By the time the clock neared noon, Haruka's Corolla rolled into the workshop's side parking space with a soft crunch of gravel. The sun hung high and bright, casting a warm glow across the lot. Inside the car, Daichi, Simon, and Walter looked equally tired and wired—hours of tension mixed with anticipation clinging to all of them.
Haruka killed the engine. "Alright," he said, exhaling. "Time to get ready."
Daichi stepped out first, stretching his back with a muted groan. His mind was already running through logistics, storage, security, cataloging, and above all, privacy. The value of what they were bringing back was astronomical. One selfie from a nosy customer could spell disaster.
He stepped toward the building. "Change of plans," he announced the moment he entered. His voice cut sharply through the quiet buzz of noon work, immediately grabbing everyone's attention.
Izamuri froze mid–spark plug inspection, holding a socket wrench in one hand. Rin stopped vacuuming the interior of the customer's sedan. Takamori looked up from the parts shelf, eyebrows raised.
Even Nikolai, leaning casually against the break-room doorframe with a steaming mug of coffee, paused mid-sip. He blinked as if the room had suddenly tilted sideways. "...What now?" he muttered under his breath in Russian.
Daichi wasted no time. "Haruka," he said, "the empty room next to the second-floor office. We're using that instead of the break room."
Haruka nodded sharply. "Yes, sir."
Simon raised an eyebrow. "What made you change your mind?"
"Privacy." Daichi met everyone's eyes, one by one. "What we're bringing back cannot be anywhere customers might walk into. Not for a moment."
That was all he had to say. The tone alone made the crew straighten up.
Daichi turned to the younger group. Izamuri, Rin, Takamori, Hana, Ayaka, and the Kaira twins. "I need all of you to finish that spark plug job as fast as possible," he said, pointing at the car on the lift. "No mistakes, no delays. Once the customer's car is done, send them off quickly and keep the floor clear. No outsiders on the workshop floor once the trucks arrive."
Izamuri blinked. "Uh… what trucks?"
"You'll see," Walter said with a smirk, brushing past him. "Just move."
That didn't soothe anyone's curiosity, but they didn't question further.
Ayaka tossed her tied hair over her shoulder and clapped once. "You heard him! Let's move!"
"Right!" Hana chimed in, already grabbing fresh microfiber towels.
The twins, Hojo and Tojo, charged in from the corridor like two missiles. "SPARKPLUGS!? RUSH JOB?! WE GOT YOU!"
Izamuri glanced helplessly at Rin, who simply shrugged and went back to work with a calm expression bordering on resigned acceptance.
Takamori cracked his knuckles. "We can do it in fifteen minutes if we split the tasks."
"Ten," Izamuri challenged on instinct.
"Eight," Rin corrected dryly without looking up.
Daichi nodded once, satisfied with their sudden acceleration. "Good. Make sure the lift is free and the floor is clean when you're done."
Then he turned back to Haruka, Simon, and Walter. "We prep the upstairs room now."
"Yes," the three chorused.
They rushed up the stairs two steps at a time. Haruka swung open the door to the unused room, a storage space lined with dusty cabinets, some old posters rolled in corners, and a folding table leaning crookedly against the wall.
Haruka immediately started clearing the floor. "This room is perfect!"
Simon checked the windows. "We should cover these. We don't need the sun fading anything or strangers peeking."
Walter was already moving furniture, muttering in German about how disorganized abandoned rooms always were. "Honestly, Haruka… this feels like a crime scene."
"It's not," Daichi said calmly, beginning to unscrew a wall shelf. "But it's priceless."
Walter paused. Even Simon turned. Haruka looked at Daichi as if trying to read his face.
Daichi stopped what he was doing and faced the three. "What's coming here today… If the public knew we had it, people would swarm this place. Paparazzi, collectors, criminals, opportunists. This is not something we can afford to mishandle."
Haruka swallowed hard. "Is it really that valuable?"
Daichi nodded slowly. "Yes."
Walter let out a long whistle. "Well. I guess we're a museum now."
Simon smirked. "A very illegal one unless we keep quiet."
Hearing Simon's joke made the tension crack slightly, Haruka even laughed nervously.
Back downstairs, chaos had erupted.
"WHERE'S THE 10MM?!" Izamuri shouted.
"ON THE CART!" Rin yelled back.
"No, THAT'S THE 12! The 10 is gone!"
"It was right here!"
Ayaka groaned. "Someone check the magnet tray!"
Hana ran across the workshop with a replacement spark plug in hand. "Twins! Torque spec?"
"22 Newton-meters!" both shouted in unison from opposite sides of the engine bay.
"Perfect!"
Nikolai, leaning against the vending machine, watched the whirlwind of frantic teamwork with a raised brow. His half-lidded blue eyes flicked from technician to technician.
He took another sip of coffee. "…Amateurs," he murmured, though his smirk said otherwise. He absolutely had no idea what was going on.
Hojo popped up beside him, nearly making him spill his drink. "Nikolai! Move! Your coffee's in the spark plug trajectory zone!"
"What does that even mean?!"
Kaira Tojo zipped by, arms full of tools. "IT MEANS MOVE!"
Nikolai sighed, stepped away from the chaos, and retreated toward the staircase. "I miss when morning was peaceful." But even he couldn't deny the buzz in the air. Something big was coming. He could sense it, just like everyone else.
Daichi returned downstairs briefly to check progress. The crew was working with laser focus: fender covers placed, spark plug tubes lined neatly, coil packs stacked in order.
Good. Efficient. Professional. But also frantic, as if they knew something massive was building.
Izamuri spotted Daichi and opened his mouth to ask, but Daichi lifted a hand and shook his head. "Finish first. Questions later."
Izamuri nodded reluctantly and went back to work.
Hana jogged over to grab another rag, whispering to Ayaka, "What's happening? Did something blow up?"
"No idea," Ayaka whispered back, "but Daichi looks like he's preparing for war."
Upstairs, Simon secured the last curtain. Walter arranged tools for unpacking. Haruka wiped dust off the cleared floor.
Daichi looked over the room one final time and nodded. "Good. This will do."
Haruka wiped sweat from his brow. "Okay… So when do the trucks—"
A horn blared outside. A deep, heavy diesel note.
Simon froze. Walter looked toward the window. Haruka's eyes widened.
Daichi's voice dropped to a low, steady rumble. "…They're here."
The moment Daichi's quiet words left his lips, everything seemed to happen at once. Downstairs, Rin tightened the last coil pack, Izamuri wiped his hands on a towel, and Takamori torqued the final bolt. It all happened with a synchronized urgency born purely from instinct.
"We're done!" Izamuri shouted.
"Car runs!" Rin confirmed.
"Start it!" Takamori barked.
Ayaka jumped into the driver's seat, turned the key, and the engine fired to life instantly. smooth, clean, with a quiet hum. Good enough.
"GO, GO, GO!" Hana yelled as she sprinted toward the office.
Ayaka rolled the car off the lift and straight toward the front door where the customer waited, confused at the frantic sudden efficiency.
"Sorry for the rush!" Ayaka said while bowing repeatedly.
"Terribly sorry!" Hana added.
"We're very sorry!" Izamuri threw in.
"So, so sorry!" the twins shouted from the garage doorway.
The customer blinked rapidly, trying to process the tidal wave of apologies. "U-Uh… okay? Thank you, I guess?"
Rin handed them the keys with a stiff bow. "Have a pleasant day. Please exit quickly. Very quickly."
"Why—"
"Just go!"
The customer squeaked and drove off, tires lightly chirping as they escaped.
No sooner had the brake lights vanished than the rumble of heavy diesel engines filled the street. Two trucks rolled in.
The first was a long flatbed carrying the 1974 Porsche 911 RSR 3.0 in its iconic orange Jägermeister livery, a sight so stunning that even Izamuri felt his heart skip. It was strapped down neatly, glistening in the afternoon sun like a resurrected legend.
The second was the box truck filled with history. engines, memorabilia, and relics from another world.
The workshop fell into silent awe.
Even Nikolai, who rarely reacted to anything, mouthed softly, "Боже мой…"
Walter whistled low. "Now that," he said, "is not something you see every day."
Daichi waved his arm. "Everyone! Move!"
Chaos returned, controlled chaos this time.
The flatbed driver hopped down and lowered the ramp. Walter, Daichi, and Haruka moved to position while Simon guided the process. As the ramp clanged onto the asphalt, the crew slowly and carefully rolled the Porsche backward, its slick tires kissing the ground with a delicate thud.
Ayaka inhaled sharply. "It's… beautiful."
Hana clasped her hands. "This thing looks like it crawled out of a museum."
The twins reacted first, not with awe, but with action.
"ENGINE STANDS! GET TWO!" Hojo yelled.
"ON IT!" Tojo echoed, already sprinting toward the storage area.
Izamuri nearly stumbled watching them. "Why are they so fast!?"
"That's what happens when you feed them energy drinks," Rin deadpanned while helping guide the Porsche inside.
Inside the workshop, the Porsche rolled gracefully to its designated lift area. Every foot of movement was treated like handling a sleeping dragon. slow, steady, and absolutely respectful.
"DON'T TOUCH IT CARELESSLY!" Haruka snapped at the twins as they ran past him with the steel engine stands.
"We know! We know!" they yelled back.
The moment the Porsche settled, Daichi rushed to the box truck. The driver unlocked the rear cargo door, and Daichi pulled it open.
The sight inside silenced everyone again.
The Ferrari V12. The Lotus 98T twin-turbo V6. Crates filled with memorabilia older than all of them. The Porsche 962 front clip hanging like a museum sculpture. Signed caps, photographs, books, some older than Japan's postwar constitution.
But most striking was the neatly labeled crate marked "Enzo."
Everyone stared. Nobody dared breathe.
Daichi cleared his throat. "Alright… twins! Engines first. Move."
The Kaira twins snapped out of their trance.
"A-Affirmative!"
"With extreme care!"
Together, they carried the engine stands inside the truck. Daichi and Walter helped lift the priceless engines while the twins secured them onto the mounts. Even these two wild, unhinged brothers behaved like surgeons handling newborns.
"Slow… slower…" Haruka muttered, clutching his head.
Hojo tightened the final mounting bolt on the Ferrari V12. "Secure."
Tojo adjusted the stand for the twin-turbo V6. "Secure."
"ROLL!" Rin instructed.
The twins began pushing the engines toward the back of the workshop. They were grinning, but even they didn't dare move faster than a cautious walking pace.
Haruka followed them with a look of pure panic.
"If either of you drop that engine—"
"We WON'T!" they shouted.
"If either of you SCRATCH that engine—"
"WE WON'T!!"
"And if either of you so much as LOOK at that engine funny—"
"WE WON'T!!!"
Haruka exhaled through his teeth. "Good."
The two extraordinary powerplants. one from a Ferrari's golden era, the other from Senna's turbocharged monster, were rolled into the engine storage corner. Compared to the humble B-series Honda engines and the few spare 3S-GTE blocks sitting there, these new additions looked like gods among men.
Izamuri stared at them, jaw dropped. "It's like… putting a heavyweight boxing champion next to a bunch of regular gym guys."
Hana nodded. "It looks illegal."
Ayaka clasped her hands behind her back. "I'm too scared to go near it."
Nikolai crossed his arms and huffed quietly. "They don't belong in this world."
Simon, standing beside him, replied, "They don't belong in any workshop. They belong in a guarded vault."
As the twins carefully locked the wheels of each stand and stepped back, Haruka placed his hands on their shoulders.
"Boys," he said slowly, "if either of you do anything stupid with these engines… I will personally bury you."
The twins nodded rapidly.
"Understood."
"Understood, sir."
With the engines secured, attention returned to the truck. Daichi and Walter began unloading the first several boxes, photos, signed caps, documents. They stacked each crate carefully on the rolling cart Simon provided.
"We'll move these upstairs," Daichi said. "One trip at a time. No rush."
Haruka exhaled deeply, relieved that the most fragile items were safe.
Izamuri and Rin stood shoulder to shoulder, staring at the Porsche, at the engines, at the mountain of historical artifacts.
"This…" Izamuri whispered. "This is insane."
Rin nodded slowly. "This is history."
Behind them, Daichi closed the truck's side latch and dusted his hands.
"Now," he said, turning to the group, "let's get the rest inside."
An hour later, every last box, crate, relic, and artifact had been carefully moved inside. The trucks rolled out of the workshop lot, engines rumbling away as the drivers waved their farewells. The moment they disappeared down the street, the entire workshop exhaled at once.
The chaos was over. Now the real work began.
Haruka didn't waste a single second.
"Alright! Everyone, positions!" he barked, as though commanding a museum installation crew instead of a group of mechanics.
He pointed to the massive Porsche 962 front clip resting against the wall inside the truck earlier. "Rin, Tojo, Hojo, help me get this thing into the waiting room."
Izamuri blinked. "You're… hanging that?"
Haruka turned with a spark of reverence in his eyes. "You don't put a Porsche 962 front end on the FLOOR, Izamuri. That's sacrilege."
And so the twins and Rin helped hoist the massive fiberglass nose. The iconic Rothmans-style curves, the sloped intakes, the endurance headlights, toward the front of the workshop. It was so wide that it barely fit through the doorway.
"Careful… careful…" Rin muttered, guiding the right side.
"Don't dent the wall!" Tojo warned.
"Don't dent the NOSE!" Hojo countered.
Haruka paced alongside them, hands hovering nervously. "No sudden movements. None. Treat it like a Fabergé egg."
The three lifted it slowly while Haruka stood on a ladder, drill in hand, aligning pre-marked hooks. The entire workshop held its breath as the legendary front clip eased up, up, and finally, clicked into place.
Haruka stepped down the ladder, staring at it like he'd just crowned a king.
"It's… beautiful."
The waiting room looked like a motorsport shrine now, the glowing fluorescent lights giving the 962 nose a museum-like aura. Customers in the future were going to walk in and forget why they even needed an oil change.
Meanwhile, Walter dragged the massive McLaren MP4/4 front wing toward the trophy cabinet they assembled yesterday. "Haruka, ladder!"
Haruka hurried over while the others watched, still too overwhelmed to speak.
The MP4/4 wing, already priceless by design, was practically glowing. Ayrton Senna and Alain Prost's signatures scrawled across the central section in faded silver ink. The endplates mirrored the iconic red-and-white Marlboro theme. It was more than a part, it was history incarnate.
Walter handed Haruka one side of the wing. "Steady."
"Steady?" Haruka whispered. "I'm holding a relic."
Together, they lifted the piece and gently set it atop the trophy cabinet. The moment they stepped back, it was as though the whole room gained a soul. Racing heritage radiated from the display, past, present, and potential future converging in one workshop.
But there was far more to organize.
In the room beside the office, once an unused storage room with blank walls and dusty shelves, the rest of Franz von Bormann's lifetime collection waited to be sorted. Daichi, Simon, Nikolai, Hana, and Ayaka began placing crates inside carefully.
"Be gentle with the boxes labeled 'Enzo,'" Daichi instructed, almost trembling.
Ayaka nodded. "We're being careful, don't worry!"
Hana added, "Nothing in here is replaceable, anyway."
Walter joined them, hands full of new photo albums and picture frames he purchased from nearby store the moment the trucks arrived. "We're going to need every single one of these," he said, setting the stack on the desk near the window.
Simon picked up one of the older crates, unlatched it, and opened the lid. A puff of dust rose as aged photographs revealed themselves, sepia tones, black-and-white prints, delicate borders. They were frozen windows into time.
Daichi gently lifted the first handful.
And the room fell silent.
"These…" Daichi said quietly, "…these are from 1926."
Hana stepped forward. "Nineteen twenty-six? As in… prewar?"
Daichi nodded slowly, his fingers brushing a curled edge of a photo showing the AVUS circuit, long straights, spectators in hats and suits, men standing beside monstrous silver race machines that looked more like torpedoes than cars.
"These were taken by Franz himself," Daichi continued. "He used to tell me stories about sneaking into the paddock as a child. He said drivers back then treated racing like a duel."
Simon leaned closer. "That's… insane. That's nearly a hundred years old."
Ayaka held up another photograph. "This one says… Monaco, 1929."
In the frame: the very first Monaco Grand Prix. The narrow streets, the crowd pressed dangerously close to the tracks, the early Grand Prix cars sliding through the tight corners. The atmosphere was raw, untouched by modern safety or regulations.
Nikolai pointed. "That man… isn't that Rudolf Caracciola?"
Daichi nodded. "Yes. Caracciola signed that leather hat over there in the memorabilia box."
Hana's jaw dropped. "You have a hat signed by the same man racing in this picture?"
"And another by Tazio Nuvolari," Daichi added with a faint smile.
As he sifted through more photos, Nürburgring in 1927, Spa in 1930, a blurry shot of Bernd Rosemeyer pushing an Auto Union Type C into the pitlane, the weight of history settled into the room like a thick fog.
"Franz lived through everything," Daichi murmured. "He told me once… that he saw more than any man should ever see in a lifetime."
Ayaka whispered, "And he gave all this… to you?"
Daichi hesitated. "He made a bet." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "A stupid bet. But he kept his word."
Nikolai smirked. "The best kind of bet."
Hana and Ayaka looked at one another, wide-eyed.
The makeshift museum slowly took shape.
Haruka labeled shelves for engine parts, brochures, documents, and signed items.
Walter started loading photographs into brand-new albums, separating them by decade. 1920s, 1930s, Pre-War Grand Prix. Each album was handled like a newborn kitten.
Simon hung the signed caps on the wall in neat rows, one for each World Champion from 1950 to 2004.
Izamuri stepped inside the room and froze. "This looks… unreal."
"It's a museum now," Hana whispered.
Ayaka nodded. "No… it's better than a museum. Museums put stuff behind glass and rope."
Izamuri laughed. "Here, we're putting near-priceless artifacts next to a coffee machine."
Walter shot him a glare. "Those artifacts will be behind locked doors once we finish."
Haruka, overhearing, added, "And an alarm system. And cameras. And reinforced locks. And probably a guard dog."
"Do we have a dog?" Tojo asked.
"We will… probably," Haruka replied darkly.
Rin bumped Izamuri's shoulder. "Imagine telling your high school friends you work in a shop with Porsche 962 parts and a Ferrari F40 wheel signed by Enzo himself."
Izamuri shook his head. "They'd think I'm lying."
"Everyone would," Rin agreed.
The sun began lowering outside, golden light spilling into the workshop, illuminating the Porsche 962 nose in the waiting room and the MP4/4 wing above the cabinet like holy relics.
Daichi held another photograph, one of Franz himself, young, smiling, leaning against an Auto Union Type C in 1938.
He whispered, "Franz… what were you planning?"