Chapter Text
Himeko got used to the kind of rhythm that was established by the hum of the city. That kind of hum was different from neon-lit chaos and grumbles from engines prowling here and there in the sprawling metropolis. It was something she liked to call the "iron heartbeat," which would perfectly call a city set up on speed and machines in her opinion. Chasing one thing or another was the pastime most people found here to bring their dreams to reality, usually a chase for nothing but adrenaline. Deep hints played at the back of her mind to tell: Perhaps, for others, it was the races but not for her. It was the challenge and the endless tinkering, not the hunt for perfection.
But this night, the heartbeat was slower, nameless. The clock up on her workbench says 1:45 a.m. outside, the streets were very calm. Inside her garage, a huge jumble of tools, car parts, and stray coffee mugs, she was busy working on her latest project. It's a classic muscle car, gleaming under the industrial lights, deep crimson paint catching glare.
With the back of her hand, Himeko wiped her forehead, leaving a trail of grease across her temple. Stepping back, she admired her handiwork. It had taken months of painstaking work to bring the car back to its former glory. Every part-from the reinforced chassis to the turbocharged engine-was carefully re-constructed. This was not just a car; it was a work of art.
She reached for her coffee mug, only to find it cold—again.
“Figured,” she muttered, setting it down with a sigh.
She had just turned back toward the workbench when a sharp screech of tires pierced the stillness. It tore through the night like a scream, dragging Himeko’s attention to the open garage door. A pair of headlights blazed into view, followed by the hulking shadow of a car—a battered heap of smoke and steel—that careened into her driveway and skidded to an uneven stop.
Himeko didn’t move, her arms crossed as she watched the scene unfold. The vehicle wheezed, its engine sputtering one final, pitiful cough before giving up entirely. Smoke poured out from under the hood, curling into the cold night air like a ghost’s sigh.
"Great." she muttered as she started to look at the damages from afar.
The driver's side door opened, and out stepped a woman who seemed cause of the chaos; she was tall and lithe, every movement pulsating with relaxed assurance that was, obviously, planned and rehearsed. Her lavender hair shone in the garage's fluorescent light, a shining contrast to her grimy leather jacket.
Himeko narrowed her eyes. She knew that face.
Kafka.
That name had weight in the underground racing world. Everyone knew her for crazy stunts on the racetrack, never stopping for less than getting to the finish line first, and for having the wildest knack of turning even the most impossible situations around and taking them to the win. Himeko had heard plenty of stories: how Kafka once charged a police hail of gunfire in the midst of a street race and came out with only a scratch on her body, or how she sabotaged a rival's car midrace without a single eye catching her.
Yet, Himeko wasn't at all impressed. She detested racers like Kafka: reckless bastards who drove their cars like accessories that could be used and disposed off without a second thought and not as a finely tuned marvel that those machines truely cost.
"You've got to be kidding me," Himeko spat as Kafka sauntered her way. "Of all the garages in this city, you come at mine?"
Kafka smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement. "What can I do? Word on the street is you being the best. Figured I'd see for myself."
Himeko did not bother hiding her irritation. "That thing you call a car is a disaster waiting to happen. I'm not touching it."
"Not even for this?" Kafka reached inside her jacket and pulled out a thick wad of cash, tossing it onto the nearest workbench. The crisp bills landed with a satisfying thud.
Himeko's eyes flicked to the money and back to Kafka. "That's not enough to buy back my night."
"How about I make it interesting, then?" It sounded like a dare, Kafka leaning back against the workbench with a widening smirk. "Fix my car, and I'll tell you something you actually want to hear. Call it...a story worth your time."
"I'm not interested in your stories."
Kafka tilted her head, smile unchanged. "Suit yourself. But trust me, you'll want to hear what I know."
Himeko pressed her lips into a thin line and finally sighed. "Fine. But if I find out you're wasting my time, I'm charging you double."
Kafka grinned. "Deal."
Himeko grabbed her gloves and headed towards Kafka's car, shaking her head at it-the sight up close was much worse than she had imagined. The hood had been extremely charred, the front had been nearly hanging by a thread, and the tires might have been made of tissue paper, given how extremely worn down they were.
"What the hell did you do to this thing?"
Kafka shrugged, watching Himeko do her work. "Let's just say I had an eventful evening."
“Eventful doesn’t cover it.” Himeko popped the hood, revealing a scene of utter devastation—burned wires, a cracked radiator, and an oil leak that could have drowned a small animal. She narrowed her eyes at the remnants of what looked suspiciously like an illegal nitrous oxide system.
"You've got a loose alternator belt, a busted cooling system, and-" Himeko paused to scrutinize the charred remnants of what looked very much like an illegal nitrous oxide system. "You're running nitro without reinforcements? Are you insane?"
Kafka tilted her head, her grin never faltering. "Insane? No. Bold? Absolutely."
Himeko sighed. "This will take all night."
"Good," Kafka said, settling herself on a stool. "I've got time to kill."
The hours stretched on, filled with the steady rhythm of tools against metal, as Himeko worked. Kafka, true to her word, didn't leave. She sat nearby, occasionally breaking the silence with a comment or question. "You always work alone?"
"People slow me down," Himeko said without looking up.
"You're not wrong." Kafka chuckled. "But it must get lonely."
Himeko didn't answer.
For a time, she was content to watch, sharp eyes flicking between Himeko's hands and the car. There was something almost predatory about her gaze, like a hunter studying prey. Finally, she broke the silence with her excessive chitchat. "You ever race?"
“No”. Himeko replied shortly
"Why not?"
"Because I don't have a death wish."
"What a pity," Kafka said, leaning back against the wall. "I think you would be good at it. You've got that...fire."
Himeko snorted. "Fire won't save you when you're wrapped around a lamppost."
Kafka laughed low and throaty. "Fair enough."
By the time the first hints of dawn began to creep through the garage windows, Himeko was nearly finished. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, smearing grease across her face. Kafka’s car, though far from perfect, looked significantly less like a death trap.
"For the time being, that's going to do just fine," Himeko stepped a little backward as she said that. "But in case you don't want it going bonkers any longer, you'll have to do a complete overhaul to her."
Kafka hopped off her stool and replied, "Thanks, Doc. I owe you one,"
"You owe me more than that," she replied, referring to the heap of cash. Kafka chuckled and slid into the driver's seat, the car roared alive and its engine purred like a cat but far roguish in tone. Himeko stood at the garage entrance with crisp bills in her hand and an unfamiliar tension in her chest, watching Kafka's taillights disappear into the dimming light of early morning.
It wasn't just the money or the dare to fix the wreck she had found her signature chaos, the reckless energy that crackled in the air as she spoke. Himeko just had an odd feeling that she had opened a door which would not be able to close again. Shaking her head, she returned into the garage, switched off the main lights. As the soft hum of the city began to fade along with the dawn, so too did the quiet return to her space, but the echoes of thoughts remained loud. Kafka's smirk left a lingering echo, much like that of a promise made but not fulfilled.
"Let us see how long this peace lasts," Himeko muttered under her breath and closed the garage door. The heartbeat would continue, flashing in the rusty iron of the city, each beat drawing Himeko and Kafka closer to whatever lay ahead.