The sun was dipping low, throwing long golden streaks across the workshop floor as everyone rushed through the final stretch of cleaning. The scent of detergent hung faintly in the air, mixing with motor oil and the steady whir of the shop fans. Mops clacked, rags squeaked, and the sound of Ayaka yelling at Hojo for splashing dirty water everywhere echoed through the garage.
"Don't blame me! Blame Tojo! He tripped on the bucket!"
"Tojo, why did you trip!?"
"It was a strategic stumble!"
"You two! Shut up and finish the bathroom!" Haruka yelled from the top of the stairs, half amused and half exhausted.
Rin and Izamuri were wiping down the tool cabinets, humming some old anime opening song in perfect synchronization. Takamori stood beside them, arms crossed, nodding approvingly like a proud sensei. In the second-floor office, Walter and Nikolai were arguing about which screw went where for the new cabinet.
It was peaceful, loud, chaotic, and normal.
Until Daichi's phone rang.
He didn't think much of it at first, probably one of his contacts. But when he glanced at the caller ID, his expression froze.
Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.
He stiffened. "…Eh?"
Everyone nearby turned to him.
Daichi slowly answered. "Hello… this is Daichi Fujiwara speaking."
A stern, professional voice came through the receiver. "Mr. Fujiwara, this is Officer Mori from TMPD's Port Liaison Division. We are contacting you regarding a matter involving Tokyo International Seaport."
Daichi's posture straightened, his tone shifting instantly into something sharper. "Is something wrong?"
"No, no. Nothing criminal," the officer replied quickly. "This is about an item addressed to you that was misplaced many years ago. It has recently been located during an internal inventory cleanup."
Daichi blinked. "…Item? What kind of item?"
There was a pause… One that felt too long.
"The delivery records show it was shipped to Japan in 2007," Officer Mori said. "The sender's name was Franz von Bormann."
The moment the name left the speaker, Daichi felt his breath hitch.
Franz von Bormann.
A name he hadn't heard in years.
The old German billionaire, a motorsport historian, archivist, and one of Daichi's closest friends during his DTM days in Europe. A man who had lived long enough to watch motorsport evolve from screaming V16 monsters to the sterilized precision of modern racing. A man who told stories so vivid Daichi once swore he could smell the 1930s fuel fumes through Franz's words.
A man who passed away in 2009 at the age of 98.
Daichi swallowed. "Franz… sent me something?"
"Yes," the officer confirmed. "It was held at the port due to an administrative error. It should have been routed to you immediately, but, well… bureaucracy happened."
Daichi rubbed his forehead. "Officer Mori… what exactly did he send me? A box? Some documents? A crate?"
Another pause. This one made the room around him fade into silence.
"…Mr. Fujiwara," Officer Mori said slowly, "it is not a small package."
Daichi straightened. "How big?"
"…It is an entire shipping container."
Daichi nearly dropped his phone.
"What!?"
The entire workshop stopped. Every broom, every mop, every rag froze midair.
Rin mouthed, "Shipping container?"
Ayaka whispered, "What did he order, an elephant?"
Hojo muttered, "Did he ordered a Gundam?"
Daichi ignored them, his pulse rising. "Are you absolutely sure the container is addressed to me?"
"Yes, sir," the officer replied. "Name: Daichi Fujiwara. Delivered by maritime cargo from Hamburg, Germany. Arrival date: April 14th, 2007."
Daichi's mind raced.
Why?
Why did Franz send something that massive?
Why didn't he mention it during their last call?
Why was it forgotten at the port for thirteen years?
He forced himself to breathe. "What… what's inside?"
"We haven't opened it," Officer Mori said. "The port policy requires the addressee to be present before container inspection for items labeled as private property."
"And no one knew about this until now?"
"Unfortunately… yes. The container was marked as 'Delayed. Hold for Clearance' and stored in a restricted area. During a major cleaning inspection this week, it was rediscovered."
Daichi rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I… understand."
"You will need to come to the port to sign retrieval documents," the officer added. "Preferably within the next few days."
"I'll be there," Daichi said. "Thank you."
The call ended.
Daichi lowered the phone, but his hand lingered in the air, still stunned. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of shock, confusion, and a familiar stirring of old memories.
Haruka was the first to approach.
"…Daichi?" he asked quietly. "What happened?"
Daichi exhaled deeply. "A delivery. For me."
"That's not exactly surprising," Walter muttered. "People mail stuff."
"It's not a box, Walter," Daichi said, voice dead serious. "It's a shipping container."
The entire workshop erupted.
"EEEEHHH!?"
"WHAT!?"
"NO WAY!!"
"WHAT'S IN IT!? A CAR!?"
"IS IT A TANK!?"
"IS IT A BODY!?"
"TOJO, WHY WOULD IT BE A BODY!?"
The workshop was chaos again, but this time Daichi didn't shout. He simply stared at the floor, lost in thought.
Haruka approached carefully. "Daichi… who sent it?"
Daichi hesitated, then finally answered. "Franz von Bormann."
Everyone went silent instantly.
Even the twins.
Nikolai's eyes widened. He knew the name. Everyone in European motorsport knew the name.
"That Franz?" Nikolai whispered. "The historian? The guy who lived through the Auto Union era?"
Daichi nodded slowly. "He was one of the last people alive who watched the first German Grand Prix in 1926. He was at the opening of the Nürburgring in '27. He saw Monaco's first GP in '29. He once drove an Auto Union Type C in 1938 just for fun."
Haruka's jaw dropped. "Franz?"
Daichi nodded again.
"And apparently… he sent me a container. In 2007. But it got lost."
Walter blinked. "Daichi… what could he have sent you that needed a whole shipping container?"
Daichi looked at the ground, completely baffled.
"I have no idea." But deep inside… Something told him it was no ordinary gift. Not from Franz. Not from a man who spent his entire life preserving motorsport history.
Whatever was inside that container… Was something important meant for him.
"…I'll go pick it up tomorrow morning," Daichi finally said.
No one argued. Because everyone could feel it too. This was the start of something big.
The workshop buzzed with tense energy long after Daichi finished explaining the situation. A full shipping container from a billionaire motorsport historian who had lived through the birth of racing itself? Delivered to Daichi, forgotten for thirteen years, and only now resurfacing?
Everyone was still reeling.
Daichi finally clapped his hands together, snapping everyone out of their spiraling thoughts.
"Alright," he said, voice steady despite the storm brewing behind his eyes. "Haruka. Walter. Simon. I need you three to come with me tomorrow morning."
The three men straightened instantly.
Haruka blinked. "M–me? Why?"
"Because you're my right hand," Daichi said. "And because you know how to deal with paperwork without starting fights."
"That's debatable," Rin whispered from the corner.
Daichi ignored him.
"Walter," he continued, "you've worked in logistics in Germany back in your crazy youth, right? I'll need your eyes on whatever the port officials make me sign."
Walter nodded with unusual seriousness. "Understood."
"And Simon," Daichi said, turning to him, "you know more than anyone here about European motorsport archives. If this container has anything historically valuable, I want you to identify it."
Simon straightened, adjusting his glasses. "Of course. I'll come."
The three exchanged glances, a mix of curiosity, unease, and the thrill of something unknown.
Izamuri, who had remained quiet through most of the discussion, finally spoke.
"So… what do we do?" he asked.
Daichi sighed. "We close up shop. Go home. Get sleep. Tomorrow we deal with… whatever the hell Franz left behind."
Everyone nodded.
Soon the workshop returned to its usual end-of-day rhythm, doors locking, lights switching off, the final clangs of metal tools being stored. The brooms were rinsed, floors dried, and the faint echo of laughter from the twins could be heard as they chased each other out of the garage like mischievous raccoons. Rin checked the security system. Takamori did a final round through the garage.
Eventually, they spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of the shop, the cool Tokyo evening wrapping around them. The city hummed gently, unaware of the strange twist their quiet workshop had just encountered.
Everyone split off into their usual cars.
Haruka gave one last wave. "Tomorrow at 8 AM. Don't be late."
Daichi nodded. "I won't."
The engines started up, one by one.The workshop lights clicked off.
Later, at Haruka's house
It was nearly 10 PM when Haruka pulled the E101 Corolla into his driveway. Izamuri sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring at the glowing streetlamps with an expression that wandered somewhere between exhaustion and curiosity.
Haruka cut the engine and leaned back with a long sigh.
"Well," he said, "I wasn't expecting that today."
Izamuri snorted. "None of us were."
Both sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of the day's events settle. Inside the garage, the faint ticking sound of the Corolla's cooling engine filled the air.
Then Haruka patted his pocket.
"Oh right. Before we go inside—" he said, digging inside and pulling out a small silver key. "Here. Catch."
He tossed it lightly. Izamuri grabbed the key ring mid-air.
Izamuri stared at it. "The spare workshop key?"
"Yup," Haruka nodded. "You open the shop tomorrow."
Izamuri froze. "Wait, what? Why me?"
"Because I need to go with Daichi to the port," Haruka explained. "And someone responsible has to open the workshop, set things up, and make sure the twins don't burn the building down."
"Why not Hana, Ayaka, Rin, or Takamori?" Izamuri frowned.
"Rin likes to sleep in," Haruka said immediately. "And Takamori will show up exactly thirty seconds before opening time, and he'd bring breakfast but forget the keys."
Izamuri couldn't argue with that.
"Hana?" Izamuri asked.
"She has a LONG morning skincare routine, and that's the same case with Ayaka" Haruka replied.
"And the twins?" Izamuri asked hesitantly.
Haruka placed a hand on Izamuri's shoulder with all the solemnity of a priest delivering bad news. "Do you really want Hojo and Tojo to open the workshop unsupervised?"
Izamuri pictured the twins arriving at dawn, picking the lock for fun, arguing loudly, and possibly starting a wrestling match inside the garage before accidentally turning on a hydraulic lift with someone still on it.
"…No. Absolutely not."
"Exactly," Haruka said. "So it's you."
Izamuri looked at the key again. A simple spare key. Nothing special, nothing fancy. But Haruka was entrusting him with opening the shop, something only staff with real responsibility usually did.
It was a small gesture. But to Izamuri, it meant a lot. "…Alright," he said finally. "I'll open up."
Haruka grinned. "Good! I knew I could rely on you."
They stepped out of the car and walked toward the front door. Haruka unlocked it, flicking on the lights inside. Before going in, Haruka paused and glanced back at Izamuri.
"By the way," he said, voice softening, "at Wednessday, it might be… a big turning point. Not just for Daichi. For all of us. G-Force has been running on passion and duct tape for years. But if Hugo's offer goes through… our lives could change."
Izamuri tightened his grip on the key. "What?."
Haruka smiled faintly. "Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."
"You too?"
They parted ways. Haruka heading to his room, Izamuri to the guest room. But before he closed his door, Izamuri gazed at the key again. A workshop key. A simple thing.
But in that moment, it felt like a sign. A responsibility. A trust. A step forward in whatever future awaited them. He tucked the key safely into his jacket and lay down on the futon, mind swirling with questions.
What was in that container?
Why did Franz send it?
Why Daichi?
Tomorrow, some answers would come. And probably a thousand more questions. But for now… Izamuri closed his eyes. And the workshop slept with him.