By the time the wall clock crept past 2:00 PM, the workshop was deep in its usual afternoon rhythm.
Air tools hissed and sighed. A radio somewhere near the alignment rack played an old city-pop track that crackled slightly through tired speakers. The scent of oil, metal, and brake cleaner hung low, familiar and comforting. It was one of those rare calm stretches. no impatient customers, no engines screaming on stands, no chaos.
Then Haruka stepped out from the staircase and clapped his hands once. Sharp. Loud.
"Alright," he said, voice cutting clean through the noise. "Everyone. Wrap it up. We're cleaning."
The air changed instantly.
Izamuri looked up from the workbench, eyebrows knitting together. Rin paused mid-sweep, broom frozen an inch above the concrete. Takamori slowly turned around, socket still in hand, confusion written plainly across his face. Even the twins, mid-argument about whose turn it was to fetch drinks, went silent.
"Cleaning?" Hojo repeated. "Now?"
"Tojo just mopped yesterday," Tojo added defensively, as if accused of a crime.
Ayaka wiped her hands on a rag and tilted her head. "Did we miss something?"
Hana glanced toward the calendar on the wall. "It's not inspection day."
For a brief moment, no one moved. Then Haruka spoke again, calmer this time. but with a weight behind it.
"Hugo's coming."
That single sentence detonated through the room.
"What?"
"Today?"
"Here?"
"Like here, here?"
Chairs scraped. Tools were set down carefully, then not so carefully. Izamuri straightened instinctively, heart ticking up a notch. He didn't say anything, but the name alone carried gravity. Hugo wasn't just another guest. Hugo was… change. Possibility. Pressure.
Takamori let out a low whistle. "Should've said that first."
"Why didn't you say that first?" Rin muttered, already moving for the mop bucket.
Haruka shrugged, a faint grin pulling at one corner of his mouth. "Because this way you clean faster."
That did it.
Within seconds, the workshop transformed.
Compressors were shut off. Cars were pushed back into clean lines. Rags flew into bins. The twins attacked the floor with renewed fury, scrubbing like the concrete had personally offended them. Ayaka and Hana wiped down surfaces that were already clean, then wiped them again just to be sure. Izamuri grabbed a broom and joined Rin without being told, falling into a quiet rhythm beside him.
Daichi passed through the floor once, nodding approvingly, then disappeared upstairs with Simon and Walter to "handle paperwork," which everyone knew meant making the office presentable enough to not embarrass anyone.
Haruka watched it all for a moment, his shop, his people. then turned and headed upstairs himself.
The office door creaked softly as he opened it.
Up here, the air felt different. Less oil, more dust. Sunlight filtered through the window at a shallow angle, illuminating the desk, the filing cabinets, the half-assembled trophy cabinet now standing proudly against the wall. The room smelled faintly of wood polish and old paper.
Haruka rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
He straightened stacks of documents. Wiped the desk. Aligned chairs. Picked up a stray bolt someone had inexplicably left on the windowsill. As he moved toward the far cabinet. the one rarely opened, his hand brushed against something tucked between old folders.
A photograph slipped free and fluttered down onto the desk.
Haruka froze.
He stared at it.
The photo was old, slightly faded, edges curled from years of being hidden. Two boys sat side by side at a school desk, arms crossed, expressions locked in a mixture of defiance and poorly disguised panic. Their uniforms were rumpled. A detention slip sat squarely between them.
One of them was unmistakably Haruka. shorter, skinnier, hair messier, grin barely suppressed.
The other was Izamuri.
Younger. Quieter. Darker skin already standing out even then. His expression wasn't angry or smug, just resigned, eyes looking slightly away from the camera like he already knew how this would end.
Written in pen on the back, faintly visible through the paper: "Detention – copying during math test. Still failed."
Haruka let out a short, breathless laugh before he could stop himself.
"Unbelievable…" he murmured.
The memory hit him all at once.
Middle school. Math class. A test neither of them had studied for properly. Whispered answers. Shared scribbles. A teacher who noticed immediately. Detention after school, sitting side by side in humiliating silence.
And the worst part?
They still got terrible grades.
Haruka rubbed the bridge of his nose, smiling despite himself. Back then, Izamuri barely talked. Haruka did all the talking for both of them, and somehow still dragged them both into trouble. Some things, apparently, never changed.
The sound of footsteps outside the office snapped him back to reality.
"Haruka?" Simon's voice drifted up from the stairs. "You okay up there?"
Haruka's eyes widened slightly.
Without hesitation, he scooped the photo up, folded it once, then twice, and shoved it into the inner pocket of his jacket. Smooth. Practiced. Like he'd done this before.
"Yeah," he called back, clearing his throat. "Just cleaning."
There was a pause, then footsteps retreated.
Haruka leaned back against the desk, exhaling slowly.
He glanced toward the window, where he could see Izamuri below, sweeping near the entrance with Rin. Focused. Serious. Unaware.
For a brief moment, Haruka considered taking the photo back downstairs. Showing it. Teasing him. Letting the others laugh.
He decided against it.
Some things didn't need to be shared. Some memories were better kept quiet for now.
He straightened his jacket, checked the room one last time, and turned off the office light.
Downstairs, the workshop gleamed.
By 2:55 PM, the workshop no longer looked like a place where engines were torn apart and rebuilt for a living.
It looked… respectable.
The concrete floor gleamed, faintly reflective under the fluorescent lights. Toolboxes were closed, wiped down, and lined up with almost military precision. The scent of degreaser had faded, replaced by a cleaner, almost neutral smell of soap, water, and the faint ghost of motor oil that would never truly leave a place like this.
Cars sat parked neatly, aligned like they were part of a display rather than mid-project machines. Even the waiting area chairs were straightened, magazines stacked instead of scattered.
Everyone stood around pretending not to wait.
Izamuri leaned against a pillar near the entrance, arms crossed, eyes flicking occasionally toward the street outside. Rin hovered near the front desk, fidgeting with a rag he didn't need anymore. The twins had gone eerily quiet, which was always a sign they were nervous. Ayaka and Hana whispered near the EK9, glancing toward the door every few seconds.
Upstairs, the office lights were on. Haruka stood near the window with Daichi, Simon, Walter, and Nikolai. No one spoke much. There was nothing left to prepare.
They were ready.
At exactly 3:00 PM, a low, controlled engine note rolled into the street outside.
Izamuri's head snapped up instantly.
The sound wasn't loud. It wasn't aggressive. It was… composed. Confident. The kind of sound that didn't need to announce itself because it already knew it belonged.
A blue BMW M2 F87 eased into view and came to a smooth stop in front of the workshop.
For a half second, nobody moved.
Then Haruka exhaled slowly. "That'll be him."
The driver's door opened.
Hugo stepped out.
He was dressed simply. dark jacket, clean shirt, jeans—but everything about him carried presence. The way he closed the door gently instead of slamming it. The way he adjusted his jacket before turning toward the workshop. Calm, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.
His eyes swept over the building, the sign, the clean floor visible through the open shutter.
A faint smile crossed his face.
Izamuri straightened instinctively.
Hugo walked in, hands loosely at his sides, posture relaxed. His gaze moved from face to face, recognizing some immediately, studying others with interest. When his eyes landed on Izamuri, they lingered for just a moment longer. curious, thoughtful, but he said nothing.
Haruka stepped forward first.
"Right on time," he said, offering a hand.
Hugo took it, firm but not crushing. "Wouldn't want to make a bad first impression."
Daichi approached next, nodding. "Good to see you again."
"Likewise," Hugo replied. "Looks like you've been busy."
"That's one way to put it," Simon muttered under his breath, earning a sharp elbow from Walter.
Introductions followed quickly. Names exchanged. Small nods. Polite smiles. Hugo acknowledged everyone evenly. mechanics, drivers, crew, never once acting like anyone was beneath his attention. That alone didn't go unnoticed.
Haruka gestured toward the staircase. "Shall we?"
Hugo glanced around once more, eyes taking in the spotless workshop, then nodded. "Lead the way."
As they climbed the stairs, the workshop below fell into a quiet hum. No one followed. No one needed to. This was a conversation for upstairs.
The office door opened, and Hugo stepped inside.
He paused.
The room was tidy, but not sterile. The newly built trophy cabinet stood against the wall. mostly empty for now, but solid, waiting. Motorsport photographs lined one side, some modern, some clearly decades old. The Porsche 962 front end mounted in the waiting area outside was partially visible through the glass, unmistakable even at a glance.
Hugo's eyebrows lifted slightly.
"You've got history here," he said, more observation than question.
Haruka nodded. "And plans."
Hugo smiled at that.
They took seats around the desk. Haruka at the head, Daichi beside him. Simon and Walter flanked one side, Nikolai standing off to the back, arms crossed, silent as ever. Hugo sat opposite them, posture relaxed but attentive.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The ticking of the wall clock filled the space.
Then Hugo leaned back slightly, hands resting on his knees. "Before we talk about anything else," he said, voice calm, "I just want to say this."
Everyone looked at him.
"What you pulled off this weekend," Hugo continued, eyes briefly flicking toward the window, toward the workshop, toward Izamuri below. "wasn't luck. I've seen luck. This wasn't it."
Izamuri, downstairs, felt a strange chill run up his spine without knowing why.
Hugo's gaze returned to Daichi. "You built something here. Not just cars. People. That's harder."
Daichi didn't respond immediately. When he did, his voice was steady. "That's why we're listening."
A faint nod. Respect, acknowledged.
Then a a few seconds later a knock on the office door came softly, almost hesitant.
Haruka looked up first. "Yeah?"
The door opened, and Takamori peeked in, one hand still on the handle. Behind him, Rin hovered, Ayaka and Hana just over his shoulder, with the twins, Hojo and Tojo craning their necks to see inside. Izamuri stood at the back of the small group, unsure whether he was actually supposed to be here or not.
Hugo turned slightly in his chair, eyes flicking over them. He didn't look surprised. If anything, he looked like he'd been expecting this.
Haruka glanced at Daichi, then nodded. "Come in. All of you."
That was all the invitation they needed.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Chairs scraped lightly against the floor as people rearranged themselves. Takamori leaned against the wall near Nikolai. Rin sat on the edge of a filing cabinet. Ayaka and Hana took spots near the trophy cabinet, exchanging quiet looks. The twins squeezed together on one chair, whispering something that earned them a glare from Haruka. Izamuri remained standing for a moment, then took an empty chair near the door, hands resting on his knees.
Hugo waited until everyone settled before speaking.
"Good," he said calmly. "I was hoping you'd all join."
There was something deliberate in the way he said it. not a courtesy, but a statement. This wasn't a closed-door negotiation. This was a conversation.
"You're all part of this team," Hugo continued. "Whatever direction this goes, it affects every single one of you."
No one interrupted.
Hugo leaned forward slightly. "So I'll start with something simple."
He glanced around the room, then back to Haruka and Daichi. "Logistics."
That word alone made several people straighten up.
"You've done well so far," Hugo said. "But you're running a privateer operation. That means long drives, overnight hauls, exhausted crews, and too many risks that have nothing to do with racing."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"For certain rounds," Hugo went on, "I'm willing to provide transport support."
The room went quiet.
Daichi's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Support how?"
"One of my transport trucks," Hugo replied evenly. "Fully enclosed. Crew-certified. For circuits that are… inconvenient."
Hojo blinked. "Inconvenient?"
Hugo smiled faintly. "SUGO. Tokachi. Okayama. Autopolis. Anywhere that turns a race weekend into a logistics nightmare."
The twins exchanged a look, wide-eyed, excited, trying very hard not to react too loudly.
"That's—" Hana started, then stopped herself.
"A big deal," Ayaka finished quietly.
Hugo nodded. "Exactly."
Haruka folded his arms. "You're talking about letting us use it?"
"Yes."
No conditions. No dramatic pause. Just yes.
Izamuri felt his chest tighten.
A transport truck wasn't just convenience, it was survival. Less fatigue. Less risk. Less money bleeding out through fuel, tolls, and breakdowns. It meant arriving at a circuit focused instead of half-dead.
Rin leaned forward slightly. "Just… use it?"
"For those rounds," Hugo clarified. "Not every race. I'm not trying to swallow your operation whole."
That line mattered.
Daichi studied Hugo carefully. "And what do you get out of it?"
Hugo didn't hesitate. "Stability."
The word landed heavier than expected.
"I want my teams to last," Hugo said. "Not burn bright and die young. You've got something here that could grow, but only if it survives the grind."
Takamori crossed his arms. "And the catch?"
Hugo met his gaze evenly. "Transparency. Communication. And no heroics."
The twins stiffened at that.
"No pushing crews past their limit just to prove a point," Hugo continued. "No last-minute miracles that leave people broken by Monday."
His eyes flicked briefly toward Izamuri, not accusing, just observant.
Izamuri swallowed.
Haruka exhaled slowly. "You're serious."
"I wouldn't be sitting here if I wasn't."
Silence followed, not uncomfortable, but heavy with thought.
Simon finally spoke. "That kind of support changes how we operate."
"That's the idea," Hugo replied.
Walter nodded slowly. "It also changes expectations."
"Yes," Hugo agreed. "Which is why I want everyone here to hear it directly."
Ayaka glanced at Izamuri, then back at Hugo. "You're not trying to turn this into your satellite team?"
Hugo smiled faintly. "If I wanted that, the conversation would sound very different."
That earned a few quiet chuckles.
Daichi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed now. "And if we say no?"
"Then I respect it," Hugo said simply. "And we part on good terms."
No pressure. Or at least, no obvious pressure.
The discussion shifted naturally after that.
Practical questions followed, how often the truck would be available, who handled scheduling, what kind of equipment could be transported. Hugo answered each one patiently, clearly having thought this through long before stepping into the office.
Takamori asked about timing. Rin asked about access. The twins asked if they could ride in the truck, which earned them an immediate no from everyone at once.
Hugo laughed. "See? Team chemistry already."
Izamuri hadn't spoken yet.
He wasn't sure if he was supposed to.
But Hugo noticed.
"You've been quiet," Hugo said, turning toward him. "That's unusual."
Every eye in the room shifted to Izamuri.
He straightened slightly. "I'm just… trying to understand."
"Understand what?"
"Why you'd trust us this much," Izamuri said honestly.
Hugo studied him for a moment longer than necessary. Then he smiled, not the polite kind, but something warmer.
"Because I've seen drivers with talent," Hugo said. "And I've seen drivers with hunger. You have both."
Izamuri's throat tightened.
"And because," Hugo added, glancing briefly at Daichi, "you're standing in the right room, with the right people."
The conversation continued from there, circling back, branching off, covering concerns and possibilities. Voices rose and fell. Tension eased. Laughter broke through more than once.
Time slipped by almost unnoticed.
Outside the office, the workshop remained quiet, bathed in late afternoon light.
Inside, plans were forming, not finalized, not signed, but real.
They talked.
And talked.
And talked.
Until nearly an hour had passed.