Act: 2 Chapter: 1 | The Feiyun Racing School

Days had passed since Collei's brutal showdown with Clorinde on Nazuchi Pass. The adrenaline had long since drained from her blood, but the sensation of the tires clawing at pavement and the haunting howl of the Lancia's engine still echoed in her bones.

Now, she was back on home turf. Alone in the AE86, descending the winding curves of Yougou Pass, her engine sang its shrill metallic aria through the morning mist. The 20-valve 4A-GE Silvertop roared at 8,000 RPM, its individual throttle bodies shrieking as the throttle blipped between downshifts. Every gear change was surgical—heel-toe precise, the clutch release smooth as glass.

A single paper cup of water sat in the holder beside her. It quivered with each drift, vibrating gently like a metronome in time with the violence of G-forces around her—but not a drop escaped.

Her hands were calm, fingers relaxed on the worn leather of the steering wheel. Each corner came and went with the same precision: full lock in, countersteer out, revs held perfectly in the powerband. The AE86's rear tires screeched on the edge of adhesion, rubber tearing from the sidewalls like smoke peeling from gunpowder. She wasn't just driving—she was dancing with the mountain.

Then came them—the infamous five. Five hairpins in succession, brutal and unrelenting. Even veterans hesitated here. Collei didn't. She buried her foot into the gas, rocketing down the straight. At the first hairpin, she snapped onto the brakes, weight shifting forward. The world tilted. Heel-toe: fourth to third. Engine screamed. Second. She pitched the car sideways and hooked the right-side wheels into the gutter like a razor on a wire. The rear end followed perfectly, slipping through the apex as if tethered to a rail.

The water cup remained still—utterly undisturbed. A testament not to the car's design, but to the discipline and balance she had drilled into herself, night after night on these roads.

By the time the road leveled out near the village, she exhaled a long breath. The stress was gone, her mind quiet. Collei rolled to a stop in front of Arlecchino's house. The AE86 idled softly, engine ticking as heat bled off the block. Its panda-trimmed paint glistened in the early morning sun, spotless despite the violent run.

Inside, Arlecchino sat sprawled in the living room, one leg crossed over the other, a cup of dark tea steaming in her hand. The TV was off. She didn't need background noise when she already knew the rhythm of that engine outside by heart.

"Hey, Dad. The deliveries are done," Collei called as she stepped inside, slipping off her shoes.

Arlecchino didn't look up at first, only sipped her tea with a small, knowing smile. "Nicely done. Breakfast is on the table."

Collei walked toward the dining room, then paused. "Hey... I hope it's okay if I handle deliveries tomorrow. And the day after that, too. If you don't mind."

That made Arlecchino glance up. One eyebrow arched, just slightly. "Huh? What happened to taking turns? You always bitched about deliveries."

Collei flailed her hands a little. "It's not that I hate it, okay? It's just..." she trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. "We've got another course lined up next week. I'm just covering the days I'll be missing."

Arlecchino's smirk curved sharper as she leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "So that's it. Now you're calling the shots?" Her tone was amused, teasing. "Weren't you the one who used to sulk through deliveries like we were pulling your teeth out?"

Collei giggled softly. "It's not like I like it. But if I don't drive Yougou regularly, I lose my rhythm. Then I get anxious."

She stepped fully into the dining room, voice calm but thoughtful. "Out there, on the other mountain passes… I'm always driving blind. Unfamiliar roads. New corners. Every run is max pressure. There's no time to think—just react. Push. Attack."

She turned to face Arlecchino fully, voice lower now. "But here... here in Yougou, I can breathe. It's where I feel like myself. I can experiment. Try new lines, tweak my braking points, refine my technique without that pressure."

She slipped off her flats and padded toward the breakfast table.

Arlecchino leaned back and let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head in approval. "Well, shit. Look at you." She lifted her cup again. "You finally get it. You're learning the value of a home course."

By noon, the sun was high overhead, beating down on the cracked pavement outside the gas station. The usual crew was gathered under the awning—Seele, Amber, Pela, March, and Beidou—sipping canned coffee and trading stories about the recent Nazuchi Pass showdown.

Amber punched the air, practically bouncing. "That's my Collei! Another win in the books, baby!"

Seele crossed her arms, a calm smile playing on her lips. "And she set a new course record. Not bad."

March spun around with a grin. "Ugh, I wish I could drive like her! She makes it look easy!"

Beidou laughed, a low belly-chuckle as she took a pull from her soda. "Keep grinding, March. You'll get there. Maybe. If you don't kill yourself first."

Pela said nothing at first, her gaze sharp as she peered down the road. "Heads up," she said, adjusting her glasses. "Our aces just pulled in."

All eyes turned as two machines rolled into the lot. First the black-and-white AE86, exhaust burbling as it slowed. Right behind it, the crimson-detailed Lancia 037 rumbled in, its supercharged engine giving a distinct mechanical whine.

Collei and Clorinde stepped out. Collei stretched, arms high over her head. Clorinde simply locked her car with a soft chirp and a nod toward the others.

Amber didn't wait—she shot forward and threw her arms around Collei, lifting her clean off the ground. "You're back! That's my girl!"

Collei laughed, the tension in her shoulders finally easing. "Thanks, Amber."

Beidou strode over, arms wide. "Our two aces, back from the war. Congrats."

Clorinde gave a nod. "It was a solid run. I learned a lot."

March leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "So who's the next big opponent?! Who's next on the hit list?!"

Collei scratched the back of her head, voice mild. "Team called 'Feiyun Racing,' I think."

Clorinde folded her arms, tone neutral but cautious. "Yeah. They're based out of Musoujin Pass."

That got a reaction. Lyney, who had just wandered in from the convenience store with a soda in hand, stopped mid-sip. "Wait. Did you say Feiyun Racing?"

Collei turned toward him, nodding. "Yeah. That's them. Why?"

Seele glanced over. "You know them?"

Lyney's expression darkened a touch. "Oh, I know them. They're not just racers—they're a damn racing school. They teach the science of driving. The guy running it is still young, but he's already a rally champion. Multiple times over. Their whole philosophy is speed through precision. They've exploded in popularity over the last few years."

March blinked. "Wait, an actual racing school? Like, for real?"

Lyney nodded grimly. "Legit. Most of their graduates go semi-pro, some full-pro. These guys eat, sleep, and breathe technique. It's like a cult of speed."

March turned to Collei, her voice a little smaller now. "And... you're gonna race them?"

Collei didn't respond right away. Her eyes narrowed, jaw tightening. The rest of the group watched as silence stretched between her and the horizon beyond the gas station.

But her silence wasn't fear.

It was focus.

It was the sound of a storm gathering behind calm green eyes.

She looked out toward Musoujin Pass—and nodded once, slow and certain. She wasn't backing down. Not from this.

Not from anyone.

The gravel crunched under the all-wheel drive weight of the ST205 Toyota Celica GT-Four as it rolled to a stop outside the Feiyun Racing School garage. Its turbocharged engine let out a sharp hiss through the blow-off valve as the key clicked to OFF. Cool mountain air—sharp with pine resin, burnt rubber, and distant tar—settled in thick silence around the solitary car. The insects were awake, their rhythmic pulse mingling with the faint ticking of cooling metal under the hood.

The driver stepped out and shut the door with a firm thud. Thoma. Leather jacket zipped halfway up, matching black gloves tucked tight around his fingers, the scent of oil faint on his clothes. His eyes swept across the garage exterior—quiet, lit only by a single flickering fluorescent tube hanging under the eaves.

"Yo, Xingqiu," he called out, tone casual but edged with curiosity. "You said you needed to see me? What's up?"

Inside the garage, Xingqiu stood upright from his place at a workbench cluttered with calipers, sensor harnesses, and a half-empty ashtray. A faint red dot pulsed at the end of his cigarette before he ground it out with a sharp twist.

"That's right, Thoma," Xingqiu replied, his voice cool and measured. "Thanks for coming. Step inside. I've got something to show you."

Thoma's boots crunched across the gravel as he entered, the musky blend of brake dust, motor oil, and ozone soaking the air. He paused at the threshold, eyes adjusting as Xingqiu flipped a switch. The overhead sodium lights buzzed to life, bathing the concrete floor in stark white.

At the center of the garage sat a machine that demanded attention—long, low, brutal. A Subaru Legacy RS Group A spec demo car. Factory metal flared to race-legal width, stripped of anything unnecessary, its cold steel glinting like a weapon under the lights. The massive hood scoop loomed like a predator's maw; inside the engine bay, a flat-four boxer engine built for violence slept restlessly beneath carbon shrouds.

Thoma took a step forward, eyes scanning every angle. "Xingqiu… this car…" He let out a low whistle. "It's incredible."

A wry smirk crept across Xingqiu's face as he leaned against a tool cart. "She's the Feiyun Racing School's crown jewel. One of the final Group A test mules before Subaru shifted to the Impreza platform. Tuned down to the last millimeter. Sequential box. Close-ratio gears. Full gravel spec... but modified to take tarmac like a scalpel." He paused, letting the hum of the lights fill the silence. "I figured—maybe you'd want to take her out tonight. Against the Speed Stars."

Thoma blinked, fingers brushing along the Legacy's fender, tracing the riveted wheel arch. His voice was reverent, but firm. "She's a monster, no doubt. But I'll stick with my Celica. We've got history. I know her reactions. Her balance. Her anger. Everything."

Xingqiu nodded once, without disappointment. "Fair enough. Thought I'd offer." Without further comment, he turned and walked toward the back of the garage, his silhouette framed briefly in the door to the office before he vanished inside.

A soft chuckle came from the left—Heizou, sleeves rolled up, grease on his knuckles, crouched beside a dismantled coilover assembly. He glanced at Thoma, flashing a crooked grin.

"Relax, dude. You've got this," he said, tightening a spring perch with a final twist. "Just race the way you always do. No overthinking. You're not here to philosophize—you're here to drive."

Thoma returned the grin, tugging his gloves tighter. "That's the plan. But I've heard whispers about the Speed Stars. Rumors. Their cars aren't stock. Not by a long shot."

Heizou shrugged, unfazed. "Then you'll find out soon enough. Until then? Focus. Let the wheel do the talking."

The following night, the moon hung low and bloated above Musouji Pass, casting pale light over the black tarmac that twisted through the mountain like a scar. Then the silence broke—first with the faint tremor of exhaust notes, then with the full-throated howl of tuned engines climbing into range.

A phalanx of machines sliced through the darkness—leading the charge, Clorinde's Lancia Rally 037, its rally-derived aero slicing air like a razor, twin taillights blazing red in the dark. Behind it, Collei's AE86 Trueno clung to the road with quiet menace, its silhouette nondescript but unmistakable to those who knew. Trailing them, three HiAce support vans loaded with tools, spares, tires, laptops, and backup ECUs crawled up the slope like mobile command centers.

They reached the summit: a remote overlook at the top of the pass. The moonlit valley stretched far below like an oil painting left to fade. In seconds, the lot transformed into a mobile pit lane. Crew members poured from the vans with precision, unloading jacks, fuel cans, toolkits. Air compressors hissed. Torque wrenches clicked. Carbon brake pads were stacked like poker chips beside crates of fresh rubber.

Keqing stood near the guardrail, clipboard in hand, her brow furrowed. Her voice cut through the bustle. "They've redirected all traffic for us. The entire pass is shut down tonight."

Clorinde arched an eyebrow, arms crossed over her Nomex racing suit, the Lancia's door open behind her. "That's generous of them. But why?"

Keqing nodded toward the ridgeline. Excavators and road rollers sat abandoned, ghostly under the floodlights. "Some sort of construction project. Late-night roadwork. No civilian traffic from now till dawn."

Collei leaned slightly forward, lips pressing into a frown. "Construction? In the middle of the night?"

Clorinde gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Doesn't matter. The road's ours. No interference. Uphills, downhills, blind corners, hairpins... and those rockslides might force some creative lines."

On the edge of the lot, Albedo crouched beside the Eight-Six, tightening the front dampers. He stood, wiping his hands on a rag, and glanced at Navia, who was seated beside a laptop, fingers flying as she adjusted fuel maps and ignition timing curves.

Navia slammed the laptop shut with a metallic snap. "Everything's dialed in. Let's test the new intake's low-end response." She flashed a grin at Clorinde. "I'll ride shotgun, monitor performance live."

Clorinde climbed in with her usual grace, hands sliding into OMP gloves. She twisted the key. The Lancia's engine snarled to life with a harsh, mechanical bark. Gauges flickered to life. Digital dials danced. The anti-lag system hissed with every throttle input.

The tires chirped as she peeled out, headlights cutting a razor-thin path into the first downhill corner.

Seconds later, Collei followed in the AE86, the 4A-GE 20V engine winding up like a buzzsaw, Albedo cradling the laptop on his lap. "Front camber's holding," he muttered. "You're light on compression rebound, but the damping is responding well. Maintain steady steering through the next right."

Collei flicked the wheel. The Eight-Six rotated perfectly, rear tires whispering across the asphalt. The balance was surgical.

Up ahead, Navia's eyes darted across the readouts. "Boost pressure's consistent. AFRs are holding. Intake temps are ten percent cooler post-gearshift. Solid airflow."

Clorinde grinned. The steering twitched in her hands as the Lancia dove into a sharp left hairpin. She stabbed the brakes. The chassis pitched forward, weight transferring cleanly. Then she yanked the wheel and mashed the throttle. A textbook four-wheel drift kicked up dust from the road edge. The car held the slide with brutal elegance.

Back at the summit, Keqing paced near the edge of the lot, ears tuned to the distant scream of engines echoing through the pass. Her expression was tight.

"It's strange," she muttered. "Not a single car from Feiyun. No spotters. No opposition."

Ningguang stood nearby, arms folded, calm as ever. "Not unusual. When I battled Feixiao at Araumi, she never came out to watch my runs. I returned the favor when she raced on her turf. It's just... protocol."

The moon arced higher. Engines howled and faded and returned again, filling the air with rhythm and fire. Each pass was sharper, faster, more aggressive.

Navia knocked twice on Clorinde's window as she pulled into the lot. Clorinde rolled the Lexan window open.

"Filled to a half tank," Navia said with a wink, patting the roof. "Go give 'em hell."

Clorinde's smile was quick and dangerous. "I intend to."

She yanked the wheel left, clutch in, gear lever slammed into reverse, and the Lancia spun in a perfect J-turn. The tires shrieked across the gravel as she launched back down the pass like a bat out of hell.

At the same time, Albedo leaned into the driver's side of the AE86. "I swapped the rotors for carbon ceramics," he said, voice low. "Run five more laps. Then we'll check the wear."

Collei nodded. "Copy that." Her hand found the shifter. First gear engaged with a satisfying click. The throttle blipped. The engine screamed.

She disappeared into the night.

Above Musouji Pass, the stars watched silently as two machines tore through the silence, singing the gospel of speed—rubber on asphalt, fire in the cylinders, and a shared hunger that only the road could satisfy.

The following day, as the sun begins its slow descent behind the jagged ridgelines of Musouji Pass, the summit parking lot sits steeped in amber light. The pines sway gently in the breeze, their shadows growing long and stark across the cracked asphalt. The distant hum of cicadas carries through the thinning air, their rhythmic drone broken only by the occasional birdcall trailing off into silence.

Keqing stands near a HiAce support van, leaning against the warm metal of the hood. A ceramic cup of coffee rests in her hands, steam curling upward and catching the golden light like smoke from a gun barrel. She watches the horizon with a distant, unreadable expression—sharp eyes scanning the sea of clouds that burn orange at their edges. Finally, she speaks, voice low and brittle with a thread of disquiet.

"Last night felt... weird," she says, her words clinging to the still air. "So weird."

Clorinde lounges on a bench a few meters away, long legs crossed, the sheen of her Lancia 037 reflecting the last streaks of sunlight like a dormant predator. She doesn't move, but her gaze sharpens, brow creasing slightly. "Yeah," she agrees. "The locals didn't show. Not a single one. No practice cars, no recon laps. It's like they vanished."

Keqing lifts the cup to her lips, takes a measured sip, then lowers it, her fingers tracing slow circles along the rim. "And that means we've got nothing to work with. No telemetry. No visual confirmation of their lines or setups. We're walking into this with our eyes shut."

Collei, sitting on the curb with her elbows resting on her knees, glances up. Her expression is relaxed, almost amused, green eyes reflecting the soft gold of dusk. She gives a small shrug and a smile—quiet, but not unsure.

"Honestly?" she says. "I kind of like it that way."

Both Keqing and Clorinde turn toward her, their postures shifting slightly—curious, surprised.

"Why's that?" Keqing asks, cocking her head.

Collei stretches back, palms braced against the warm surface of the lot. The sun outlines her silhouette, casting the Eight-Six parked behind her into a shadowed silhouette. Her voice is steady, but there's something deeper beneath it—steel wrapped in serenity.

"Back before I joined the team, I raced without knowing a damn thing about who I was up against. No notes, no footage, no engine specs—just the road and me. Clorinde's Lancia was one of the only battles I had some insight on. Same with Yelan and that Blackbird. But the rest? Total mystery. And I drove better that way. No distractions. No second-guessing. Just pure reaction."

She lifts one hand, fingers splaying briefly toward the sky, then lets it fall. "The less I know, the more I feel. The rhythm of the road, the grip of the tires, every weight shift, every breath the car takes... That's all I need."

Clorinde's lips twitch into a faint smirk as she watches the younger girl speak. It isn't condescension—it's respect, plain and unspoken. She shifts her eyes toward Keqing, her voice low and even.

"She's got a point. All the notes and theory in the world can't replicate raw instincts. You don't win these battles in a spreadsheet—you win them one corner at a time."

Keqing nods slowly, her expression darkening with thought. She swirls the remaining coffee in her cup, watching the ripples break the surface, then sets it down with a soft clink on the HiAce's hood. "Racing's never been about perfect preparation. It's about how fast you adapt. How deep you're willing to go to stay in the moment. Even when you've got nothing but headlights and a road that wants to kill you."

Silence falls over them—not awkward or uncertain, but heavy with the tension that coils before every storm. The last of the sunlight bleeds out of the sky, painting the valley below in deep oranges and bruised purples. The shadows stretch longer, colder. Night approaches with a predator's patience.

Clorinde rises to her feet in one smooth motion, brushing stray dirt from her pants with a practiced swipe. She turns toward her Lancia, the machine gleaming like tempered steel in the twilight. "The sun's nearly gone," she says, voice edged and alive. "Time to suit up. Tonight's going to bite."

Keqing's jaw tightens as she glances toward the darkening ribbon of road winding down the mountainside. "Yeah. Whether the locals show or not, we're not holding anything back."

Collei stands as well, rolling her shoulders out with a faint pop. Her Eight-Six sits a few meters away, the black-and-white panda paint catching the last flickers of dying light like ink soaking into paper. She takes one long look down the mountain, then smirks—calm, focused, ready.

"Let's find out who really owns Musouji Pass."

The last sliver of sunlight slips beneath the peaks and vanishes. The cicadas go silent. A cold hush blankets the mountaintop. One by one, the stars begin to pierce the deepening blue overhead, faint glimmers of light above the battleground below. And somewhere far down the pass, an engine rumbles to life, its growl echoing like a war drum through the mountain's bones.

The night had come. And it wasn't coming quietly.