The entire mountaintop stood in stunned silence.
Collei.
The Phantom of Yougou.
The young green-haired girl stood there beneath the buzzing halogen lights, one hand resting casually on the open driver's side door of the AE86. That familiar black-and-white panda Trueno idled beside her, engine ticking quietly, heat waves spilling off its hood like ghosts rising into the night air. The same girl they'd seen around the gas station, the tofu shop, the convenience store — always quiet, always forgettable.
But not tonight.
Tonight, she was someone entirely different.
The realization spread through the gathered crowd like a slow-burning fuse. The Eight-Six… the one that had blown past tuned Evos and Skyline GT-Rs like they were nothing. The one that had turned the downhill into its own personal slaughterhouse. This wasn't a coincidence. She wasn't a messenger.
She was the fucking driver.
Beidou, Seele, and Pela cut through the crowd, their boots crunching gravel, eyes locked on the girl and the machine behind her. Beidou's pace was heavy, each step harder than the last. Her brows were drawn tight, eyes wild with disbelief. She came to a stop barely a foot away from Collei, practically vibrating with confusion and frustration.
"What the fuck is going on, Collei?!" she barked. "What the hell are you doing here? Where's your dad? And why the fuck are you behind the wheel of that goddamn car?!"
Collei scratched at the back of her head, her fingers threading through the short strands of green hair as she tried to keep calm. Her pulse was high, but her voice was level.
"That's a lot of questions all at once, Beidou," she said, exhaling through her nose. "But the short version? My dad's at home."
Beidou flinched. She took a sudden half-step forward like she was ready to grab the keys out of Collei's hand. Her eyes darted over the car — the hood, the wheels, the faint scarring along the front bumper that only came from real mountain battles.
"Okay. Alright. Thanks for bringing the Eight-Six up here, but without your dad behind the wheel, this thing's fucking useless!"
Collei's expression tightened. Her stomach knotted as her hand dropped off the door. She rolled her eyes without thinking, muttering under her breath with more than a hint of bitterness.
"Thanks a lot, Dad... really threw me under the bus with this one."
Beidou didn't let up. Her voice was sharp, almost panicked now. "Did your dad tell you anything before he sent you up here? Any advice at all? What the hell are you supposed to do?!"
Collei looked up — and for a moment, everything else quieted.
Her voice, when it came, was calm. Flat. It cut through the rising storm in Beidou's tone like a razor.
"All he said was… find some girl driving an FD who thinks she's the fastest in Araumi…"
She paused, her gaze drifting toward Keqing, who stood silent by her FD, arms crossed, watching like a hawk.
"…and beat the living shit out of her on the downhill."
The words hit like a hammer.
Beidou's mouth opened but no words came. Seele took a step back like someone had shoved her. Pela's normally calm expression twitched with disbelief.
"You're telling me…" Beidou said, voice low, "…your dad actually told you to race Keqing? In that FD?"
Collei gave a nod, expression unreadable.
Beidou stared at her, something between awe and confusion flashing across her face. Her lips parted again, but she was trying to process too much at once. There was only one question left to ask.
"…But can you beat her?"
Collei didn't flinch. Her stance was relaxed, but there was weight behind her gaze — that quiet kind of confidence that didn't need to scream.
"I don't know for sure," she said casually, then tilted her head slightly. "But if it really matters to you…"
She gave it a moment — enough time for the tension to hang in the air, for everyone to start holding their breath.
"…I already did. Couple nights ago."
Beidou's eyes widened, jaw tensing hard enough it looked like it might snap. Seele's head whipped around toward Keqing, then back to Collei. Pela let out an involuntary breath, her composure visibly shaken.
"You've already beaten her?! On the downhill?!"
Collei nodded once.
The silence turned oppressive.
Then a new voice came crashing into the moment like a pipe through a windshield.
"Collei!"
March forced her way through the trio, eyes blazing, boots stomping with purpose. Her arms were tense at her sides, fists clenched, and when she reached Collei she didn't hold back.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" she snapped. "Are you trying to crash the race?! You think this is funny?!"
Beidou turned on her, voice cold.
"March. Back off."
But March wasn't backing down.
"You don't just show up like this and act like you belong at the start line," she spat. "You're in the fucking way. Move your car."
Collei didn't move. Didn't blink.
March shoved forward and tried to push her back toward the Eight-Six. Before her hand even made contact, Beidou's arm shot out like a reflex, her palm slamming into March's shoulder with enough force to stop her cold.
"I said step aside," Beidou growled.
March stared her down for a second, lips curling, but then backed off, seething.
The moment she was gone, Beidou turned back to Collei, her voice softer now — but still on edge.
"…Collei. Just tell me straight. Do you do the tofu runs in the mornings? In this car?"
Collei nodded, expression casual again. "Yeah. And I've been doing deliveries for the past five years now."
Beidou froze.
Five years.
Her mind started snapping pieces together like a puzzle she hadn't realized she was holding.
The car control. The early morning engine noises. The way the AE86 moved like it had a mind of its own on the tight corners. It wasn't Arlecchino behind the wheel.
It had never been Arlecchino.
It had been her.
This whole fucking time.
Beidou exhaled slow, like something massive had finally dropped into place. A grin — slow, crooked, almost reverent — crept across her lips.
"…I get it now," she muttered. Then louder, "I'm glad you showed up, Collei. You just saved our asses tonight."
Collei smirked, offering a loose thumbs-up before turning back to the AE86.
Keqing, who had been silent the whole time, finally stepped forward. Her expression hadn't changed, but there was something different in her eyes now. A flicker of recognition. Of curiosity.
"Hey. Kid."
Collei paused, turning just enough to meet her gaze.
"You look a little young for someone with that kind of skill," Keqing said, voice cool but edged with intrigue. "What's your name?"
Collei smiled, not smug — just sure.
"Collei. Nice to meet you."
Keqing nodded slowly, then let a smirk tug at the corner of her mouth.
"…Alright, Collei. I'll try to remember that." Her eyes narrowed, sharp as knives. "But don't think I'll make the same mistake twice."
Collei's grin widened a fraction.
Both drivers turned.
The Eight-Six's door slammed shut. The FD's followed a second later.
Ignitions flicked. Engines roared to life.
The 4A-GE's high-pitched growl echoed off the mountain walls. The FD's rotary snarled in response — low, feral, hungry.
Headlights cut through the darkness. The crowd backed away from the starting line like the air had suddenly turned electric.
Everyone felt it.
No more doubts.
No more pretenders.
Just two drivers.
Two machines.
And one mountain.
The intensity is electric.
Beidou stands between the two machines, her arms raised like a human checkered flag. Her eyes bounce between the drivers — stone-set, fierce — as if her stare alone could set the tires alight.
The crowd holds its breath. No one speaks. No one dares. The heat bleeding off the asphalt feels like a living thing, coiling around ankles and humming in their bones. The mountain is alive.
"Alright!" Beidou shouts, her voice slicing through the silence like a blade. "Here comes the countdown!"
"Three!"
The RX-7's 13B rotary snarls. Shooting blue flames from the twin exhaust tips, the sound splitting the air like a banshee scream. You can feel it in your chest.
Meanwhile, the AE86 hums at a higher register — lighter, tighter. The 4A-GE's throttle blips quick, precise, like a surgeon flexing a scalpel before the first cut. Collei's right foot feathers the gas. Heel and toe, checking the throttle response. Clean.
"Two!"
Keqing's hands lock around the RX-7's wheel. White knuckles. Her right foot hovers over the accelerator, tension loaded in her leg like a compressed spring.
Collei's eyes are half-lidded. Calm. Her grip loose. She draws in a breath, holds it. Inhale. Exhale. The AE86 sits squat and ready — quiet, but poised like a predator in tall grass.
"One!"
The world shrinks to a pinhole.
"GO!!"
Beidou's arms drop.
Tires scream, rubber explodes off the start line, smoke rolls like a wave as both cars launch.
Keqing's RX-7 slams her back into the seat. Her left hand flicks the shifter—first to second, lightning-fast. The rear tires spin before hooking up. The FD pulls hard, turbo whistling like a war cry.
Collei's AE86 doesn't launch with brute force. It hooks clean. Rear end squats, and she short-shifts second, keeping revs high but not redlining. Her foot dances over the clutch and throttle like a pianist—perfect rev-match, zero wheelspin. She stays glued to Keqing's tail through the first sprint.
From a high overlook, Ningguang watches — eyes narrow, arms crossed.
"Interesting," she murmurs. "That AE86… she's not running a stock diff. That's rally-tuned for short bursts. Tailored for these hairpins."
First Corners – RX-7 Leads, but Not Alone
Keqing hits the first corner hard. Her right foot lifts, brakes bite. She downshifts — heel-toe, revs spike — then she throws the car in.
The FD's back end kicks out gracefully. Controlled oversteer. Her hands flick left, then right, catching the slide with micro-corrections. The RX-7 glides sideways — elegant, vicious.
Textbook.
Behind her, Collei is already braking later. Much later.
She heel-toes down to third, her foot stabbing the brake at the last possible moment. No hesitation. The AE86 dives in fast, way too fast — but she's not scared.
She initiates a four-wheel drift. All four tires howl as she flicks the car sideways with a Scandinavian flick — left, then hard right. Her throttle modulation is razor sharp, keeping the chassis neutral, right on the edge of grip. The rear bumper comes within millimeters of the guardrail. Sparks fly.
Spotters go wide-eyed.
"That's insane! She just slid the whole car like a damn rally car!"
"Did you see that line?! Exit speed's unreal — she's flying!"
Out of the corner, Collei's throttle pins again. The AE86 roars forward — maybe not with raw power, but with momentum.
She's not chasing.
She's hunting.
Keqing watches the mirror again. The Eight-Six is closer.
Too close.
"No way..." she hisses, slamming into fourth, the rotary wailing. "This shouldn't be possible."
The straights give her space — but every damn corner, Collei claws it back.
Her AE86 floats through the bends with surgical rhythm. Brake, clutch, downshift — every movement a dance. No wasted motion. No extra angle. Just precision.
Keqing's frustration builds.
"She's hitting my lines. No—she's tightening them…"
The RX-7 fishtails ever so slightly at the next left. Keqing overcorrects a touch.
And in that moment, Collei inches closer.
They break onto the straightaway — the Skate Rink.
Keqing slams the throttle. Turbo spools — the FD shoots forward like a bullet.
Finally, daylight between them.
But Collei's unfazed. She keeps revs high, engine singing, but makes no desperate move.
She's waiting.
And the next turn is coming fast.
Collei's eyes lock onto the path ahead. Her heart rate drops. Everything slows.
"This is it, it all comes down to these five hairpin turns..." she whispers. Her hand rests light on the wheel, her left foot poised.
Downshift.
Third.
Second.
She knows this section.
Keqing enters clean. Brake, shift, drift.
But the AE86 doesn't slow.
It dives — full throttle — straight into the inside line.
"What the hell is she doing!?"
Then Keqing hears it.
A sharp metallic screech, unnatural.
Her eyes dart to the right just in time.
Collei's front-right wheel is locked into the gutter. Her entire car is riding the inner drainage trench — a gutter run.
The AE86 doesn't lose speed.
It explodes forward like a slingshot.
"That's suicide! One mistake and she's in the wall—!"
But Collei nails it.
Again.
And again.
Hairpin Two — same move.
Hairpin Three — even faster.
Hairpin Four — perfect alignment.
Hairpin Five — no hesitation.
Keqing's RX-7 drifts each one with perfect angle, but she's fighting physics.
Collei's gutter run bypasses them.
A brutal, dangerous, insane technique — only possible from someone who's carved every inch of this mountain into muscle memory.
The final stretch.
The AE86 rockets out of the last corners, tires clawing the pavement, suspension compressing hard as Collei drops third into fourth, foot flat.
Keqing chases, but the FD's tires screech in protest. Turbo whines. But the gap…
Too wide.
The AE86 crosses the line.
A full car and a half ahead.
Silence for half a second.
Then the crowd erupts.
"She did it!! The Eight-Six WINS!!"
The mountaintop shakes with cheers. Radios crackle. Spotters shout over each other.
Keqing throws the RX-7 into park, swings the door wide open, stomps into the gravel.
"FUCK!!" she shouts, pacing, seething. Her fists clenched, breath ragged. "How the hell did I lose?!"
She can't deny it. It wasn't just guts — it was execution. Collei's driving was mechanical perfection fused with mountain-born instinct. She owned Yougou.
Meanwhile, Beidou's crew celebrates in a frenzy.
Seele's jumping and whooping with Pela. March is practically vibrating with energy.
Beidou grins, arms crossed, soaking in the glory. "Collei, you goddamn legend!!"
But off to the side, Ningguang watches with sharp eyes.
A slow smirk forms. "So… she's the real thing."
Above them, hidden in the trees, a lone figure watches. Long dark-blue hair shifting in the breeze. She's silent.
Watching that last hairpin again in her mind.
Then, a whisper.
"Only someone from Yougou would ever learn that move…"
She fades back into the woods.
"This just got interesting."