with surgical grace, eyes locked with Feixiao's—unreadable, unbothered.

"Believe that all you want, Feixiao." Her tone was cool silk over steel. "But racing on mountain passes requires a different skill set. Some circuit techniques apply, sure, but not all. What I've mastered out here is something you won't find on a track—especially not in Gymkhana."

Feixiao's jaw clenched, teeth grinding. Her whole body coiled like a spring, ready to lash out.

"Bull. Shit."

The words spat out like shrapnel. Her arm tensed, shoulder twitching with restraint. The urge to lash out—slam her fist into something, anything—nearly overwhelmed her.

Ningguang took a single step forward, entering her space. The distance between them disappeared, reduced to heat, breath, and tension.

"If you truly believe that," Ningguang said, voice quiet—dangerously quiet—"punch me in the face and say it again."

Feixiao froze.

"But if you can't…" Ningguang's eyes narrowed just slightly, "...then all you have is a theory."

The wind howled faintly between them.

Feixiao's hand twitched. Her throat worked. She couldn't move.

She couldn't lift her arm.

She couldn't throw the punch.

Silence.

Then Ningguang turned and walked away, cool as moonlight, returning to her white RX-7 FC3S like the confrontation had been nothing more than a passing breeze.

Feixiao stood rooted to the spot, her fists still clenched and useless at her sides.

She watched the FC's twin round taillights disappear into the night.

The burn of humiliation hadn't faded since.

Present Day – Revenge on the Mountain

Feixiao's grip on the wheel was iron.

Every tendon in her hands strained as she hurled the Lancer Evo IX down Araumi Pass. The world outside the windshield blurred into streaks—hairpins, blind corners, switchbacks—all swallowed by the Evo's relentless velocity. But her focus wasn't on the road.

It was locked in the past.

Burning. Reliving.

She knew Ningguang hadn't forgotten, either.

"Your theory and my technique are both riding on these wheels tonight." Her voice crackled low, more like a snarl than a whisper. "Let's see which one crosses the line first."

Up ahead, the RX-7 FC3S carved through the course like a scalpel, its every movement honed, deliberate. The rear slid out only when commanded, the countersteer seamless. Ningguang was driving as though she belonged to the mountain.

Feixiao chased her mercilessly. Her Evo clawed for every inch, turbo whistling, suspension compressing hard into every apex. The gap between them refused to widen or close—two forces locked in a mechanical deadlock.

Then the long straight revealed itself.

Araumi Pass's longest stretch.

The same stretch where Collei's 4A-GE had detonated in a shower of metal and flame.

Feixiao's golden eyes flashed like struck flint.

This is it.

Side by Side – Unleashing the Beast

She buried the throttle.

The Evo's turbo screamed as boost pressure slammed upward, the needle spiking past redline on the gauge. The entire chassis flexed as power surged through all four wheels—grip biting, torque splitting, momentum gathering like a tsunami.

She launched forward. Hard.

Her Evo rocketed alongside the RX-7 in a sudden, violent burst of speed.

Ningguang's head turned just slightly. A glance.

And then—there it was.

That fucking smirk.

Feixiao's lips peeled back in a grin of her own, teeth bared like a wolf.

"This is where four-wheel drive and my Misfiring System really shine!"

The Misfiring System detonated into action—aggressive anti-lag programming dumping raw fuel into the turbo manifold during throttle lift-off. Explosions rippled out the exhaust.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Flames burst from the tailpipe like gunshots in the dark.

Feixiao hit the brakes hard.

The Evo pitched forward, tires shrieking, ABS pulsing beneath her foot. Her eyes flicked between the road and her tach—timing it.

Then—she lifted slightly.

Feathered off.

And stomped back onto the throttle.

The Misfiring System ignited instantly. Boost pressure barely dropped a PSI.

The Evo surged forward with no hesitation, AWD ripping at the tarmac with feral hunger. Her braking entry had been a trap—bait for the untrained eye. She'd delayed her throttle cut-off by milliseconds, keeping her momentum perfectly intact.

And it worked.

She blasted past Ningguang like a warhead.

From the sidelines, Seele's voice cracked out like a thunderclap.

"No way! Feixiao just passed Ningguang—on a braking zone!"

Beidou's expression turned grim. "That's the true power of four-wheel drive. Now Ningguang's in trouble."

Inside the FC, Ningguang stayed composed, lips slightly parted, breathing calm.

"Impressive," she said quietly. "You've sharpened your edge. The Evo's tuned perfectly. That Misfiring System keeps you in the powerband even when you're off-throttle. Clever."

The road began to twist again—long right-hander coming up fast.

Feixiao led. Her corner entry was clean, aggressive. She held her line. Her tires kissed the limit of grip.

But Ningguang's gaze narrowed.

She saw it.

The Evo's right front tire—just shy of the inside white line. The angle—too shallow. The steering—overcompensated.

Still making the same errors...

Feixiao's knuckles whitened.

That voice again. In her mind.

"Some circuit techniques apply, sure. But what I've mastered out here—you won't find on a track."

Her grip tightened.

That was then. This is now.

The crowd along the guardrails held their breath. Spotters tracked every second.

One of them radioed Keqing.

"They've passed the halfway point… eleven seconds faster than the course record."

Keqing's eyes widened behind her bangs. "No denying it—Feixiao's fast. But Ningguang's not out. We're past halfway. Turns get wider. Gradient eases. This is where Ningguang makes her move."

The Retaliation

Ningguang's eyes flicked to her tach.

6,500 RPM. Perfect.

The fast right-hander loomed.

Feixiao committed—line tight, tires chirping.

And Ningguang struck.

She downshifted—RPM needle snapped to 8,500.

The rotary engine howled, screaming like a banshee. The FC dove into the outside line—fluid, fearless. A blur of white steel and surgical control.

Feixiao's mirrors caught the motion too late.

No… she's passing me—on the outside?!

With predator grace, the RX-7 surged beside her.

Then ahead.

But Ningguang didn't run.

She adjusted—just slightly. Pinched the lane. Blocked Feixiao's ideal line.

Feixiao's jaw locked. "Damn it! She's forcing me into a bad line!"

On the sidelines, March's shout rang out. "She's doing it! She's blocking Feixiao's escape route—while drifting!"

Pela's voice was barely a breath. "That's insane… Ningguang's controlling the entire race from the front."

They exited the right-hander—FC leading.

Only one left turn remained.

Then the final right-hand hairpin.

Feixiao pushed. Searched. Fought.

But Ningguang gave her nothing.

The gap widened.

Another inch. Another car length.

And then—

The finish line.

Aftermath

The crowd exploded.

Cheers, clapping, whistles—Araumi Pass lit up with raw celebration.

Ningguang had done it.

Not just won—shattered her own record.

Pela leapt into the air. "SHE DID IT!"

March nearly tackled her with a hug. "A NEW RECORD!!!"

In her Evo, Feixiao sat still.

Chest rising. Falling.

Fingers still gripping the wheel.

She'd lost.

But…

She wasn't angry.

She wasn't frustrated.

She looked ahead, toward the RX-7's glowing taillights.

A slow smirk curved across her lips.

"That was one hell of a race."

The night air still crackled with residual energy, the kind that lingered after high-speed violence had just barely simmered down. Ningguang pulled the FC3S into the overlook lot with practiced ease, rotary engine purring low like a panther at rest. Steam curled from the vents as she cut the ignition—one final exhale from the machine before silence took over.

She stepped out with composed grace, the gravel crunching beneath her boots.

Barely a heartbeat passed before Ganyu appeared, practically bounding over with breathless elation.

"Alright, Ningguang! A new course record!" Ganyu's voice was electric, a spark to match the air around them. She held her hand up high, beaming.

Ningguang's grin was sharp and earned. She met the gesture with a clean, satisfying clap, the sting of palm against palm echoing louder than it should have in the stillness.

But the moment didn't last.

A low, mechanical growl sliced through the cool night.

The unmistakable timbre of a turbocharged 4G63.

Feixiao's Evo IX rolled to a stop directly in front of the FC, its headlights cutting a hard edge across the pavement before flicking off. The front bumper aligned with the FC's nose in perfect symmetry—a wordless gesture. A statement.

Acknowledgment.

The engine idled down, ticking and clicking as heat bled off the block. For a few seconds, neither driver moved. Just two machines facing each other in the quiet aftermath, their pilots caught in the space between past and present.

Then Feixiao stepped out, her boots hitting the ground with purpose. The moonlight caught in her amber eyes, no longer wild with frustration but sharpened—calm, focused. Something had changed.

No scowl. No clenched fists. Just a deliberate approach, each stride carrying weight, but not hostility.

When she stopped in front of Ningguang, her voice was low, solid, and clear.

"That was a hell of a battle, Ningguang."

The corners of Ningguang's mouth curled up, slow and certain. She extended her hand—steady, unflinching.

"It was," she replied, her grip meeting Feixiao's with equal strength. No showmanship. Just a silent exchange between warriors who had bled on the same battlefield.

For a moment, the silence returned. Not empty, but full—thick with everything that had come before. Every blow-up. Every defeat. Every long drive home in silence. The weight of pride and pain hanging between them like smoke from scorched tires.

And then—laughter.

Soft at first, like a misfire warming up. Then stronger. Real. Mutual.

Not mockery.

Release.

The kind of laughter that comes when the storm finally breaks, when the fight's been fought and nothing's left but understanding.

The past had burned itself out somewhere on the tarmac behind them.

Something had shifted.

What had begun as a grudge—raw and bitter—had settled into something sturdier. Not peace, exactly.

But something better.

Rivalry had faded.

Camaraderie had taken root.