The sky was still dark when Haruka's white Corolla pulled up to the workshop, headlights cutting through the pre-dawn quiet of Suginami Ward. The street was empty. no pedestrians, no traffic, just the distant hum of a train somewhere in the city's veins. The workshop sat silent, its shutter closed, the waiting room windows dark.
Haruka killed the engine and stepped out, breath misting faintly in the cool air. April mornings still carried a bite, the kind that made you zip your jacket and walk a little faster. Beside him, Izamuri climbed out of the passenger seat, stifling a yawn.
"6 AM," Izamuri muttered, rolling his shoulders. "You weren't kidding about early."
"Early is on time," Haruka replied, already moving toward the door. "On time is late."
"Nikolai says the same thing."
"Because it's true."
Haruka unlocked the front entrance, the deadbolt clicking open with a heavy sound that echoed in the stillness. He flicked on the lights as they stepped inside. one section at a time, fluorescent panels humming to life overhead. The workshop emerged from shadow: the EK9 sitting exactly where they'd left it, tools organized on carts, the floor swept clean from yesterday's work.
Everything ready. Waiting.
Haruka set his keys on the desk near the entrance and grabbed two push brooms from the storage closet. He tossed one to Izamuri, who caught it reflexively.
"Let's make it cleaner," Haruka said.
Izamuri blinked. "We swept yesterday."
"And we're sweeping again," Haruka replied, already moving toward the far corner. "You want our customers to think we're amateurs?"
Izamuri didn't argue. He just started sweeping.
They worked in silence for a few minutes, the rhythmic scratch of bristles on concrete the only sound. Dust and tiny metal shavings collected in neat piles. The morning light began creeping through the high windows, pale and gray, painting the workshop in soft tones.
Haruka broke the silence first, voice casual but carrying weight. "Change of plans for the delivery."
Izamuri paused mid-sweep. "What kind of change?"
"Daichi and I are driving the EK9 ourselves."
Izamuri straightened. "To Hugo's base?"
"Yeah. Chiba. Should take about an hour and a half, maybe two with morning traffic."
"I thought we were using the flatbed."
"We were," Haruka said, pushing his pile of debris toward the center. "But the flatbed's not here yet. Won't be ready until next week. And I don't want to risk renting a hauler last minute. too many variables, too much that can go wrong."
Izamuri nodded slowly, processing. "So you're just… driving it there. On public roads."
"Exactly."
"In a race car."
Haruka smiled faintly. "It's street-legal. Barely."
"Barely doesn't sound reassuring."
"It'll be fine," Haruka said, waving off the concern. "The car's registered, insured, and technically meets minimum road standards. We just have to be careful."
Izamuri resumed sweeping, but slower now, his mind clearly elsewhere. "And the stickers?"
"We're covering them," Haruka replied. "Temporarily. Black vinyl wrap over the sponsor decals, race numbers, anything that screams 'this is a competition vehicle.'"
"Won't that look suspicious?"
"Less suspicious than driving around with a massive race number on the door," Haruka said. "Trust me, the last thing we need is some overzealous traffic cop pulling us over because they think we're street racing."
Izamuri couldn't argue with that logic.
"How long will the wrap take?" he asked.
"Rin's bringing the vinyl. Should be here by seven. We'll have it done in an hour, maybe less." Haruka paused, glancing toward the EK9. "Then we leave by nine. Arrive at Hugo's base around eleven. Plenty of time."
"And me?"
"You stay here," Haruka said. "Help the others finish up. Make sure everything's ready for next week."
Izamuri nodded, though part of him wished he could ride along. Watch the handoff. See Hugo's operation up close. But he understood. two people in the car was already risky. Three would be reckless.
"What about Daichi?" Izamuri asked. "You told him yet?"
"Last night," Haruka replied. "He's fine with it. Actually, he insisted."
"Insisted?"
Haruka smiled. "He wants to drive it. Said it's been too long since he's been behind the wheel of something that actually mattered."
Izamuri felt something tighten in his chest, pride, maybe, or responsibility. The EK9 wasn't just a car anymore. It was a statement. A promise. And Daichi wanting to drive it felt like validation.
They finished sweeping in comfortable silence, piling the debris into a dustpan and dumping it into the trash. The workshop looked pristine now, ready for whatever the day demanded.
Haruka leaned the broom against the wall and checked his watch. "6:47. Good. Rin should be here soon."
Izamuri glanced toward the windows, where the morning light was starting to brighten, soft and golden. The city was waking up—somewhere out there, trains were filling with commuters, convenience stores were restocking shelves, people were starting their routines.
And across the street. Inside a Black Mercedes-Benz W204 C63 AMG.
Hayato Kiriyama shifted in the driver's seat, rolling his neck to ease the stiffness that came from sitting motionless for nearly two hours. Beside him, Daiki Mori stared through the windshield, eyes fixed on the workshop entrance, expression unreadable.
The Mercedes was parked in a narrow side street with a clear view of Haruka's workshop, tucked between two other vehicles. a delivery van and a small Nissan hatchback. Nondescript. Forgettable. Perfect.
The C63 AMG was overkill for surveillance work, but it was what they had. All black exterior, tinted windows, the kind of car that said "don't look too closely." The engine was off now, the interior cold despite the expensive leather seats.
Hayato lowered the binoculars, setting them on the center console. "Two people. Early arrival."
"Same white Corolla from last night," Daiki added. "One driver, one passenger."
"The passenger matches the photo," Hayato said. "That's the target. Izamuri Sakuta."
Daiki nodded, pulling out a small notebook. He jotted down the time, the vehicle description, and the names. Akagi wanted details. They'd give him details.
"Workshop lights came on at 6:02," Daiki said, still writing. "No movement outside since then."
"Probably prepping for the day," Hayato replied. "Standard routine."
"Think the car's inside?"
"Has to be," Hayato said. "They haven't moved it since we got here last night. White Civic EK9. Modified. We'll know it when we see it."
Daiki finished writing and closed the notebook. "What do we do if they move it?"
"Follow," Hayato said simply. "Just like Akagi ordered."
Daiki grunted, leaning back in his seat. "Could be a long day."
"Could be," Hayato agreed. "Or it could be quick. Either way, we stay until something happens."
They settled into silence again, the kind that came naturally to people used to waiting. Hayato cracked his window slightly. just enough to let fresh air in without making the car too cold. Daiki took a sip from a convenience store coffee that had long since gone lukewarm.
Neither of them spoke.
They just watched.
Across the street, through the workshop windows, they could see movement now. shadows shifting inside, shapes passing under the fluorescent lights. Two figures, working.
Hayato picked up the binoculars again, adjusting the focus. "Still just the two of them."
"Think anyone else is coming?" Daiki asked.
"Probably," Hayato replied. "It's early. Give it an hour."
Daiki nodded, pulling his phone out to check the time. 6:51 AM.
They'd been here since 10 PM last night, rotating shifts, sleeping in uncomfortable increments, surviving on coffee and rice balls from the FamilyMart three blocks away. It wasn't glamorous. But it was the job.
And if they did it well, Akagi had promised them better assignments.
Better pay.
Better everything.
So they sat.
And they waited.
At exactly 7:00 AM, the sound of a bicycle chain rattling announced Rin's arrival. He coasted to a stop in front of the workshop, dismounted smoothly, and locked the bike to the rack bolted against the wall. A large black duffel bag hung from his shoulder, heavier than usual.
"Morning," Rin called out as he stepped inside.
Haruka looked up from where he'd been inspecting the EK9's front splitter. "Right on time. You bring the vinyl?"
"All of it," Rin replied, patting the duffel bag. "Two full rolls. Should be more than enough."
"Good. Set it down over there. We'll handle that later."
Rin dropped the bag near the workbench and moved immediately toward the EK9, eyes scanning it with the practiced focus of someone conducting a pre-flight check. His fingers traced the suspension arms, checking for anything loose, anything out of place.
"Looks perfect," he said after a moment.
"Better than perfect," Haruka replied. "But we're not done."
Five minutes later, Takamori arrived on foot, walking briskly down the street with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a clipboard tucked under his arm. He greeted them with a nod, already pulling out his phone to check something.
"I ran the final diagnostic simulations last night," Takamori said, tapping the screen. "Tire pressures, fuel load calculations, estimated lap degradation at SUGO based on Fuji data."
"And?" Haruka asked.
"We're good," Takamori replied. "Really good. If we run the pressures I'm recommending, the car should be stable through the entire stint."
"Then that's what we'll do."
Ayaka arrived next, pushing through the door with a canvas tool bag in hand and a determined expression. She didn't waste time with pleasantries. just walked straight to the EK9 and crouched near the rear suspension.
"Morning," she said belatedly.
"Morning," Haruka replied with a faint smile. "Sleep well?"
"Well enough," Ayaka said, already pulling out a torque wrench. "Hana's running late. Train delay."
"She'll be here," Haruka said.
Ayaka nodded and got to work.
Within minutes, the three of them. Rin, Takamori, and Ayaka, had formed a silent triangle around the EK9, each focused on their own tasks. Rin handled the front end, double-checking the tie rod settings and brake line connections. Takamori worked on the electronics, verifying every sensor, every plug, every ground. Ayaka inspected the rear suspension one final time, ensuring every bolt was torqued to spec, every bushing seated properly.
They moved with the kind of rhythm that came from repetition and trust. No one needed to ask what the other was doing. They just knew.
Walter arrived shortly after, still nursing a travel mug of coffee. He set it down on the workbench and stretched, joints popping audibly.
"Guten Morgen," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Too early for this."
"You say that every morning," Haruka replied.
"And I mean it every morning."
Simon followed moments later, stepping inside with his usual quiet composure. He wore a clean button-down shirt and slacks, looking more like a university lecturer than a mechanic. He acknowledged everyone with a brief nod, then moved toward the far wall where the cleaning supplies were kept.
"We're cleaning again?" Walter asked, watching him.
"Yes," Simon replied, pulling out a spray bottle and a stack of microfiber towels. "The floor, the walls, the windows. Everything."
Walter groaned. "We cleaned yesterday."
"And we're cleaning today," Simon said evenly. "This is normal workshop hours and that means customers. First impressions matter."
Walter sighed, setting down his coffee. "Fine. But I'm not scrubbing the bathroom."
"No one's asking you to," Simon replied. "That's the twins' job."
As if summoned by the mere mention of their name, the door swung open again, and the Kaira twins tumbled inside with their usual chaotic energy. Hojo had a backpack slung over one shoulder, already half-open and spilling tools. Tojo carried a plastic bag from a convenience store, the contents clinking suspiciously.
"We're here!" Hojo announced.
"Unfortunately," Rin muttered without looking up.
"Did you bring breakfast for everyone, or just yourselves?" Ayaka asked dryly.
Tojo grinned, pulling out a fistful of onigiri. "Just us. But we'll share if you beg."
"Pass," Ayaka said.
Haruka stepped forward, arms crossed. "You two. Bathroom. Now."
The twins' grins vanished instantly.
"What? Already?" Hojo protested.
"We just got here!" Tojo added.
"And the bathroom's been waiting for you since yesterday," Haruka replied. "Go. Clean it. Properly."
"Define 'properly,'" Hojo said cautiously.
"Scrub the toilet. Mop the floor. Wipe down the sink and mirror. And don't come back until it's spotless."
The twins exchanged a look, then sighed in unison.
"Fine," Tojo muttered.
"But if we die from chemical inhalation, it's on you," Hojo added.
"You'll survive," Haruka said. "Go."
They trudged toward the back of the workshop, muttering complaints under their breath. Halfway there, another voice cut through the room.
"I'm coming with you."
Everyone turned.
Nikolai stood near the entrance, arms crossed, expression utterly serious.
The twins froze.
"Why?" Hojo asked suspiciously.
"Because," Nikolai said calmly, "last time you were left alone in the bathroom, you flooded the floor and broke a mop handle."
"That was an accident!" Tojo protested.
"That was negligence," Nikolai corrected. "And it's not happening again."
Hojo pointed at him. "You're going to watch us clean a toilet?"
"Yes."
"That's weird."
"That's supervision," Nikolai replied. "Now move."
The twins glanced at each other, then back at Nikolai, then reluctantly continued toward the bathroom. Nikolai followed at a measured pace, hands clasped behind his back like a prison warden escorting inmates.
Walter snorted. "He's really doing it."
"Someone has to," Simon said, pulling on a pair of cleaning gloves. "Otherwise we'll have another disaster."
Haruka grabbed a mop bucket from the storage closet and filled it with water and industrial cleaner. The sharp scent of disinfectant filled the air as he added a few capfuls of concentrate. Simon took the spray bottles and began wiping down the windows, moving methodically from one pane to the next.
"Izamuri," Haruka called out. "Grab the other mop. Start from the back and work your way forward."
Izamuri nodded, taking the second mop and heading toward the far corner of the workshop. The floor was already clean, but Haruka was right, they needed it to be perfect.
Walter sighed, grabbed a broom, and began sweeping the already-swept floor. "This is ridiculous," he muttered.
"This is professionalism," Simon replied.
Hana finally arrived ten minutes later, slightly out of breath, her hair tied back in a hasty ponytail. "Sorry! Train got delayed at Shinjuku."
"You're fine," Haruka said. "Grab some towels. Help Simon with the windows."
"On it."
She joined Simon near the front windows, the two of them working in tandem. Simon sprayed, Hana wiped. They moved quickly, efficiently, the glass gleaming as they progressed.
The workshop hummed with activity now, each person locked into their role. The EK9 sat at the center of it all, the focal point, the reason for everything. Rin tightened a final bolt on the front suspension. Takamori connected his laptop to the ECU, running one last diagnostic sweep. Ayaka checked the rear toe settings with a laser alignment tool, adjusting by fractions of a millimeter.
Meanwhile, Haruka mopped the main floor, the wet strokes leaving clean trails across the concrete. Izamuri worked the edges, reaching into corners, making sure no spot was missed. Walter swept dust that didn't exist, grumbling the entire time. Simon and Hana polished every window until they were invisible.
And in the back, behind a closed door, the unmistakable sounds of cleaning echoed. spray bottles hissing, brushes scrubbing, the twins arguing in low voices.
"You missed a spot."
"No, I didn't!"
"Yes, you did. Right there."
"That's a stain! It's been there for months!"
"Then scrub harder."
"You scrub it!"
Nikolai's voice cut through, calm and final. "Both of you. Scrub it. Together. Now."
A pause. Then the sound of scrubbing resumed, more vigorous this time.
Walter shook his head, smirking. "He's actually doing it. He's babysitting them."
"Someone has to," Simon repeated without looking up.
By 7:45, the workshop looked immaculate.
The floors gleamed, still damp in places but drying quickly under the overhead lights. The windows sparkled, sunlight streaming through without a single smudge or streak. The tools were organized, the workbenches wiped down, every surface spotless.
The EK9 sat in the center, surrounded by focused energy. Rin tightened the last bolt on the front caliper. Takamori closed his laptop with a satisfied nod. Ayaka stood back, surveying her work on the rear suspension, then nodded once.
"Done," she said.
"Done," Rin echoed.
"Done," Takamori confirmed.
Haruka walked over, hands on his hips, eyes scanning the car from front to back. He crouched near the front wheel, checking the alignment visually. Stood. Moved to the rear. Checked the ride height. Ran his hand along the door panel, feeling for imperfections.
Finally, he straightened and nodded.
"Good," he said simply.
The bathroom door opened, and the twins emerged, looking slightly traumatized but victorious. Nikolai followed behind them, inspecting the doorframe like a drill sergeant checking for dust.
"Bathroom's clean," Hojo announced.
"Very clean," Tojo added.
Nikolai nodded once. "Acceptable."
The twins looked at each other, then grinned.
"See? We can do things right!" Hojo said.
"When properly supervised," Nikolai added.
The grin faded slightly.
Haruka clapped his hands once, drawing everyone's attention. "Alright. The car's ready. The workshop's clean. Now we move to phase two."
Everyone turned toward him.
"Rin," Haruka said. "Get the vinyl out. We're wrapping the stickers."
Rin moved immediately, grabbing the duffel bag and unzipping it. Two large rolls of matte black vinyl tumbled out onto the workbench.
"Izamuri, Walter, Simon. you're helping Rin," Haruka continued. "Wrap every sponsor decal, every number, anything that stands out. I want this car to look as boring as possible."
"Boring?" Izamuri repeated.
"Boring," Haruka confirmed. "Like someone's weekend track car, not a race machine."
Walter picked up one of the vinyl rolls, examining it. "This'll take at least an hour."
"Then we start now," Haruka said.
The team moved into position around the EK9. Rin measured the first section, marking it with a grease pencil. Simon cut carefully along the line. Walter peeled the backing. Izamuri smoothed it down, fingers pressing firmly, eliminating bubbles.
One panel at a time, the race car began to disappear.
The door numbers vanished beneath black vinyl. The sponsor decals were covered. The bright accents muted. Slowly, methodically, the EK9 transformed. from a championship-ready machine into something quieter. Something that could slip through Tokyo unnoticed.
Haruka stood back, watching, arms crossed.
This was it.
The final step before delivery.
And across the street, still unseen, two men watched through tinted windows, cameras ready, waiting for the moment the car would move.
By 8:47 AM, the transformation was complete.
The EK9 sat under the fluorescent lights, still unmistakably a race car in posture and presence, but visually muted. The championship white paint remained, but every decal, every number, every trace of sponsorship had been covered by matte black vinyl. The door panels were blank. The rear quarter windows showed no logos. Even the small contingency stickers near the fuel cap had been masked.
It looked… ordinary.
Well, as ordinary as a slammed Civic with racing slicks could look.
Rin stepped back, wiping his hands on a rag. "That'll do."
"Better than I expected," Simon agreed, tilting his head to examine the seams. "Clean work."
Walter crossed his arms, surveying the car critically. "Still looks like a race car."
"It's supposed to," Haruka replied. "Just not obviously a race car."
Izamuri walked a slow circle around it, taking in the changes. The car felt different now. quieter, somehow. Less aggressive. Like a tiger that had learned to walk through a neighborhood without being noticed.
"Think it'll work?" Izamuri asked.
"It has to," Haruka said simply.
Ayaka closed the last toolbox with a metallic snap. "That's everything on my end. Suspension's locked in. Nothing's loose."
"Electrical's good," Takamori added, disconnecting his laptop. "All sensors reading nominal. No fault codes."
Hana wiped down the final window, then stepped back to admire her work. "Windows are done. Floor's dry. We're clean."
Haruka nodded, checking his watch. "8:50. We're ahead of schedule."
"So now what?" Rin asked.
"Now we wait," Haruka replied.
"Wait for what?"
"Daichi."
As if on cue, the familiar rumble of a twin-turbo V6 echoed from the street outside. Everyone's heads turned toward the shutter as the sound grew louder, then stopped. A car door shut. Footsteps approached.
The side entrance opened, and Daichi stepped inside.
He wore a plain black jacket, jeans, and driving gloves already on. the thin leather kind that racing drivers preferred. His expression was calm, focused, the look of someone who'd done this a thousand times before.
"Morning," Daichi said.
"Morning," Haruka replied. "You're early."
"Traffic's light right now. Wanted to beat the buildup." Daichi's eyes went straight to the EK9, scanning it with the same methodical precision Haruka had used earlier. He walked closer, crouched near the front wheel, checked the ride height visually. Stood. Moved to the rear. Ran a hand along the covered door panel.
"Vinyl wrap?" Daichi asked.
"Temporary," Haruka confirmed. "We'll peel it off at Hugo's base."
Daichi nodded approvingly. "Smart."
He continued his inspection, moving around the car slowly, silently. No one interrupted. This was his ritual, his way of understanding the machine before trusting it with his life on public roads.
Finally, Daichi straightened and turned back to Haruka. "When do we leave?"
Haruka checked his watch again. "10 o'clock."
Daichi raised an eyebrow. "That's over an hour from now."
"I know," Haruka said. "But if we leave now, we hit the tail end of rush hour. By ten, the highways will be clear. Smooth run all the way to Chiba."
Daichi considered this, then nodded. "Makes sense."
"So what do we do for an hour?" Walter asked, glancing around the spotless workshop.
"Absolutely nothing," Haruka replied.
A long pause followed.
"Nothing?" Rin repeated.
"Nothing," Haruka confirmed. "The car's done. The workshop's clean. We've checked everything twice. Now we sit, we relax, and we don't touch anything that might break."
Takamori leaned against the workbench. "This feels wrong."
"It feels efficient," Simon corrected.
"It feels boring," Walter muttered.
Ayaka pulled out her phone and dropped into one of the folding chairs near the break room. "I'm fine with boring."
Hana joined her, already scrolling through something. "Same."
Izamuri looked around, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. The workshop was too clean to need more work. The car was too perfect to need more adjustments. For the first time in three weeks, there was nothing demanding his immediate attention.
It felt strange.
Uncomfortable, even.
Nikolai appeared from the back hallway, having finished his inspection of the bathroom (again). He surveyed the idle crew with a faint expression of approval. "Good. Rest while you can."
"Easy for you to say," Walter replied. "You've been resting all morning."
"I was supervising," Nikolai corrected.
"Same thing."
From somewhere near the break room, voices rose suddenly.
"No! You landed on my property!"
"I landed on FREE PARKING!"
"That's not how it works!"
"Yes it is!"
Everyone turned.
The twins had commandeered the small folding table in the corner and somehow produced a battered Monopoly board from… somewhere. The box sat open beside them, play money already scattered across the surface in chaotic piles. Hojo held the dice. Tojo clutched a fistful of property cards like they were state secrets.
"How do you two always have Monopoly?" Rin asked, genuinely baffled.
"We keep it in the van," Hojo replied without looking up.
"Why?"
"For emergencies," Tojo said, as if this were obvious.
"Monopoly emergencies?" Ayaka asked.
"Exactly."
Walter shook his head slowly. "I don't even know what to say to that."
"Then don't say anything," Hojo replied, rolling the dice. "Watch and learn."
The dice clattered across the board. Double fours.
"HA!" Hojo shouted, moving his piece. a tiny metal race car, naturally. "Boardwalk!"
Tojo groaned. "You're kidding."
"Pay up!" Hojo demanded, hand extended.
Tojo counted out Monopoly money with exaggerated slowness, muttering under his breath. "This is rigged. The dice are weighted."
"The dice are fine. You're just unlucky."
"I'm strategically disadvantaged."
"You're broke."
The crew slowly gravitated toward the spectacle, unable to resist. Even Daichi, despite himself, drifted closer, arms still crossed but eyes following the game with faint amusement.
Rin pulled up a stool. "Who's winning?"
"Me," Hojo said confidently.
"Temporarily," Tojo corrected. "I'm playing the long game."
"You've mortgaged three properties."
"That's called strategy."
Takamori leaned against the wall, watching. "How long have they been playing?"
"Since we finished the bathroom," Nikolai replied. "Twenty minutes, maybe."
"And they're already this invested?"
"They're always this invested."
Hojo rolled again. Snake eyes.
"YES!" Tojo shouted, practically leaping from his chair. "Go directly to jail! Do not pass GO! Do not collect two hundred dollars!"
"This is a CONSPIRACY!" Hojo yelled, slamming his piece onto the jail space.
Walter laughed despite himself. "This is ridiculous."
"This is entertainment," Simon corrected, a rare smile tugging at his lips.
Haruka leaned against the doorframe, watching the chaos unfold. The twins argued over hotel placements. Tojo accused Hojo of hiding money under the board. Hojo accused Tojo of cheating with the dice. Neither accusation was entirely unfounded.
And yet, somehow, it worked.
The tension of the morning. the wrapping, the cleaning, the waiting, dissolved into something lighter. The workshop, spotless and quiet just minutes ago, now buzzed with low laughter and ridiculous arguments over fake real estate.
Izamuri found himself smiling without realizing it.
Daichi glanced at his watch. 9:14 AM.
Still forty-six minutes to go.
He looked at the twins, at the crew gathered around them, at the Monopoly board where a tiny metal race car sat in jail, and at the ridiculousness of it all.
And for a moment, despite everything, despite Akagi, despite the stakes, despite the surveillance happening across the street which anyone haven't noticed yet, Daichi allowed himself to relax.
Just a little.
"Who's betting on Hojo?" Walter asked suddenly.
"I've got Tojo," Rin replied immediately.
"Hojo's too aggressive," Ayaka said. "He'll overextend."
"Tojo's too cautious," Hana countered. "He'll get boxed in."
"Five hundred yen says Tojo wins," Takamori said.
"I'll take that bet," Simon replied calmly.
Even Nikolai nodded. "Tojo. He's patient."
Haruka shook his head, grinning faintly. "We're really doing this?"
"We've got forty-five minutes," Walter said. "What else are we going to do?"
Fair point.
The game continued, the twins oblivious to the fact that their Monopoly match had become the workshop's primary entertainment. Dice rolled. Money exchanged hands. Properties were bought, sold, mortgaged, and argued over with a passion usually reserved for actual war.
And the clock ticked slowly toward 10:00 AM.
Across the street, in the black Mercedes, Hayato lowered his binoculars and glanced at Daiki.
"Still nothing," he said.
"Patience," Daiki replied.
They kept watching.