The Names We Burned.

They called it a tie.

But there's no such thing in my world.

In the Kurosawa legacy, a tie is worse than a loss — it means you couldn't finish what you started.

I haven't slept in two days.

Not because I'm afraid of that race.

Because I can't stop thinking about it.

I can't stop feeling it.

The moment our tires touched.

The blur of adrenaline and precision.

The way our cars moved like one entity chasing itself in circles until even the circuit bowed.

And worse—

> The way I miss it.

---

🕶️ Eclipse Internal Office – Classified Floor 12

They're talking about him now. Behind closed doors.

The Council of Eclipse. Five faceless operators and a blood-thin board of legacy enforcers who whisper more than they speak.

And now his name is starting to creep in:

> "Who the hell is Reyes?"

"No racer enters the circuit under a blank ID."

"He's not just fast. He's old-school. Too old-school."

"Check the ban records."

My uncle Yuto is one of them.

He sits there in silence, jaw locked, like he already knows something the others don't.

When the words 'Ghostline' hit the table, I see the flicker in his eyes.

He's heard it before.

So have I—

Years ago.

In an old racebook hidden in my grandfather's archives.

Under the heading: Wrecked Before the World Could Claim Him.

---

He doesn't watch the race footage.

He doesn't read the commentary.

He doesn't care what they're saying online — that he's a myth, a fluke, a hacker who slipped into the system.

But he does know what's coming.

The Eclipse board isn't going to let a ghost drive through their sanctum without consequences.

So he does what he always does—

He drives.

But this time, he doesn't head toward the hidden garages or abandoned circuits.

He drives toward the old Kurosawa sector.

Not to confront.

Not to threaten.

But because somewhere, deep in the buried records—

Is the reason they erased his name.

And if Sora's going to come after him—

He wants her to know what she's really chasing.

---

I find the name two days later.

In a sealed log.

Buried in a private access drive restricted to "Red Line" clearance.

> REYES, A.

Sanctioned Removal from Prime Circuit, Age 15

Reason: Unregulated Drives. Unstoppable Control. Track Fatality – Disputed

Note: Reyes refused to brake. Opponent never walked again. Case sealed by Eclipse discretion.

Alias Created: GHOSTLINE. Status: Suppressed.

I stare at the file for a long time.

Fifteen.

He was banned before he even got his license.

He didn't cheat.

He didn't crash.

He just refused to lose.

And someone paid for it.

But the file doesn't tell me everything.

Because I was there at that track meet.

I was a child, hidden in the bleachers.

I remember the race that was never aired.

The one they said ended in failure.

I remember the Skyline — matte black.

Untouched.

Unholy.

I remember watching it disappear into the smoke—

And something inside me wanting to follow it.

Even then.

---

He stops at the edge of the old crash zone.

The place they banned him.

No cameras.

No lights.

Just concrete faded by years and shame.

He opens the trunk of his Skyline and removes the old number plate — the original one.

> #00 — GHOSTLINE

He holds it for a moment, then wipes off the dust.

Behind him, tires roll to a stop.

He doesn't have to turn around to know who it is.

She's here.

Just like he knew she would be.

---

He doesn't speak when I approach.

He just holds the number in one hand and a memory in the other.

I should confront him.

Accuse him.

Demand answers.

But I don't.

Because I already know the truth.

I saw it in that race.

And what scares me more than his past—

Is that I want to race him again.

Not to beat him.

Not even to test him.

But because for those few laps, I didn't feel like a Kurosawa.

I felt free.

---

The closer I get, the quieter the world becomes.

Axton doesn't move. Doesn't turn. Just stands at the edge of the old track with that number plate in his hand, like he's holding a ghost and daring it to breathe again.

I stop beside him, the crunch of gravel announcing me.

> "I read your file," I say.

He nods once, slow.

Still doesn't look at me.

> "It was sealed," he mutters. "Did you break in?"

> "Did you expect me not to?"

> "I expected you to win," he says, voice sharp. "You didn't."

I grit my teeth.

> "Neither did you."

He finally looks at me.

Eyes dark, unreadable. A stare sharp enough to peel skin, but quiet beneath it—too quiet.

> "You came to ask if it's true?" he asks.

> "I came to see if you'd lie."

> "And?"

> "You didn't."

Silence stretches between us again—long, taut, and brutal.

Then he tosses the number plate onto the ground beside the old crash wall.

It clatters. The sound echoes like a shot.

---

He doesn't want her here.

He doesn't want to explain the wreckage behind his name or the way he still wakes up hearing engines that never turned off.

But he can't ignore her.

Because she's the only one who didn't flinch.

Didn't judge.

Didn't try to tame him.

She matched him.

And he hated how much of himself he saw in that.

> "You think I meant to wreck him?" he says, flatly. "I didn't."

She stays still. Doesn't answer.

> "You think I liked being erased? Being silenced?"

> "No," she says, finally. "I think you liked not being owned."

That makes him blink.

Just once.

But it's enough.

> "You're not like them," he mutters. "You drive clean. Sharp. You follow the line."

> "I don't follow it," she says. "I was born into it."

Another pause.

He kicks a loose shard of concrete near his boot.

> "Then why did you come here?"

> "To see who I tied with."

He smirks bitterly.

> "And?"

> "You're still hiding."

> "And you're still pretending this is just a sport."

That shuts her up.

Because they both know—

It never was.

---

I don't tell him I've never driven like that before.

I don't admit I dreamt about that race for two nights straight.

I don't confess that when I watched him drop his number plate… it felt like watching a warning flare fall to earth.

I don't say any of it.

But when I leave, I look back.

Just once.

He doesn't follow.

But this time—

he watches me go.

---

□■□■□■□

Some names are given.

Some are earned.

And some are buried, sealed behind silence and shame—so dangerous they aren't spoken, only remembered in whispers, tire marks, and wreckage.

Axton Reyes was one of those names.

Sora Kurosawa was never meant to find it.

But the track doesn't care about fate.

Only speed.

Only truth.

And truth has no loyalty.

When they stood together at the site of his erasure, no apologies were offered.

No confessions made.

Because what passed between them wasn't weakness.

It was recognition without submission.

She saw the shadow he had become.

And still walked closer.

He saw the dynasty she wore like armor.

And still let her leave.

No hearts changed hands.

No vows were made.

But something more dangerous was born:

Understanding.

And when two racers understand each other—

The world can't stop what's coming.

---