Act: 6 Chapter: 1 | The Ultimate Weapon Of Tatrasuna

The Following Day

The morning air was crisp, clean, and carried that distinct, metallic bite of dew drying off sunlit asphalt. The sky above was a clear, piercing blue—so bright it almost stung the eyes. Collei's AE86 rolled to a gentle stop in the driveway, the high-compression idle of the Group A 4A-GE Silvertop ticking over with mechanical precision. She popped the handbrake and shut off the ignition. The sudden silence after the engine's howl felt almost sacred.

The Eight Six gleamed beneath the morning sun, dewdrops evaporating off its lightweight carbon-fiber hood, carbon-fiber pop up headlights, and the subtly flared wheel arches. It was all a quiet flex, invisible to the untrained, but unmistakable to anyone who knew what they were looking at.

Collei stepped out, her boots striking the pavement with a soft clack. Stretching slightly, her shoulders loose with satisfaction.

Standing at the doorway, arms crossed and posture easy, was Arlecchino. Her lean frame filled the space like a shadow cut into sunlight, a cigarette dangling unlit from her lips, her eyes on the car—not her daughter.

"Deliveries all finished, Dad," Collei called out, voice light with pride, a half-smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Arlecchino smirked, the cigarette shifting slightly. "Nicely done."

She pushed off the doorframe and walked a few paces closer, her eyes narrowing, scanning the car from front splitter to tailpipe. She stopped dead center, arms folded again, head tilted like a predator sizing up old prey that had learned new tricks.

"I have to say…" Her voice carried that calm cadence of half-admission, half-revelation. "It's insane how far the Eight Six has evolved since we first started sharing it. Some of these mods are so seamless I can't even tell what's factory anymore. Some of them I feel, but can't explain."

Collei grinned, walking alongside her and eyeing the car with the same reverence. "Right? It's nuts. The hood, trunk, even the pop-up headlight assemblies—they're featherweight now. Half the time I lift the hood, I expect it to float off."

Arlecchino chuckled, but her eyes stayed locked on the Eight Six like it was a rival she'd never quite defeated. "I'm guessing this started out as a fun little side thing… and somewhere along the way, it became an obsession."

Before Collei could respond, Arlecchino's tone changed—lighter, but serious beneath the surface.

"Collei."

Collei turned to her, brow raised, sensing something different in the air.

A rare softness crept into Arlecchino's smile, tempered by the weight of what she was about to say. "The Eight Six is yours from now on."

Collei blinked. "Huh? Wait—what?" Her eyes widened, searching her mother's face for signs of a joke. "Are you serious?"

Arlecchino let out a short laugh, the kind that slipped between pride and teasing. "Come on, Collei. You're an adult. It's kinda weird to still be sharing a car with your father—well, your mother who acts like your father."

She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper—an ownership transfer form already half-filled. "Take this down to the Bureau later today. It's under your name now. Oh—and you're on the hook for the taxes starting next year. Enjoy that."

Collei stepped closer, hands half-raised in disbelief. "Wait a sec, what are you gonna drive? A wheelchair? A Rascal scooter?"

Arlecchino barked a laugh, finally lighting her cigarette and blowing the smoke skyward. "I thought you'd be happy."

"I am happy," Collei said, voice cracking just a little from the weight of it. "But you need a car too."

"I've got that covered." Arlecchino flicked her cigarette to the side, eyes gleaming. "I'm buying something old. Real old. A legend, even."

Collei tilted her head, blinking. "An oldie… but a legend?"

She looked back at the Eight Six—the carbon hood, the clean lines, the aggressive stance built over years of blood, oil, and midnight tuning sessions. Her heart swelled as if she were seeing it for the first time.

"I don't even know what to say, Dad. I mean… thank you. I'm totally in love with this car."

Arlecchino gave a rare, genuine smile—no sarcasm, no posturing. Just pride. "Good. You and that car? You fit. You always have. If it breaks, you know where to find me."

With that, she turned and walked back inside, the front door closing behind her with a quiet finality.

Later That Morning — Tatrasuna

The sun climbed higher, washing the industrial skyline of Tatrasuna in golden hues and heat shimmer. Outside a corner diner nestled between two old warehouses, the air buzzed with voices, clinking dishes, and the low hum of traffic crawling past.

Ayaka sat at a booth by the window, one hand wrapped around a lukewarm glass of water, the other tapping impatiently on the tabletop. Her silver-blue eyes flicked down to her watch, then back to the entrance.

"He's always late," she muttered, lips pursed.

A moment later, the front door swung open, and Kazuha stepped inside, casual as always, hands in his hoodie pockets, windswept hair hanging over one brow. He moved like the delay hadn't happened at all.

Ayaka cocked an eyebrow as he slid into the seat beside her. "About damn time, Kazuha."

He scoffed and sat back, voice dry. "Traffic was hell. What do you want from me, teleportation?"

Ayaka rolled her eyes, but she smirked. "Whatever. Let's just get to the point."

She gestured toward the man sitting across from them, a dignified presence dressed in an understated jacket over a sharp-collared shirt. "This is my brother—Ayato."

Ayato inclined his head. "Pleasure."

Kazuha nodded respectfully. "Likewise."

Ayaka leaned in, her tone shifting to business. "You said you had an idea for beating the Eight Six. That's why we're here, right?"

Ayato nodded slowly, the faint trace of a grin tugging at his lips. "Correct. But first, tell me everything you know about the Eight Six."

Kazuha unzipped his satchel and pulled out a worn folder. He spread it open on the table like it was classified intelligence. Inside were high-res photos, performance graphs, and notes scribbled in fine handwriting.

"I raced her a few nights ago," Kazuha said. "It's a monster in disguise. Lightweight, agile, neutral through corners. The rev limit's around 9,000, maybe more. Powerband's peaky, but she knows how to keep it right at the edge."

Ayaka nodded slowly. "It sounded higher than when I raced her. Maybe she swapped out the exhaust, or she's re-tuned it to rev cleaner."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Kazuha said. "It's refined. Precise. But it's still an old chassis, and that means it has limits. If we know what to exploit—"

"Then we can break her," Ayaka finished.

Ayato stood, smoothing his jacket. "Come with me. I'll show you."

In the Diner's Backlot

The trio stepped outside, rounding the corner into a small parking lot surrounded by chain-link fence. Nestled at the far end, gleaming in the sun like a blade, was a Lotus Elise—Series 2, painted in factory silver, low to the ground and menacing in its simplicity. A subtle bulge in the rear deck hinted at the transplanted powerplant.

Ayaka's jaw slackened slightly. "No way. This is the secret weapon?"

Ayato smiled. "That's right. Series 2 Lotus Elise, swapped with a Toyota 3S-GE engine. Naturally aspirated. No supercharger. Just balance, grip, and precision."

Kazuha walked up to it, eyes scanning every contour. "So that's your play… power-to-weight."

Ayaka grinned. "It's lighter than the Eight Six, probably has better cornering ability with that chassis. Mid-engine, too."

Her tone sharpened with excitement. "This just got a whole lot more interesting…"

As the Day Progresses

The rhythmic, guttural drone of the Lancia Rally 037's mid-mounted engine filled the spartan cabin, reverberating through the carbon-composite panels and bare-metal floor like the snarl of something alive. The car surged down the expressway toward Kannazuka Prefecture, drawing glances from passing sedans and SUVs—its aggressive, squared-off fenders, wide-body stance, and massive rear intakes looked like something escaped from a gravel stage, not crawling along the tarmac among commuter traffic. It was a rolling anachronism. Unapologetic. Loud. Raw.

Keqing sat in the passenger seat, legs crossed, arms folded across her chest, lips pursed in barely restrained irritation. The leather bucket seat vibrated with every bump in the road, the primitive suspension transferring every ripple of pavement directly through her spine.

She exhaled sharply, glancing sideways at her driver. "Why the hell did I agree to ride in your Lancia today, Clorinde?"

Clorinde didn't respond at first. Her gloved hands rested lightly on the thick MOMO steering wheel, her eyes hidden behind black aviators despite the overcast daylight. The faint smirk on her lips didn't go unnoticed.

"What do you mean by that?" she said finally, shifting down with a deliberate clack of the dogleg first gear, letting the high-compression four-cylinder engine blip into a lower rev range.

Keqing gestured around them, her fingers brushing a set of exposed fuse relays. "This thing's a goddamn rally car. You feel everything. The ride quality's like a torture rack. It smells like race fuel in here. And—" she kicked the steel floor lightly, "—is there even insulation in this thing?"

Clorinde chuckled under her breath, the sound dry and amused. "You sound like one of those clowns on IgnitionPoint who make videos titled 'Lancia 037 Does Costco Run' or 'We Daily Drove a Group B Car, Here's Why That Was a Mistake.'"

Keqing raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Is that… a real genre?"

"Oh, very," Clorinde replied, eyes still forward, tone casual. "Let me enlighten you."

She gave the accelerator a quick jab and passed a slow-moving delivery van, the Lancia's turbo-less engine growling high into its powerband before she short-shifted into fifth.

"Back in the '90s, there was a series called the IGTC—the Inazuma Grand Touring Car Championship. You've heard of it, right?"

Keqing nodded. "Yeah. The national circuit series. Real high-level stuff."

Clorinde tilted her head slightly. "In '92, one of Lancia's team cars—this exact model—got a second life. They entered it into GT1 after its rally days were over. Total wildcard entry."

Keqing's brows furrowed. "GT1? Wasn't that the class with full-blown prototypes and endurance monsters?"

"Oh yeah," Clorinde grinned, shifting again as the expressway bent to the right. "Porsche RSRs, Ferrari F40 LM-specs, McLaren F1s, R32 Skyline GT-Rs with aero kits like samurai armor. And right in the middle of all that? A naturally aspirated 2.0-liter rally car with a five-speed short-ratio gearbox and suspension tuned to launch off cliffs."

"Jesus," Keqing muttered. "So what happened?"

"Pretty much what you'd expect," Clorinde said with a snort. "It got eaten alive on the straights. Narukami Speedway melted the coolant system by lap thirty. The poor thing was geared for hillclimbs and gravel sprints, not 280 kph straights."

Keqing grimaced. "Let me guess. Last place?"

"Not quite," Clorinde said with a spark of pride. "She finished twelve overall. Ninth in class. Beat out a couple of GT-Rs with tire issues and one that blew a turbo. Seven laps down on the lead Porsche 962, but hey—that car was a purpose-built Le Mans machine."

Keqing's lips curled into a reluctant smile. "For a rally car to finish at all in that field… that's actually kind of badass."

Clorinde nodded as she slowed toward a toll gate, her heel-toe downshift smooth and practiced. She took a ticket from the machine without pausing, then stabbed the throttle again, letting the Lancia sing as they merged back into cruising speed.

Silence settled between them for a few moments, filled only by the rhythmic buzz of the 037's straight-cut gearbox and the occasional hiss from the massive side-mounted radiators.

"So…" Keqing eventually said, turning her gaze out the window. "Ningguang said the race this time will use the upper half of the course, right?"

Clorinde's voice dropped into something colder. "Yeah."

Keqing exhaled slowly, her tone almost wistful. "I've been there before. Last year. When Collei raced that turbocharged Levin."

Her violet eyes narrowed, memories returning unbidden. "The roads up there are brutal. Steep, tight, barely wide enough for one car in places. Gutter runs are mandatory. Guardrails are rotted through in spots—some with impact dents and rust streaks that go back decades. I remember seeing old tire marks scraped across cracked asphalt and wondering if someone didn't make it out."

Clorinde's smirk vanished. Her jaw tightened.

"That's why Ningguang sent us," she said grimly. "She wants eyes on every corner. Check if anything's changed since last year."

Keqing leaned forward slightly as the expressway gave way to smaller arterial roads. The pavement was already rougher, peppered with tar patches and expansion seams that the Lancia's suspension didn't bother filtering out.

"Let's hope the course isn't as bad as I remember," she muttered, eyes narrowing as Tatrasuna's outskirts came into view through the windshield.

That Night, Tatrasuna

The cold had come down fast after sunset. The streetlights threw pale orange halos over the narrow lanes as Ayaka and Kazuha stood side by side near a hairpin on the upper section. Steam drifted from their breath, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.

Ayaka checked her phone, thumb hovering over the stopwatch app. "Where is he?" she muttered, impatience creeping into her voice.

Kazuha said nothing.

And then it came.

A low growl in the distance—tight, precise, metallic. Not a roar, but a mechanical rasp that wound up like a precision instrument being pushed to its absolute limits. Moments later, the yellow Series 2 Lotus Elise appeared from the shadows, headlights flicking over the curve.

Ayato's hands worked quickly inside the cabin. No unnecessary movements—just clean inputs, steering wheel flicked with surgical precision. He slammed the brakes hard before the corner, weight transferring forward, rear end starting to loosen—then caught it perfectly. The Elise rotated into the apex, rear tires riding the inside line with millimeter clearance from the edge. A second later, he was back on throttle, the lightweight chassis leaping forward like a coiled spring released.

Rubber chirped. Engine screamed. Taillights vanished into the next curve.

Ayaka tapped the screen and stared at the numbers. Her eyes widened.

"That's insane," she whispered, barely audible over the ringing silence. "The way that Lotus handles… and he's not even trying. Imagine how fast he'll go when he's racing Collei."

Kazuha stood still, watching the road disappear into the night, face unreadable.

"…Yeah," he said softly. "It's gonna be one hell of a race."

At the gas station, the air was thick with the lingering scent of high-octane fuel and the faint ozone of approaching rain. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a pale glow over the cracked asphalt. Collei stood beside the Eight Six, arms folded, her gaze steady as March slotted the pump nozzle into the tank. The soft click of the latch and the whir of fuel surging into the tank cut through the silence.

"You're kidding me," March muttered, her eyes wide with disbelief as she glanced at the black-and-white coupe. "She handed you the Eight Six?"

Collei nodded once, slowly, the corners of her mouth barely twitching into a smile. "Yeah. That's right. I just came from the office. The registration's officially in my name now."

March pulled a face somewhere between awe and skepticism. "So, what's your dad gonna drive now? A bicycle?"

Collei shrugged casually, the denim of her jacket rustling as she shifted her weight against the car's door. "I don't know. All she said was, 'A classic, but a legend.' Something fun, apparently."

March frowned, eyes narrowing as she processed the words. "A classic and a legend... What could that be? A Subaru Impreza, maybe?"

Collei scoffed lightly, shaking her head. "Doubt it. She's not the boxer engine type. Too much of a pain in the ass to work on. Inline or V-type is more her style—cleaner layout, easier tuning."

March gave a thoughtful nod. "True. Boxers need more clearance. Nightmares for exhaust routing. Inline engines are simple. Functional."

The pump clicked again—full. March removed the nozzle and capped the tank with a precise twist before swinging the flap shut.

Collei pushed off from the Eight Six and gave a small wave as she opened the driver's door. "Alright, I'm off. Don't want to be late for the meeting."

March raised a hand in farewell. "See you there. Let Clorinde know we'll be at the race tomorrow."

Collei gave her a thumbs-up as she settled into the driver's seat. "Will do. See you."

The door slammed shut with a solid thunk. A beat later, the AE86's engine barked to life—deepened from stock, raw from the 20-valve swap—and Collei pulled out smoothly, rear tires chirping slightly as she merged onto the road and vanished into the night, taillights swallowed by the darkness.

March stood alone under the lights, arms crossed, a crooked grin forming. "Tomorrow's gonna be something."

Later that Night – On the Expressway

The storm clouds hung low over the expressway, turning the horizon into a bruise of slate and ash. A convoy of engines tore through the gloom. Leading the charge was Clorinde's Lancia Rally 037, its square frame cutting through the air like a missile. The scream of its supercharged inline-four bounced off the sound barriers, a high-pitched mechanical snarl that carried a promise of violence.

Collei's Eight Six held the pocket just behind, her headlights glinting off the damp pavement, dancing in the Lancia's spray. Four support vans brought up the rear, their white halos forming a serpentine chain of light across the soaked highway.

Inside the lead van, Keqing sat with her arms folded tightly across her chest, her violet gaze focused ahead. The silence was broken only by the hiss of tires on wet tarmac until Ningguang finally spoke.

"You know," she said, voice calm and unreadable, "this might be Collei's toughest opponent yet."

Keqing's brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean? This is Collei we're talking about. The same girl who outdrove a professional circuit racer like Kuki Shinobu. She's taken down monsters."

Ningguang gave a small, elusive smile. "It's not always about the driver, Keqing. Sometimes, it's about the car."

Keqing turned slightly in her seat, interest piqued. "What kind of car are we talking about?"

"You'll see soon enough," Ningguang said, eyes drifting back to the highway ahead.

Tatrasuna Pass – Upper Half

The convoy climbed the mountainside, tires crackling over wet gravel as they pulled into a narrow pull-off halfway through the course. The driveway was barely wide enough for two cars shoulder to shoulder, hemmed in by trees and ancient stone markers. The air here was thinner—cooler—and carried the sharp bite of an approaching storm.

As engines shut down, Ayaka and Kazuha emerged from the shadows near the guardrail, the LED halos of their flashlights flickering against the mist.

"Well hey there, fellas!" Ayaka called out, waving a hand. "We were wondering when you'd show up!"

Collei stepped out of the Eight Six, cracking her neck and stretching her legs. Her eyes scanned the dim surroundings until they landed on Ayaka—faint recognition lighting up her face.

Ayaka crossed the gap and clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Collei. Don't tell me you don't remember me."

Collei laughed softly, brushing her bangs out of her face. "How could I forget? It's been a while."

Keqing, meanwhile, stepped out of the van, her gaze narrowing as she caught sight of another figure.

She pointed. "Wait a second... aren't you Kazuha? From that other race?"

Kazuha nodded with his usual serene composure. "That's right. Don't worry, though—I'm not racing this time. I'm just here to coordinate. The track's been tested and cleaned. You're free to run as much as you want."

Keqing gave a curt, respectful nod. "Appreciate it."

Clorinde walked toward Ningguang, already businesslike. "What's the forecast?"

Ningguang exhaled. "Rain. Lots of it. Continuous through tomorrow night."

She motioned for Collei to join them, her voice shifting into command mode.

"Listen. First few runs—eighty percent. No more. Five passes at that pace before you start pushing. I want at least fifty full-course runs before daybreak. Understood?"

Collei and Clorinde both nodded. No questions.

Midnight – Practice Begins

Clorinde slid into the Lancia's stripped cabin, buckled into the tight Sparco harness, and fired the ignition. The car snarled to life, its idle erratic and alive like a wild animal. She gave it a few throttle blips—short, clean, purposeful. Navia checked her telemetry tablet, nodded, and flashed a thumbs-up.

"Everything's green. Good to go."

Albedo performed a similar check on Collei's Eight Six, his eyes calmly scanning the readouts. "All systems look good. Sensors are recording. You're clear."

The two machines rolled out into the dark. First gear. Second. Third. Twin howls faded into the soaked forest beyond.

3:00 A.M. – Rain Escalates

Lightning streaked the sky in jagged white scars. Thunder rolled like gunfire across the ridges. The rain was a curtain now—dense, relentless.

At the halfway checkpoint, Clorinde pulled in, the Lancia steaming at the vents. She popped the door, stepped out into the rain, and stretched her shoulders.

"Twenty liters," she called to Navia.

Navia ran over with a red jerry can, unscrewed the cap, and began the pour with practiced speed.

Ningguang approached silently, rain beading off her coat. "How's the throttle modulation holding up?"

Clorinde wiped her brow. "Solid. Rear grip's manageable. The car's got balance. I can throw it in without overcorrecting."

"Good." Ningguang's eyes narrowed. "Next phase—run it using only your fogs. No headlamps. Visibility's going to tank. You'll need memory. Precision."

Clorinde didn't flinch. "Understood."

Elsewhere on the Course

Collei's AE86 was tearing through the soaked mountain switchbacks like it was weightless. Her inputs were sharp but controlled—left-foot braking into tight corners, throttle feathered precisely through exit. The high-revving 4A-GE screamed as she dropped into third and flicked the rear end into another hairpin, tires barely holding on against the slick tarmac.

Spray misted off the rear, tail dancing. Each apex was carved by muscle memory and resolve.

By dawn, she was still running.

Afternoon – Gas Station

Rain kept falling, heavier now. Beidou leaned under the station's awning, arms folded, watching the sheets come down.

March stood beside her, sipping from a warm canned coffee. "Looks like this rain's here to stay."

Beidou smirked. "You know, Collei might need some 'extra weight' in the back to keep traction."

March side-eyed her. "What are you getting at?"

Beidou grinned. "You. Sitting in the back seat. You know, ballast."

March bumped her elbow into Beidou's ribs. "Shut up. If you were back there, you'd be flung around like a ragdoll."

They both laughed, the sound lost under the roar of rain.

Nightfall – Race Day

Ayaka's convoy pulled into the mountain lot like a silent procession. Her black Levin led, clean and sharp. Behind her, Kazuha's Altezza. And at the rear—sleek, low-slung, unmistakable—a gleaming white Lotus Elise rolled to a stop.

Ganyu's jaw dropped slightly. "Is that… a Lotus Elise?"

The drivers gathered, turning as one toward the new arrival. Even Clorinde and Collei paused, studying the compact weapon now glistening under the halogen lights.

Keqing leaned toward Ningguang. "This is what you were talking about?"

Ningguang nodded, voice quiet. "Exactly. This isn't about who's driving. It's about physics. It's all about weight."

The storm raged overhead. Engines idled. Fog lights sliced the darkness.

The stage was set. The real fight was about to begin.