Ren's voice still echoed in his ears. Harumichi! You're late! That voice. 　　　＊ Kamome Pier at dusk was quiet. Salt smell mixed with rust. A seagull flew slowly in the distance. The water surface glowed orange. Beautiful, he thought. But that was all. Harumichi sat alone inside Warehouse 3. Old steel-frame building. One sofa inside. Tool shelves lined the wall. Small refrigerator. The whiteboard still had last year's route map written on it. He hated erasing it. Left it untouched. This was Garwing's headquarters. Was, maybe. Nobody here now. Dust piled on the sofa. Only the lights on, barely. Made it lonelier. Sakuragi Harumichi. Twenty-one years old. Short black hair, deep brown eyes. 170 centimeters tall. White shirt, black slacks today. Small scar near his left temple. From a bike crash. Ren laughed about it once—said it would never fade. His face always looked serious. He didn't notice it himself. Maybe he was just bad at smiling. Garwing. A bike team based at Kamome Pier, east side of Minato-Saki City. Twelve official members. Named it meaning "wind becomes wings." Valued crew bonds over speed. Harumichi held them together. Minato-Saki City. Small port town on the Pacific coast. Old fishing harbor and shopping streets on the east. Factory district on the west. Mountain with pass roads on the north. Population about 320,000. Once thrived on industry. Factories moved overseas one by one. Now young men lost jobs easily. Bike teams increased instead. Night came—the pass belonged to teams. Police patrol twice a month. In this city where legal and illegal blurred, young people risked their lives on bikes. Harumichi was one of them. Was. Past tense. Helmet in the corner of the shelf. Harumichi stood slowly. Walked there. Picked it up. Covered in dust. Red-lined helmet. Familiar. Ren's. Kisaragi Ren. Twenty years old. Speed junkie. Fearless. Loudest in the team. Brightest. Teased someone, made them laugh. Laughed hardest at his own jokes. Died a year ago. Tatsumi Pass. Cliff section. Bike and all, fell off the cliff. Harumichi held the helmet to his chest. Couldn't come here for a year. Couldn't ride. Couldn't contact members. Team scattered. Harumichi didn't hold them together. Couldn't find the words. That night replayed constantly. Grauben. Western team. Led by Takamura Ryuichi. Twenty-person organization. Based in Nishi-Zaki industrial zone—abandoned factories west of the city. Grauben meant "believe" in German, but really control through fear. Funded by illegal race betting. Grauben provoked them. That night's race started from that. Harumichi couldn't stop it. Tried to carry everything alone. Didn't make it. Harumichi put Ren's helmet back on the shelf. Gently. Carefully. 　　　＊ Marsen restaurant. Maruyama looked up from the counter. Sixty-five. Former fisherman. Sturdy build, sun-tanned face. Short salt-and-pepper hair. Apron on, cloth in hand. Same as always. Harumichi came here two, three times a week. Five-minute walk from Kamome Pier. Horse mackerel fried set—650 yen. "[gentle]Alone again?" "[serious]Yes." Harumichi sat at the counter's end. His usual spot. Ordered the horse mackerel fried set. Maruyama said nothing. Went to the kitchen. Oil sounds came soon. Harumichi looked around the shop. Four tables. No other customers today. Fish painting on the wall peeling slightly at the corner. Was it always like that? Never noticed. Before, Garwing filled this place. Someone got teased by Ren. Ren laughed loudest. Harumichi smiled weakly—"noisy." Maruyama grinned. "So young." Quiet now. Horse mackerel fried set arrived. Harumichi said "thank you" and ate. Tasted good. Thought so. But that was all. Maruyama wiped the counter. Spoke. "[gentle]What about your team?" Harumichi stopped his chopsticks. "[serious]……Scattered." No more words came. Maruyama just said "I see." Kept wiping. Not blaming. Not comforting. Just "I see." That was easier for Harumichi. Finished eating. Paid. Left. Night Shiokaze Street was quiet. Showa-era arcade shopping street. Many shuttered shops. Street lamps spaced evenly. Thin light on concrete ground. Harumichi walked toward the pier. Stopped suddenly. Looked north. Mountain ridge black against night sky. The mountain with Tatsumi Pass. Pass length twelve kilometers. Seventeen hairpin curves. Cliff section in the middle—three kilometers along the cliff. Guard rail seventy centimeters high, old. Bike hits it, breaks through easy. Ren died there. Seventh curve. Cliff section's sharp turn. Narrow shoulder. Outside drops straight down. Oil on the road. Takamura's trap. Didn't make it. Harumichi closed his eyes. One second. Then walked again. 　　　＊ Slept on Warehouse 3's sofa. Eyes closed without noticing. Forgot to turn off the lights. Dreamed. Wind blowing. Bright sunlight. Wide place somewhere. Harumichi just stood. Ren was there. Straddling his bike seat. Looking at him. That usual smile. Eyes narrowed, teeth showing, kind of stupid-looking, but made you want to laugh. "[laughing]Why aren't you chasing me?" Harumichi's feet wouldn't move. Ren laughed. Rode the bike. Dissolved into wind. Faded away. Harumichi tried to chase—— Woke up. 　　　＊ His room. Apartment ceiling. On the bed. Strange. Slept in the warehouse. Harumichi's foggy head lifted from bed. Morning light through the window. White light through curtain gap. Grabbed his phone. Checked the date. Eyes stopped. Looked again. Third time. Mind went white. A year ago's date was there. The date when Ren was still alive. "……" No voice came. Phone in hand, Harumichi froze. Then. Engine sound from outside. Bike. That exhaust sound. Heard it hundreds of times. Knew it. Then a voice. "[excited]Harumichi! You're late! How long you sleeping?" His hands shook. Something pounded in his chest. Abnormal heartbeat. Painful. Couldn't breathe right. Stood up. Went to window. Opened curtains. Ren was on the road. Red-lined bike. Waving at him. Alive. Smiling. Same face as always. Harumichi's knees nearly buckled. Hand on wall. Barely standing. (Not a dream.) Dreams blur Ren. Edges fuzzy. But now Ren was clear. Engine sound real. Cold morning air real. Curtain texture in his hand real. Everything there. (Time rewound.) Why—didn't know. How—didn't know. But it did. 　　　＊ Memories flooded in. Ren at Tatsumi Pass's seventh curve. Cliff edge. Bike floating. Guard rail breaking. Disappearing. Harumichi screaming "Ren!" Didn't make it. Oil on the road. Later learned—Takamura's trap. Minato-Saki Central Hospital white hallway. Three a.m. Doctor came out. Shook his head. All vivid. Painfully vivid. Ten days until that night. Harumichi looked at the room's corner. Helmet there. Not Ren's. His own. Black helmet. Untouched for a year. Hands trembling. (Why did it rewind?) Didn't know. No reason at all. Never believed time travel was real. But it happened. Since it happened, this might be one chance only. Understood that. If he failed, Ren died again. Ten days. Had to break Takamura's plan. Before oil on the road. Before Ren rode the seventh curve. Stop it. Tell someone? Tell Ren everything? (You die in ten days—can't say that.) Couldn't. Impossible. Harumichi breathed deep. Slow exhale. Gripped his shaking hands hard once. Then reached for the helmet. First time in a year. That feeling. Plastic and padding inside. Harumichi slowly put it on his head. Weight came back. Felt like it. 　　　＊ Went outside. Ren still waited. Bike revving. Saw Harumichi's face. Tilted his head. "[surprised]What's wrong? Your face looks scary." Harumichi looked at Ren's face straight on. First time in a year. Seeing Ren alive. Wanted to say something. Tell everything. You die in ten days. I dragged you for a year. This time I won't lose you——all that. But words wouldn't come. "[serious]……Nothing." Ren stared three seconds. Then shrugged like whatever. "[excited]Let's go! Today we're cruising to Tatsumi's entrance, right?" Right. That's what they promised a year ago. Harumichi approached his bike. Inserted key. Straddled the seat. Year-old feeling returned. Iron weight. Quiet texture before engine starts. Harumichi gripped the throttle. Started the engine. Vibration traveled. Hand to arm to whole body. (Back here.) Wind blew. From the sea. Salt smell. Ren laughed. "Oh." Harumichi rode out. Next to Ren. First time in a year. Through Shiokaze Street. North on the road. Morning air cut his cheeks. Ren's bike ahead. Red line glowed in sunlight. One thing hardened in his chest. Won't let this guy die. That was all Harumichi had now.