coanda effect

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/51010147.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)
Relationships: Getou Suguru/Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru & Gojo Satoru, Minor or
Background Relationship(s), Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji
Characters: Getou Suguru, Gojo Satoru, Ieiri Shoko, Itadori Yuuji, Fushiguro
Megumi, Yaga Masamichi, Nanami Kento, Okkotsu Yuuta, Jujutsu
Kaisen Ensemble
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Motorsports, Alternate Universe - Formula One, Set
in 2022, POV Gojo Satoru, POV Getou Suguru, Driver Gojo, Team
Principal Getou, Engineer Shoko, Childhood friends to enemies to
lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Gojo Satoru has Photophobia, Fushiguro
Megumi has T1 Diabetes, Minor Character Death, Major Character
Injury, Multiple times, Car Accidents, but like in motorsport, Rivalry,
Eating Disorders, Getou Suguru has ARFID, Eating Disorder Not
Otherwise Specified, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Recreational Drug
Use, Drug Use, A LOT of racing jargon, formula one seasons from 2008-
2022, author is a ferrari fan, (author is suffering), Flashbacks, Rating
May Change, Tags May Change, No actual F1 teams are mentioned,
Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Implied/Referenced
Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, its mild but its there, the burn is
so slow you will want to kill me and tear ur hair out. fr, Eventual Smut,
Sexual Content
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of lights out, and away we go!
Stats: Published: 2023-11-02 Completed: 2024-07-30 Words: 262,182
Chapters: 24/24
 coanda effect
by bunniehoney

Summary

Coanda effect: noun (Co·an·da effect) (kō¦andə-, -än-) : the tendency of a fluid jet, such as
airflow, to be attracted to a nearby surface. Used in motorsport and car design by
aerodynamicists to help divert airflow to specific areas of the car.

“Yo, Satoru.”

Getou Suguru looks older. His hair is longer. He still has the same small scar along the left
side of his forehead from 2013. It’s fainter, now, than it was then.

“It’s been a while.”

It's been seven years, but who's keeping count?

Or, the JJK motorsport AU based on Formula One.

Notes
See the end of the work for notes
 i - outlap
Chapter Summary

Noun. out lap (plural: out laps) (in reference to motor racing) In qualifying, the (non-
competitive) lap on which one exits the pit lane and prepares for a flying (competitive)
lap , to set grid positions for the grand prix or other feature race.

Chapter Notes

hello. welcome to my magnum opus. my two hyperfixations coming together. sorry if

you follow me for my BF fic (i promise it's getting updated soon!)

anyway, quick breakdown: even though i've tried to make it self-explanatory, you'll
probably need some basic F1 knowledge to get the technical aspects of this fic. I use a
lot of racing terms, lol :) if you are an F1 fan, this is in no way RPF of any actual drivers
even though i will take inspo from certain events and teammate dynamics (iykyk, i
guess ur cursed with it). The word formula is also replaced with Grade, just to add in
some jjk spice.

also: please mind the tags, this is tagged as CHOSE not to use warnings, not no
warnings apply for a reason, ty!

I use the IRL F1 calendars for each year and racetracks throughout, and reference the
modern points system. i am also aware that F2 was only introduced in 2017 (bless
leclerc, first f2 golden boy), but for simplicity, i am using the F4-F1 format as far back
as the early 2000s. this fic also ignores (for the most part) sexism and gender gaps in
motorsport. suspend ur disbelief!!

teams are named after JJK eras, instead of using the IRL teams. There are also several
characters who drive for alternate countries to Japan, but I am NOT whitewashing
characters or changing their ethnicities in any way - explanations will be in the fic, but
most just have dual citizenship. Just to shake things up since having a majority of the
grid from any country is rare.

ok, onto the fic bc this note is super long!! more notes at the end!!

EDIT (2/11/23) This chapter has been edited heavily! might be worth a reread!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

1999, Japan

When Suguru was six, his dad made the incredibly stupid - according to his mom - mistake -
also according to his mom - of buying him an electric go-kart. He had peeled the bow off the
front, and sat in the seat, and refused to get out, driving in circles in the driveway until he was
peeled out of it by his very disgruntled mother, telling him he had to eat sometime.

But Suguru loved that kart. He used to speed it up and down the road in front of his house,
accelerator pressed to the cool metal floor and wind flying through his hair.

He didn’t feel any wind in his hair when his dad bought him a new kart, a real petrol one,
because he also got a new helmet, a proper one that he struggled to pick up, at first. It was
shiny, and had his initials on the crown, and a small Japanese flag at the base. It even had a
proper visor that he could flip up and down. He spent hours doing so, actually, fascinated by
the way the hinges worked.

Still, the old electric kart sat in the garage, and Suguru put a sheet over it to keep it clean.

His dad took him to a proper track for his seventh birthday. They hooked up a trailer to his
dad’s car’s towbar, and pushed the kart in together, and drove almost two hours to the nearest
track.

The wheels hit the tarmac of the start line. Suguru shuffled himself around in the seat. Pulled
the visor down and struggled against the urge to pull it up again to test the hinges.

No one should have been surprised that Getou Suguru was a natural. So much of a natural
that his dad got excited about it. So much of a natural that they moved houses, to be closer to
the track, to practise more.

Suguru would stand by the door, hold the helmet in his hands, jump up and down, tell his dad
to hurry up!

His dad would laugh, tell him to be patient. He was a natural, after all. Things would come to
him, he’d just have to wait.

As an eighth birthday present, Suguru’s dad replaced his kart again, with a super cool new
(pre-loved) kart that was in line with competitive regulations. Because, starting in June, all
the way until September, his dad had let him race in a full competitive season of karting! The
whole summer! Just for racing!

They rented a motorhome, with a towbar for Suguru’s kart, and Suguru had a race suit, and
proper shoes, and he was holding his helmet close to his chest, hoping he could show it to
someone. His school friends didn’t really care. Maybe he could make real racing friends, who
would tell him that his suit was cool. And that the initials on his helmet were cool, too.
His motorhome is parked right next to another one, and it’s not long before he sees another
child his age wander out. She’s pretty, with light brown hair. She’s wearing shorts and a T-
shirt with a cartoon character on the front. Suguru doesn’t recognise it. He doesn’t like
watching TV.

“Hi.”

The girl turns. Her eyes are wide. She frowns at him as if she didn’t expect to be spoken to.
“Hi.”

“I’m Getou Suguru.” Suguru shuffles his feet. “What’s your name?”

The girl blinks. “Ieiri Shoko.”

“Do you want to have dinner with us?”

“No, thanks.”

There’s a pause. Suguru really wants to make friends with her. He’d offered dinner! Is that
not what you’re supposed to do?

“Are you racing?”

Shoko looks at him like he has two heads. “Yes. I am racing.”

“It’s my first real race,” Suguru blurts.

Shoko purses her lips together. Then she smiles, “me too.”

The sun sets, and Shoko and Getou walk around the track together, in the dying light. It turns
out Shoko’s family sold his dad the kart that he drives. Shoko comes from a proper racing
family, with loads of money, and they bought her a new kart for the series. For the summer.

Suguru thinks it’s a little wasteful, but he says nothing. He wishes Shoko luck when they line
up on the track for their first practice session. He looks at the number on his kart, forty-seven,
and hopes he gets to keep it when he races in another series.

In practice, he learns a few things. One: being a natural does not mean you’re faster than
anyone else. Shoko laps him.

Two: no one gets out of each other’s way. He hates it. It’s so hard to find space to push the
kart, and he doesn’t know anyone’s racing lines, and everyone seems to move from one side
of the track to the other all the time. Where were the racing principles that his dad taught
him?!

Three: he learns about the existence of Gojo Satoru. He’s his age, apparently. A few months
older. He catches a glimpse of brilliantly white hair under a balaclava, and blue eyes through
a visor, before he flips it down. His number on his kart is boring, a number zero.

They’re in the same heat, in the end. Gojo races fiercely. They bump a few times.
Suguru climbs out of his kart. His legs feel like jelly. It’s his longest stint in the kart so far,
and he was so nervous, and it all catches up with him at once. He stumbles, hand resting over
his own number, only to see Gojo staring at him.

He’s holding his helmet. Getou thinks it looks too big for his small hands. It dangles near his
knees. Gojo is standing, next to his kart, pulled up on track, just staring.

Getou pulls his helmet off, then his balaclava. Gojo doesn’t look away, still.

“Who are you?”

Getou looks behind him.

“No, you.” Gojo is demanding an answer. He jabs a finger forward in the air toward Getou.

“Getou Suguru.”

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” he says, and Getou already knows, but he also doesn't, so he listens. “We
have the same initials, in English,”

Suguru doesn’t really know what to say to that. They’re not speaking English. They’re
speaking Japanese. Suguru doesn’t even speak English very well. He finds he doesn’t have to
know what to say, in the end, because Gojo turns around and starts pushing his kart away, all
by himself.

His dad doesn’t know who Gojo is. Shoko does, though. Because she’s from a racing family,
obviously.

“He’s been driving since he was four! That’s like, four years already! I’ve only been driving
for two! ‘Cause his dad-” Shoko lowers her voice, “his dad was a Grade One driver,”

Suguru can only breathe out in shock. Grade One racing is, like, the best racing in the world.
He watches it on the TV with his dad. His dad doesn’t know what’s going on, but Getou
loves watching the fast cars. The overtakes are so cool.

“Gojo’s dad was in Grade One?”

“And his grandad, and his uncle, and his great-great-grandad!” Shoko says, “and his grandad
was a world champion, like, three times!”

“That’s so cool.”

“But he’s nasty. He races dirty.” Shoko’s nose wrinkles.

On the day of the feature race, the first one of the series, it rains. It doesn’t just rain. It pours.
A deluge.

It’s really hard to race in the rain. The tyres don’t stick on the tarmac like they’re supposed
to. It makes turning difficult. So everyone goes slower in the rain.
Getou thinks he does well. He’s used to driving in the rain. He refused to miss a single day of
driving on the track, even when it was pouring.

Shoko does a little better than him. She’s a good driver, a really good one. Because she comes
from a racing family. Getou’s mom doesn’t know anything about racing. His dad only knows
karts.

Gojo wins. Getou hears the whispers. He’s more experienced. He raced in Europe a few
weeks ago. He only races, he barely even goes to school.

He’s kind of jealous of that. He doesn’t like school. He wishes he could drive cars all the
time.

Gojo wins because he is good in the rain. Because he goes at the same speed as in the dry,
and manages to keep control of the car.

Getou, at age eight, becomes aware of the fact that although he is a natural in a car, Gojo
Satoru is a freak of nature. Completely exceptional.

December 2021, United Arab Emirates

However long Gojo has been racing in Grade One, one thing never changes.

He fucking loves media day. When he started racing in grade one, it didn’t exist: just a few
interview questions here and there, about the car, the power unit, a teammate. Now, it’s a full-
blown day prior to the practice start on Friday. They film challenges, videos, have press
conferences and fan zones and TV pens. He knows a lot of drivers don’t like the media days -
Nanami, mostly, which is ironic, considering Yu is a reporter - but he enjoys it. It’s a breather
from the brutal pace of the rest of the weekend.

He doesn’t want to sound old or anything, talking about how much the sport has changed in
the decade he’s been driving - he’s still only thirty-three. There’s quite a few drivers on the
grid older than him, or at least, a similar age, anyway. He practises his English answer to the
inevitable question in his head: yes, I had a good birthday, actually, away from home in the
middle of a double header, but it’s fine, because Shoko made me a cake.

Christ.

Yas Island is hot. It’s always hot: night races are usually night races because of the humidity,
or the heat, or time zones in relation to Europe, or a mix of all three. Night races are (usually)
easier on his eyes, but his body is another thing to insert into the equation.
But he’s still fit, and whilst the world championship has already been decided for the season,
he’d like to end it on a win. He’s got the car to do it. But with Yuuta on his ass the entire
season, he really needs to do it in qualifying. Then there’s Yuuji, only in his second Grade
One season. His car looked fast at the last race in Jeddah, but the Sengoku has been…

Well, unpredictable at best. Yuuji either puts it in the wall because of their ongoing steering
issues or ends up dragging it to the podium with very little in between. He’s been on the
podium enough this season to be pretty damn close to Gojo in the points, even if it’s mostly
because the Jujutsu this season isn’t particularly fast. He’s wiped the floor with his teammate,
Inumaki, and whilst Gojo is sympathetic to their plight driving a literal shitbox, Yuuji’s made
his talent clear against someone who is– less.

Yuuji’s a good kid. He’s smart, and he’s cheeky, and he knows how to work the media. He’s
painfully honest, and above all else, he’s really fucking fast. So when Scuderia Keicho
decided to sign Itadori Yuuji alongside Yuuta for 2022, he was thrilled for him. They’ve
made heaps of progress this season, and undoubtedly Yuuji deserves a seat where he has a
decent, consistent car. A car that this year, and for the two years before that, won the
constructors’ and drivers’ championships.

Yuuji is undoubtedly the future of grade one, possibly the future of all motorsport. He’s
young, good-looking, and he’s in love with racing. He can name every world champion all
the way back to the fifties. He’s memorised every race result from the last ten years, he can
name the podium finishers, the almost-champions, the race winners. It’s a cute little media
trick that the higher-ups like to parade around when they shoot their promotional footage -
look at this kid! Isn’t he such a nerd?

Oh, and did Gojo mention he’s super fucking fast ?

So he’s equal parts thrilled and equal parts terrified when Yaga tells him that Yuuji’s going to
be in a competitive seat next season. Thrilled because he and Yuuji get on when they’re in
press conferences together. He managed to make Yuuji laugh so hard he cried in one, in his
rookie season, when he had approximately zero PR training. So much that the reporter had
stopped to ask Yuuji if he was okay. They’re friends. They both live in Monaco (for the tax
haven, on Gojo’s part, for the social life, on Yuuji’s).

Terrified, because Yuuji is an incredible driver. And with a competitive car, he’ll be pretty
unstoppable. Gojo would even put money on Yuuji outracing Yuuta, although he’d never say
that out loud to any reporters. He’d be crucified for saying it.

Gojo’s contract runs out next year. At the end of 2022. And it’s the grid’s worst kept secret
that he isn’t really planning on renewing it. He’ll find a new home in the sport, maybe as an
engineer, or an ambassador, or a strategist, but racing and travelling is-

It’s getting old.

Not that Gojo is getting old! No, in fact, he’s younger than ever! Still the youngest race
winner of all time!
But after everything that’s happened, and winning a record-equalling (but not record-beating,
as he is cruelly reminded by reporters about three times a week) six world championships, he
wants to end on a good note. He wants it to be completely undeniable that he’s the best racer:
wants to win a seventh world drivers’ championship. And having Yuuji behind him in a
competitive car is going to make that much, much harder. But he’s not been in a
championship fight recently, and he can’t deny that he’s excited for it. To prove himself all
over again, like he did at twenty.

“Hey, Gojo!”

He looks down to his left, where Yuuji Itadori is grinning up at him with pearly white teeth
and recently dyed pink hair. Gojo can’t resist reaching out to ruffle at it. “Hey, Yuuji. You lost
the bet, then?”

Yuuji groans. “Megumi was happier about this than the race win, I swear.”

“I think the pink looks good,”

Yuuji looks up at him, deadpan, “you and Megumi are the same person.”

“I dunno why you made the bet,” Gojo shrugs, “it was pretty obvious he was gonna win in
Jeddah. His form’s been good recently.”

Megumi is here this weekend, racing in Grade Two, but with the schedule conflicts, they
won’t see each other much until Megumi comes to the Jujutsu garage later to watch the race.

“Well, his idea was a tattoo, but I told him the only way I’d get one is if he won a Grade One
championship.”

Gojo laughs out loud, because that doesn’t sound like Megumi at all, and honestly, he
wouldn’t have made Yuuji follow through on it. “Getou made a bet that if he ever won the
world drivers’ I’d get a tattoo,”

“Well, where is it, then?” Yuuji presses, knocking their shoulders together.

“Never got one,” Gojo shrugs, “I doubt he even remembers, we talked about it when we were
like, sixteen or something. In Grade Three, or Grade Four, I think, I can’t remember,”

“You were grade three when you were sixteen, I think Getou would’ve been grade four,
though.”

“Ha. He did spend, like three years there,”

“Yeah, but then he won everything else back-to-back,” Yuuji huffs. “So.”

Yeah. Yuuji’s a history buff. He knows everything. Gojo is sure Yuuji knows more about his
career than he does. And he’s lived it. He should know.

Although for a lot of it, he supposes he wasn’t really paying attention to the racing. So.
They turn the corner to the building where the press conference is. Yuuji swings open the
door, grinning, “ladies first,”

Gojo grumbles and shoves past him through the door. It’s a small press conference. Gojo,
Yuuji, Nanami, Yuuta, and Utahime. He’s supposed to sit next to Utahime, who looks, as
always, like she wants him dead. Getting dropped from Keicho will do that to someone, Gojo
supposes, even if she claims she wants to step down after two world championships and near-
on a decade driving for them.

He leans down to Yuuji and whispers, “five euros for you to take my seat.”

“What? No, she hates me, too!” Yuuji hisses back, and they must look like a couple of idiots
in the corner of the room, holding up the entire conference because they’re the last ones to
arrive.

“Ten.”

“We’re both millionaires.”

“Twenty.”

“Done.”

So Yuuji takes his seat next to Utahime, and Gojo shuffles, smiles for the cameras, adjusts his
sunglasses. The flash on the cameras hurts his eyes. He doesn’t care if it makes him look like
a dick. He thinks that people who don’t know about his light sensitivity must be willfully
ignoring him, at this point.

He’s sandwiched in between Yuuji and Nanami. A soon-to-be ex-teammate and a future rival.
Not too bad. He nudges Nanami with his shoulder, and Nanami ignores him. Like always.

“Lighten up,”

“Do your job.”

“I am doing my job,”

“Alright, let’s get started, shall we?” The man at the front claps his hands together, and so it
begins.

“Josh Kitchener from Grade One Daily , question for Okkotsu, please - with the new
regulations and a new teammate next season, are you expecting to be competitive and be able
to defend your world championship?”

Gojo leans back in his chair to shoot a cheeky smile at Yuuta, because he knows the answer
to this one. Yuuta knew he was going to be asked it, because it’s the thing on the tip of
everyone’s tongues. Is Yuuta a fluke, with Utahime’s health struggles this season and Gojo’s
mechanical issues? Or is he truly a great driver, worthy of what he’s won?
Yuuta wrinkles his nose up, like he does when he thinks he shouldn’t have to answer a
question, but has to anyway. “Keicho is my team. I came up through their Academy and I’m
very much at home here. The new regulations are always somewhat of an unknown, but I’ve
seen the project and I’m confident in it.”

Gojo leans forward again, grinning. Yuuta glares at him.

The rest of the conference goes on, with more of the same. Yuuji, how are you feeling about
the move to Scuderia Keicho? Good. The team is the strongest on the grid right now,
alongside JTR. I can’t wait to fight for race wins and championships. Nanami, how are you
feeling about the move from JTR to Sengoku? Good. I was never going to stay with JTR
forever and I’m ready to move on. I get asked this every week, I’m tired of these same stupid
questions. Gojo, you had an unlucky start to the season. How are you going to pull yourself
back next season? That should be a question for Yaga, not me. It was car faults and bad luck,
as you say, not driver error. Utahime, your new team is quite a step down. How are you
feeling about that? Fine. I don’t want to be in championship fights anymore, I’ve been open
about my health declining and stepping down in commitments and expectations is a way to
manage that. There's somewhat less pressure in the midfield.

“Okay, time for one more question?”

A hand in the sea of reporters flies up, and a young woman introduces herself. “Grace Mack,
for AeroSport Weekly. Question for Gojo.”

Gojo leans forward, flashing his teeth.

“Within the last few hours, it’s been announced that your ex-teammate, and world champion
driver Suguru Getou will return to the grid next year as a team principal for Scuderia Keicho,
after having headed the junior team successfully in grade two for the last three years. What
are your thoughts on this? Does he have the potential to continue to push the team forward?
Is he too inexperienced to head a grade one team, with the pressure?”

Gojo blinks. Then he breathes in and out. Then he blinks again. “Sorry? Suguru’s what?”

“He’s the new team principal of Scuderia Keicho next year. Since you know him so well,
what are your thoughts on it?”

In his whole career, spanning over a decade of racing, Gojo has never been blindsided by
something like this. Getou hated being on the grid, especially near the end. He hated the
travel, he hated the diet, he hated his teammate, he hated his entire fucking team. And now
he’s willingly signing up to do it all over again?

“I wasn’t made aware.” Gojo closes his mouth, and swallows. He hopes that’s enough of an
answer.

But still, the reporter pushes. “Do you think he has the potential? Especially considering that
they’ve retained the current world champion and signed the rookie of the year, who is toted
as being a future champion?”

Gojo risks a glance at Yuuta. He’s looking away, not meeting Gojo’s eyes. So he knew. Yuuji,
to his credit, looks just as shocked about this development as he is, looking back and forth
between Gojo and the reporter. But Yuuta’s been part of the team all his career, whilst
Yuuji’s– Gojo isn’t sure if he’s even signed the contract, yet. If he has, the ink isn't dry.

Gojo turns back to the reporter. He wants to lie. Getou’s completely incompetent, he’ll fuck
the team and the car up even more than it already is. He wants to spit in anger, I haven’t
spoken to Getou since the day he left the team, and I don’t know anything more than you do,
and fuck you, I’ll give you your soundbite! Why don’t you ask Nanami! They were friends,
too! Ask Yaga! Not me!

Instead, he smiles, and uses all his years of PR training and exhales thinly. “I’m sure that he
will do a great job. He has intimate knowledge of racing and he understands the engineering
of the cars well, so he will make a good principal, although time will tell.”

The questions end, and Gojo doesn’t wait around to find out if any of his fellow drivers have
anything to say about it, either. He stands, abrupt, and rude, and he knows his actions will
speak much louder than his carefully crafted, practically robotic response ever will. The chair
scrapes on the floor, and Gojo is out the door before anyone else has even gotten up.

Usually, he loves media day. Usually. Then there are outliers that ruin his entire perception of
it. He stalks back to the Jujutsu motorhomes, and ignores the cameras following him, and
slams the door as he enters the small space where they’ve been living for the last three weeks.
“Yaga?”

He hears Yaga’s gruff response from his office, and he stalks down the corridor, practically
ripping the door off his hinges as he throws it open. “Why did no one tell me Getou’s coming
back into grade one?”

Getou, not Suguru. Because Suguru’s been gone since the day he walked out of his contract,
of Jujutsu Tech, and out of Gojo’s life. Out of Satoru’s. Even though he’s seen him around, at
races that overlap between the feeder series and grade one in the brutal seasons of the last
three years, they’ve not had a proper conversation once.

Yaga pinches the bridge of his nose. “He didn’t give us advance notice.”

“Like hell he didn’t! Yuuta must have known something, right? Why didn’t he tell us?”

“He’s probably signed some sort of NDA, so he couldn’t. Don’t be stupid about this.”

“Like an NDA stopped him before-”

“Satoru. Stop.” Yaga inhales. “I am well aware that this is a PR nightmare for us. I am aware
that you should have been informed by someone other than a nosy reporter. But you had one
of the most prevalent rivalries the sport has ever seen with him, and he was your teammate
from karting , and reporters are going to want your opinions.”
“They want clicks,”

“They’re vultures, we know, but you have a TV pen and a fan zone today, and we have to
shoot a couple of videos, and your responsibilities don’t stop because you’re feeling upset.”

Gojo grits his teeth and swallows. When Yaga wants to, he can really put his foot down.

“Understood?”

“Yeah. Understood.” Gojo sighs, “can we- can we please cancel the videos? I’ll do the
fanzone, and the TV pen, and I’ll make up for it, but-”

Yaga softens. He’s not the youngest team principal on the grid anymore. Getou will be, come
next season. “Yes. I’ll cancel. Focus on race strategy.”

Gojo throws himself down on the couch opposite Yaga’s desk. There’s a long moment of
silence, punctuated by Yaga clack-clack-clacking at his keyboard. From his side, with his
cheek pressed into the cool leather, Gojo sighs. “Why is he coming back? He said he hated it.
Wanted nothing to do with it.”

“A lot can change in- how many years has it been?” Yaga pauses his typing.

“Seven.” Gojo says. “Seven years.”

Yaga looks at him, then. Really studies him. Gojo knows he’s being childish right now, being
stupid, because he’s thirty-one years old, moping about something that happened in 2014.
Almost a decade ago.

“After this race, it’s over for a month or two. You can go back to Monaco, where there’s no
cameras allowed, and relax.”

Then there’s preseason work, and testing, and simulator stuff, and nothing really stops, ever.
But he appreciates the sentiment, he supposes.

Gojo hums. “Sure.”

Everyone, up and down the grid, every reporter, every fan, knows one thing about Satoru
Gojo, Grade One Racer, arguably the greatest of all time, easily the best of this era.

He races best when he’s angry.

Case in point: Valencia 2009, Silverstone 2012, Monaco 2015. Probably a bunch more, that
Satoru can’t even really remember anymore.
He hasn’t been this angry in a while. It’s been bubbling up inside him since Thursday, all
through both free practices on Friday, where his car is faster on hot laps than Nanami’s by
about two tenths. He has no idea where he’s finding the time, out on track, but he is.

He clambers out of the car, changes into jeans and a team T-shirt, goes out to the press, and
instead of asking him about his speed in FP1 or FP2, or the upgrades on the drag reduction
that have given them more downforce specifically for the Yas Marina Circuit, which he’s
proud of, because Shoko has worked hard with the team to push for it, this weekend.

No. They want to know about Getou, his return, how this shakeup will affect next season.
He’ll be the youngest team principal on the grid! He’s new blood!

Gojo puts a smile on his face and grins and bears it. No matter what, he’ll pretend to be a
good sportsman, and a gracious (ex) friend. The media knows he is neither of these things at
the best of times, even though he’s better at it now than he was in his early racing days, and
so they keep trying to goad him into saying something out of anger, or fear, or just straight up
frustration. Some of the questions he’s getting are just straight up leading.

But still, he’s here, standing in the garage, headphones flattening out the spikes in his hair.

Shoko is next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder as they look at the data in front of them. Over the
years, Gojo’s gotten pretty good at interpreting the data himself, so he doesn’t need it
translating, but still. He knows Shoko understands it much better than he does.

“Do we try and go out in clean air, then?” He asks, in Japanese. Over the radio, they have to
speak English, but Shoko prefers Japanese.

Shoko grimaces, pushing a headphone from one of her ears so she can hear Gojo better.
“Ideally. At least for Q3. Now that the championship’s won, we can try and play the team
game, hope that Nanami will agree to punch a hole in the air for you in Q3?”

Gojo shrugs. “We don’t have to hope. It’s his turn. I did it for him in Losail, so he owes me
one.”

He’d gone out ahead in qualifying for Qatar, sacrificing his own qualifying time so that
Nanami could get a tow. The slipstream had helped him to P2, behind Yuuta on pole, but the
championship was already decided at that point, so.

“Right.” Slowly, Shoko tilts her head at the data in front of her. “If you’re not on pole, do you
want to try and start on the soft to get a better start off the line?”

“Let’s worry about that after quali.”

“No, because we need to save some new softs, and if we go out with a new set for every
flying lap, we’ll run out, and have none left for the actual race.”

Gojo feels his lip twitch. Weekend-long tyre strategy is one of the things that has continued to
change throughout his time in the sport. The tyre suppliers only provide each driver with a set
amount of tyres per weekend: eight softs, three mediums, two hards. After each free practice,
they have to give two sets of tyres back over to them, so going into qualifying, every driver
has only seven sets of tyres. They’d used four softs, a medium and a hard in free practice, so
Gojo is left with one set of hards, two mediums, and four softs. The hards are being saved for
the Grand Prix, and aren’t that fast over a single lap anyway.

The compounds differ slightly week to week, too. Here, the tyres are some of the softest: C5,
C4, and C3: the three softest tyres in the range. But the Yas Marina circuit is not kind to tyres,
and graining is giving them issues, so here they are. Debating on what tyres they need to save
for the grand prix the day before.

Mostly because they have no idea what tyre strategy Sengoku will go for, or Keicho. The
most popular strategy will be a two-stop, starting on the medium, going to the hard, then back
to the medium. Gojo has been tempted to try a one-stop, but a two-stop has been proven to be
faster, and there’s no point staying out on tyres that are gone.

Do you think Getou’s contribution to strategy will be a threat next season? It certainly was
when he raced alongside you.

Gojo grits his teeth. There’s no need to think about stupid comments from reporters right
now. “So if we want to save softs, we need to go out in Q1 with mediums, and hand those to
the tyre guys after qualifying’s done.”

“Yes, that would be the plan. But if you start on the front row, there’s no need to start on the
softs.”

“We could do softs at the end, instead,”

“That means a late pitstop. Does the soft give us that much of an advantage?” Shoko muses,
bringing her thumb to her teeth. “The car is kinder to the tyres than most, this year, but- ah.”

Gojo looks over to Nanami’s side of the garage. He’s leaning over a screen with his own
engineer, nodding dutifully. He looks at the broadcasters’ feed, where they’re showing Yuuta
in the Keicho garage. He watches as the ring on the chain around his neck glints under the
fluorescent lights. He wants this final triumph as much as Gojo does.

In a Championship fight, Getou is the only man to have taken you on and beaten you. Could
his expertise be key in denying you a seventh world championship?

In racing, there is no luck. Sure, there’s well-timed safety cars, and your opponent’s engine
blowing up, or a crash that knocks out a teammate so the pitstop strategy can favour you,
after all. But there is no luck. Gojo knows this all too well. If you want to be extraordinary,
then you have to take risks.

“I’m fast enough, and I’m more experienced than Yuuta at managing the tyres. If we save the
softs, I’ll use them at the end.”

Shoko narrows her eyes, like she always does when there’s a tough strategy call. “Yuuta will
be on medium to hard to medium,”
Taking the popular choice. The smart one.

“It could help us both out, me and Nanamin, I mean. One less double stack.”

“Go warm up. I’ll speak to Yaga, see what he thinks.”

“Alright.” Gojo sighs, stretching his arms above his head, fireproofs slipping up over his
hips.

“You’d prefer to use a soft, though?” Shoko looks up at him, back at him, and Gojo is smiling
at her, because he’s lucky to have an engineer who he’s close to. Who he’s known for so long.
They do everything together, breathe in time, know what the other wants, always. It’s beyond
a coworker relationship. Shoko’s been offered a promotion to chief engineer, and hasn’t taken
it because of Gojo. That’s real friendship.

“Yeah. No risk, no reward, right? We can manage the hards in the middle stint for a bit
longer.”

Shoko nods, turning back to the data and pulling her headphone back on. She waves Gojo
away, who laughs. And still, rattling in his brain, questions from earlier:

You, Shoko Ieiri, and Suguru Getou were all in karts together. Do you have some insight into
Getou’s mindset coming into this new job? It’s kind of a full circle moment, isn’t it?

Seven years, and he still can’t escape the shadow of his best friend.

Gojo lowers himself into the cockpit, and immediately, Shoko’s voice is in his ears. “We’re
going to wait for the Keicho and Sengoku guys to set times, and send you out for hopefully
only one lap.”

“Way to put pressure on.”

He can almost hear Shoko’s exasperated sigh, even though her microphone isn’t on. He
smiles to himself.

“We don’t need a P1 time in Q1, you just need to be top fifteen, which you know you could
do in your sleep. Concentrate. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Confirm.”

Now, there’s the waiting game. Nanami also goes out first, with everyone else: he’s not
saving a set of softs, so he’s got more wriggle room to go out for multiple flying laps whilst
Gojo just has to sit in the garage, whilst they blow cool air over him and the engine, and wait.
All because Yaga wants to save the mediums with minimal use, in case of a safety car.
“Okay, Gojo, Kento is currently in P5 with a 1:23.8, still got the midfield coming in ahead of
him. Itadori is currently on a flying lap, and he’s got a purple sector two,”

“Where’s Yuuta?”

“Currently P1, with a time of 1:23.4,”

Gojo blows out air through his teeth. “That’s close at the top,”

“Projected knockout time is 1:24.3,” Shoko says, matter-of-fact. Gojo knows he did a 1:23.9
in practice on the medium tyre, but he’ll need to find more time.

“Sengoku and Keicho are boxing, we’ll head out into clean air,”

“Confirm.”

There’s nothing like driving a grade one car. Gojo can’t describe it. The dizzying excitement,
the incredible feeling of raw power that buzzes just under his skin, spreading through him
into the roar of the engine. He comes alive in the cockpit, hands on the wheel, feet on the
pedals, head resisting the stupid amount of force that cornering gives. The mechanics drop
the car down to the ground. Gojo watches them hold the tyre covers over, waiting for the
signal.

And then it comes, and Gojo can feel the delicious spin of wheels under him as he shifts up
the gears, driving down the pitlane, his entire body buzzing, violent and angry.

“There shouldn’t be any traffic,” Shoko says in his earpiece, and Gojo narrows his eyes,
checking anyway.

“Confirm.”

“You know what to do. You’ve got five minutes on the clock.”

That’s one of the main things he likes about Shoko. She knows when to leave him alone. His
old engineers have always pestered over the radio about strategy, warming the tyres, when to
push. Shoko knows Gojo likes to get in his own head, concentrate, feel out the car by
himself. She’ll only interrupt when it’s actually needed, and isn’t afraid to piss him off if he’s
wrong.

The outlap is something else. He’s pretty much alone out on the track, wind cooling him
down, skirting over his race suit. He turns the last corner, sees the start line, and presses down
hard on the throttle.

The car roars to life beneath him. The buzz burns his skin, and under his balaclava, and his
helmet, under the watch of the halo, he grins wildly. The first straight is three hundred and
five metres, and then he’s downshifting, late on the breaks, twisting the wheel to take the first
corner. It’s a right angle to the left, and then he’s going faster, faster along the straight before
taking the second corner to the left again. A slight curve, a straight, a hairpin. Then the
longest straight of the whole track.
Twelve hundred metres, full throttle, two hundred and ten miles per hour. It’s fucking
glorious. It makes Gojo feel otherworldly. Like he’s not on Earth at all, he’s floating above it.

Downshift, through the chicane, then up, up, up to full throttle again, pedal pressed flat to the
metal, and Gojo knows he’s one of only a few drivers on mediums in this round, but that
doesn’t mean he’s not able to put in a good time here. He has to.

Late on the breaks and light on the breaks into the left hand curve at the base of the track, and
he’s well into sector three, now, concentrating, heart rate through the roof.

He forgets to breathe until he’s round the final corner, crossing the line and-

“Shoko?”

“That’s 1:23.5,” Shoko’s voice crackles, “P3 behind Okkotsu on softs and Yuuji, also on
softs,”

“Do we go again?”

“You’re over a second within the projected knockout, we don’t need to,” Shoko says. “Box
and pit confirm.”

“Yeah,” Gojo is breathless, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The crowd is roaring, alive, moving as one.

“But it’s Satoru Gojo, redeeming himself this time, driving that Jujutsu to perfection, to pole,
for the ninety-fifth time in his career! What a drive, what a lap, and he is proving to everyone
here today that he deserves that drive next season, that he’s just as strong as ever!”

Gojo climbs out of the cockpit, into Parc Ferme, and stands atop his car, holding up his
finger.

“One minute, twenty one point eight seconds, and no one could touch him today, not even his
teammate!”

Yeah, he drives best when he’s angry.

—
Transcript from Post-Qualifying Interview with Satoru Gojo, Abu Dhabi Grand Prix 2021,
Hosted by Yu Haibara

Q: Congrats, Satoru, another pole, how are you feeling?

SATORU GOJO : Yeah, really good. The car performed well, I was in the zone, we’re having
a good weekend to finish the season, really.

Q: Historically, you haven’t been the best at qualifying here, how was today different from the
last few years?

SG : New track layout, first of all, which makes it easier to drive, although that applies to
everyone. The high downforce setup we have on the car this weekend suits me too, I like the
oversteer.

Q: Your teammate qualified in third, will he be allowed to race you tomorrow?

SG : Sure, I think so. We’re on different strategies, though, so we’ll see what happens.

Q: Are you worried about the threat from Itadori, starting alongside you? And Yuuta in
fourth, he can never really be counted out with his race pace.

SG : [laughs] Sure. He’s on form. The car has less race pace than us this season, though, and
much higher tyre deg, so I’d be surprised if I’m still fighting him in lap fifty. As for Yuuta, of
course he’ll make up places so I’d be surprised to not see him on the podium tomorrow.

Q: Always a pleasure. Good luck tomorrow.

SG : Thanks, Yu.

The race is hard fought. But Satoru starts from pole, and goes onto softs at the end, sets the
fastest lap about five times over, and no one else really stood a chance when he was that
hungry for it. He stands on the podium, listens to the Italian national anthem for himself, and
then the Japanese anthem for Jujutsu Tech, and pours champagne down Yuuta’s back under
his race suit.

The younger boy squeaks, tries to run away, but Gojo holds him in place, laughing as Yuuji
joins them - a pleasant surprise that even with the shitty race pace of the Sengoku, that he’d
managed to hold onto P3. They pose for the pictures outside the garage, a proud P1 displayed
on the boards, and he sprays the remaining champagne all over Shoko.

Megumi finds his way over to them, and Yuuji talks his ears off about his own win in the
grade two championship, finished with a feature race win alongside Gojo. Jujutsu Tech is
ecstatic: both their drivers for the upcoming season have finished on a high, and they
managed to sign a grade two Champion before he won or could be poached by another
team.

Gojo gets changed, does all the post-race conferences, smiles the whole way through, and
then he’s on his private jet back to Monaco a few hours later, with Yuuji, Megumi, Nanami,
Haibara, and Utahime in tow.

And then that’s the end of the 2021 racing season.

2000, Japan

Suguru doesn’t see Gojo again after that for almost a whole year. He competes in a couple of
weekend races, but there’s nothing particularly special about them. He sees Shoko twice:
once at a race, and another time when she and her parents invite their family out to eat.

It’s a fancy restaurant, and Suguru sits with his hands tucked under his legs the whole time.
He looks down at his feet swinging from the chair, and his mom orders for him: the cheapest
possible meal on the menu. Hers and dad’s selections are much the same: they don’t want to
bother Shoko’s family, they tell him. They need to be polite.

But they go back to the same karting series in the summer. They park their motorhome next
to Shoko’s. Shoko shows Suguru her new kart. Suguru looks over his shoulder at his same
kart he bought from Shoko last year sitting in the trailer.

But Shoko seems excited, so he doesn’t say much about it.

When they go to walk around the track again, in the evening, Suguru sees Gojo sitting on the
grass. He’s picking at the skin on his fingers, head tucked down beneath his knees. Suguru
stops, and looks.

His mom notices first. She turns to his dad, whispers, “is he by himself?”

Suguru doesn’t wait for his parents to decide if Gojo is by himself, or not. He walks over to
the grass, and stands in front of him. When Gojo doesn’t lift his head from his knees, Suguru
kicks his foot.

Gojo looks up. He’s scowling, angry, blue eyes bearing into Suguru with intensity. “What.”

“Do you want to track walk with us?” Suguru says, standing above him. Gojo’s a boy his age.
He can talk to boys his age. He can make friends. They both like racing. They must have
more things in common.

Gojo seems caught off guard by the question. “I’ve already walked the track.”

Suguru shrugs. He’s about to turn away before Gojo is scrabbling to his feet, wiping blood
from between his fingers where he’s been picking at the skin there. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine.” Gojo says. “I do it all the time. My mom says it’s bad, but I can’t stop.”

There’s a tooth missing in Gojo’s mouth. His cheeks are flushed.

“Your mom’s right.”

They stand in silence. Gojo looks at him. “You’re Getou Suguru. I remember from last year.”

“You remember me?”

Gojo nods. Suguru kind of thought that Gojo was an arrogant brat, but maybe-

“Yeah. I beat you last year.”

Nevermind. “Okay,” Suguru says, and turns away. He can hear his parents calling after him.

As he walks, he hears footsteps behind him. He turns, and makes eye contact with Gojo
again. “Why are you following me?”

“Because you said we could walk around the track.”

“You said you’d already walked the track.”

Gojo blinks at him like it changes anything. “Yeah.”

Shoko’s mother appears over Suguru’s shoulder, then, all smiley and sweet. Gojo and Suguru
both turn to face her. “Are you okay, Satoru?”

Satoru. Suguru rolls the sound around in his cheeks. It doesn’t feel right.

“Yes.” Gojo says, suddenly polite.

“Is your dad here?”

It’s small, Gojo’s reaction. Suguru blinks, and almost misses it. He watches him shuffle his
feet, bringing his hands together in front of his tummy and picking at a finger. “No. My mom
and dad are at home.”
“In Italy?”

Gojo nods. Suguru frowns. “You’re from Italy? You look Japanese.”

“I am Japanese!” Gojo says, with fervour, “my mom and dad just live there, ‘cause my dad’s
team was there.”

Right. Gojo’s dad was a Grade One Driver. And Grade One races were mostly in Europe.

“Now, now.” Shoko’s mom says, not unkindly, “you should come with us, Satoru. We’ll take
you back to your motorhome, later, if you want.”

Gojo flushes under her gaze. “Okay,”

She turns, still smiling, gesturing for them to follow. Gojo kicks a rock, scowling, and hisses
under his breath, “Satoru, Satoru, what does she even want from me?”

Suguru ignores it. It wasn’t meant for him to hear, he doesn’t think.

They walk the track together in the dying light. Gojo trails behind Suguru and Shoko. He
doesn’t say much.

Shoko is telling Suguru about how to do turn five. It’s a hairpin, and Suguru has been
practising those with his dad. He’d stand at the track back home and stand where he needed
to brake, except he would stand closer to the turn each time. He was much better at hairpins
now than he was last year, but Shoko didn’t know that.

“Are you going down the middle?” Gojo blurts, from behind them, and Shoko nods, not
looking particularly enthused that he’s decided to speak to them, finally, after walking around
near enough half the track.

“Yeah,”

“You should go round the outside,” Gojo says, gesturing with his hands. He’s decidedly not
making eye contact with either of them. “Then you can brake later, and you get the inside line
coming out. Plus, the track’s got more grip there, look.”

Suguru looks around, trying to decipher what Gojo means. If you drive wide at the beginning
of the turn, it gives you more room to break, and effectively cut across the corner to get an
advantage on the way out.

Shoko whines, “if you go wide, you lose time!”

“Not always,” Gojo huffs, crossing his arms across his chest and pointing his chin to the sky.
His bottom lip is puffed out. Suguru is still looking mostly at the track.

“You should listen, Shoko,” her mother says, “he’s more experienced than you,”

Shoko stomps off to the front of the group. Gojo stays behind, next to Suguru as they start
walking again. He follows them around like a lost puppy, all the way back to their
motorhomes.

“Do you want to eat with us, Satoru?” Shoko’s father is speaking now. Gojo sniffs.

“What are you having?”

“Barbeque,”

Gojo seems to contemplate this, and then nods. Suguru looks at his parents. He’d be eaten
alive if he didn’t say please like Gojo isn’t. But Gojo is allowed to stay, and chew with his
mouth open.

“So, who’s travelling with you this summer, Satoru?”

“Louisa.” Gojo says, with his mouth full. “She’s okay.”

“Just her?” Shoko’s mother prods, gentle. Gojo frowns.

“No, there’s Isabelle, too.”

“How are they? I must stop by and say hello to them,”

Suguru doesn’t understand why Gojo’s nose scrunches up at the words. Shoko’s mom is
being nice.

“They’re fine.”

“And your dad? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.”

Gojo is being so rude.

“Well, if you need anything from us, you let us know, okay?”

With what Suguru can only describe as a moment of clarity, he realises Gojo doesn’t believe
Shoko’s mom. He thinks she’s lying.

“Yeah, I will.”

Suguru ends up taking Gojo’s line through the hairpin. It works. He finishes first in his heat,
and second in the feature race. Behind Gojo.
When Gojo gets out of his kart, in front of Suguru, because of course, he’s behind him at the
end, he lifts his visor, and stares. His voice is muffled behind the helmet. “You got better,”

It’s not just the changes he made in the lap. He’s gotten faster over the last year, better. He’s
much further up the pack, actually fighting for a podium instead of being in the midfield.

“Yeah.”

Gojo frowns behind his helmet. “Did you race in Europe, too?”

“No.”

“You should. It would be fun to race you there. The tracks are cooler.”

Suguru can’t even dream of racing in Europe. He’s lucky just to be here , let alone travelling
all the way across the world to do it.

Still. He smiles under his helmet. “Yeah, it would be,”

At the second race in the series, a new motorhome is parked next to Shoko’s and Suguru’s.
It’s Gojo’s.

March 2022, Bahrain

Some of the warmups they have to do before getting into the car always feel stupid, no matter
how long Gojo is in the sport, and no matter how many times he does them. He stretches his
jaw in a yawn as he pulls the resistance band over his head again.

Across the garage, Megumi is standing, looking at data with his engineer, looking incredibly
tense. He’s dressed simply, in a team t-shirt and a pair of jeans, since he’s not driving until
after lunch.

This won’t be his first time in a Grade One car, but it’s close enough. Towards the end of last
season, Jujutsu Tech put him in the car three times for free practice sessions, during race
weekends where he wasn’t replacing Gojo, who really couldn’t care less about having less
practice time on track. He’s been doing it for years, he knows the tracks, whatever. Losing a
session at a couple races didn’t matter to him, in the grand scheme of things, and the
mechanical failures of 2021.

Also across the garage, panting softly, is Megumi’s service dog Toto. A cute husky, wearing a
pretty unmissable red vest with white letters all over it: DO NOT PET. He’s a welcome
addition, too, Gojo thinks. Megumi, a couple of times, has complained about his peers not
taking the dog seriously, when he and Gojo have been together in simulator sessions back at
HQ, but here, everyone seems okay with his presence.

Megumi only managed to get Toto a couple of years ago, anyway, and Gojo has definitely
seen an improvement in his times and his racecraft. Turns out that when you don’t have to
worry about your health twenty four hours a day, every day, it takes a weight off your
shoulders. And Megumi is definitely lighter, these days. Toto tells him when his blood sugar
drops, so he doesn’t have to put needles in his skin to test it four times a day.

And you can’t travel very easily with a glucose monitor, according to Megumi. Gojo thought
that travelling with an animal would be harder, but again, it saves him having to prick his
fingers constantly to check. Instead, now, he only has to if Toto alerts him, which is much
less often.

The team have built in sugared juice into a drinks tube for him so he can manage his glucose
levels during a race, and once Megumi is in the car, his engineers have a complete overview
of all his vitals in the garage anyway. Other drivers have said that it would be a risk to have
Megumi on track, but Gojo disagrees. It’s no different to his own photophobia.

Shoko is beside him, then, sighing deeply. Gojo hums. “You okay?”

“I’ll be much more okay after this testing session goes well.” She huffs, “cameras
everywhere. Vultures, the lot of them.”

“Standard pre-season weekend, then.” Gojo smiles, “I’ll be fine, Shoko,”

“I’m not worried about you. You’re fast, if you crash you’ll bounce back. I’m worried about
Megumi. I’m worried we haven’t got the sim right, and he’ll struggle. This sport is brutal,
and he’ll be criticised for not being as good as his dad, or as Yuuji, or- you know, his
disability.”

Gojo stretches his left arm across his chest, and lifts his shoulders up. “He’s quick. And if he
isn’t, then-”

“It’s not the same for rookies as it was when you started.” Shoko holds her hand out to
another engineer, gesturing for a pair of headphones. They’re placed into her hands.

“Have faith in the kid.”

“Sorry. This whole thing with Getou has me on edge.”

“Is he in the paddock?”

“No, he’s still in Italy with the team- of course he’s in the paddock, he’s a principal.” If looks
could kill, Shoko’s glare would have rendered Gojo lifeless.

“Sorry, sorry.”

There’s a pause, and Gojo leans down to press his hands flat to the ground, pressing his nose
to his knees to try and stretch out his back.

“Are you not- bothered by it?” Shoko asks, then. And Gojo stalls.

“If I let it get in my head, I won’t be able to drive. And that’s what I’m here to do.”

Blinking, Shoko tucks her hair behind her ear. Her hair is so long now, and so much darker
than it used to be. “Right,”

“Don’t.”

“I’m not.” She turns to look at Gojo properly. “Seriously. I’m not. Go and finish warming up.
We have half an hour.”

Gojo touches his fingers to his race suit, bunched around his hips. He almost fights her on it,
but decides to let this particular battle lie. Not now. Not before the few hours they get to drive
the car before the first race of the season.

God, Gojo misses the days before 2009, when testing in the car was pretty much unlimited.
He only got one season with unlimited testing, but it was brilliant, being able to actually
figure out the limits in between races, and on an actual track. The rules changed because of
the financial crisis, and now all they have is simulators. They’ve definitely gotten closer to
the actual feeling of driving a car over the years, but they’re still not the real thing.

He slips out the garage, into the gap between them and Sengoku. He starts with skipping,
pulling the race suit over his shoulders so it doesn’t fall down his thighs. Then he goes and
finds some poor, unfortunate engineer to drop tennis balls into his hands to test his reactions:
an old exercise, but a faithful one.

Fifteen minutes before they start, he stands, skin buzzing, reviewing the data once more.
Then there’s Megumi, coming over to look at the data with them.

“You okay?”

Megumi nods, and that’s that. Gojo has already imparted all of his best advice to him over the
years: he doesn’t need any more now.

He goes through the motions: balaclava on. Race suit zipped up. Rolls his shoulders to get a
feel for the new material. He clambers into the cockpit, watching the engineers buzzing
around his car like bees. He shuffles further down into the seat. Like last year, his feet are
higher than his hips. With the car turned off, he tentatively presses at the pedals. Getting a
feel.
From within the cockpit, he can’t see much. His view basically consists of his wing mirrors,
the tops of his front tyres, and the obstruction of the halo in the centre. Unlike some of the
other drivers, he had never really complained about its addition, but sometimes it still feels
foreign to him. Drivers like Yuuji and Megumi never really drove without it.

He sees Yaga leaning above him, and reaches out a hand. Yaga clasps it, smiling. “Good
luck,”

“Don’t need it.”

And then there’s five minutes to go, and someone passes him his helmet. The squeeze on his
head never gets any nicer. Despite all the new technology Grade One has brought in over the
last decade, the easiest way to know if it’s safe to enter the pitlane is still someone standing
there and holding their hand up, so Gojo flips down his visor and waits.

The hand is lowered, and his feet press on the throttle, and the engine roars. It’s glorious.

He turns the steering wheel, veering into the pitlane. He feels the leer of all the cameras
around them, taking pictures of the new car, trying to put together some commentary on it,
trying to predict the winners. But all of that? It doesn’t matter.

“Radio check?” Shoko’s voice is in his ears, again, smooth and steady.

“Checking, check check check check-”

“Loud and clear, no need to watch for traffic, we’re first out.”

“Copy,”

They’re starting on a C3 tyre for a mid-distance run. Then the plan is to box, and add flo-vis
to the air ducts, and then go back out on a C5 for a long-distance run. Testing tyre deg, and
graining, and airflow over a distance. He keeps slow for the first lap.

“Tell me what I need to do.”

“Warm the tyres,” Shoko’s reply comes immediately, like she’s been waiting to say it. “When
we come past the chequered flag, mode push.”

“Copy.”

“The track is likely to be slippy, please don’t put it into a wall.”

“Wouldn’t be ideal, would it?” Gojo laughs, already having started to weave around the track.
Partly to warm the tyres, and partly to feel for the grip.

He completes what he supposes is the outlap, and sees the start line ahead of him. Shoko is
gently reminding him on the radio: “mode push,”

“A hundred percent?”
“Race pace. Sixty five, seventy, five laps,”

Whatever Shoko wants, she gets. But Gojo’s version of sixty five percent of the pace is
different to other drivers. He presses down on the throttle, hitting the breaks for the tight
corner at turn one, and keeping it smooth for turns two and three. And then - up to over two
hundred miles an hour for the long straight down to turn four. The car responds in a way
which can only be described as dream-like, especially in testing.

“Good oversteer there,” Gojo reports back, “feels good,”

“Copy,” Shoko says, and Gojo can hear the smile in her voice. It all goes a bit pear-shaped
when he breaks just a fraction too late into turn ten, hitting the curb.

“Slippery,” he says, over the radio, foot already on the throttle, well on his way down the
straight to turn eleven. The second speed trap is in between turns twelve and thirteen, and
before Gojo knows it, he’s back on the finishing straight, hurtling toward turn one again, past
the pitlane. At the end of the five laps, his heart is beating wildly in his chest, because the car
feels almost exactly like the sim, with just the right amount of oversteer, the exact way Gojo
likes it.

He watches a Keicho drive past him, looking impressive, and a Sengoku right behind. Both
look to be on hot laps, the Keicho giving the Sengoku a tow. Gojo lets out a low whistle at
the sight.

“Box for hards,” Shoko says, over the radio, “good job, though, we’ve got good data from
that.”

“Who’s on track?”

“Itadori in the Keicho, Zenin in the Meiji, Kento in the Sengoku, and Miwa in the Heian. The
rest are in the pits.”

Gojo hums a confirmation as he pulls into the pitlane.

The rest of the session is much of the same. They run the C5, C3 and C4 compounds,
focusing on longer runs. The softer tyre compounds can wait until the end of the three day
period.

Yaga is waiting for him as he clambers out of the car in the garage. “Good job, you looked
great out there.”

Gojo pulls his helmet off. His balaclava comes with it, and he grins right back at Yaga.
“Good car. Shoko’s outdone herself,”
 “You’re on top of the times, so far,” Yaga replies, and Gojo can’t help it: he looks back at the
thing of beauty he’d just been driving. All navy and black and gold and smooth lines.

Yaga leads him out of the garage, towards the pit wall, where Shoko is twizzled around,
looking back at them with a soft smile. Gojo begins pulling his race suit off from around his
shoulders, leaving it to bunch at his waist so he can get some air against his fireproofs. It
feels like bliss after spending close to three hours in the car.

“You got any water?” He says to Yaga, pushing a hand through his hair, trying to tame the
spikes. He doubts it works. “The drinks tube was warm, I gave up using it.”

Yaga is about to reply when he stops, looking straight over Gojo’s shoulder. Gojo frowns,
about to ask what’s wrong, turning himself-

“Yo, Satoru.”

Getou Suguru looks older. His hair is longer. He’s wearing a white shirt, rolled up to the
elbows, with a small, embroidered gold logo on the breast pocket. He’s smiling. He still has
the same small scar along the left side of his forehead from 2013. It’s fainter, now, than it was
then.

“It’s been a while.”

Chapter End Notes

hi again!! if u got thru that, hi :) please leave a comment, please give me kudos, i will
love you forever

EDITED AGAIN AS OF 20/4/24

tracks referenced in this chapter are the Yas Marina Circuit and the Bahrain International
Circuit. The links provide a look at the layout for both and stats if you're interested in
visualising them along to this fic :)
 ii - lock-up
Chapter Summary

Verb. Locking up, to lock up (in reference to motorsport) - used to describe a driver
braking sharply and 'locking' one or more tyres whilst the others continue rotating. Tyre
smoke and flat spots are common side effects. Also used as a noun: referring to a lock-
up.

Chapter Notes

Happy Shibuya anniversary!

hey so new title. rip old title you'll be missed. content warning for description of a crash
and injuries related to racing, as well as some diet talk that isn't entirely healthy. please
comment (i will kiss you if you comment and tell me thoughts) i love reading them. i
will kiss you ON THE MOUTH if u comment.

(note: my knowledge of karting is incredibly limited, and it's impossible to find info on,
don't squint too hard at it, please. thanks. also at the ages of race engineers. i mostly
needed names to fill spaces.)

EDIT 2/11/23 - this chapter has been heavily edited, worth a reread :)

enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

2001, Japan

In his third full year of karting, Getou moves up an age category. Shoko does as well, and
Gojo is in the same category as them, too, when he’s here, and not off in Europe racing all
over the place. It’s mostly Italy, Suguru thinks. Apparently he’s popular over there. And in
France. And England.

He knows everyone. He knows all the Grade One drivers, because his dad only retired two
years ago and they go to races to see his friends. Which means that when Satoru races in
Japan, he always has wild stories to tell.

Like:
“In Monaco, there are all these boats, and I saw someone do a flip off one into the water!”

And:

“We were right in the pitlane in Monza, and they were putting more fuel in the car, and- it
splashed, and the car exploded!”

Shoko gasps, and her eyes widen. She doesn’t get to watch the races, even on TV. “Was the
driver okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Satoru says, waving a palm around dismissively, “the car was on fire, though,
and it looked so cool.”

“How was the driver not on fire?” Shoko scrunches her nose.

“He was.” Satoru shrugs, “but they had fire extinguishers, and they splashed water on him.”

Suguru, had, of course, seen it on TV. The commentators were shocked by it. But seeing it in
real life must be different. So he listens to Satoru.

“I wouldn’t want to catch on fire,” huffing, Shoko leans back into the grass, putting her paper
plate down in front of her. They’d just eaten dinner. Suguru’s was soggy and felt weird in his
mouth, so he left most of it on his plate.

“If you race in Grade One, it’s always a risk. It’s dangerous!”

He says it like it’s something to be proud of. Maybe it is. Suguru knows that even karting is
dangerous. Someone broke their leg in a crash one weekend. He’d watched them scream in
pain. But he hasn’t crashed badly.

A crash can be avoided. You can turn out the way. A fuel splash would be completely
someone else’s fault. Suguru doesn’t like that.

But Satoru isn’t afraid of danger. He’d cut someone off in their race today, and they spun
onto the grass. If they hadn’t yielded, Satoru would’ve crashed into a barrier.

But the other driver had yielded. So they’re sat outside their three motorhomes, parked side
by side in the grass, as the sun sets. Satoru’s is in the middle. They mostly hang out there,
because his parents don’t come to races with him, so they can be loud and messy. It’s also
loads bigger than even Shoko’s motorhome. Suguru’s is pretty small. They never hang out in
his motorhome.

“I wanna race in Grade One,” Shoko says, indignant, like Satoru had accused her of not
wanting it as badly as all of them. Suguru guessed it would be the dream of most kids here
with them, though.

“I’m going to race in Grade One.” Satoru repeats back, with absolute certainty. “And if I
catch fire, I’m gonna finish the race anyway.”
“That’s not how it works, idiot,” Shoko shakes her head at him, “if the car catches fire, you
have to retire.”

Satoru shrugs like he could find a way around it if he wanted to. He probably could. “It
would be so cool if we all raced in Grade One. Imagine us on the podium together.”

Suguru smiles at the thought. All three of them winning races, driving fast cars, jumping off
boats in Monaco. “What team would you drive for?”

“Keicho, obviously!” Sticking her chin out, Shoko looks proud of her decision. “They’re so
good,”

Satoru wrinkles his nose. Over the last couple summers, Suguru has learnt that means he’s
thinking, or disgusted. Sometimes both. “That was my dad’s team.”

“Do you not want to drive for your dad’s team?” Suguru thinks his voice sounds small,
unsure all of a sudden.

“No.” Satoru says, “I don’t."

As a reward for winning a race, Suguru’s father allows him to have a phone. A real one.
Satoru doesn’t pay it any mind: he already has a much newer, cooler phone, after all. But they
exchange numbers, and his parents make Satoru promise not to text Suguru when he’s in
Europe.

Satoru has a single game on his phone: snake. The two of them spend hours playing it in
between races. Satoru shows Suguru his pokemon collection, all shiny and new in a folder.

Over the course of the summer, Suguru convinces him to take out the cards, one by one. They
play proper games with them, and Suguru beats Satoru again and again. And again.

“It’s not fair!”

“You win all the time and I don’t get mad,” Suguru doesn’t mean pokemon cards. He means
racing. Satoru frowns.

“But that’s different.”

“How? We still win and lose.”

“That’s skill! This is luck.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re worse than me at something,” Suguru teases.
“No I’m not!” Satoru replies, indignant. “You have to get lucky with the cards you get!
Otherwise it’s all useless.”

“You got lucky having a dad who drives in Grade One.”

It’s meant as half a joke, half a point proven. But Satoru crumples, “my dad has nothing to do
with it.”

Suguru wants to say his dad has everything to do with it. Has everything to do with why
Satoru has triple his experience driving, even though they’re the same age.

“Okay.”

They go back to playing pokemon.

When they’re both on the podium together, Satoru in first, Suguru in second, soaked in not-
champagne, Satoru slicks his hair off his forehead and looks at him. His eyes are bright. Have
they always been that bright, or is it the summer sun?

“I don’t like racing in Europe.”

“Europe’s not a country.” Suguru says. He’s been learning about all the different countries at
school.

“I know it isn’t.” Satoru replies. “But you’re not there with me when I win. I want you to be
with me on the podium all the time.”

Suguru clutches his second place trophy. He’s doing well, his coaches say. The talent scouts
like him. They’re talking about trying to get him in a karting league with a more powerful
kart, but they can’t afford it, his dad says.

But Satoru says it so bluntly. His skin prickles. It must be from the not-champagne.

“I can’t afford to go to Europe.”

“You should come with me. We’ll take you. We can watch real races together.”

Suguru grins at him. It’s a nice dream.

—
March 2022, Bahrain

Gojo wants to scream. He wants to lunge for him. He wants to grab the back of his neck and
thread his fingers through his hair. He wants to cry and beg like he didn’t back then, to know
why Getou felt the need to leave after a decade of knowing him. Longer, probably. They met
when they were like, ten. Getou left when they were twenty three. Just before his twenty-
fourth birthday.

None of those reactions, however, would be appropriate for the paddock, let alone the pitlane,
so he just scowls. “Here to poach our tactics?”

Getou laughs, easy and open, like Gojo had just suggested the most ludicrous thing to ever
exist. “No, of course not. We can come up with our own strategy. Our own car.”

“I know. So why are you here.”

“I can’t visit an old friend?”

“No. Go back to the Scuderia,” Gojo says, and stalks away to the pitwall, looking at Shoko.
She too looks like she’s seen a ghost, swallowing as she looks at Getou.

“Shoko.”

“Suguru,” she replies, blinking slowly. The reply is so quiet, that Getou must not hear it over
the roar of engines, the whir of the garage. But they’ve known each other so long that they
can read each others’ lips.

Getou nods, and reaches out to clasp Yaga’s hand. “Sorry for the way things ended. I hope we
can give you a good fight.”

“Of course.” Yaga, to his credit, also looks a bit shell shocked, but he’s handling it better than
Gojo, it seems. At least from the outside. “We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Gojo would. Gojo would like Getou back at Jujutsu Tech. But he’s probably the only person
in the whole garage who wants that, so he says nothing.

He might be the only person in all of Grade racing that wants that, too, all things considered.
Getou’s departure from racing was explosive, sudden and entirely unpredictable. He’d broken
his contract to do it: he almost got sued by Jujutsu Tech for breaking clauses that guaranteed
him being a driver for the next two years, at least. After you break a contract once, it spreads
throughout the paddock and you’re unlikely to ever get a position back in Grade racing
again.

Except, Getou’s circumstances had been “exceptional”. Whatever the hell that means. Gojo
thinks he was just running from a fight. Being a coward.
He thought, at the time, that it was the common sentiment in the paddock. But it hadn’t been,
and honestly, Gojo doesn’t particularly want to find out what the common feeling about it
actually was. Either way, it left shockwaves.

Especially when the reporters hounded him about it for the entire half of the first season
without him. And then Gojo had changed his number back to one at the end of the season, to
mark his third world championship, and the world had gone a little dull for a while, even with
all the race wins and driving an utterly dominant car.

Sharing podiums with Nanami was never the same, not really.

They crowd into the office, huddled around screens, headphones on, recording every
sentence, and Yaga starts the meeting with harsh, biting words.

“So, I know that some people have been here since Getou was a driver, and you might be
familiar with him. I want to make clear that if anyone is caught talking to him beyond small
talk, you will lose your job.”

A ripple of shocked murmurs travel through the room. All eyes go to Gojo, and he leans back
in his seat. Of course they’d think this was his prerogative. It isn’t.

Yaga clears his throat. “Am I understood?”

When a chorus of yes ’s and yes sir’ s come back at him, he sighs. “And I want everyone to
be especially careful with any Keicho team member this year, including the other mechanics
and all of the staff they hire.”

Gojo can’t meet anyone’s eyes. But he knows they’re looking at him. Like this is his fault.
Like Getou being their biggest enemy on the field this year is his fault. Like him blowing up
and leaving racing altogether for five years or something was his fault.

“What about Yuuji?” Megumi’s voice comes out small. Judging from the look on his face, he
has to work hard to keep his voice from shaking. The two of them are close. Everyone in the
paddock knows it. Enough that they get pulled together for pressers more often than not,
enough that they got filmed together last season at the awards: rookies of the year.

“Be careful about what you say. But of course, there’s media demand for the two of you
together, you are friends, use your best judgement.”

Gojo rolls his shoulders back in his seat.

“Now that that’s out the way, let’s get to Gojo’s data, shall we? Before we have to be back on
track with Megumi.”

—
The first race of the season is Bahrain. Gojo prefers it to starting the season all the way in
Melbourne, but it brings its own challenges. One: the triple header that isn’t considered a
triple header.

From the start of preseason testing to the end of the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, none of them
will go home. Gojo and Megumi would probably have the option to, but the jet lag from
going back to Europe for a whole two days would outweigh any comfort they got from doing
so.

But because there’s only two actual races, the higher-ups only consider it a double-header,
not a triple. Undermining the amount of work the mechanics do, as usual.

The drivers’ days, by comparison, are pretty clear. Whilst everyone else in the team works on
adjusting the car, all Gojo and Megumi have to do is turn up, look over data, and drive. The
simulators are too big to bring with them on the road, so most of their job consists of training,
following the meal plans, and doing whatever the media team want them to do.

But even media and PR can’t take up all their time. So there’s time to explore.

On one of the first nights, before things get too hectic with development and tyres and god
knows what else, Gojo takes Shoko out to dinner. Somewhere nice. It had become a tradition
when his paychecks got so ridiculously large and hers stagnated. They talk, and they laugh,
and she finishes a bottle of the most expensive wine on the menu, and it’s good. Nice.

She smokes a cigarette outside. Gojo watches. He wishes he could have some, but he’s an
athlete.

“I thought you stopped smoking.” He says anyway, even though he knows the reason she has
it perched between her lips.

“Been stressed lately.” Is all she says in return.

Gojo sees Getou in the paddock, when he’s there to look over data. He does not wave. He
does not look at Getou’s smile, or the way he pats Yuuta on the shoulder encouragingly.

He doesn’t.

—
Megumi and Gojo, even though they look completely different to one another, are pretty
similar in a lot of ways. So Gojo knows, as soon as he walks into the sponsor event, and sees
Megumi looking like a wallflower by himself in the corner of the room, that they’re both
going to hate this.

In all fairness, they don’t have to do things like this very often. Jujutsu Tech is known for
impressing its sponsors with results, not schmoozing. Gojo likes that about them: the honesty,
the straightforwardness of it all.

But every now and again, the racing federation will organise events like this for all the teams
and drivers en mass, for the supporters of the sport. And then, they really have to go, and
ignore the temptations of canapes and alcohol that they’re not allowed this close to a race.

It’s a launch party, of sorts, celebrating the start of the new season. He’s dressed in a navy
blue suit, gold detailing, and Megumi is dressed the same. Team colours. He wanders over,
slinging an arm over Megumi’s shoulder. “How’re you doing?”

Megumi flushes, and stiffens under him, and it is then that Gojo realises, rather belatedly, that
he’s talking to a girl. And then, all Gojo can get out is a “oh,” because she looks almost
exactly like Shoko. Just with lighter hair. And younger, obviously. She’s wearing a long dress
that stops just below her knees, with a flat neckline. It’s clear she didn’t choose it herself.

“I’ll get out of your way-”

“No, stay,” Megumi says, cheeks still a furious red, and Gojo laughs.

“It’s like that?” He takes a good look at the girl, who is staring at him with mild disgust.

“No, it’s not like that,” she bites, “why does everyone assume that?”

Gojo laughs again, because that was Shoko’s exact response whenever a reporter asked if she
was dating Getou or Gojo. The last time she got asked it, she’d simply said “they’re too
preoccupied tearing each other apart to date anyone.”

Getou had gotten a few awkward questions after that.

“Got it.” Gojo says, smiling at her. “You are?”

“Kugisaki Nobara.”

Oh. She’s the other rookie for this year. Gojo had heard of her, her fiery temperament, her
undeniable talent, even though she was a little more raw than Megumi, and thus got shunted
to a much less competitive car.

She’s also a teammate to a Zenin. So Gojo is a little scared for her. Zenins don’t have a
reputation for being the cleanest racers, especially when they feel threatened. But then again,
Megumi is technically a Zenin, and so is Mai, and both of them race incredibly cleanly.
Probably more so than Gojo.

“Ah, I’ve heard of you, you’re from a small village in Japan, right?”
Nobara groans. “I’ve already got a reputation for being some country bumpkin, and I’ve
never even said where I’m from in interviews!”

“He doesn’t watch interviews.” Megumi says, deadpan. He’s right: after the absolute
shitshow of 2014, Gojo had resigned himself to not looking at press releases or social media
surrounding racing at all. Not that he looked at it much in the first place. It gives him an out
when he’s asked awkward questions.

But he guesses it’s been a double-edged sword as of late: he hadn’t seen anything of the
rumours of Getou returning to the paddock.

Nobara frowns at him. The freckles on her face squeeze closer together as she does. “How do
you not see anything? You’re Gojo Satoru,”

Gojo shrugs, “I’m not interested.”

He isn’t, most of the time.

Nobara shrugs. “I thought you’d be one of the drivers who like, watches fan-cams of himself,
you seem like the type.”

“Self-centred,” Megumi adds on, nodding solemnly.

“Hey!” Gojo says, with no heat behind his tone, “I object to that,”

“What’re you guys talkin’ about?” Yuuji shuffles over, popping a canape into his mouth.
Megumi narrows his eyes at him.

“Are you allowed that?”

Yuuji shrugs, “one won’t hurt. Don’t tell Getou. Or Todou.”

All four of them shudder at the mention of Yuuji’s race engineer. Gojo shudders extra for the
mention of Suguru.

Todou is- he’s intense to say the least. Gojo has only met him a few times in passing, and
Yuuji does genuinely like him: enough to poach him from Sengoku and take him in the move
to Keicho. Nanami, in turn, had taken Ino from JTR, so Megumi has a new engineer for the
season. They have a good relationship, probably one of the best engineer-driver pairings on
the grid, along with Gojo and Shoko. It doesn’t change the fact that in Yuuji’s rookie season,
Gojo had definitely seen Yuuji running away from Todou on multiple occasions.

He’s hidden him in the Jujutsu motorhome, once.

“You’re lucky with your metabolism.” Nobara glares, “I can’t have any of this food.”

Megumi huffs, gesturing vaguely down at Toto. “Well, I can’t have any either.”

“Lighten up!” Gojo says, even though he can’t exactly gorge on canapes the way he wants to,
either, “it’s only for the season!”
Nobara groans, loudly, and tries to wiggle out from underneath, “we’re supposed to be acting
sophisticated!”

Yuuji laughs at her from his place under Gojo’s arm.

“Hello.”

Turning to the source of the voice, Gojo frowns. Yuuji scrabbles to stand upright, and Gojo
swears he can see his hair standing on end slightly. He understands, after a moment, because
Getou is the one standing in front of them. His expression is lightly amused, with an arched
eyebrow giving absolutely nothing away.

“Sorry I was eating canapes.” Yuuji blurts out, and Nobara slaps a palm to her head.

Getou laughs, and Gojo frowns. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. “You’re too strict
on yourself, Itadori. The eighty kilo rule exists for a reason.”

Yuuji flushes even brighter red, and doesn’t say anything. Getou looks between the remaining
three of them, and nods. “Nobara, Megumi. Gojo.”

Megumi bows his head in a show of respect. Nobara just looks quizzically between them.

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped getting in my driver’s head,” Getou says.

Gojo splutters. “ Your driver?” He’s known Yuuji way longer! He’s been coaching him since
he was in Grade Three!

“Yes, my driver.” He’s completely impassive, not reacting. “Yuuji, I have a sponsor that
wants to meet you. It seems his daughter is quite the fan.”

“Oh, okay!” Yuuji perks up at that. He likes meeting kids. It’s easier, meeting kids, than it is
meeting adults. “I’ll see you later,”

And with that, Getou is walking away, his hand on Yuuji’s shoulder as the younger chats
animatedly over him.

“What the fuck.” Nobara blurts, “what was that? That was so tense.”

It suddenly occurs to Gojo that Nobara might be one of the only drivers on the grid that
doesn’t know their history. Whatever. Someone else can tell her.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” He says, and stalks past where Getou is standing next to Yuuta
and Yuuji, looking on as the latter crouches in front of a small child.

Gojo isn’t proud of what he does next, but it feels like a necessary evil. On his way past, he
shoves into Getou’s shoulder, sending him stumbling half a step forward. He doesn’t look
back to gauge his reaction.
—

Transcript from Thursday Press Conference One, Bahrain Grand Prix 2022 - Hosted by Yu
Haibara

QUESTIONS FROM THE FLOOR:

Q (JULES BROOK - Grade Racing Journal): Question for all the drivers, please, what are
your thoughts on how the new regulation cars drive so far?

SATORU GOJO : Ah, well. We’re not doing too badly with the bouncing, but it’s definitely a
big change.

YUUTA OKKOTSU : I’m mostly in agreement with Satoru. The bouncing isn’t a massive
issue for me, since I’m not particularly sensitive to the porpoising or the bottoming on the
kerbs, but there’s a lot of drivers who are struggling.

MAI ZENIN : It’s definitely something that the team is struggling with. My back isn’t keen on
it, either, I’m already sore.

KASUMI MIWA : Uh- if I may- it’s definitely tough on us as drivers, particularly in teams
where we haven’t figured out the correct ride height yet. I’m definitely struggling.

Q (GRACE MACK - AEROSPORT WEEKLY): Question for Gojo and Okkotsu: Satoru,
you’re competing for your seventh, record breaking world championship, Yuuta, you’re going
for your second consecutive title. You’re definitely the two favourites going into this season,
and the cars are very close on times on all tyre compounds - at the moment, the rest of the
pack isn’t particularly close at all. Who do you think has the better chances this season? Who
has the better car?

SG : You first.

YO : Uh- it’s tough to say who has the better car or chances this early in the season,
particularly before the first race. Gojo is a formidable opponent, and with some better luck
last season, he would’ve been a lot closer to me in the points.

SG : Well, it’s me. I have better chances. I can’t comment on the car, yet, though, and I think
that we shouldn’t be leaving Yuuji out of these discussions. He’s going to challenge us both, I
think.

Q (LILITH DAVIES - Modern Motorsport): Sort of a follow-up, then, for Gojo, the last time,
and only time, you lost a title fight, it was against Suguru Getou, who is now managing
Okkotsu for 2022. Are you feeling threatened by his presence amongst your rivals as you try
to win a seventh championship?
SG : Well, first of all, I have been beaten in a title fight, by Yuki, so I’m not sure where
you’re getting that information. Getou is not the only driver to beat me.

Q: Forgive me for carrying on, but 2011, you were in what was considered a wildly inferior
car compared to Yuki, and still only lost in the last race. In a full season title fight, only
Getou has managed to come out on top, and he’s the only driver to ever beat you in equal
machinery. Kento couldn’t come close to you as a teammate in his tenure. So?

SG : Ha. When you put it like that- no. I don’t feel threatened by his presence in Keicho. We
will do what we need to do to win, and I am not spending my time thinking about a long-
gone rivalry from nearly a decade ago.

Q (JOSH KITCHENER - G1 Daily): Okkotsu, do you feel Suguru Getou has made a
difference to the team, and is he the key to winning a historic championship with Keicho?

YO : Absolutely. He’s the answer to taking down Gojo in a championship fight, because he
knows what makes him tick.

Gojo lowers himself into the cockpit for qualifying on Friday, and sighs deeply. He stretches
out his fingers underneath his gloves. He hears Shoko in his ears, replies down the mic for
radio check. He takes a sip of his water then ignores it because it’s lukewarm, and tastes like
a swamp. He feels for Megumi, who will probably have to use his drinks tube regardless of
whether he likes it or not.

“Projected knockout 1:32:5,”

Gojo drives.

“P4, P4, Megumi P8,”

Gojo comes into the pits. Waits. Drives again.

“Improvement, you’re on a 1:30:7, P3,” Shoko says. “You need to find time in sector two.”

“What turns?”

“Nine and ten,”

“Are we going again?”

“No, box and pit confirm, we’re well above the projected knockout,”

Gojo drives.
“Right, new softs going on, P1 is currently Itadori with a 1:30:7. He’ll be behind you, careful
not to give him a tow.”

“Yuuta?”

“P2, 1:30:8,”

Gojo drives. He crosses the finish line for the last time in the session.

“Provisional pole, you’re on 1:30:5,”

“Where’s Yuuji?”

“Crossing the line about now- he’s P2, by a thousandth,”

“What’s the full lineup?” Gojo asks, breathless, because having a Keicho one thousandth
behind you is not the ideal gap to have. He’d like to have a tenth in hand, at least.

“You, pole, Itadori, P2, Nanami P3, Okkotsu, P4, Utahime P5, Megumi is P6.”

“How far is Megumi behind?”

“Six tenths. Four hundredths separate the top four.”

“Gonna be a fun race tomorrow,” Gojo says, as he pulls into the pitlane.

Shoko laughs down the receiver, “yeah, for you. I’m going to be chain smoking on the
pitwall.”

The gap between Gojo and Yuuji, for the entire race, is far too fucking close for Gojo’s
liking. He thanks the stars when his opponent is subjected to a slow pit stop, whilst his own
team changes his tyres in two seconds flat.

It puts a few vital seconds between them, enough for him to be able to manage a power issue
that rears its ugly head in the last five laps and still cross the finish line in first.

Yuuta makes up a place against Nanami to finish in third. Megumi, with enough of a gap
between him and the drivers behind, puts on softs to set the fastest lap: an extra point for the
team, and a respectable P6 finish: pretty damn good for a rookie.

He feels like he’s floating above the car when he steps out. It never changes: winning. This is
something like the eightieth time he’s won (it might be closer to ninety, now) and it still
makes his heart stop in his chest and brings a grin to his face. He raises his hand up to the
sky, and twists his middle finger in front of his index, and roars into his helmet with the
crowd.

Then he’s sprinting to the barriers, jumping into his team, throwing himself at the mechanics.
There are hands everywhere, all over his back, banging on his helmet and grasping at his
hands. Then he gets to Shoko, who grabs both sides of his helmet and flips his visor up. Her
expression is still serious as she looks at him. “It’s ours. It’s ours.”

Gojo nods, smiling under his helmet, and turns around to see Yuuji clambering out of his car
into Parc Ferme, stumbling slightly as he hits the ground. Gojo steps toward him, clasps their
hands together and pulls him into a hug, messy and uncoordinated.

He shouts, pulling Yuuji’s visor up, “tell your team thanks for the slow pitstop!”

“Fuck you!” Yuuji’s eyes crinkle where he can see them, and he’s laughing. Yuuji runs off to
his team, jumping on top of them, and Yuuta nods as he saunters past, ever the cool
customer.

Gojo pulls his helmet off, and his balaclava, and it is only then he looks.

Getou is on the barriers. Gojo doesn’t know why he wouldn’t be: the team principals come to
parc ferme and celebrate equally with the teams. But he’s here, and he’s shaking Yuuji’s
shoulders, smiling at him like he’s just won instead of coming home P2 behind their biggest
rival. He shakes Yuuta’s hand, patting him on his shoulders, and Gojo-

He stares for a moment. Helmet in hand, chest still heaving from the effort of driving and
running and screaming in delight. Because it wasn’t like that when he won. Getou didn’t- he
didn’t do this. He didn’t smile, he didn’t laugh, he didn’t share in the reactions. Not at the
end. Maybe when they were younger, driving for different teams, but not- not at the end.

But he’s decided to grow up into someone Gojo needed back when they were in their
twenties and winning world championships. Without him. Why couldn’t it be with him?

He looks away, and follows the steward to be weighed.

Yuuji looks at him funny on the podium. If Gojo squints, he can see lines of worry in Yuuta’s
face, too, but he ignores it, raising a triumphant fist to the sky as he takes his rightful place on
the top step. Yuuta gets him back for the podium in Abu Dhabi, and pours champagne
straight down Gojo’s back. Yuuji slams his bottle down on the podium, and it sprays straight
up the walls, painting them white for a moment as he tilts his head away and sprays Gojo
straight in the face.

When Gojo looks down, he does not see Getou’s smile as he wipes champagne from his eyes.
He doesn’t.
Because it’s not meant for him. It’s for the boys on the podium next to him.

He wishes it was for him.

October 2001, Japan

After the karting series is over, Satoru uses his fancy phone to text Suguru and ask if they
(him and Shoko) want to come with him to see the Grade One Japanese Grand Prix with
him.

At first, his parents say no. They say the tickets are too expensive, and it’s sold out, and it’s
ages away, on the other side of the country, at Suzuka.

Getou tells Gojo he can’t come, and Gojo texts him back, and tells him that he’s really sad
and really wants him to come, and that they can pick him up.

That seems to sway his dad. His mom is less convinced, but her opinion doesn’t matter when
it comes to most things racing. So he goes.

Suguru and his dad were expecting a car. What they were not expecting was a helicopter. But
still, his dad waves him goodbye and tells him to be safe.

“Hi!” Satoru waves from inside, grinning wildly. His canine teeth have started growing in his
gums, and his smile is lopsided because of it.

“Hello,” Suguru says, trying to be more polite because Satoru’s dad is there. He’s older than
Suguru’s dad, and he has dark hair, dark eyes. Getou isn’t quite sure where Gojo gets his
looks from. Maybe it’s his mom.

Gojo’s dad doesn’t look at them. He is speaking on the phone their whole ride there, in
English. Suguru doesn’t understand English. They land, on the helipad near the track.
They’re immediately met with smiles and hellos and bows. Suguru feels like an alien.

Satoru drags Suguru by the hand, pulling him towards the gates into the paddock. There’s
security guards everywhere. Suguru suddenly feels the need to make himself as small as
possible. He shouldn’t be here. Everyone is staring at him.

But Satoru waves up at the security guard, and doesn’t drop Suguru’s hand. “Can we go in
now?”

The security guard frowns at Suguru, and winces, “where’s your dad?”
“He’s slow.”

Guard winces again. “I could let you in…”

“He’s my friend, Suguru.” Satoru says, like it’s easy. Like he’s always going to get things to
go his way.

The guard is saved by the bell, then, because Gojo’s dad saunters up behind them, still typing
something on his phone. Shoko and her parents are walking near to him, Shoko’s mother
talking sweetly to Satoru’s dad, and she’s speaking English, too, he realises. Everyone is
speaking English today.

Gojo (senior) leans down and passes a lanyard and wristbands to Satoru, and says something
in English to him. Satoru nods, and grabs at Suguru’s wrists to put a wristband on his left
hand. “They’re so they know to let us in.”

Suguru nods dumbly. He notices Shoko already has one, but it’s a different colour.

As soon as the wristband is tied onto his hand, Satoru starts dragging them past security, his
hand still looped around Suguru’s wrist as they run through the paddock. Shoko is running
after them, and the only way Suguru can tell is because he can hear her giggling behind
them.

He wants to tell Satoru to slow down, because he’s never seen any of this stuff before. But no
one seems to stop them, and they keep moving until Gojo seemingly finds what he’s looking
for. He drags him up a flight of stairs, past more security, and suddenly, they’re in a huge,
airy space that feels-

It feels golden.

They walk through the room. Everyone is dressed so smartly. They’re not looking at any of
the screens, showing footage of the garage. They’re all talking to each other, eating, and
laughing.

Suguru feels lost. So he just follows Satoru. Shoko trails behind them both, smiling in her
sundress.

“Ah- Gojo,”

Satoru stops in front of him, and Suguru looks up and baulks, because standing right in front
of them, in a polo and sunglasses and with his hair neat, is Yaga Masamichi. Two-time world
champion, Yaga Masamichi. Ex-Sengoku driver Yaga Masamichi. Who is referring to Satoru
by name.

“Yaga!” Satoru says, and then turns around and looks at Suguru, “this is Yaga, he’s my dad’s
friend.”

As if Suguru doesn’t already know exactly who he is!

“Hi,” he stutters out.

Yaga smiles warmly, despite Suguru looking like an idiot. Despite him feeling like an idiot,
here in his best shorts and a Keicho team polo and a cap.

“You must be Getou,” Yaga says, and ohmygodheknowsmyname - “I’ve heard a lot about
you.”

Suguru blinks. He is dreaming. There is no way he isn’t dreaming right now. “Really?”

“Of course,” he says, with a booming laugh that carries easily, “you’re a natural in karts, so
I’ve heard,”

“Can you sign my cap?”

Yaga laughs again and plucks it off his head, signing the top of it and writing something on
the bottom. He pushes it back down onto Suguru’s head, pushing his hair all in different
directions.

When Suguru looks back at Satoru, he is frowning. Suguru immediately wilts.

“Come on, let’s go see the pitlane!” Satoru says, pulling him away from Yaga rather abruptly.
They push their way out to the balcony. They both have to stand on their tiptoes to see the
action below them, the people milling about around the garages. Suguru recognises the red of
Haien, the deep navy of Keicho and the stunning red of Meiji. He’s here, at Suzuka, watching
with what his dad calls the best seats in the house.

He touches his cap. Satoru frowns beside him. “Why’d you have to be weird?”

“Weird?”

“With the cap. Yaga’s my dad’s friend. He doesn’t wanna sign stuff when he’s here.”

Suguru stalls. “I watched him on the TV. He’s a world champion,”

“I know he’s a world champion, he won against my dad.”

“Do you not like him because he beat your dad?”

“No, he deserved to be beaten that year. He was driving badly.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“You’re supposed to be my friend. You’re supposed to be cool, not like- some fan.”

Suguru swallows the lump rapidly forming in his throat. He hadn’t meant to be embarrassing.
He just wanted his cap signed. This is probably the only time he’s ever going to get to watch
a race, or meet his favourite drivers, or have anything to do with Grade One at all. He wants
to soak it in like a sponge.

“Do you not have anything signed?”

“Why would I have anything signed? It’s driving. I can drive. One day I’ll drive better than
them.”

Because the drivers are his dad’s friends. There isn’t a world where Satoru doesn’t make it
into Grade One. It’s all laid out for him. Suguru stands, feeling stupid, but Shoko catches up
then, and she’s pointing at the Meiji garage, because they’ve started moving. Satoru looks
over the barriers with stars in his eyes, pointing at people that he knows- that his dad knows-
it’s all the same.

When he turns over the cap in his hands, he sees Yaga’s message.

Good luck in karting, kid. If Gojo likes you, I’m sure you’ll go far.

They see Yaga again, and Suguru tries really hard to be normal, this time. Yaga talks about
the cars, and Suguru soaks up every word about understeer being slow, his preferred way to
take a certain corner, or the way he can finally eat what he wants now, he’s out of racing.

Satoru talks back, sometimes. He knows a lot about the cars, too. Probably from his dad,
spending so much time in the garage, or mechanics.

Gojo’s dad doesn’t spend a lot of time with them. He’s absent, or when he is there, he’s
speaking in other languages down the phone: English, French, Italian. Suguru originally
doesn’t recognise the French, but Satoru tells him that his dad is fluent.

After they’ve watched qualifying, Gojo Senior (Suguru still doesn’t know his first name) and
Yaga and Shoko’s family all sit down for dinner together. For most of it, Shoko’s mom and
Yaga and Gojo (Senior) all speak in English. Suguru feels stupid, for not being able to
understand it.

He asks Satoru later, in the dark quiet of their hotel room, what they were saying. Satoru
speaks English, you see. He’s fluent in it. His accent is smooth and has barely any hints of
Japanese at all.

“Yaga’s gonna have a job at Keicho next season, as an engineer, or a strategist, I don’t
remember,” Satoru says, “but he’s only doing it for a bit, because he wants to make his own
team.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” Suguru says. He’s not sure how someone goes about making a Grade One
team. There are ten teams, and that’s it, he thinks. That’s the lot.

“Yeah. I’m gonna drive for his team.” Satoru is so confident, is the thing. Like, it’s not a
possibility. It’s a certainty.

“What if the car isn’t fast?”

Satoru shrugs. “It will be fast. I’ll make it fast.”

There’s silence. It stretches forever. Getou kind of wishes Shoko were there with them to fill
it.

“You should drive for Yaga’s team, too. Then we can be in Grade One together.”

Satoru called him embarrassing. He told him he couldn’t be a fan. He told him the signed cap
was stupid.

Satoru wants to drive with him in Grade One. He thinks he’s good enough to drive in Grade
One.

“Yaga doesn’t like me.”

“Why?”

“Because you said, he doesn’t like signing stuff.”

“He likes you.” There’s that certain tone again. Like Satoru knows all.

Maybe he does.

He thinks back to the message in the cap.

March 2022, Bahrain

Gojo is sticky from champagne, exhausted from the interviews, the photos, the running and
spraying the mechanics in the pitlane.

He wants to go to his drivers’ room, strip off all his clothes, put on new ones, and go back to
his hotel. Some of the younger drivers are going out, he thinks. He heard Yuuji mention it to
Megumi, and there’s some engineers going too. Todou will definitely try to wingman Yuuji to
pick up some poor girl after a podium finish. As a prize, whatever the fuck that means.
The corridor is empty, so Gojo pulls the fireproofs away from his stomach, trying to get some
air to his skin. He groans, rounds the corner- and-

Finds himself face to face with Getou Suguru.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He immediately pulls his fireproofs back over his
stomach, protective, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Can I not say congratulations?” Getou sighs, a smile light on his face. It doesn’t land, his
attempt at humour. Whatever the fuck it is. Why is he in the Jujutsu motorhome? How is he
in the Jujutsu motorhome? He should call security. Maybe the police. What’s the fine for
being a creepy stalker?

“Say congratulations in parc ferme, like everyone else!” Gojo grates out, “you had the
opportunity to.”

“You weren’t looking at me, Satoru,”

The way it rolls off his tongue after so many years, Jesus fucking Christ . Maybe this
conversation will end differently. With one of them against a wall. Hopefully it’s Getou, so
Gojo can take his hands to his neck and squeeze him until he pops.

Okay, get a grip.

He doesn’t remember it eating him from the inside out when they were teammates. Not like
this. He was mostly happy with what he had, though. His best friend as a teammate, two
world championships, the whole world in front of him.

The whole world is behind him now. All the fans, the other drivers on the grid, his team. It
feels hollow. Like getting a purple sector and knowing that on its own, it won’t be enough.
That you have to find more, more, and push to the limit until it hurts.

“Of course I wasn’t looking at you. Do you remember how you left- how you left the team?”
How you left me?

It’s unspoken, of course. That the greatest betrayal of Getou leaving Jujutsu Tech was his
abandonment of Gojo. No one ever says it. Because everyone was pretty angry and sad when
it happened, and there really wasn’t room for Gojo to act out when suddenly there was a new
teammate, one who didn’t want to outrace him, and a new world championship to win.

But Gojo knew before Yaga did. Gojo wasn’t surprised, when he left. It still hurt like a
motherfucker, though, like having your heart ripped out of your chest with claws and teeth.
And then when they realise you’re still breathing, shallow and panicked, they go for the lungs
too.

“I wasn’t doing well.”

“I know you weren’t, but this team has a million fucking psychologists, and and nutritionists
and performance coaches and they could have all fixed you if you just let them instead of
running away like a coward,”
It’s all said in one breath, punched out of Gojo’s lungs. He’s been waiting to say it for a long
time, wishing there was an outlet, wishing Getou would hear him.

He expects Getou to get angry about that, like he did the first time he said it, even though the
first time, Gojo had said it meaner, with less words. Something like, fuck you you’re a
coward just because you’re slower than me in the same car, why are you running away from
me.

Getou doesn’t get angry. He just shrugs. “Sure, if you say so. Are we going to argue in the
corridor, or will you let me in?”

“We’re going to argue in the corridor, actually,” Gojo huffs, “because you went radio silent
on all of us, then turn up like you didn’t hate the paddock, and Grade One, and everything
about it, leading a team. And expect us to just- take it. It’s fucking- you’re embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry for the way I left.” Getou says then, and Gojo’s heart stops in his chest. SOS, save
our souls, Getou Suguru is capable of throwing up an apology.

“Why did you do it then?”

“I needed to.”

Gojo doesn’t know what to say to that, apart from something pathetic, like, I needed you, too.
I needed you, I was in love with you and it was really fucking obvious to everyone, and I think
you knew. And you stomped all over my heart like it was something replaceable.

To be fair, maybe Gojo’s heart had been replaceable. With coke, or models who he didn’t
even sleep with, or another world championship.

He doesn’t say any of this, though. He swallows, instead, and coughs, anger giving way to
awkwardness. “Right, well. Can I just- can I go and get changed?”

Getou pushes his tongue into the side of his cheek. A habit, displayed when he’s unsure. He’s
done it since they were kids. He’s done it since they were kids. He’s done it since they were-

Getou shrugs. “Sure. But you need to stop looking at me like a kicked puppy in the paddock.
People talk, and you’re really obvious.”

He watches Getou walk away from him, and picks at a scab on his knuckle. He definitely
knew.

OFFICIAL 2022 G1 DRIVERS CHAMPIONSHIP POINTS STANDINGS AFTER ROUND

ONE - TOP TEN

POS NAME CONSTRUCTOR POINTS

1 Satoru GOJO Jujutsu Technical Racing 26

2 Yuuji ITADORI Scuderia Keicho 18

3 Yuuta OKKOTSU Scuderia Keicho 15

4 Nanami KENTO Sengoku 12

5 Mai ZENIN Meiji 10

6 Megumi FUSHIGURO Jujutsu Technical Racing 8

7 Iori UTAHIME Kyoto G1 Team 6

8 Mei MEI Haein 4

9 Nobara KUGISAKI Meiji 2

10 Miwa KASUMI Haein 1

OFFICIAL 2022 G1 CONSTRUCTORS' CHAMPIONSHIP POINTS STANDINGS AFTER

ROUND ONE

POS CONSTRUCTOR POINTS

1 Jujutsu Technical Racing 34

2 Scuderia Keicho 33

3 Sengoku Racing 12
4 Meiji 11

5 Kyoto G1 Team 6

6 Haein 5

March 2022, Saudi Arabia

The Jeddah Corniche Circuit was only introduced to Grade One racing last year, in 2021. For
everyone, even the experienced racers on track like Mei Mei, Utahime and Gojo, it’s still
new. Maybe that gives the rookies an upper hand: less experience to defend against, and less
knowledge to catch up on. It makes Gojo excited on Megumi’s behalf, because he had a
strong first race at Bahrain, and now he can capitalise on it further at a track where the upper
half of the field have only one more year of experience than he does.

Racing at new(er) circuits doesn’t make Gojo nervous. But nothing makes him nervous, so he
guesses he’s a special case. Not even his worst crashes have made him anxious about getting
back in the car. The most annoying thing after crashing is everyone crowding, coddling,
trying to make it okay. Getou was the same way, when they raced together. He hated people
checking up on him.

So, when Yuuji has a rear suspension failure in free practice one, and goes headlong into the
barriers on the exit of turn twelve, Gojo isn’t immediately scared. Not like he was when he
saw the crumpled mess of Haibara’s car in 2014. But that was- it was different. Crashes were
different, after what happened in 2013, and before the halo was introduced as a permanent
feature in 2018. Even Gojo would be tense on the radio, waiting to hear if a driver was okay.

But Getou always took them worse. Which was understandable, given some of the crashes
he’d been involved in, over the years.

The session is red-flagged. And Gojo climbs out of the cockpit in the garage, where he was
already, because they’d bought him in to change tyres. If he was out on track, maybe he’d
have slowed by Yuuji, tried to catch a glimpse and see he was okay.
Here’s the thing about racing: when a crash is bad, the world stands still. You can tell if
something is more than the average slam into the barriers or driver error. Everyone holds
their breath.

Satoru, are you okay? Satoru.

So when Gojo pulls up his visor and sees Shoko, hand over her mouth standing at the mouth
of the garage, he allows himself to get nervous on Yuuji’s behalf. Because this is a bad crash.

Satoru. Gojo, are you okay? Respond, please.

He pulls his helmet off. There was only twenty minutes remaining, this session, and with the
carnage on track, it doesn’t look like it’ll resume again.

“Is he out of the car?”

Shoko shakes her head. They both turn to look at the Keicho garage, next to them. Yuuta’s
car is pulling in, but Getou is rushing out to the pitwall, headphones on, speaking in rapid
English down the microphone.

Gojo, please respond, turn off the engine, Gojo.

There’s no footage on the screens, yet. But Getou is on the pitwall, and his shoulders are
tense, and he’s grinding his teeth, Gojo can tell, he can hear it from here-

“Shit,” Shoko swears, and looks at Gojo, “they’re saying no response on the radio. Medical
car and ambulance being sent out.”

It’s not really conscious, the decision to go to Getou. He doesn’t truly decide to start moving
towards the Keicho garage, he just goes, dropping his helmet on the top of his car. When the
staff members see him approaching, they just gawk with wide eyes, or don’t acknowledge
him at all.

Finally, they can see the screens. The broken off wheels of Yuuji’s car, the way it’s folded in
on itself. The amount of debris on track.

Gojo places his hand on the centre of Getou’s shoulder blades. He doesn’t ask if he’s okay:
the answer to that is pretty clear. Getou looks at him, growls out, “why are you here.”

“Red flags.”

“I know that,”

“Do you want me to go?”

Getou shakes his head, then twists his mouth in discomfort at something being said down the
radio. Then he pulls the microphone away from his mouth, “at the second race. Jesus.”

“He’ll be fine. Might be a microphone issue.”

“I’d like it if he got out of the car, if he has a microphone issue.”

Gojo knows his words are false promises. The microphone cutting out is very rare, all things
considered, and coupled with the fact no one has seen any movement from Yuuji, it’s a less
likely option than- than something worse.

Both of them turn at the sound of frantic footsteps approaching them. It’s Megumi, still
holding his helmet, pulling off his balaclava, his entire face crumpled in on itself with worry.

This is Yuuji’s first big crash. And Megumi had probably seen the debris in person.

“Is he out? Is he okay?”

“No.” Getou says, refusing to look at Megumi altogether. Gojo stretches out an arm, and
Megumi goes to him. He’s shaking, Gojo realises, and he suddenly remembers all at once
how close the two of them are. They grew up karting together, like Gojo and Getou did. This
must be hell for him.

Suddenly, there’s a burst of applause. They drag Yuuji out of the car, and while he doesn’t
look good, he’s conscious, able to walk with some assistance, and in good enough spirits to
lift his visor and gesture a vague thumbs up.

Getou breathes out beside him, pinching the bridge of his nose, “thank God,”

Gojo squeezes at his arm, and then drops it back to his own side. Megumi deflates beside
him, too, and sighs.

“I need to go back and get Toto,” he whispers, “I feel really faint,”

Gojo lets him go, watching his tentative steps back towards the Jujutsu garage. He stays
standing with Getou, who is still blinking, recovering.

“Right. Well, I’m going to the hospital.” Getou says, curt and polite and professional. Gojo
wants to see him angry, or to see him cry, or something about this. It was his driver, his car.

“Are you not going to sort out the team, first?”

“Yes, of course I am, but I have to be there when he’s admitted, Satoru. He has no family to
be there for him.”

“I’ll go.” Satoru blurts, and it’s really so stupid. He shouldn’t. Yuuji isn’t his teammate. He’s
a grid friend who he mentors, sometimes.

Getou narrows his eyes at him. So Gojo elaborates, “so he’s not alone. You can catch up. But
I know I’d really like to gut whatever mechanic was responsible for that failure, and I’m sure
you would too, so.”

Getou sighs, and pulls the headphones onto his neck. “You hate me.”

“Yeah, I do. But I’m asking to do this for you.”

—

Gojo does end up getting there quickly enough to see Yuuji admitted. Nothing serious, they
say. He’s lucky, they say. Winded, and bruised ribs, and possibly a mild concussion. Clear to
leave, and to be kept an eye on. He can race, they say.

Nanami comes a little later, as an ex-teammate, and a friend to both of them, and Getou, true
to his word, arrives a little after. Nanami and Gojo stand back as Getou nods along with the
doctors.

“Say what you want about his racing career, but he is already an astounding team principal,”
Nanami murmurs, and Gojo nods. Doesn’t say anything back.

Yuuji walks out of the hospital on his own two feet, laughing and cracking jokes. When he
sidles up to Gojo, he looks uncharacteristically serious. “Getou said Megumi was freaking
out. Is he- is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. He’ll probably be out in the car soon for free practice two.”

“Shouldn’t you be out there, too?”

Gojo shrugs, and looks at his watch, “there’s still two hours left ‘til it starts. Me and Nanami
will head back. Are you going to your hotel?”

Yuuji nods guiltily. “I can’t do anything else, can I? Since I wrecked the car.”

“It was a failure. Not your fault. Just unlucky that it happened at high speed.”

Yuuji still chews on his lip, picking at a hangnail on his index finger.

They split at the doors, calling Yuuji a taxi back to the hotel, and Nanami gets into his own
car, speeding away back to the track. It only has the one extra seat, and it’s already got his
bag and a load of other stuff strewn across it, so Gojo and Getou stand, rather awkwardly,
waiting for a taxi.

“You didn’t have to come today.”

“Yeah, I know,”

“Why did you?”

Gojo sighs. He considers lying. Decides against it. “You hate crashes. This is- it’s horrible,
when you’re responsible. For a kid, out there. He’s the same age as the rookies this year,
y’know?”

Amanai Riko was in her second season. Haibara was in his first.
“There was a similar issue on Yuuta’s rear suspension. We got it just in time, before it failed.
No one checked.” Getou says, and Gojo knows he’s trusting him not to spill Keicho secrets
right back to Jujutsu Tech. “It could have killed both of our drivers.”

“It didn’t, though.”

Getou smiles, soft. For the first time, it reaches his eyes. “Yeah, it didn’t.”

“The real stress now will be trying to get that car put back together in time for tomorrow,”
Gojo laughs, and Getou crumples. “Remember in 2012, when I wrecked the car in Q3, and
the team hated my guts for the next month and a half?”

“Don’t remind me. Everyone’s going to be working overtime for the next forty-eight hours.”

“Great way to start your war with the cost cap, by paying out a bunch of overtime hours,”

“As if Jujutsu Tech didn’t go over it last year,” Getou huffs, and then stills. “Thank you.”

Gojo isn’t sure what Getou is thanking him for, but he’ll take it.

Transcript for Interview with Suguru Getou, Grade 1 TV, Pre-Qualifying Saudi Arabia Grand
Prix 2022

YU HAIBARA : Hi, Suguru, good to see you again, and good to see Itadori lining up for
qualifying today. How much of a challenge was it to turn the car around in time.

SUGURU GETOU : A huge challenge, but the mechanics and engineers pulled through in a
big way. The team is working incredibly well together right now.

YH : What about the rear suspension issue that caused Yuuji’s crash? Has that been identified
and fixed?

SG : Yes. It’s been fixed.

YH : How is Yuuji doing?

SG : As strong as ever. He’s a resilient kid, and he’s excited to get back in the car and show
what he can do. [laughs] I’ve not met anyone like him for a long time.

YH : It’s good to hear, after a crash like that, that he’s doing well.

[pause]
SG : Safety in the sport has come a long way.

YH : [laughs] Don’t look at me like that, I’m fine. What is the strategy for qualifying?

SG : Yuuta is the one pushing today. For Yuuji, the aim is to get into Q3 and secure a top ten
start for the Grand Prix. He is still recovering and we don’t risk our drivers.

YH : Of course, the competition is with Jujutsu Tech, who are equal on points with you in the
constructors going into this weekend. Gojo topped all three free practices, and his teammate
was in P3 after free practice three, which is a marked improvement from last week’s results.
Are you worried about them?

SG : Of course, Satoru especially is quick, and Megumi is an immensely talented rookie. But
we’re playing the long game, and both Yuuta and Yuuji are incredibly talented drivers, and
we signed them as a duo for a reason.

YH : You have to go, of course, but thank you so much for talking to us.

SG : No problem. Good to see you.

Qualifying goes pear-shaped. A series of unfortunate events mean that Gojo qualifies P7,
behind his rookie teammate, who starts in P3. Yuuta clinches a pole, and Yuuji is starting in
P4, which means Gojo has a hell of a job tomorrow, if he wants another win. Or another
podium.

Shoko had been discussing alternate strategies with Yaga and the other strategists. A start on
softs isn’t viable, especially since they have no new softs left. But starting on the hards is
completely off the table too, and Gojo doesn’t fancy trying to make up ground on old hards in
the final laps of the race.

So: they decide on a two-stopper for Gojo: medium, hard, medium. The first set of mediums
have been used for five laps, the second set is brand new.

Megumi is also put on the infinitely less risky one stop strategy, starting on the soft to get
away well, before moving to the hard to finish the race.

But Gojo trusts his pit crew. So.

—
RADIO TRANSCRIPT HIGHLIGHTS - Saudi Arabian Grand Prix 2022

LAP 2 :

IERI: Good pace, we are now P5, P5. Car ahead is Megumi.

GOJO: Easy places. We’ve got the actual battle now.

LAP 12 :

KAMO: Megumi, we need to let Gojo pass this lap, let Gojo pass this lap. His pace is
quicker.

FUSHIGURO: Yeah, copy.

LAP 17 :

IERI: Gojo, safety car this lap, Kasumi is in the wall.

GOJO: Box now? Box now?

IERI: Copy. Box and pit confirm.

GOJO: That was perfect timing, well done Miwa.

LAP 25:

KENTO: Who is the car behind, please? They’re gaining.

INO: Gojo. He’s still two seconds behind, and on a two-stop.

KENTO: But it’s Gojo. What’s his pace.

INO: He’s currently point-five up.

KENTO: ****.

LAP 30 :

IERI: Nice overtake. We need to extend the gap to two seconds before boxing.

GOJO: Understood.

LAP 35 :

IERI: Box this lap, box this lap.

GOJO: Confirm.

IERI: You will come out P6, behind Megumi. He will not give you any resistance.

LAP 40 :

KENTO: I cannot defend against him, on the new medium without burning through my tyre.
I have no idea what you expect me to do.

INO: Copy. Do not defend if you think you’ll sacrifice your pace.

LAP 45 :

ITADORI: Please tell me that’s Megumi behind.

TODOU: It’s Gojo, he’s on a new medium.

ITADORI: Are you ****ing kidding me, what am I supposed to do?

TODOU: Defend.

ITADORI: Real helpful!

LAP 47 :

GOJO: That took longer than I wanted, DRS helped though.

IERI: Copy, car in front is now Okkotsu, gap two and a half seconds. Mode push, mode
push.

GOJO: Pushing.

LAP 50 :

MIGUEL: That is the chequered flag, P1, P1.

OKKOTSU: Thank God, he was close at the end there. Needed one more lap, I reckon.

MIGUEL: Yeah, good race and good defending.

OKKOTSU: Who had fastest lap?

MIGUEL: Gojo.

OKKOTSU: Not surprised.

P7 to P2 isn’t a bad run, but Gojo still wishes it were a P1 as he watches Keicho congratulate
Yuuta. This time, when he catches Getou’s eye, he smiles and nods. He’s still jealous, but it’s
less of a stabbing and more of a dull ache for now.

He gets weighed - he only lost two and a half kilos this time, nice! - and gives his post race
interview - yes, I’m happy, yes I’m still in the championship fight, no bad luck in qualifying
doesn’t define my form right now.

Because the champagne isn’t alcoholic, and it doesn’t fizz, Gojo settles for pouring the whole
bottle straight over Yuuji’s head.
It’s not as good as a win, but seeing him next to them, grinning with all his teeth, after a crash
like the one he had in practice is pretty fucking good.

And so is Getou’s smile from below them.

OFFICIAL 2022 G1 DRIVERS CHAMPIONSHIP POINTS STANDINGS AFTER ROUND

TWO - TOP TEN

POS NAME CONSTRUCTOR POINTS

1 Satoru GOJO (=) Jujutsu Technical Racing 45

2 Yuuta OKKOTSU (+1) Scuderia Keicho 40

3 Yuuji ITADORI (-1) Scuderia Keicho 33

4 Nanami KENTO (=) Sengoku 22

5 Megumi FUSHIGURO (+1) Jujutsu Technical Racing 20

6 Mai ZENIN (-1) Meiji 16

7 Iori UTAHIME (=) Kyoto G1 Team 8

8 Toge INUMAKI (+12) Sengoku 8

9 Nobara KUGISAKI (=) Meiji 6

10 Mei MEI (-2) Haein 4

 OFFICIAL 2022 G1 CONSTRUCTORS CHAMPIONSHIP POINTS STANDINGS AFTER
ROUND TWO

POS CONSTRUCTOR POINTS

1 Scuderia Keicho (+1) 73

2 Jujutsu Technical Racing (-1) 65

3 Sengoku Racing (=) 30

4 Meiji (=) 22

5 Kyoto G1 Team (=) 9

6 Haein (=) 5

Chapter End Notes

the circuits referenced in this chapter are:

theSuzuka International Racing Course (flashback to 2001 Japanese Grand Prix, but
Suzuka will make more appearances later!), the Bahrain International Circuit, and the
Jeddah Corniche Circuit, otherwise known as the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, if you're
following along with the tracks, lol :)
 iii - camber
Chapter Summary

Camber (noun) /ˈkambə/ - (In reference to motor racing) - The angle at which a tyre
leans into or away from the car relative to the vertical axis. Engineers will vary camber
to improve a car's handling characteristics.

Chapter Notes

hey omg.. its been five days, here's another 10k. yum.
tw for an ED implication (blink and u miss it). but honestly it gets worse from here on
out. pls take care of yourselves and read the tags.
if you comment ill kiss you on your mouth and frame it on my wall. thanks :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

January 2002, Japan

Finally, Suguru is old enough to enter a winter series in Japan, which means he spends even
more time on the track. His mom is angry about it, but he keeps up with his schoolwork
perfectly, so she can’t do anything. His dad is thrilled.

Shoko is entered, too, but Satoru is off in a Spanish series. He’s seen photos of him in the
sun. He’s only a little jealous.

Ever since Satoru won a championship - a real European title! - he’s been the talk of
everyone karting. That kid’s gonna go far! He’s got natural talent!

Even his dad joins in on Shoko’s mom gossiping about him. Suguru doesn’t know how he
feels about it. He kind of wants people to talk about him like that, but he knows if Gojo was
here, he’d be kicking rocks and muttering about how people expect him to be like his dad.

Shoko’s the same, complaining about her mom constantly, whenever they have a moment
alone. They hang out in Shoko’s motorhome, mostly. Suguru’s is still old, and still small. It
has a bunk above the cab, with a curtain that tucks them out of view. They whisper there,
hiding from the adults.
“I think my mom wants me to marry him!” Shoko says, one day. She’s still got her base
layers on, but her racing suit is stripped off, somewhere on the floor of the motorhome.
Suguru is still in a T-shirt and jeans. His heat isn’t until later.

Suguru wrinkles his nose. He can’t imagine Shoko and Satoru getting married. “Why would
she want that?”

“His family is like, royalty. She wants to be- I dunno, a part of that, I guess.” Shoko sniffs. “I
don’t wanna kiss Gojo. His breath smells.”

“Then don’t kiss him.” Suguru says. It’s rather simple, really.

“I wish I was a boy.” Shoko huffs. “No one would want me to be Gojo’s little girlfriend then.
I could just be friends with him, and race for fun, like you,”

“Like me?” Suguru gawks.

“Yeah. Your dad isn’t practically arranging your marriage to him, right now.”

“But you like Satoru, right?”

Shoko nods. “He’s okay. He’s cool, whatever. But I’d rather die than marry him.”

Suguru laughs, and Shoko does too. It’s all ridiculous, really.

Without Satoru there, fighting him tooth and nail at every race, Suguru wins the series. Shoko
comes third, the highest placed girl. When they get out their karts, Shoko runs to him and
hugs him tight. “This is so cool!”

It’s much less cool when Shoko targets him, and throws an entire bottle of the not-champagne
they’re given over his head. He squeals at the sensation, feeling it prickling underneath his
base layers.

“Getou.”

The voice speaking is foreign to his ears. He turns to see Gojo’s dad, looming above them,
with a slight smile on his face. He immediately stops trying to shake the bottle of not-
alcoholic not-champagne, and stands still. Shoko is unmoving beside him.

“Hello.”

“Where is your father? I’d like to talk to him.”

It occurs to Suguru that this is the first time he’s heard Gojo Senior speak Japanese. He
swallows. “He’s over there.”

Gojo nods and smiles, again. “Congratulations on your win, Getou.”

“Is Satoru here?” He blurts, like an idiot, and Gojo just looks at him all strange.

“No, he’s still in Spain.”

The series is finished. Suguru has a trophy above his bed. It’s his biggest one yet. It’s made of
glass and gold and all things good.

He has his knees to his chest, curling his toes on the bed. His parents are arguing downstairs.
The argument is about him. It’s about money. It’s about school. It’s about karting.

“He cannot miss this much of his school year,”

“He will be with Gojo. They will look after him!”

“He is twelve, and he doesn’t speak nearly enough English-”

“This is an opportunity we can’t pass up-”

“Where are we finding the money for this?”

“The money is sorted, it’s no problem.”

“We can’t be in debt to these people!”

His phone lights up with a text from Satoru.

Are you racing in Europe this year?

Suguru wants to race there so bad. The championship that the Gojos are offering to take him
on goes to Valencia, Cremona, Rodby. The names of the places sound funny in his mouth.

He wants to share Satoru’s massive motorhome and sneak out and eat ice cream and run
around the tracks together and laugh at him trying to ride a bike on the tarmac.

But it doesn’t feel worth it, right now.

He ignores Satoru’s text and plays snake on his phone until his parents stop shouting.
—

April 2022, Australia

Melbourne’s atmosphere is always insane. There’s a million cardboard cutouts, even more
flags. Gojo loves Australia, and Australia loves him, despite the fact that he’s not Australian.
He’ll become an Aussie in spirit, for the weekend, though. He loves it here.

He walks into the paddock on Thursday with Yaga, side-by-side. Shoko is already here,
somewhere, working much harder than Gojo does.

“Just a heads up, Yuki is in the paddock this weekend, as a reporter,” Yaga says, nonchalant.
“She’s with the grade one broadcasters,”

Gojo groans. Yuki Tsukomo has a reputation, and it doesn’t come from nowhere. “Can we
find out what she’s hosting?”

“We’re working on it,” Yaga says, “but please be prepared. You know what she’s like. She’ll
want something out of you.”

Gojo does know. Yuki is ruthless. None of the drivers really like talking to her, because she
has a way of making uncomfortable truths come to light with her lines of questioning. She
knows all the paddock rumours, probably by virtue of Todou and Keicho, and she capitalises
on it.

The broadcasters love her, because she gets them views. The viewers love her because she
knows what she’s talking about in only the way a modern era championship winner could,
and because she manages to make even the most experienced PR merchants squirm.

The drivers hate her. But because everyone else loves her, they have to put up with her.

Out of the current grid, there are four drivers who have been around long enough that they
raced alongside Yuki. Gojo is one of them. The others are Utahime, Mei Mei, and Nanami.
She spent six seasons in grade one, most with Scuderia Keicho. A remarkably short career.
She won three of those seasons, and came second in another.

So, really, she’s allowed to strut around the paddock like she owns it. There’s only two
drivers in history with more championships than her, and one of them is Gojo. The other is
Sukuna. So he feels like he can afford to be a bit informal with her, really. They’re not
friends, exactly, but they’re not nothing, either.

She was Getou’s teammate, back in his rookie year, when Getou was outperforming him by
miles and he was struggling to keep his head above water. Partly because the car he was
driving in 2010 and 2011 wasn’t on the pace, and partly because he struggled jumping
straight from grade three to grade one.
So yeah, by osmosis, or something similar, Gojo knows her pretty well. It still doesn’t mean
they’re friends, though, because she’d quit in 2012, disappeared on holiday for a year, and
then came back and started interrogating Gojo about his newly formed rivalry with his best
friend. So.

But to be fair, he thinks that about ninety percent of the questions directed at him that year,
and in 2014, had been about Getou. It wasn’t just her. The whole paddock had been
enthralled by them. Gojo found it funny, at first, until Getou was spitting out venom in
interviews, and suddenly it hadn’t been funny anymore.

Then it was fucking awful, actually.

But he’s won six world championships, and he’s in the best car, and he has a teammate who
won’t fight him (for now). So life is good, and he’s in Australia, and the sun is hot on the
back of his neck.

He goes to his drivers’ room to get suncream.

Most people who know Gojo would say he’s a terrible liar, and a worse actor. He’s been told
it to his face before, by well-meaning reporters, or other drivers, or engineers. When it comes
up, he laughs, not denying it. After all, it’s his thing: he’s a little too sincere, at times, wearing
his heart on his sleeve when he probably shouldn’t.

Gojo, however, is not a bad liar. And he’s a pretty good actor. He can blink slowly through
uncomfortable questions, smile when someone grabs him to try and get a photo or a signature
or attention. He’s crossed his legs and sighed, looking utterly relaxed when people make
comments about his body, or his up-in-the-air sexuality, or a bad performance.

And here’s the thing: people think he’s genuinely just not bothered. To some extent, he isn’t.
He’s confident in his ability to drive, and that’s why he’s here, not to answer questions on his
personal life and teammate drama.

But there’s a trick to it. Gojo, at the beginning of every race week, steps outside of himself.
For the media, he isn’t Satoru. He’s Gojo, greatest of all time, youngest race winner, six-time
world champion. For his team, he’s Gojo. For interviews, press conferences, challenge
videos, he is Gojo. For his competitors, he is Gojo.

He’s not sure when he started doing it, because he didn’t start off grade one like that, at all.
He was mad, and happy, and he was so honest about everything all the time. Back when he
raced for Sengoku, in the early days, the PR team hated him, because he’d call his
competitors assholes, and he got into a physical fight with Toji when he cost him a podium
finish by not leaving space on the corner, like an idiot.
When he started in Jujutsu Tech, the way he acted worked in his favour. The team capitalised
on it, turned his image into something more favourable: someone young and sincere and
passionate and incredibly talented.

Later, they used Getou like that, too. Two boys, with the world at their feet, the future of their
sport, fulfilling a childhood dream of being teammates in Grade One.

Then, after: where did it go wrong? The desire to win made them bitter! Getou’s in the wall,
and it must be the pressure from falling out with his teammate! Getou can never live up to
him, what a shame!

Gojo reckons that maybe the separation between Gojo (the driver) and Satoru (the boy, the
person) happened somewhere in between. Besides, not many people call him Satoru
anymore. Not in a way that matters, anyway.

Then, after the after: he’s a machine, not impacted by Getou’s floundering at all! Not even
fussed after rumours of a huge argument, of a falling out. Not caring that he’s lost his
childhood best friend to this! All he cares about is racing. He’s the greatest of all time.

Gojo has heard the whispers. He doesn’t care. He’s here to race.

(Satoru has heard them, but not truly listened. He’s too busy looking for figures in his rear
views to take it in).

His palm collides with the middle of Megumi’s back, knocking him forward as they move
through the paddock. Megumi grumbles, and Toto carries on at his side, obedient.

“How’re you doing?”

“Awful, now you’re here,”

“Aw, you flatter me!” Gojo grins, leaning all over Megumi as they walk. It’s funny, riling him
up. He’s like a cat, all pretending he hates you whilst being your shadow when you walk
away.

They’re not in the same press conference today. Pre-race proceedings usually keep drivers
from the same team separate. Gojo doesn’t have anything, today, apart from the fanzone later,
where it’s all the teams on together.

Megumi, however, is in a group with Yuuji, Mei Mei, and Nobara. The three (relative)
rookies and the longest standing driver on the grid. Gojo wonders vaguely who put that
lineup together, because it’s gold. Especially with Nobara and Yuuji in the same conference.
Those two spur each other on to no end, and it’s only been two races.

They were in grade three together, though, so it makes sense, Gojo supposes.

“Why are you following me.” Megumi stares dead ahead, shoulders set against Gojo’s
floundering.
Gojo shrugs. He has nothing better to do. He’s run away from his responsibilities and the PR
team. He’s sick of someone with a camera following him everywhere. It’s entertaining,
watching staff scurry around him like ants, for about five seconds before it gets old.
Realistically, he knows there’s press everywhere. There’ll be someone recording them now,
probably, uploading it to a cute moments compilation or to social media. But at least they’re
not right up in Gojo’s face.

Megumi sighs, as if he was expecting Gojo to not have an answer about where he’s actually
supposed to be. “You know, for a driver who’s so good, you don’t spend much time actually
training or looking at data.”

Gojo laughs, “because I’m a natural talent,”

“Tell that to your first three seasons in grade one,” Megumi snaps back, with no bite. Gojo
peels himself off him and grabs at the fabric over his chest dramatically.

“Oh, you wound me! However will I survive being criticised by a rookie?”

Megumi just rolls his eyes in response. “I don’t know how you have a single world
championship with your attitude,”

Gojo shrugs, “sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Yuuji’s shout from behind them makes them both stop still. There’s only a split second before
he’s barrelling into them, arms wrapped around Megumi’s shoulders.

The blush rises so quickly to Megumi’s cheeks that it’s comical. Gojo grins at them. Ah,
young love.

“We’re going to be late,” Megumi says, still with his fur fluffed out, but with less bite than
when he was speaking to Gojo.

“It’s okay, they’ll wait for us,” Yuuji says, as if it solves anything. “Nobara!”

Nobara is strolling over, eyebrow raised as she slurps out of a drinks bottle with a comically
long straw. She looks completely unimpressed by them.

“Is Gojo coming? I thought he wasn’t on anything today,” Yuuji says, and Megumi rolls his
eyes.

“No, he was just following, so maybe he should get back to his real job,”

“This is my real job,” Gojo replies, pushing the rim of his glasses up his nose, “professional
bodyguard for Fushiguro Megumi!”

“Quit it.” The blush on Megumi’s cheeks could be from Gojo’s shouting, or from Yuuji’s arm
still looped casually around him.

“We’re gonna be late, you know,” Nobara chips in, much more relaxed than Megumi was
about it. She’s just a passenger to whatever the other two have got going on, and she looks
amused by it.

“That’s what he said!” Yuuji grins, pointing at Megumi, who finally manages to weasel
himself out of Yuuji’s grasp.

“Then we need to go.” He turns on his heel, with Nobara by his side, and Yuuji frowns,
hesitating before he joins them.

“See you later, Gojo!”

Gojo waves, and then supposes he’ll go back to the garage and raid Yaga’s office for sweets.

It turns out that Scuderia Keicho and Jujutsu Technical Racing, in all their wisdom and
expertise, have booked the same hotel as each other this weekend. Gojo wasn’t aware of it on
Tuesday, when he got in from Monaco and crashed in his bed for twelve hours. He also
wasn’t aware of it on Wednesday, or Thursday, when media and fans took up all his time and
he got back to the hotel late.

On Friday morning, however, he is made aware rather abruptly when he opens his door to see
Getou Suguru locking his room. On the same floor. Their doors are opposite each other, for
fuck’s sake.

He stares at Getou like an idiot for a moment, racking his brain for whatever sin he’s
committed to make this happen to him. He can’t find anything, apart from maybe laughing at
Kasumi going into the wall again during free practice in Bahrain.

It seems his bad luck isn’t over yet, either, because Getou hears him, turns around, and
smiles. Like they’re friends. “Ah, Satoru, are you-”

Gojo doesn’t hear the rest of the sentence, because he stalks away down the hall to the
elevator, and prays Getou takes the stairs.

He doesn’t.

Getou looks like he’s about to open his mouth again when his phone rings in his pocket. He
hesitates, and Gojo shrugs, “I won’t tell anyone anything.”

Getou picks up the phone and answers in English. “Yes, I’m on my way. What- no. No, tell
him no, he shouldn’t. We are not changing the setup until after free practice one, when we
have some driver feedback. I understand, yes, but Yuuta has only driven there twice, and
Yuuji once, there is no way of- listen to me, instead of talking over me, and wait until I’m
there before you change it. Right. Bye,”
The elevator dings, signalling they’ve reached the ground floor. The lobby. Gojo pushes his
hands into his pockets, and blurts, in Japanese, “your English is better than it used to be.”

Getou laughs, and the words sound so much better in his native language. “It’s been eight
years, Satoru,”

Like that answers anything.

(Also, it hasn’t been eight years yet. That comes around in December. But Gojo doesn’t have
time to correct him before he strolls out and gets in the car to go to the track).

On his way into the paddock, he’s accosted by Yuki. Who, surprisingly, isn’t being flanked by
anyone.

“Ah, Gojo, I wanted to talk to you,”

“You’ll have to talk to my manager,” Gojo says, all teeth. He’s not particularly interested in
talking to her before practice, and even less in being quoted on some clickbait article.

“Off the record,” she says, then, and Gojo stops.

“Completely?” When she nods, he continues, “why?”

“Curious, is all. Why not?”

Gojo shrugs. There’s no cameras recording his every movement, the inflection in his speech.

Yuki smiles. “Why were you at Keicho, after Yuuji’s crash?”

Danger, danger, danger!! Gojo’s mind supplies.

“How’d you know that?”

“Well, it showed on the TV screens, first of all,” Yuki says, “but I don’t tend to watch free
practice. My boss sent it to me, asked me what I thought of it. It got me thinking.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing on the record. He won’t quote me or write an article about it, don’t worry.” Yuki is
easy, open, not bothered by anything. Gojo supposes that’s what not racing does for you.

“Right.”

“So? Why were you there? I mean, you two aren’t friends, are you?”
Gojo thinks back to the elevator, and the hotel, and the corridor outside his drivers’ room.

“No, we’re not. I just- it felt like the crash was bad, I wanted to know he was okay,”

“You could do that from your own garage,” Yuki says, sing-song, “you’re supposed to do that
from your own garage,”

“The world stands still, y’know? And Suguru-” Gojo curses himself for using his first name,
but he blames force of habit. He always used to call Getou by his first name when Yuki was
around- “-doesn’t really do too well. With- crashes.”

Yuki raises her eyebrows at him, like she does during an interview when she gets a soundbite
she wants. “So you went to check on Getou?”

“Yuuji too,” Gojo says, realising his mistake just a little too late. “It was a bad crash.”

“Did you even see it, before you went over?”

“I saw enough,” his reply is a bit short, but he supposes it’s fine. “The car was a wreck,”

“But you didn’t see it happen. You were still in the car,” Yuki hums. “Huh. Well, you’ve
satisfied me, Gojo, I’ll see you later. Good luck in practice today.”

And with that, she strolls off into the depths of the paddock, leaving Gojo standing alone and
wondering what exactly he’d just admitted to her.

October 2002, Japan

Gojo wins the European championship, and then they both compete in an Asian
championship over the summer directly after. Suguru’s mom is furious about it, but his dad is
thrilled that the Gojos have taken Suguru under their wing. And Suguru is winning. Winning
races, qualifying well, everything! The talent scouts are talking about him, he knows. He
finishes runner-up to Satoru in the Asian Championship, which is a win, basically.

Gojo invites him to go and see the Japanese Grand Prix at Suzuka again. Gojo’s dad goes
again, and Shoko’s family is there too.

This time around, the Japanese Grand Prix is the last one on the calendar. And it’s the
championship decider! Suguru’s been watching the races carefully on the TV, when he can.
The points are close, he thinks, but not equal.
“Who do you want to win?” Shoko asks, swinging her legs from the chair she’s sitting in.
She’s wearing a sky blue dress with long sleeves, and pretty shoes with a slight heel. Her
mom has let her wear the tiniest bit of makeup, and she’s been acting very proud of it all day.

Suguru thinks she looks the same, but he smiles and says she looks nice because that’s what
friends do. Satoru doesn’t say anything about it. He doubts he even noticed.

“I think Sukuna’s gonna win,” Gojo says, matter-of-fact, in the way he does when he thinks
he knows everything.

“I didn’t ask that!” Shoko says, indignant, “I asked who you want to win,”

“I don’t care,” Gojo says, “but Sukuna beating the championship record would be pretty
cool,”

That’s true. There’s Kenjaku and Sukuna, both in the Haein. Teammates, and rivals. Some
reporters say they hate each other, and some say they’re friends, but aggressive on the track.
Getou doesn’t know what’s true, and Gojo hasn’t offered any information from his dad, so he
guesses he never will.

“Well, I want Kenjaku to win,” Shoko says, chin jutted out, “he’s cooler,”

“No way, Sukuna’s the better driver,” Gojo blurts, “it should be him.”

“But it would be cool to see Kenjaku win after everything,” Shoko says, “like, his brother
died and he’s racing for him-”

“Well, his brother’ll be disappointed, then, ‘cause he’s not racing well enough,” Gojo says,
“it doesn’t matter, any of that stuff. He drives the same car, and he’s lost more times than he’s
won this season.”

“But it’ll be worth it if Kenjaku wins. Like, his brother dying. It’ll be worth it. Plus, he’s the
underdog,”

Sacrifice equals success. Et cetera.

“Underdogs are underdogs for a reason,” Gojo sniffs, “they don’t win.”

Sukuna wins the race, and the championship with it. The crowd roars, the crowd boos, the
crowd screams and cries.

The commentators’ voices boom over the loudspeakers, over the crowd: “the championship
record is broken- Ryomen Sukuna, the King, undoubtedly, irrefutably the King, the greatest of
all time!”
“See, I was right!” Gojo says to Shoko, hair wild in the wind and eyes bright with adrenaline
from watching.

On the podium, Sukuna grins wild with pointy teeth and spiky hair, raising a fist to the sky in
triumph. His team roars from below, jumping over each other below him.

Kenjaku stands on the podium below him, in third place. He looks at his feet, hands tucked
neatly behind his back. An incredible driver, defeated by a rival. His eyes are lowered, long
hair falling across his face.

Suguru turns to look at Satoru and sees him smiling with all his teeth. His canines look sharp
from where they’re stuck in his gums.

He tucks a strand of his own long hair behind his ear.

April 2022, Australia

Both free practice sessions on Friday go by without any major crashes, this time. Someone
spins off track in sector two at some point, resulting in a brief yellow flag whilst Gojo is
completing a flying lap, which he consequently has to abort. It was his final one, too, so he
ends free practice two outside of the top five, which is a bit embarrassing. But he supposes
it’s only practice.

Besides, after the first two races, it’s not like anyone with any sense is going to underestimate
their pace. Megumi is beginning to really sink his teeth into the car, too, now, often less than
half a second off Gojo’s pace. It leaves the commentators and reporters frothing at the mouth
for him. Could we be witnessing a great rookie season from Fushiguro? Could we be
witnessing a future world champion?

Gojo goes back to the hotel late, but not late enough to see Getou again. He’s not sure if he’s
relieved or disappointed.

Free practice three goes much more swimmingly. Megumi ends the session in P3, and Gojo
ends it in P1. Yuuji is behind him, and Yuuta is behind Megumi.

Also notable is a huge jump in pace from Inumaki in the Sengoku after struggling the first
two races. He ends P6, right behind Nanami’s P5. Inumaki and Nanami are definitely capable
of podiums, provided with the right circumstances, and Sengoku have started decently well
this season. With upgrades, they might end up closer to the leaders than anticipated.

Gojo voices this to Shoko, who frowns. “You really think that?”
“Toge gets underestimated as a driver ‘cause he doesn’t do interviews, and Nanami’s modest.
We need to be careful of them.”

“We’ll agree to disagree, I think,” Shoko says, “but of course, we’ll keep an eye on their
pace. Inumaki’s had a good jump in the free practices.”

Gojo returns his eyes to the datasets in front of him. Their improvement from race one to race
three has been minimal, but their first major upgrade will come in the form of a new floor for
race four in Emilia Romagna. Hopefully it’ll give them some extra speed in the corners,
although the data is never one hundred percent accurate in actuality.

Usually Gojo can squeeze out extra, compared to what the simulations suggest, but it can go
the other way, too, and make them slower. That’s rarely happened in this team, though. It did
happen back when he was still a rookie, but back then, every upgrade seemed to make the car
feel alien beneath him.

And in all honesty, the car in that team needed to be driven the opposite of how he liked to
drive. The Jujutsu has always been more suited to him. Thanks, Yaga.

Post-Qualifying Interview with Satoru Gojo, Australian Grand Prix 2022 - Hosted by Yuki
Tsukumo

Q: Hi Gojo, what a lap! This is your ninety-sixth career pole, does it feel sweet? Talk me
through it.

SATORU GOJO : You’re making me feel old, Yuki. Yeah, it feels good. The crowd is
amazing here. Hey, Melbourne! It’s been hard trying to get the tyres in the right window to
push, but it all came together nicely in the end. [Laughs] Contending with wildlife in Q1 was
interesting.

Q: Yes, I can hear the crowd behind me! You didn’t seem to have any concerns about the car
at all, this time out, whilst your teammate was complaining about balance through the
corners. Is balance a concern for you, too?

SG : I mean, I haven’t heard anything on Megumi, and I dunno what position he’s in, even.
We’ll fine tune for tomorrow, but he’s a rookie and I think everyone is being super tough on
him. He’s not been out of the points yet and he’s driven well today.

Q: But no issues with balance for you?

SG : Ha, no. Maybe they’ll crop up tomorrow, make things interesting for me.
Q: Speaking of interesting, you’ve got Itadori beside you and Okkotsu behind you. How
worried are you about either of the Keichos pulling a turn one overtake?

SG : It’s always a possibility, but pole is important for a reason.

Q: Congrats, it’s good to see you.

SG : Likewise.

Qualifying is tough. Gojo ends on pole, but Megumi has to burn through an extra set of soft
tyres to get into Q3 and still only finishes P5, behind both Keichos and the Sengoku of
Nanami. True to Gojo’s predictions, Inumaki is right behind him in P6. Whilst Gojo loves
Megumi, Inumaki is definitely going to gain places at the start because he has kind of
insanely good racecraft. His biggest weakness has always been qualifying.

Which means tomorrow, Sunday, Gojo is going to have a tight race between him, Yuuji,
Yuuta, and possibly Inumaki or Nanami. Or both.

It’ll be interesting, that’s for sure.

The three of them (him and the two Keicho drivers) file into the room for the press
conference. Haibara is back in his regular spot, smiling as he claps his hands together.

“Ah, a very warm welcome to our top three in qualifying! In third, Yuuta Okkotsu, in second,
Yuuji Itadori, and taking his ninety-sixth career pole, Satoru Gojo. Take us through it,
Satoru,”

Gojo runs on autopilot, running through the lap, the tyre deg, the pitlane entry. Nothing too
difficult.

Yuuji, beside him, complains about the ninety degree corners, and jokes about how the car is
sticky on them. Yuuta is much more reserved, saying he was happy with his lap time and
they’ll fine tune for tomorrow, et cetera.

“Let’s open up to the floor, then, shall we?” Haibara hums, “yes?”

“Lilith Davies, Modern Motorsport, question for Gojo, we have seen a turn one manoeuvre
pulled off here previously. In fact, the last time it happened, it was you and Suguru Getou in
P2 and P3, overtaking Tsukumo, ganging up on her. Do you think that’s a risk for you
tomorrow?”

Gojo laughs, because how do reporters remember overtakes from races over a decade ago?
He barely remembers that day, although it was an incredible race. He’d made Getou drink
champagne from his shoe on the podium. “When was that, 2011? Man, I barely remember
that. Yeah, there’s potential for a turn one overtake, but I’m more experienced than both of
them combined, so. Even if they get it done, there’s a whole race after that.”

Yuuji grins beside him, holding his hand over his mouth so that the reporters can’t see what
he’s saying, “I should get Getou to tell us how to do it!”

Gojo just laughs, rolling back into his seat, “I’d like to see you try!”

He runs into Getou again when he’s leaving for the track on Sunday. Getou blinks at him,
fingers coming up to reach at his lanyard, attached to his hip rather than his neck.

Gojo’s not sure where they stand. He knows everything about this man: his greatest fears, the
way he speaks, the lines in his face. He knows his favourite meals, he knows the wine he
liked to drink, he knows his coffee order. He knows he wears a single necklace, inherited
from his dad, and a bracelet his mom got him, but he actually hates the feeling of jewellery
on his skin.

He knows his favourite way to get Gojo’s attention was to loop two fingers through one of
the necklaces or bracelets Gojo was wearing at any given time and pull. He knows that Getou
can’t eat before a race, or else he has to run and throw up after, before he’s interviewed.

And now they stand looking at each other from the opposite ends of a hallway. Opposite
teams. Maybe Gojo should ask where their hotels are for the rest of the season, so he can
change his bookings, cost cap be damned.

“How did you get into the motorhome, before?” Is what comes out of his mouth, though.

Getou has the good sense to look a little guilty. “I stole a pass from one of the engineers we
poached at the end of last season. It still worked. I couldn’t believe you had such a massive
oversight in your security.”

Gojo blows air out through his nose.

Gojo laughs to himself in the cockpit when they start, out of pure disbelief. Because: “they
actually managed it, holy shit!”

“Yeah, that’s P3, P3,” Shoko’s voice comes back over the radio, “get your head down, our
pace is likely to be better.”
“What strategy are they on?” Gojo says, as he wrangles the car through turns three and four,
almost up the back of Yuuta’s car.

“Checking.” Shoko says, “we are considering a switch to plan B, stay within DRS if you
can,”

“Copy.” Gojo says, pulling away from turn five with his foot pressed hard on the throttle.

There’s silence for a few moments, and as Gojo passes the start line to begin lap two, Shoko
comes in on the radio. “We are the only ones in the top ten to have an extra set of softs, do
you want to switch to plan B?”

Plan B is a two stopper, where most cars will only do one: medium, to hard, to medium to
finish. Both Yuuji and Yuuta ahead are on their only set of mediums, meaning they don’t
have the option to change strategy, apart from using a set of scrubbed softs, in the event of a
safety car. If Gojo has to push harder to try and get an overtake here, then an extra set of tyres
would probably do him good.

“Could we get an undercut?”

“Yes.” Shoko says, certain, “but it will be harder than doing it on track.”

“Switch to plan B,” Gojo grits his teeth, “update me on the pace.”

“Itadori on 27.3 and Okkotsu 27.8, you’re on a 27.5,” Shoko says, “we need to get this
overtake done, Itadori is pulling away.”

“Is he backing me up on purpose?” Gojo breathes. That would be smart. Keicho might
sacrifice a P2, but they’d have a much better chance at a win.

“Negative, there’s chatter telling him to pick up the pace to stay in Yuuji’s DRS,”

“Copy,” Gojo grits his teeth out of the rapid chicane at turns eleven and twelve. “It feels like
he’s trying to back me up.”

“You’ve got more pace than this. Get after him.”

Gojo gets it done in lap ten, with the help of his DRS. By the time he does, though:

“What’s the gap to Yuuji?”

“Four seconds.” Shoko says, and Gojo knows this whole thing has her tense. “Full push, we
need to get in the undercut window.”

Gojo almost forgets to reply, pressing his foot to the throttle, already set on catching Yuuji.
He wonders if Getou actually did tell them both how to pull off the same move that he did in
2011.

Lap seventeen, and the tyres are almost gone, from pushing so hard. Gojo feels himself
sliding and says as much over the radio, to which Shoko says, “copy, box now.”
He comes out behind Yuuta again, but also behind Nanami, which is less expected. It seems
the Sengoku’s race pace is a bit better than it was last season.

Still, with the tyre offset, and DRS, Gojo is clear of Nanami by lap twenty-one, and setting
off after Yuuta.

“Gap to Itadori?” He asks. There’s a moment before Shoko’s reply.

“Nineteen seconds, gap to Yuuta in front is ten.”

“Copy.”

In theory, they’ve got the undercut done. Keicho pits Yuuji first, on lap twenty five, followed
by Yuuta on lap twenty seven. Now Gojo’s out front, in clean air, controlling the pace.

After his second pit stop on lap forty, Gojo comes out behind Yuuta, which is a blow. He
swears down the radio, and Shoko tells him to shut up and drive.

He clears Yuuta by lap forty-five.

“Gap to Yuuji?”

“Fifteen seconds, you’re currently a second up per lap on the faster tyre, and he’s reporting
sliding, you can get him.”

Gojo does get him, on lap fifty-two, and controls the pace for the last six laps to bring home a
victory. He climbs out of the car, stands atop it and jumps down into Yaga’s outstretched
arms, into Shoko’s hands.

Yuuji, obviously not perturbed by the loss of P1, jumps from his car and runs to the Keicho
mechanics, squealing with delight as he gets embraced by them. Then Gojo turns and sees the
Sengoku team roaring, and Nanami clambering out of his car in the P3 spot. On instinct, he
walks over, grabbing his old friend’s hand, shouting through his helmet, “I didn’t expect to
see you here!”

He can hear the roll of Nanami’s eyes even when his visor is still down. “Neither did I,”

There’s rituals, in grade one. And when you win in Australia, you pour champagne into your
shoe and drink from it. It’s always disgusting and salty and smells like shit, but the crowd
goes wild.

After dumping champagne all over Yuuji, and spraying it in Nanami’s face (like old times!)
he holds up a shoe and presents it to the crowd, who roar beneath him. As he tips it back, it
dribbles down his chin, running cold on the column of his neck. He holds it out to Nanami,
who gives him a withering stare and shakes his head, despite having a small smile on his
lips.

Nothing, after all, can take away from the happiness of a podium, even Gojo Satoru asking
you to drink from his smelly shoe.

When he presents it to Yuuji, he doesn’t expect him to say yes. But the younger boy opens up
his mouth, and Yuuji allows champagne to be tipped straight into his mouth. It misses, half
going on his face, and they both laugh, Yuuji grinning and covered in sweat.

“Y’know, everyone thought Yuuta was gonna wipe the floor with you,” Gojo says to him, as
they descend the steps from the podium, and Yuuji huffs.

“I expected Yuuta to wipe the floor with me. I dunno what’s going on.”

“Well done, Yuuji.”

Yuuji grins up at him like a dog that’s been given a treat.

OFFICIAL 2022 G1 DRIVERS' CHAMPIONSHIP POINTS STANDINGS AFTER ROUND

THREE - TOP TEN

POS DRIVER CONSTRUCTOR POINTS

1 Satoru GOJO (=) Jujutsu Technical Racing 71

2 Yuuji ITADORI (+1) Scuderia Keicho 51

3 Yuuta OKKOTSU (-1) Scuderia Keicho 50

4 Nanami KENTO (=) Sengoku Racing 37

5 Megumi FUSHIGURO (=) Jujutsu Technical Racing 32

6 Mai ZENIN (=) Meiji 22

7 Toge INUMAKI (+1) Sengoku Racing 16

8 Iori UTAHIME (-1) Kyoto G1 Team 10

9 Mei MEI (+1) Haein 8

10 Nobara KUGISAKI (-1) Meiji 7

OFFICIAL 2022 G1 CONSTRUCTORS' CHAMPIONSHIP POINTS STANDINGS AFTER

ROUND THREE

POS CONSTRUCTOR POINTS

1 Jujutsu Technical Racing (+1) 103

2 Scuderia Keicho (-1) 101

3 Sengoku Racing (=) 45

4 Meiji (=) 26

5 Haein (+1) 18

6 Kyoto G1 Team (-1) 12

—
Transcript for post-Race press conference, Australian Grand Prix 2022, hosted by Yuki
Tsukumo

Q: Welcome to our winners from the Australian Grand Prix, in third place, Nanami Kento, in
second, Yuuji Itadori, and the winner, of course, Satoru Gojo. How did it feel out there?

SATORU GOJO : Good, it was exciting for sure.

Q: I mean, those overtakes on turn one! I was on the edge of my seat! We heard on the radio
after that about a switch in strategy, was the decision to go to the two-stop influenced by
that?

SG : Ah, of course, we were saving an extra set of mediums anyway, but I needed to push
much harder than anticipated, so we made the decision to change. Yuuta kept me at bay for a
while. [To Yuuji] Did you tell him to do that?

YUUJI ITADORI : No- no!

Q: Shall we come to you, then, Yuuji? Great race, talk me through it.

YI : Uh- well. We got the overtake done on turn one, and then my goal was kinda to try and
pull as big a gap as possible to Gojo. We knew he’d be coming back at us, ‘cause he’s
definitely super fast and has the pace this season, so it was just trying to control the pace a
bit, manage the tyres, maybe. [to Gojo] Like you would, if you’d stayed P1.

Q: Your teammate isn’t here on the podium with you, despite a lot of people predicting that
he’d take P2 from you today. Did he have any problems with the car?

YI : Uhm- I’m not sure. I haven’t heard anything. I don’t think so–? I mean, I’m not being
updated on anyone behind me unless they’re racing me, so.

Q: Does it feel that much sweeter to be the underdog and come away with a win over your
teammate, here, then? Considering there were no issues with the car.

YI : Uhm. I guess? P2 feels pretty cool. But- it’s like- it’s like beating anyone else, y’know?
Yuuta’s a great driver.

Q: Nanami, hello! First podium in a Sengoku, how is it?

NANAMI KENTO : Good. It’s always nice to bring home points.

Q: That last lap overtake was just sensational. Where’d you find the pace?

NK : DRS helped us on that one. This track is also much more suited to the car than Bahrain
and Jeddah, so.
Q: Still, I don’t think many of us considered you for a podium today.

NK : The team has worked hard all weekend and we’ve exceeded expectations. Inumaki also
drove well behind me. Important points for the team.

SG : I never doubted you, Nanami.

NK : Thanks.

Q: So Gojo, you thought Nanami could be a threat?

SG : Yeah. Their pace took a huge jump up this week and it was close between him and Yuuta
in quali. (note: qualifying). I was saying to my engineer, oh we need to watch for them.

Q: Just leading on from that, you’ve won two of the first three races. How soon will you start
thinking about that record-breaking seventh championship?

SG : Not yet, that’s for sure! I mean- [to Itadori] you’re very close to me in pace, and so is
Yuuta. I wouldn’t count Nanami out entirely, yet, either, and Megumi could cause me some
trouble down the line.

Q: Well, it’s yours to lose, at this point. You’re twenty points clear of Yuuji and Yuuta.

SG : It’s theirs to win. They’ll be challengers, for sure.

They all end up in a bar somewhere in Melbourne. Yuuji immediately buys a round of shots
for everyone, which must cost him a fortune, and the bartender raises her eyebrows when he
says how many she needs to pour. Gojo, after watching her struggle and go through about
three separate bottles, slides her a hefty tip in dollars and grimaces at her.

She looks at him gratefully, and says “you sure?” but she’s already sliding it into her pocket.

The three teams stay mostly separate, but Gojo, Nanami and Yuuji brush shoulders in the
middle as they raise their glasses. Someone shouts, “to a fuckin’ brilliant race!”

Yuuji’s eyes squint together as he drinks, mouth twisting in disgust. Gojo laughs at him, and
offers him his. Not like he was going to drink it anyway. “Want mine, Yuuji?”

Yuuji looks disgusted, but takes it anyway. And then the party begins.

Gojo likes these celebrations, really. He stopped drinking after his first few seasons. Alcohol
lingers in his body and makes training hard, and his mind foggy. It also makes him make
incredibly poor decisions, so he doesn’t drink. Shoko, however, does, and he buys her her
favourite wine all night. As a favour. He loves her. She’s at least fifty percent responsible for
all his victories.

Yuuji, once he’s drunk enough - or sober, honestly Gojo can never tell with that kid - drags
Gojo with both hands into the middle of the dance floor, where there’s a bunch of people
dancing all in a circle. Gojo can pick out Miwa, and Todou, and Maki and Nobara, and
Inumaki touching shoulders with Yuuta, who somehow has been roped into this. Even Panda,
and Muta, and a couple of other race engineers are watching. So Gojo ends up in the middle
of a circle, dancing with a huge grin on his face. Yuuji spins him around, and Miwa whoops,
and even Inumaki dances, hands linked with Yuuta’s as they stumble forward.

Gojo is sure he can smell weed, and there’s definitely someone passing out coke in the
bathroom, because there’s a two week break and they won’t be subjected to any drug tests.
He’s sure he heard someone offering molly between the mechanics. Whatever, it’s none of his
business what they get into in their spare time. He’s definitely done worse.

Todou is currently trying to get Yuuji to go and talk to a girl (Yuuji seems entirely
uninterested and is asking Gojo why Megumi isn’t here), and Gojo is laughing over the music
when he sees it. Getou, leaning on the bar, dress shirt open with the necklace he wears
glinting in the low light. He’s turned to the side, the gentle slope of his jawline and his smile
caught in the light. It’s purple. Gojo doesn’t know why it matters, but it suits him. It always
has.

By his side is Nanami, tired eyes creased into a smile as he listens to whatever Getou’s saying
to him. Then there’s Haibara, leaning all his weight onto Nanami, arms linked as he talks
animatedly back to Getou. With fervour.

Gojo feels ill, all of a sudden, because is he the only one holding a grudge? He’s missing
something, surely. Everyone else is perfectly fine with him.

Getou’s drinking red wine. Haibara has a cocktail. Nanami’s soda-lime-whatever sits on the
bar by their shoulders.

Gojo does not catch Getou’s eye. He doesn’t look at his smile, or the way his eyes are soft
when he looks at Haibara. No. He doesn’t. He turns away and heads back to Shoko.

“You having fun with the kids?” Shoko laughs, tipsy and loose and definitely wine-drunk.
Her smile is lazy, pulled to one side as she watches Yaga dance with Yuuji.

“Yeah,” Gojo replies. He pulls his shirt away from his skin: it’s sticky. With sweat, or other
people’s drinks, he doesn’t know.

Shoko takes a sip of her wine. It’s dainty and delicate and everything Gojo should want,
really. She’s pretty. “He’s staring at you, by the way,”

“Who?”

Shoko levels a gaze at him. “Getou,”

Gojo smiles, easy, in the way he does when someone asks him a difficult question in a press
conference. “You can talk to him, y’know.”

“You’re not the only one who was hurt by him, Satoru,” she says: a reminder. “I don’t want to
speak to him.”

That makes two of them. Gojo smiles at it. Them against the world, always. Since they were
small.

(It used to be three of them, but Gojo is willfully ignoring that fact. They’re still all in this bar
together, twenty years later, anyway).

Gojo leaves not-early, but not late, either. Shoko goes back much earlier than him, badly
disguising a text from Utahime, and he’s left alone for a few hours before he decides he’s had
enough. He doesn’t know how these kids do it- staying out til four and still drinking in their
hotel rooms, after.

The cool outside air is refreshing against his sticky skin and he exhales, feeling the air leave
his lungs. The music is still booming inside. His head snaps to the side as he hears a shuffle
next to him.

The figure crouched on the floor stumbles to their feet with a jolt, “Satoru-!”

Getou collides with him, arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders. Gojo steps back with
a grunt. “What’re you doing?”

“Congratulations, on the race today,” Getou says, in slurred English, and why are they
speaking English to each other? That’s stupid. Gojo huffs, switching to Japanese, since Getou
is clearly struggling slightly.

“You could’ve said that earlier.”

Getou shakes his head, leaning his whole bodyweight against Gojo, and Jesus he’s gotten
heavier since 2014-

“Get off-”

Getou stumbles back, face crumpled. “I mean it. It was a good race.”

“You’re drunk,”

Getou pouts, and really, Gojo also forgot how expressive he is when he’s like this. Inebriated.
“I missed you.”
Getou is lucky that Gojo is a strong man. Because if he were any less of either of those
things, he’d either be sobbing on the floor or pushing Getou against the wall of the club.
Maybe both. In that order. Instead, he just folds his arms across his chest. “You could watch
me on the TV,”

“Not the same,” Getou protests, and really, Gojo is done with this conversation.

“I’m going back to the hotel,” and clearly, that’s a mistake, too, because Getou stumbles over
his own feet as he tries to go back into the club. Gojo sighs, grabbing his arm and pulling him
back out. “And you’re coming with me.”

“No- Nanami, and Haibara-”

“Are probably making out in a bathroom somewhere,” Gojo says, bitter, “come on, you’re
done. You don’t need any more.”

Getou goes limp and soft under his hold. Gojo holds his phone to his ear, speaks perfect
English to the taxi operator and stands, waiting. Getou fumbles in his pockets and lights up a
cigarette, balancing it between his teeth.

“Since when did you smoke?”

“Since Jujutsu Tech,” Getou laughs, “I’ve been smoking for ages,”

“How’d I- how didn’t I know?”

Getou shrugs, “you were a world champion, and you kept telling off Shoko, so I never told
you,”

“You- it’s bad for you. It makes you smell like shit, too.” You were an athlete. You were
sabotaging yourself.

“It made me less hungry all the time,” Getou laughs, and Gojo feels his blood run cold.

“Right.”

“Aw, come on, Satoru, it’s not a big deal.” The smell of smoke envelopes them, and Gojo
feels ill with it. When Shoko smokes around him, she’s always careful to stand upwind, and
blow away from him. Getou is too drunk to care, clearly. “I’m not racing anymore.”

Gojo wonders if Getou would have even stayed for as long as he has. He wonders if they
would’ve stayed teammates, or moved on and grown apart the exact same.

Then the taxi driver shows up, and Gojo is bundling Getou into the back of the car, and
they’re driving. The guy doesn’t recognise them, thank god, but Gojo still gives him a large
tip when they get out and thanks him profusely.

Getou promptly throws up all over the pavement outside the hotel, groaning. All his
talkativeness has disappeared, suddenly, in favour of paling skin and hazy eyes.
He manages to get him to the elevator, holding him upright, and roots around in his pockets
for his keycard. Finds it. Escorts Getou to his room, practically throws him in his bed, and
kneels down to unlace his shoes. Because he’s nothing if not a gentleman.

As he pulls off the second shoe, Getou rolls over, hands tucked neatly under his cheek. He’s
smiling. “Satoru.” Like he’s saying it for the first time. Reverent. “Thank you.”

Gojo stands up, walks back out the room, opens the door to his own, sits on the bed, grabs a
pillow, and screams into it.

February 2003, Japan

Satoru is late, like usual, arriving to the track. He’s been driving in Japan, more, recently.
Suguru has just turned thirteen, and this is his birthday present: a new (pre-loved) kart and
entry to another series. He doesn’t get anything else: no wrapped presents and no big party,
but it’s okay.

When Suguru hears the telltale rumble of Satoru’s motorhome pulling into the carpark, he
scrambles up from where he was sitting by the window, waiting. He’s down the steps of his
motorhome before his dad can even ask where he’s going, running alongside the vehicle and
rolling up and down on his heels as he waits.

He doesn’t have to wait long: Satoru scrambles out of the passenger-side door, bounding
towards him with breakneck speed and a brilliantly loud laugh that echoes in Suguru’s ears.
He almost pushes him over with the force of his hug. Suguru’s face hurts from smiling.

“I got a gameboy!” Satoru says, “wanna play?”

He doesn’t wait for Suguru’s answer before he’s dragging him towards the motorhome. He
thinks Satoru can read his mind, sometimes.

Suguru wins the race. Satoru jumps on him on the podium and they smile wide for Suguru’s
dad, who takes a million photos. By the end, Suguru is pushing his dad away, face flushed red
in embarrassment, but his dad is hugging him and saying he’s so proud, so so proud.
Satoru watches them with a funny, jealous look on his face. Suguru bumps shoulders with
him as he peels away from his father, face hot and body rapidly cooling from the not-
champagne. “You jealous of me winning?”

Satoru huffs, pushing him off only to wrap his arms around Suguru’s shoulders like it’s an
afterthought. “Nah, just wish my dad was here.”

“Oh.” Suguru doesn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t think Satoru liked his dad very
much.

“Boys, do you want to go out for pizza?” Suguru’s dad calls, “we should celebrate.”

Satoru looks at him and lights up like a Christmas tree, except it’s February and really, he has
no right to be looking like that ever. “Yeah, can we?”

Suguru’s dad looks back at them, and his face softens at the way Satoru is hanging off his son
like a monkey.

They get pizza. Satoru wolfs the whole thing down. Suguru gets sick of the texture midway
through, and has it boxed up for later. When they get back to the motorhomes, they sit in bed
together talking whilst Suguru chews diligently on the rest of it. He wouldn’t want his dad’s
money to be wasted, after all.

April 2022, Australia

Gojo doesn’t see Getou again when he leaves the hotel in the morning. He piles his luggage
into the back of his hired car, and sighs, fighting his headache. When he slides into the
drivers’ seat, he presses his forehead against the cool leather of the steering wheel. He’s not
sure how much time passes before he fumbles around in his pockets to call Yuuji.

It rings twice before he picks up. “Gojo?”

Great, so he’s woken him up. “Are you still coming back to Monaco?”

There’s a clatter on the other end of the line and a faint curse. “What time is it?”

“Uh- ten.” Satoru says. “I can give you a lift, but the jet leaves at twelve,”

“Okay, sure, gimme-” there’s more clattering, and honestly, sometimes Gojo wonders how
this disaster of a kid has managed to get himself into a Grade One seat, “gimme ten, or
something. Is Megumi coming, too?”
“He’s meeting us there, I think Nanami and Haibara might be catching a lift, too.” Because,
as Haibara puts it, with a grin on his face, it’s our private jet, Gojo!

“Ah- okay, cool, uh- he hasn’t. Um. Replied. To my texts.”

“Megumi replies to your texts?” Gojo can’t help but smile, raising an eyebrow in the
confined space of his car. Megumi is notorious for ignoring everyone. He’s a horrible
communicator.

“I mean, most of the time.” Yuuji says, breezy, not really understanding Gojo’s implication.
Oh, sweet summer child. “I- just- can you find out if he’s- uhm. Mad at me?”

Gojo has to suppress a laugh. Megumi, mad at Yuuji? Now that really is a funny joke. “Sure,”
he says, instead, “now hurry up.”

The line goes dead, and Gojo laughs into the emptiness of his car before dialling in Megumi’s
number.

Because he can fuck with them a bit. It’s fun.

May 2003, Japan

Suguru can hardly believe it. He’s still shaking when he climbs out of his kart, still flexing
his hands to check that they work. He’d done it! Won the last race of the series, and the
championship with it - finally, proof that he was good. He’d beaten Satoru, and it wasn’t
luck, or an engine failure, or a crash. No, it was skill. He’d raced him and won.

Shoko pounces on him: she came third in the race. Satoru is right behind her, and they’re all
hugging, because they get to share a podium - all three of them! - and it feels like a dream.

Suguru has to give a real interview. He swallows his excitement, and gives practised answers
to their questions. He tries to be polite. He watches Satoru give his interview, which is much
less polite than his. The interviewer looks like she wants to bite his head off. Suguru tries not
to laugh at it.

And then Satoru turns back to him, eyes bright and smile wider. He grabs his hand, pulling
him towards the podium, and Suguru’s heart - not for the first time, if he’s being really honest
with himself - flutters in his chest.

—
April 2022, Australia

It turns out that Megumi is definitively not mad at Yuuji. Nanami and Shoko sit a few rows
back, talking quietly, when Haibara comes to sit next to Gojo, a grin on his face. He looks at
Gojo, then at where Megumi is sitting opposite them, looking like a grumpy kitten.

They both clap their hands over their mouths to suppress laughter as Megumi scowls. “Shut
up,”

Because Yuuji is lying on Megumi’s shoulder, both his arms limp in Megumi’s lap, and he’s
drooling all over his shoulder, fast asleep. And more than that, Megumi is letting him.

“Young love,” Haibara grins, stretching his arms above his head, “nothing like it,”

“Shut up,” Megumi hisses again, going impossibly red, “it’s not like that,”

“That’s what he said about Nanami, too,” Gojo grins, poking a thumb at Haibara, who
laughs.

“True, I did say that,” Haibara grins, holding up his hand, where a band of gold encircles his
finger, “now look at me!”

“Stop showing off your wedding ring,” Megumi says, “he’s gonna wake up, and it’s not like
that.”

“Sure it isn’t, Megs.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Meg?”

“Fuck off.”

Yuuji stirs on Megumi’s shoulder, and he immediately goes stock still to try and prevent him
from waking up. Haibara giggles at it. “You should just talk to him, Megs,”

Megumi sends Haibara a withering gaze that says not you too , but doesn’t comment on it.
“We’re fighting each other every week out on track, how do you think that’s gonna go.”

“Well, technically, Yuuji is absolutely wiping the floor with you,” Gojo says, “I don’t think
competing is gonna be an issue for you,”

“You know what I mean. I mean, you and Getou-” Megumi cuts himself off, like he knows
he’s made a mistake, “sorry.”

“Nah, say it,” Gojo shrugs, “it doesn’t bother me.”

“You two were way closer than we are, and it still ruined you. I don’t. If I go for it-”

Gojo laughs at the ridiculousness of it all. “Well, first of all, we were teammates, which you
aren’t. Box one-”

“Check!” Haibara finishes.

“And we weren’t dating.”

Megumi frowns. “You- you weren’t?”

“Okay, don’t act so surprised!” Gojo huffs, “no, we weren’t. So that’s box two,”

“Check!” Haibara says, again. “You won’t end up like them,” he tacks on, “Gojo and Getou
were- kinda weird, honestly.”

“Hey-!” Gojo laughs, “at least talk about me like I’m here.”

Haibara is still friends with Getou. They still talk. Gojo never asks him about him. It’s an
unwritten rule. He kind of wants to throw caution to the wind and break it, after last night.

“I-” Megumi looks puzzled, “you seriously weren’t dating?”

Haibara laughs, and Gojo feels like he’s being made fun of, now, “no! We weren’t!”

Haibara laughs again, and this time, Yuuji wakes up, murmuring, “what’re you laughing
about?”

Haibara grins. “Megumi thinks that Gojo and Getou were dating!”

Yuuji sits bolt upright at that, “wait, you werent?!”

Haibara almost cries from laughing so hard.

Eventually, when everyone else is asleep, sprawled out across couches and snoring, Gojo
goes to find Nanami. Neither of them have ever been able to sleep on planes.

(Gojo used to be able to, back when he was younger.)

“Hey,” Gojo says, conversational, trying to keep things light. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Nanami says, not looking up from his phone. He’s reading some lengthy article: Gojo
thinks it might be a race report from a rival team.

“What did you talk to Getou about, at the party?”

Nanami raises an eyebrow, and immediately locks his phone. “You’ve never been interested
before,”

“Well, I took him back to the hotel at the end of the night, so.” Gojo sighs, throwing himself
down on the chair opposite. Nanami squints at him. “Not like that. Like- he was wasted, and I
took him back and took his shoes off because he couldn’t walk.”

There’s a sigh. Gojo doesn’t see Nanami’s face, because he refuses to look. But still, he can
hear the way he pulls his hand through his blonde hair when he speaks. “I don’t remember.
He congratulated me on the podium, mostly. Said it was nice to see me back there after a
season of shit results.”

That’s not really what Gojo wanted to hear. But he doesn’t know what he actually wanted to
hear, either. “Cool.”

“What’d he say to you?” Nanami says, and it’s cautious in only the way Nanami is. He thinks
that if any other driver were his teammate for five years, they’d be best friends. But it’s
Nanami, and he was replacing Getou after a shitstorm of a 2013 and 2014, and they were
both slightly standoffish with each other. So now their relationship is- this.

“He told me well done for the win.” He also told me he’d been smoking all this time to quell
his appetite, and that he missed seeing me race . But those things are too difficult to
comprehend, or explain, so Gojo doesn’t say them to Nanami. Maybe he’ll tell Shoko about
it.

(He won’t.)

“Right.” Nanami says, and Gojo can still feel him staring. “Is it still-”

“Yeah.” Gojo says. They don’t say anything else to each other. Nanami goes back to his
article, and Gojo goes back to looking out the window.

They touch down in Monaco, say their goodbyes, and it’s only when Gojo flicks his phone
off airplane mode that he sees it.

Suguru <3 <3 <3 ICE : sorry for last night. thank you for getting me back.

He swallows and pockets his phone. He’ll ignore that, thank you very much.
Chapter End Notes

so sukuna mention... kenjaku mention.. i am going insane. is everyone working out the
dual narrative by now ??? :))))))
had to include the shoey in australia for DR3/daniel ricciardo/king of the late breakers.
hope u have a good race in las vegas, mate.
also, the brazil gp... they (ferrari) massacred my boy (leclerc). tifosi are truly god's
strongest soldiers (i dont have much forza ferrari left, at this point)
the track in this chapter is the Albert Park Circuit! again, don't squint too hard at the
karting info in this fic, it isn't accurate at all, lol!
pls kudos and comment so i can feed my family <3
 iv - flat spot
Chapter Summary

Flat Spot. Noun. The term given to the area of a tyre that is worn heavily on one spot
after a moment of extreme braking or in the course of a spin. This ruins its handling,
often causing severe vibration, and may force a driver to pit for a replacement set of
tyres.

Chapter Notes

no individual warnings from now on in beginning notes as i feel they are going to start
becoming incredibly spoilery from here on out. warnings in end notes for people who
think they need them, but everything is tagged.

pls don't pay too close attention to the grade 4 (f4) format. it's accurate to british f4
which is easiest to find info on, but i dont know if its accurate to japanese f4 100%.

enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

June 2003, Monaco

After begging and pleading with his parents, Suguru convinces them to let him go with Gojo
to Europe. They’re going to Monaco, to see the Grand Prix, which has him buzzing out of his
skin. It’s one of the best races ever.

Well. The racing itself isn’t good, exactly. It’s a narrow street circuit, and overtaking is hard,
so there’s not much on track action. But it means there’s loads of pressure in qualifying on
Saturday, and honestly, no one goes to Monaco for the racing.

All the drivers live there, and all the celebrities go, and there’s boats and open water and
sunshine, and Suguru can’t wait.

They fly in on Thursday, and Suguru climbs into Satoru’s bed with him to talk even though
they have separate beds. Satoru tells him tall stories about Monaco, and France, and Italy
until they fall asleep, legs tangled on top of the sheets.

Even when they wake up like that, Satoru doesn’t seem to mind.
They get breakfast together, and there’s nice bread and pastries, and Suguru feels like he’s
floating.

Yaga is there, too, and this time he can talk to him without floundering or saying stupid
things. He doesn’t ask for a signed cap. Yaga knows his name, now. And he knows Yaga, like
for real, and not just as a kid who likes watching him drive.

Him and Satoru get to walk the track. The Grade One track, with all its turns, and the tunnel,
and the buildings towering high around them. He’s sure he walks the whole way around it
with his mouth hanging open, because he can’t believe he’s here.

Even better, Yaga walks the track with them, and points out places where he crashed, or
overtook, or did something equally cool. If Suguru closes his eyes, he can almost imagine it
in real time.

He can’t believe he’s here!

“Why’d you bring me?” Suguru whispers into the darkness of their hotel room. It’s been
bugging him recently. Why not Shoko, or any of his European friends?

“You’re my best friend,” Satoru says, like it’s simple.

“But- we don’t see each other as often as you see people here, right?”

Satoru frowns. The lines of his face are accentuated by the pale moonlight. “But you’re still
my best friend. You don’t wanna be my friend ‘cause I’m Gojo, or ‘cause of my dad, like-
you didn’t know who I was,”

“Do people only wanna be friends with you ‘cause of that? You’re cool.”

Satoru nods. “Even Shoko is a bit like that. Like, she likes me, and she’s cool, but her mom
definitely wants her to be friends with me so she can be friends with my dad.”

“That’s not true…” Suguru trails off as he says it, because it starts to feel like a lie before he
even finishes the sentence. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Satoru says, “I don’t mind. I just want you to be around all the time. And my dad
said I could bring anyone I wanted,”

“Y’know, Shoko said that her mom wanted her to marry you,” Suguru wrinkles his nose as he
says it. It’s funny. “Isn’t that crazy?”

Satoru giggles. “Yeah, I’d never marry Shoko. Girls are-” he cuts himself off, and makes a
blegh sound, sticking his tongue out. Suguru laughs.
“Yeah,”

“It’s lights out and away we go!”

Suguru cheers as the cars roar beneath them, whilst Satoru laughs, jumping up and down on
the railings where they’re watching.

Kenjaku is on pole, Sukuna is in P2. All eyes are on them, again, for another championship
battle. Barely any of the cars come close to the Haein. Satoru asks Yaga who he thinks will
win.

“Kenjaku, this year,” he says, with a wink. Suguru grins at him.

The cars roar as they pass the pitlane, and the crowd cheers. The commentator booms in
Suguru’s ears: “Sukuna, trying to get past on the straight, sending it down the outside into
turn one, and- oh my god!”

The cars collide, and they both spin. Immediately, Yaga stands from his chair, and Suguru
and Satoru try to peer further over the balcony to see what’s happening- what’s going on-

But the crowd is quiet. With an ugly, sick sort of silence.

One of the cars is smoking. It’s in the barriers. The wheels aren’t attached anymore. The
whole side is mangled. The driver is sitting on the hood, swinging his legs out.

Then there’s the other two cars, smoking and half on fire in the wall. One car has T-boned the
other. The driver against the wall is motionless, and there’s another figure- wait, that’s
Kenjaku - running over, gesturing wildly with his arms at stewards down on the track. Suguru
feels Yaga’s figure lean over them, and hears him swallow.

“Boys, I don’t think you should look. Come on, let’s go,”

“We need to wait for him to get out!” Suguru says, trying to stay where he is.

“Suguru, we’re going.”

“What about the race?” Satoru frowns. “They’ve still got twenty laps to go,”

“The race is over.” Yaga says, with a kind of finality that finally makes it all click. He
swallows, and looks down at the car, where Kenjaku is desperately trying to get Sukuna out,
but the stewards are pulling him back.

There’s blood on the white of the car. He can see it now. He lets Yaga tug him away from the
viewing platform.
—

Breaking: Ryomen Sukuna dies following fatal collision with teammate

Written by Carol Richards, July 2003

In a shock accident, six-time world champion Ryomen Sukuna has died following an accident
that saw him spin out at high speed into a barrier, then be collided with by another driver at
the Monaco Grand Prix. The race did not continue after the collision.

Sukuna was airlifted to hospital, and placed on life support, but after weeks of intervention,
his family has now confirmed that he has been pronounced dead. Both of the drivers involved
in the collision have been cleared of all responsibility, and no action will be taken against
them.

Fellow drivers have been outspoken in their support for his family, and Grade One mourns
the loss of one of its brightest stars.

April 2022, Italy

Imola is sort of a home race for Gojo. He races under the Italian flag, because the Italian
sponsorship opportunities were more lucrative, and he was a dual citizen until he was twenty
and he had to give up his Japanese passport: despite both of his parents being Japanese, he
was born here. But on a personal level, he doesn’t consider Italy home. His Italian is fine: he
still gives interviews in the language fairly regularly and he waves at the fans. But all of his
best childhood memories are in Japan, karting with Suguru and Shoko, and he wishes Suzuka
loved him like they loved Getou, back when he raced.

The way Suzuka loves Yuuji, now.

It’s funny, really, that Getou’s ended up managing an Italian team, whilst Gojo drives at a
Japanese one. Like a neat little swap.

But anyway, home races are more busy for drivers. There’s more demand for their presence,
for interviews, for smiles and ciao piacere’ s. But he supposes it could be worse. His home
race is like ill-fitted socks, but at least he has one. Nanami races under the Danish flag, and
they never race there, so he doesn’t get to experience a home crowd. Ever.

Really, it’s quite sad. But he supposes there’s no extra pressure. Italy is on the calendar twice
this year. The second time is a true homecoming: Monza, the temple of speed, and the
birthplace of Keicho.

And Gojo likes the track at Monza a lot better, anyway. It’s one of his favourites, with the
best memories attached to it.

But they’re still in Italy now, which means Gojo keeps clasping hands and signing things and
having conversations in Italian. Piacere, piacere, piacere.

The word tastes funny on his tongue by the time the afternoon rolls around, and Shoko is
dragging him into the garage, giving him a welcome interlude. She speaks in Japanese to
him, and it feels so nice to get back into a language he knows and uses all the time.

The first alarm bell really should be that him and Megumi are in the same pre-race press
conference. But it doesn’t really bother Gojo at the time Yaga tells him: it’s rare to pair up
drivers from the same team, but it still happens often enough that it doesn’t raise any alarm
bells.

They’re with Mai (ew) and Nanami, which, again, although Gojo isn’t Mai’s biggest fan, is
fine. They sit down, microphones beside them, and, as usual when Nanami is involved,
Haibara isn’t hosting. Instead, it’s someone Gojo doesn’t recognise sat across from them,
blank-faced as he announces their names, left to right.

To balance out the colours on the couch, Megumi and Gojo sit on opposite ends. Also
because Megumi would never be caught dead showing any type of affection to Gojo. So he
ends up with Nanami beside him, and that’s fine. Good, even.

The opening questions are routine, expected. Nanami, how do Sengoku plan to continue their
momentum here in Imola? Mai, how is the partnership with your new teammate? Megumi,
you’re getting closer to Satoru in qualifying - how are you feeling in the cockpit after a few
races?

Just as Gojo thinks he’s being let off easy, not answering any questions at all, a reporter says
his name. He sits up, smiling and pressing his fingers around the microphone.

“When you were a rookie, in 2008, you were teammates with Toji Fushiguro, who, of course
is Megumi’s father. You had a famously difficult relationship with him until you departed for
Jujutsu Technical Racing in 2010, and then it, at times, was worse. What’s it like being the
senior teammate to his son, now? Do you get on or is the relationship like it was with Toji?”

Gojo blinks. Then he blinks again, frowning and flexing his fingers around the microphone,
trying to clear his throat. Because nobody has asked a single question about Toji since 2015,
when he retired, humiliated, and he’s blacklisted from the paddock, and there’s one rule that
all reporters follow:

Do Not Ask Satoru Gojo about Toji Fushiguro. Ever. Never Ever. Point fucking blank.

In fact, don’t ask anyone about him.

So, this reporter might be new. Not accustomed to the unspoken rules. Whatever.

He risks a glance at Megumi, who looks as pale as a sheet. Great. “Megumi’s great. Nothing
like his father, who was an awful, dangerous racer who-”

“Toji Fushiguro is not my father,” Megumi blurts, then. His face is red as he says it and he
already seems to regret it as soon as the words leave his mouth. “I mean, he is, but-” he takes
a deep, steadying breath, and sets his jaw to look more like himself. “I’ve not seen him since
I was like, ten. He has no right to me, and my career is in no way related to his, and I never
want to be compared to him ever again. My mom was also a racing driver, and everyone
seems to forget that.”

Good job, kid , Gojo thinks.

Gojo swears someone could hear a pin drop for a moment, and then every pen in the small
studio starts to scribble on paper at the same time. And then it dawns that actually, they might
have inadvertently created quite a big headline.

Megumi, understandably, doesn’t want to talk to anyone for the rest of the day. He’s locked
himself in his drivers’ room, to be alone. When Gojo stands outside, knuckles hovering over
the wood, he can just about make out Toto’s panting. There’s nothing else.

He doesn’t barge in. He doesn’t try and tear down the walls between them like he usually
does. Toji is a sensitive subject for- well, most of the drivers on the grid. Even if they didn’t
race with him, which is most of the drivers, now. His presence was all-encompassing. People
still talk about him now, his impact on the sport, whatever.

Gojo hates him. Present tense. Even though he ran away when he retired and no one has seen
him since.

He supposes retired is a strong word- like Toji had a choice in leaving. But to the public, it
was a retirement, so. That’s what they have to refer to it as.
Absentmindedly, he fishes his phone out of his pocket to call Yuuji, and lets it ring a few
times before he realises that Yuuji definitely has a ton more press commitments today, like he
does, and Yaga really won’t be of much help at all. He’ll probably make it worse, banging on
about damage control and joint statements and blah blah blah.

Yes, it’s his job as a team principal. No, Gojo doesn’t think it’s fair to push him further into
the spotlight to placate the higher-ups need for damage control. Because the reasons why Toji
left the sport were never made public, they have to treat his name with respect in the press.
Which is stupid.

His finger hovers over Getou’s contact. He really needs to change his name on his phone. The
hearts seem stupid, now, but he hadn’t had the heart to get rid of them seven years ago. He
stares for a moment, presses the call button and finds he doesn’t have the heart now either.

It rings twice before Getou picks up, his voice strained and sounding pissed off, in Japanese,
“hello, I’m trying to work, mom, could I call you back?”

“Uh. Hi.” Satoru replies, dumbly. Did he not look at the contact, or something, when he
picked up? He was honestly expecting it to go to voicemail. Now he doesn’t really know
what to say.

“Oh, Satoru?” Getou says, immediately much more softly, and Gojo hears the way that he
pulls the phone away from his ear and then replaces it. He can hear the whir of the garage in
the background.

“Why did you think it was your mom?”

“I had my phone on do not disturb,” Getou says, absentmindedly, and Gojo’s heart stops. I’ve
been set to go through your do not disturb this entire time? “So I- listen, I heard about that
reporter, earlier,”

The garage sounds are getting quieter through the speakers. Like Getou’s moving away from
the garage, to somewhere quieter. It feels like a peace offering: Gojo knows his old friend
hated Toji just as much as he did. Probably even more, if Gojo’s being honest with himself.
He had way more reason to hate him.

“It’s fine,” Gojo says, rather dumbly, and at the same time, Getou blurts out:

“Is Megumi okay? He was out of line, asking that in front of him.”

Getou is so close to caring about him and yet so so far from it. But he does what he knows
best, and laughs: “I thought you might ask if I was okay for a second! Never mind, yeah,
Megumi’s doing shit but he’ll be fine,”

“I know you’re not okay, Satoru, I don’t need to ask,” Getou huffs over the line, “but you do
not want to talk. You’ve never wanted to talk about- about him before.”

Gojo’s brain snags on the way that Getou still knows him. After seven-going-on-eight years
of no contact. Then, as he pulls away from that thought, he lands on a new one: you’ve never
wanted to talk about him before.

Because Gojo had only ever deflected about Toji, about Amanai, about Haibara. They’d
never had a conversation about it. Gojo thought Getou didn’t want to talk about it either.
Really. He didn’t. But Getou’s here, on the phone, implying he did want to talk about it, and-

Getou still can’t say Toji’s name.

“I guess not.”

“Why did you call me?”

That’s the kicker, isn’t it? He wanted to hear his voice. The voice of the only person on planet
earth who understands the way he hates him. Back then, it was us, alone at the centre of it.
You understand in a way that no one else can, not even Haibara, not even Amanai.

“How many media commitments does Yuuji have today?”

“The press conference- and the fan zone, later, but- Satoru, what’s this got to do-”

“Send Yuuji to check on Megumi, please. Tell him he can take Nobara with him, too, but I
think Megumi needs someone who’s not-” not a world champion, not a cheap attempt at a
father figure, not someone as emotionally inept. Someone who understands, instead of
pretending to. “Me.” He finishes, swallowing around the words.

He can hear Getou’s raised eyebrows without seeing him. The silence stretches. Almost
enough to fill the gap of seven years. Gojo rambles to fill it, “but I probably shouldn’t even
be calling you, since you’re public enemy number one and all, so goodbye-”

“I didn’t know you could be so caring, Satoru,” Getou says back, sarcastic and bitter and
surprised all rolled into one, and Gojo hangs up.

Transcript from Team Principals’ Press Conference - Pre-Race, Masamichi Yaga (Jujutsu
Technical Racing) & Suguru Getou (Scuderia Keicho) - Hosted by Yu Haibara

QUESTIONS FROM THE FLOOR:

Q (GRACE MACK - Aerosport Weekly): Question to Suguru, please, how are you settling into
your new role? Has it been challenging for you, and is it strange that your biggest
competition comes from a team you used to drive for and in particular, from a driver who
used to be your teammate and closest competition when you were driving on the grid?

SUGURU GETOU : [Laughs] Ha, well if I spoke about the challenges I’d be giving away my
weaknesses, wouldn’t I? Jokes aside, I’ve settled in well and the role suits me. We have two
incredible drivers this year, and I’ve inherited a well-oiled team that just needs polishing. In
terms of competition, I don’t think it’s strange. It would be stranger if my competition at any
point in my life wasn’t Satoru, I think. In karting, in grade one, and now. He’s talented, and
he has a good car, and it will always be him, I think.

Q: As a follow-up, for Yaga, is it strange to see your ex-driver back on the grid, now, as your
big competition?

MASAMICHI YAGA : [to Getou] Ha, do you think so? Yes, well, of course it’s strange. I’ve
known this kid since he was eleven- don’t scoff at me, Getou- and he was my driver, for so
many of the years that I knew him. And with the way things ended- prematurely- I don’t
think many of us would have put money on him rejoining the grid in any way. Regardless, we
appreciate having him back on the grid, even if he’s on a different team, now. We missed him
almost as much as the fans did.

SG : [To Yaga] I still have that signed cap from the first time we met. It’s funny, how things
have panned out.

YM : Yes.

Q (JOSH KITCHENER - Grade One Daily): Question for both: considering pre-season
testing, the surprise of the last race was the race pace and qualifying positions of the
Sengokus. How worried about them are you in terms of a championship battle?

YH : Getou, you start?

SG : As a team, we have to consider all possibilities, but our work has to be focussed on
closing the gap to the teams in front, not looking behind us. JTR have built a better car in
these new regulations, undoubtedly. But of course the progression of the Sengoku is
interesting, and I really rate Nanami as a driver. I believe he was wasted in his years at JTR,
and has a lot more to give as a number one driver for a team.

YM : Of course, we will be watching both teams’ development behind us, but Keicho
definitely have the edge at the moment, and we will focus on winning races ourselves instead
of beating other teams.

Q (JULES BROOK - Grade Racing Journal): Question to Yaga, in an earlier press

conference, your driver Megumi Fushiguro answered a question directed to Satoru Gojo
about his father, Toji. He’s since been removed from all media proceedings for the rest of the
day- what do you think it is about Toji Fushiguro that shakes the paddock?

YM : Well-
SG : [to Masamichi] Sorry to cut over you, Yaga, and I’ll let you answer in a moment if you
want to, but- listen, I know this is probably not your fault, and you have a quota, but it is
incredibly disrespectful and disingenuous to ask questions about Megumi’s father to us in
particular, and definitely directing them at Satoru, trying to start conflicts when the
relationship between Megumi and him is well-documented and pleasant, going back to when
Fushiguro was still in karting divisions. And asking questions to Satoru about him also- in
front of his son, is out of line.

YM : [coughs] I agree. But Megumi’s absence from media duties is nothing about that and he
just needs some time to rest. He is not feeling well and his blood sugar was unstable. We are
working to correct it and get him feeling his best again for free practice tomorrow.

Q (LILITH DAVIES - Modern Motorsport): Uh- sorry- so. Question for Suguru, is it
awkward competing against your good friend again, after all these years?

SG : Just to clarify, you mean Satoru?

Q: Yes.

SG : Ah, well that’s easy, because we’re not friends. Haven’t been since I left the team.

Megumi, as expected, is back in the car, and his usual surly self for free practice one on
friday morning. Gojo doesn’t talk to him about it, because that’s not what their relationship
is. They talk about racing. Megumi asks for hos advice on the car and gives his own feedback
on the tyres, or the way that the tyre providers fuck them over at tracks with their
incompetence and inability to choose the correct compounds.

Gojo has invested hugely in Megumi’s career on a personal level. That’s no secret. Back
when Toji disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving behind two kids without a family,
Gojo had taken notice. Especially when Tsumiki Fushiguro showed up at his doorstep, eyes
wild and angry, demanding to know why he’d driven their dad away.

And Gojo had, at the time, been more than a little drunk, after decidedly not drinking through
the entirety of the 2015 season, and not touching a drop during the celebrations that followed
when he’d won his third world championship. But he’d gotten back to Monaco, alone,
without Getou, for the second time in as many years, and he’d just wanted to forget who he
was for a while. For two weeks, maybe, until his media duties and his training resumed.
Tsumiki hadn’t been having any of that, though.

At five-foot-five, every inch of it full with rage, she’d pulled a tired-looking Megumi into his
flat with her, and started shouting about how she’d have to get a job, and drop out of school,
and send Megumi away, her little brother, and how Gojo had done all this because their father
had retired and disappeared after being humiliated by him on the racetrack.
Gojo remembers pinching his eyebrows, sending them towards a spare bedroom that used to
be Getou’s (but not really, because when he stayed over, he never used it) and told her they’d
talk in the morning.

At the time, his desire to help Tsumiki was fuelled by guilt. With some spare cash, he bought
them a flat, and gave her his number. Paying child support to the kids of a guy he hated
wasn’t on his bingo card, but it was how things went, sometimes.

And then there was a karting race in France. The last one that Toji had paid for Megumi to
race in. Curiosity killed the cat, and Gojo went, telling himself it was to check up on Tsumiki.
He wore a mask and sunglasses and a Keicho cap, old and faded from Yaga’s racing days,
and hid from fans.

Tsumiki had confessed to him that weekend that she was considering sending Megumi back
to the Zenins to race. It was clear her little brother had potential, she said, and she wanted to
see him achieve it.

Gojo had seen him race, and decided he didn’t want the kid to have to go to the Zenins just to
drive. They had- well, questionable methods of teaching at best. At worst, some of the stories
to come out of the dynasty have been just- retellings of abuse. Gojo knew his own family
wasn’t much better, filled with cold glances and a lack of warmth, but something had made
his heart tug.

He’d made Tsumiki promise to not tell Megumi, but that he’d pay for the karting. All of it.
Later, he made the personal recommendation that got Megumi into the Jujutsu Technical
Drivers’ Academy, along with reccomending Yuuji to Sengoku, who had shown up brand
new on the karting scene at thirteen, immediately started getting podiums, and latched onto
Megumi like one of those snails that clean glass in fish tanks.

Apparently he’d had something to do with Kenjaku’s new interest in funding junior drivers,
at the time. Despite the fact that since Sukuna’s accident in 2003, he’d never stepped foot on
a race track. Regardless, Gojo liked the kid. And he was undeniably talented, turning heads
by beating much, much more experienced drivers with ease.

So, they have history, Megumi and him. Megumi wouldn’t be racing if it weren’t for Gojo,
and Gojo is sure he would’ve just retired after 2015 if it weren’t for two kids showing up on
his doorstep and demanding his attention.

But it’s not the kind of history that means they talk about their feelings. It would probably be
more helpful, if Megumi wanted to talk. Not to bottle it up, or whatever. But Gojo doesn’t
know how to push people without pushing them away, so instead he’ll send Yuuji, or Nobara,
or someone else who does know. Or, someone who Megumi will tolerate pushing from.

He watches as Megumi climbs into his car on the other side of the garage. Someone hands
him his helmet, and then he remembers that he also has a job to do.

—
In free practice three, a matter of hours before qualifying, Megumi loses control of the car
and dives into the barriers at high speed. It causes a yellow flag, debris flying everywhere,
and Gojo is in the garage at the time, and gets to listen first hand to all the mechanics cry out
with exasperation.

He looks across to the pitwall, seeing Kamo talking urgently down his microphone. Trying to
get Megumi to respond, no doubt. He sees the moment that the pitwall crew relaxes: the
slump in their shoulders, the sighs of relief. He presses a button on his steering wheel and
asks Shoko, “is he out of the car?”

“Yes, he’s out. Yellow flags out on track, we’re gonna delay sending you out.”

“Copy.”

As they walk into the debrief, Gojo pats Megumi on the shoulder and laughs, “you’ve given
them quite the repair job, kid.”

Megumi just shrugs him off. Gojo stalls, and wonders how he’s done the wrong thing again.

May 2004, Japan

Suguru moves up an age class in karting again when he turns fourteen. Satoru, meanwhile,
has been moved up even further, into Grade Four. Into real Grade Racing. Capital letters and
all. Grade Four is a bit weird, compared to the other grades, because there’s multiple series
across the world with the title. It’s a bit like national championships, Suguru thinks.

He’s not good enough for Grade Four, yet. In a few years, he might be. But it’s weird for
him.

Because Grade Racing (with the capital letters to prove its importance) is a lot more
expensive than karting. A season of racing in Grade Four costs over four million yen, and
Suguru’s family don’t have that kind of money. They’re struggling to pay for the karting
costs, let alone the costs of real racing. He doesn’t want to hurt his family, anymore. He’s still
doing well at school. Maths is one of his favourite subjects. Maybe he can be an engineer, in
the future, instead of a driver. He’d still get to travel and see Satoru all the time.

Another smaller part of him really wants to fight to stay racing. He loves driving. He’s good
at it. He can beat Satoru, sometimes.

But to race in Grade Four, he needs sponsorships, and despite being good enough for it, he’s
not yet exceptional enough to be paid for by another person or company. So, he’s stuck to
karting.

Grade Four is also a bit of an outlier to the other Grade series because it doesn’t share any
dates or race venues with Grade One. It does, however, share two dates with the karting
series Shoko and Suguru are entered in, so they get to meet up, finally, after a full summer of
texting and calling and begging for more phone credits.

It’s only Satoru’s second race in Grade Four. Gojo travels with his team, now, in a
motorhome surrounded by engineers and team personnel, but he comes to see them anyway,
running to the steps, grabbing Suguru in a bone-crushing hug that has both of them laughing.

People look at them weirdly for it, now. Like, the Grade Four drivers are all much older than
them, and think they’re being childish. But Suguru feels smug about it. Yeah, Gojo Satoru is
my best friend. He’s going to drive in Grade One, and he’s talented and all anyone ever talks
about, and he is my best friend.

Shoko jumps on top of both of them, too, and then they get to have dinner together, and
Louisa lets the three of them cook themselves barbecue and roast s’mores in the dying Spring
light. Suguru doesn’t eat much of the meat - he hates the texture of gristle. Satoru doesn’t, so
Suguru eats what he wants and Satoru eats the rest.

Satoru moans over a s’more, head tilting back, “my dad says I can’t eat so many sweets
anymore, but these are so good,”

“Why is a marshmallow making you sound like that,” Shoko says, teasing, incredulous, with
her mouth full.

“It’s good!” Gojo protests, still with marshmallow sticking to his teeth. Suguru pushes at his
shoulder and tells him to stop talking with his mouth full. He gets a glare in return. “I haven’t
been allowed to eat sweets since I got into Grade Four, let me have this,” he says.

“Is your dad saying you can’t?” Shoko says.

Gojo shrugs. “My dad doesn’t care about specifics, he just wants me to win. I just have to
stay a certain weight the whole season for the car, or something, so I have to eat healthy and
do all these weird exercises.” He sticks his tongue out and makes a blegh noise, “I hate it.”

“You should quit, then,” Shoko grins. She’s clearly teasing.

“No way! I love racing,” Satoru huffs, “but the other stuff feels stupid, sometimes.”
“It’s not stupid if it means you get to race,” Suguru shrugs. He’s not sure if all of it is worth
it, yet, but he knows how much a career in racing means to Satoru. He’s one of the youngest
drivers signed to Grade Four in years.

“How’s your teammate?” Shoko asks, and Gojo groans again.

“She hates me! I’ve tried to be nice, I swear! But she hates me!”

“She?” Shoko grins, lighting up slightly, “she’s a girl?”

“Yeah, and it makes her more annoying,”

“Don’t be sexist, Satoru,” Suguru chips in, “just tell her what you told me.”

“You already knew about his teammate?” Shoko’s mouth drops open, and she’s looking at
him indignantly. “Why didn’t you tell me, Satoru?”

“I’m telling you now!” Exclaiming, Satoru finally swallows his s’more. “Anyway, it’s not
‘cause she’s a girl. She’s a really good racer, and everything. She just doesn’t wanna talk to
me! And it’s not like I’m a little kid, or anything, I’m only like, three years younger than
her-”

“She’s seventeen?” Shoko exclaims, stars in her eyes. Because there are less girls in Grade
racing than boys, and she always says finding another girl is exciting.

“I think she’s sixteen, actually.” Gojo says, “maybe she’s only two years older,”

“Can we meet her?”

The next day, they both get to watch Gojo race for the first time. Well - not exactly race, since
on Saturday, Satoru has to do qualifying first. Twenty minutes of qualifying determines the
grid positions for three races, the first of which is in the afternoon, after Shoko and Suguru
are done racing. Then the second race is in the morning on Sunday, followed by Shoko and
Suguru’s second set of racing, then Satoru’s third and final race.

They have passes to go down to the garages, where they stand as far out of the way as
possible. They do, however, meet Satoru’s teammate.

Utahime Iori.

She’s sixteen, and she leans over the data with a practised ease, hand on her hip. She’s older,
and the shape of her body isn’t hidden well by the race suit: she has hips and curves that
Shoko doesn’t, and Shoko stares at her like she wants to be her. Honestly, even Getou wants
to be her a little, so he gets it.
Her long dark hair is in pigtails, and she looks perfectly focused and determined and
everything a driver should be.

Suguru gets why she hates Gojo, because he’s somewhere else, hands clasped together
behind his head, making faces at an engineer and glancing around, distracted. Suguru gets it,
because Satoru behaves like that and still beats her on the track.

Satoru turns and gives Suguru a little wave. His heart skips half a beat before he wills himself
to smile back at him.

Satoru wins the last race on Sunday. Without him in the same series, Suguru is utterly
dominant in his heats and races, never coming off the podium the whole weekend.

And yet, Satoru’s win is the most exciting thing of all, because they run to the pitwall and
scream as his car crosses the line, and the team takes a real photo, with everyone, and the pit
boards reading CONGRATS GOJO P1 and UTAHIME P5 , and everyone is smiling and
cheering and running around in the pitlane.

Gojo sneaks him a sip of real champagne that day, stolen from the team engineers, giddy with
success, and whispers, “this is what it’s gonna be like in Grade One, when we race together,”

Suguru doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he doesn’t think he’ll make it that far.

April 2022, Italy

The mechanics only just get Megumi’s car ready for qualifying. It’s a near thing: they put
down the spanners about twenty minutes before.

The first qualifying session goes fine: they both pull through easily with flying colours.
Qualifying two sees Gojo in P5 and Megumi in P7, but impeding incidents from the Keicho
drivers caused those poor results, and they’re hopeful for a good result. For a front row start.

In his last flying lap of qualifying three, Megumi spins out into the barriers again. Gojo,
meanwhile, finishes on pole.
—

Transcript for post-qualifying interview with Megumi Fushiguro, Grade One TV, Emilia
Romanga Grand Prix 2022 - Hosted by Yuki Tsukumo

Q: Hard luck, Megumi. It all looked to be quite good out there until Q3, what happened?

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO : Uh. Honestly, I’m not sure. I lost control there in free practice, too,
and I just need to apologise to the mechanics this weekend, I think. I don’t know what keeps
going wrong.

Q: Any issues with the car after yesterday?

MF : We haven’t looked over the data, but no. Likely just a rookie mistake from me.

Q: Earlier in the week, Yaga mentioned you were struggling with blood sugar regulation and
had the afternoon off media duties because of this. Is it still causing you trouble?

MF : Honestly, no. I’ve made a big mistake on track today and I’m starting P10 when I
should be up with my teammate in the top five. Now I’ve got the job of trying to pull through
tomorrow and secure good points.

Q: Some people have been suggesting that the comparisons to your father and the questions
about him have both you and your teammate shaken up. Is that what’s causing these
performances in you?

MF : No. It’s not. And I’d appreciate not being asked that.

Gojo and Megumi’s drivers’ rooms aren’t next to each other, but they’re close enough. When
Gojo is walking back to his, after the interviews and the press conference and the other media
duties, he hears multiple voices from Megumi’s room. Call him nosy all you like, but he finds
his footsteps stalling, and he stops to listen.

“It’s one bad session.” That’s Yuuji’s voice. In Megumi’s drivers’ room. And under any other
circumstance, Gojo would bust the door open and make a bunch of inappropriate jokes at
them because everyone knows why you’d go to another driver’s motorhome after a session,
and it’s not for something either of them should be doing.

“I never had this in grade two,” Megumi whisper-shouts back, and Gojo can imagine the way
he hisses out the words through clenched teeth.
“Grade two is slower,” Yuuji says, like it’s obvious, and Megumi groans.

“Yeah, but I never had this,” he says, “all the time, they’re comparing me to Gojo, as if he
doesn’t have six world championships and a ton of experience.”

“Who’s they? The team?” Yuuji sounds incredibly put out on Megumi’s behalf, which is
sweet. “Because they shouldn’t be-”

“No, no, the team’s fine, they just expect me to not shunt the car into the wall, which I’ve
done twice.” Megumi sighs, “I mean, the media, the journalists. You’ve heard the questions.
People online.”

“They don’t matter. If your team is happy with you, then you’re fine.”

“They’re not happy with me. I’ve caused millions in damages,” Megumi carries on, “and I’m
going to have to fight to bring home points tomorrow.”

“You’ll be fine. It’s your first season. They’d rather you were fast and made mistakes than
you being slow.”

Gojo smiles, because Yuuji’s right. He wanders away, to get changed for the debrief.

Gojo leads from pole, all the way until lap fifty-nine. The car goes dead beneath him, and he
can’t get beyond fifth gear, and he’s willing the car forward but it won’t go. Then, the nail in
the coffin: “Satoru, there’s a hydraulics failure, you need to pull up the car.”

“To the pits?”

“No. It’s unsafe, the power steering could fail, pull over and get out, please.”

So that’s the end of his race. He sits on top of his car and watches everyone else zoom past,
yellow flags waving in his peripheral.

Not finishing a race never gets easier, no matter how long Gojo spends in the sport. Watching
the cars fly by invokes a strange sort of ache in his chest, no matter the weekend.

The ride back to the pitwall isn’t too long, and soon Gojo is standing there dumbly, being
consoled by Yaga and listening to Kamo coaching Megumi.

“What position is he in?” He asks Shoko, as the race restarts for the last three laps.

“P4.” She says. Gojo whistles lowly in response.

“Good recovery,”
“Yeah, he’s driven well,” Yaga adds on, “he should be proud of today,”

Megumi finishes in P4, holding his position behind Yuuji, Nanami, and Yuuta, in that order.
Yuuji jumps up and down on the podium and looks elated. Gojo can’t blame him: with a
single DNF, the tides have been turned in the championship.

OFFICIAL 2022 G1 DRIVERS CHAMPIONSHIP POINTS STANDINGS AFTER ROUND

FOUR - TOP TEN

POS DRIVER CONSTRUCTOR POINTS

1 Yuuji ITADORI (+1) Scuderia Keicho 76

2 Satoru GOJO (-1) Jujutsu Technical Racing 71

3 Yuuta OKKOTSU (=) Scuderia Keicho 65

4 Nanami KENTO (=) Sengoku 55

5 Megumi FUSHIGURO (=) Jujutsu Technical Racing 44

6 Mai ZENIN (=) Meiji 30

7 Toge INUMAKI (=) Sengoku 26

8 Iori UTAHIME (=) Kyoto G1 Team 14

9 Mei MEI (=) Haein 14

10 Nobara KUGISAKI (=) Meiji 9

OFFICIAL 2022 G1 CONSTRUCTORS CHAMPIONSHIP POINTS STANDINGS AFTER
ROUND FOUR

POS CONSTRUCTOR POINTS

1 Scuderia Keicho (+1) 136

2 Jujutsu Technical Racing (-1) 115

3 Sengoku (=) 81

4 Meiji (=) 39

5 Kyoto G1 Team (+1) 17

6 Haein (-1) 16

After every race, there is a - usually brief - meeting with all the drivers. Mostly it’s used to
bounce around ideas about regulations and how to make the whole experience of driving
around the track more enjoyable. Whether it be track limits, penalties, impeding or a crash,
everything gets aired out.

Back in 2017, the higher-ups had trialled this idea of filming them and putting out clips, but it
was quickly dispelled when drivers stopped airing out concerns in fear of being criticised. It
hadn’t held Gojo back: he got criticised for most things he did anyway. Regardless, a clip of
him making fun of Utahime wearing headphones went viral at some point. People found it
funny: Utahime did not.

But it's 2022 now, and these briefings don’t get filmed, and for the first time, Gojo is acutely
grateful for it. He ends up sitting next to Nanami, who in turn is next to Inumaki. Utahime
sits behind them with Mai and Miwa, and just in front, Yuuji, Megumi and Nobara have all
taken their seats, too.

Tengen shuffles in, and the murmuring ceases almost immediately. The old man is definitely
well-respected, even if he’s not well-liked by all the drivers: Gojo dislikes him, but still
understands that he’s a necessary part of their sport as a safety officer and technical director.

“So, does anyone have anything they wish to discuss?” He says, in that same gravelly voice,
and Nanami immediately clears his throat beside him.

“This has nothing to do with racing, but whilst we are behind closed doors, I have to say what
a shit show it was that journalists have been allowed to ask questions about Fushiguro,”
Megumi’s head immediately whips around, and Nanami clarifies, “Toji, not Megumi.”

Tengen frowns, swallowing around his next words. “You think they should not be allowed to
ask about him?”

Nanami scoffs. Gojo never really sees him get angry, not like the other drivers on the grid,
but he’s definitely pissed now. “No, because we are directed to not be honest about him and
why he departed the sport. One Freudian slip and we cause the biggest scandal grade one has
ever seen.”

“And besides the scandal,” Utahime says, in a calm voice behind them, “he is associated with
painful memories for many of us. Some of us directly, because we raced on the same grid as
him, in the same races. It is incredibly inappropriate for journalists to be able to ask intrusive
questions like that, but especially to Gojo and Getou, and to Megumi, and to Nanami, also. If
we are asked to lie about why he is banned from the sport, we should not be poked and
prodded about the matters surrounding it like animals in a zoo.”

Gojo leans back. Utahime’s face is set, hard. The scar that covers her right cheek has faded
significantly since 2015, but it’s still visible here, under the harsh glow of the lights. She
refuses to look Gojo in the eye, despite having defended him just a moment ago.

Tengen shuffles some papers together, “matters with the press are not exactly my prerogative.
But this matter will be passed on, I can assure you. Does anyone else have anything to say
about the matter?”

Gojo sighs, long and deep, and stretches out his legs, “well, nothing to add apart from the
reporter was an asshole, and that Toji was a Grade One cunt.”

There’s a beat of silence. Inumaki presses his hand over his mouth to suppress a snicker.

“Uh.” Megumi swallows. “I also think that we should not be asked about him, because it
opens the doors for the press to dig into my personal life and my sister’s. I’ve had enough of
that in grade two, and we don’t need any more.”

Tengen’s eyebrows lower. “Of course,”

“I mean, a concrete ban. From mentioning him. To all journalists, publications, whatever,”
Megumi clarifies. “Penalised by a fine.”

“A gagging order?” Mai blurts, “surely that is harsh, he was part of the sport, regardless-”

“So now the little Zenin has something to say?” Nobara raises her eyebrows and leans back
over her chair, “he killed someone.”

There it is, Gojo thinks, the crux of it all. The thing many of them refuse to say out loud. The
real reason why Toji left his two children in France whilst he ran from everything he’d ever
done. He knows Nobara doesn’t care much for the history of the sport besides who was
winning, and the fact that even she knows about Toji speaks volumes.

Mai looks about ready to jump out of her chair and fist fight Nobara - how are these two
teammates, the Meiji guys must be ready to hang themselves, Gojo thinks - but Tengen raises
a hand, silencing them. “I will propose a blanket ban, Utahime is right, you as drivers are
already under a gagging order, and the media should be held to the same standards. To protect
the sport.”

Nanami’s mouth twitches beside him, and Gojo crosses his legs in his chair again. He can tell
they’re both thinking the same thing.

To protect the sport, never us.

They fly commercial out of Italy. Mostly because the next race of the season is a new track in
Miami, USA, land of the free, and the higher-ups, for some godforsaken reason, have decided
to sandwich it in between Imola and Barcelona. You know, Italy and Spain. Two countries
very geographically close to each other.

Honestly, Gojo is all for backing proposals that mean next season the races will be organised
based on location, because the jetlag is a killer. Oh, and the fuel. Carbon footprint, or
whatever. Utahime is constantly bitching about it, to the press, and Gojo doesn’t like agreeing
with her about many things, but he agrees on this one. Because why on earth did they not put
it in between Mexico and Brazil? You know, when they’re actually in the continent?

There’s always controversy about new tracks regardless, though, like Miami is. A purpose
built track for Grade One, started in 2018, and finally finished and approved for 2022. They
keep adding more and more races, and Gojo is never one to complain publicly (they all get
paid an obscene amount of money, after all), but the calendar is starting to get more and more
overwhelming.

The younger drivers don’t struggle as much with it, he thinks. They’ve never known anything
else other than the brutal pace of over twenty races in a year. When Gojo started, the calendar
was only eighteen races long. The sport is expanding in a way he isn’t sure how to feel
about.

The Jujutsu, Sengoku, and Keicho drivers all end up booked on the same flight. So here they
are, sitting in the first class lounge, waiting for its arrival. Yuuji is excitedly talking to
Megumi, hands in front of him and gesturing wildly, saying something about America, and
how different this will be to COTA, and how different it is to drive there than in Europe or
Asia.

Gojo misses the days when they pulled up to Austin, Texas to race at the Circuit of The
Americas (Land Of The Free!!) and no one knew who they were. There’s less racing fans in
America, because they have their own (supposedly superior but definitely not) series that
keeps their attention. Back in the early 2010s, they could get away with anything, go
clubbing and go to eat and not get mobbed at their hotels.

That’s not really the case anymore, and he has a feeling that with the showmanship of Miami,
it’s going to end up being worse than Austin.

But Yuuji seems excited about it, and Megumi is listening to him. Gojo sighs, and turns to
Yuuta, “you as excited as him?”

Yuuta huffs. “No. One race in America is enough.”

“At least it’s a street circuit,” Gojo grins back at him, teasingly. Yuuta, like many of the
drivers, hates them, because one wrong move and you’re in the barriers. Gojo thinks that
makes it more exciting, but having the pressure isn’t something many of them enjoy.

“And they're going to add Las Vegas,” Yuuta rolls his eyes, “honestly, they’re going to have
three American Grand Prix, and the fans are the worst ones.”

Gojo shrugs. He can’t argue with that. He finds them much too loud and abrasive and they
invade their personal space more and grab them when they reach for signatures.

“Do you have changes to the car there?”

“I am definitely not supposed to tell you that,” Yuuta grins, “Getou would kill me.”

“Eh, worth a shot.” Slowly, Gojo stretches his legs, propping them up on his suitcase. “Are
you struggling?”

Yuuta’s gaze betrays him, because he glances at Yuuji. And Gojo already knows the answer.

“No,” he says, “the car feels good. It feels fast. I’m fine on the balance.” He looks at Yuuji,
and stops speaking. Because the rest of the sentence goes something like: but I’m just not fast
enough. My teammate is faster. My teammate is better, and things are slipping from me.

“He’s something else, you know that,” Gojo says, quieting his voice. “You’re no less of a
driver than you were, but now you’re being compared to someone equally talented without
any team orders, or health issues.”
Yuuta scoffs beside him, “you really boost my ego, don’t you? I know the only reason I beat
Utahime was because she was struggling, but you could at least pretend.”

“Your performance was still incredible.” Gojo shrugs, “you know that. Your first season in a
competitive car, and you deliver that level of driving consistently?”

“This shouldn’t be any different.” Slightly crooked teeth worry at Yuuta’s lips. They’re
chapped and close to bleeding. “I perform well under pressure.”

“This is a whole different pressure, I think,” Gojo says, not unkindly.

Yuuta laughs, “I should ask Getou how he did it.”

“How he did what?”

“How he beat his teammate, with the whole world and his own team expecting him to fail.”

Gojo has no answer for that, because no one really expects Yuuta to fail. Not in the way it
was for Getou, anyway. Back in 2014, it was. Everything. Everything anyone was talking
about. In fact, a lot of journalists have been quizzing Yuuji on his “run of good luck”.
Everyone thinks Yuuta and Yuuji are pretty evenly matched on skill. No one ever thought that
about Getou and Gojo.

But he doesn’t say anything.

September 2004, Italy

Gojo does something unexpected in 2004: he doesn’t win the Grade Four championship. He
rounds out the season within the top fifteen, which his team and everyone says is an
achievement for a rookie, but Satoru thinks otherwise. He complains about it in their texts
constantly, and then invites Suguru to come to Monza, to watch the Grade One race, and
Getou goes.

They have paddock passes, like usual, and Yaga is there, with Keicho. Satoru runs to him and
hugs him, and Yaga pulls Suguru into it too, and it feels like coming home.

This year, Haein is nowhere to be seen, right slap bang in the middle of the field. After so
many years of dominance, they’d lost both their dominant drivers at the end of 2003, with
Sukuna’s death and Kenjaku’s abrupt retirement after winning the world championship and
dedicating it to him. Now the Sengokus are back at the front, and the Naras are chasing them,
and the best championship battle in years has ensued.
The excitement around it still feels a little hollow to Suguru after watching the accident last
year, but Monza is special, and the atmosphere makes his chest feel light, and he allows
himself to be caught up in it.

Satoru takes his hand in his, easily, and drags Suguru forward, and they’re watching the
Grade Two cars, which are still fast but not as fast as the Grade Ones, and Suguru’s skin
prickles where Satoru touches him.

“What team do you wanna drive for?” Satoru says, in a way that feels like: in the future.
When, not if.

Suguru swallows. The answer is Keicho. He wants to drive for Keicho. But he’ll never get
that opportunity. “I dunno, what about you?”

“Whichever team is winning.” Satoru says, baring all his teeth in a smile that makes Suguru
feel like he’s floating. He still feels the urge to cut all of his hair off.

“It’s gonna be so cool when you come to Grade Four next year,” Satoru says, lounging in
their too-hot hotel room shirtless with shorts on. Suguru thinks that in between every
motorhome escapade and hotel room, they must have seen every part of each others’ bodies.
Lately, Suguru has been trying desperately to not recontextualise the way he feels about it,
because it would change things.

They still change in front of each other, but now Suguru dips his head when he sees Satoru’s
collarbones, so nothing has changed, really.

“I don’t know if I’ll get a seat,” Suguru says, swallowing around the sharpness of his own
words. The disappointment sticks like barbs on his teeth.

“You’ve been winning everything this year, and I know they’re giving Shoko a seat,” Satoru
says, “you have nothing to worry about,”

“No- I mean-” Suguru can’t look at him. It’s like he’s not even thinking. “We can’t afford it.
My dad’s been working extra, but he’s still not making enough money, and it’s- I think I
might have to quit.”

Satoru frowns, and finally looks up from where he’d been playing a game on his phone.
“Like, you’re gonna quit racing?”

“My mom and my dad are arguing all the time, and I can’t get a job to pay for it,”

“I don’t want you to quit racing,” Satoru frowns. “You’re my best friend.”

“I can still come to races, and watch you,” Suguru says, and Satoru shakes his head violently.
“That’s not the same. You know it’s not the same,”

“Yeah, but if I work hard in school I can be an engineer, and then I’ll get a job in your Grade
One team and we can be together again.”

“That’s not fair,” Satoru huffs, “you’re just as good a driver as me. We’re the best together, I
don’t wanna be the best by myself.”

“I’m sorry,” Suguru says. Because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Satoru sighs and turns on the TV. “You’ll find a way and then we’re gonna race in Grade One
together, I bet,”

May 2022, America

Gojo finds out that Yuki is back in the paddock for the Miami Grand Prix, not because Yaga
tells him, or because he’s warned about her lines of questioning ahead of media day, but
because of an accident.

He sees her on the steps of the Keicho motorhome, smiling, talking to none other than Getou
Suguru himself.

Gojo isn’t really supposed to see it, is the thing. But they lost the constructors’ championship
to Keicho last year, and as a result he has to walk past their motorhome to make his way out
of the paddock. So he just happens to look in the wrong direction for a split second, and
suddenly he’s met with the sight of Getou laughing, full bodied and open, at something Yuki
is saying. His eyes are crinkled, and he’s got all of his attention on her, and his hair is spilling
down his back in dark waves.

He knew Yuki and Getou were still good friends. She’s always had a soft spot for him, since
they were teammates. She was never afraid to say that she rated Getou over Gojo as a driver,
either, when they were both on the grid. Which- still makes Gojo a little sore, to be honest.

He stops, for a long moment, on the steps of his own motorhome, and wonders if he could
still make Getou laugh like that, if he tried. It used to be easier than breathing. But then
Megumi is behind him, shoving a team cap in his hands and telling him to stop staring, it’s
obvious, you know ?

Gojo shoves the cap down over his white hair, pushes his sunglasses up his nose, and grins,
wrestling Megumi off the steps, “come on then. It’s showtime.”
—

January 2005, Japan

“Suguru, come here!” His father’s shout echoes through the house and Suguru groans.

“In a minute, dad!”

“No, now! Come on!”

He opens up his mouth and shouts from his room, “I’m doing homework, dad!”

He is. Long, complicated maths problems that make his head swim and physics equations
that are much more simple.

“It can wait!”

Now, that’s curious. His dad always makes him finish his schoolwork before everything, even
dinner, sometimes. So he gets up, and makes his way downstairs.

His dad is sat at the family computer, glasses perched on his nose as he moves the mouse.
“Read this,” he says.

There’s an email on the screen. It reads:

Dear Mr. Getou,

We write to you, as the designated guardian of Getou Suguru, in hopes to offer him a Grade
Four seat at Haein Junior Team in the coming season. We are aware that previous offers to
your son have been rejected due to financial concerns, and we are pleased to offer your son a
fully funded, sponsored seat in our team based on his recent show of talent and good
performances in numerous karting series across Asia and Europe.

The season will begin in April, and features thirty races across ten events…

Suguru stops reading, jaw slack, and turns to his dad. This is it. His dad is beaming at him,
pulling his glasses off his face, and opens up his arms. This is it . “I knew you could do it.”

This is it.

Suguru lets out a cry of joy, and throws himself into his dad’s open arms. His dad picks him
up, and spins him round until Suguru is begging him to put him down. When they peel away
from each other, his dad’s eyes are wet. “I’m so proud of you, I love you,”
“I love you too,” Suguru’s voice jumps. He’s crying too, a bit. “I- can I-”

“Go call him,” his dad says, “he’ll be excited, too.”

Suguru trips over his own feet on the way to the phone, physics homework forgotten.

May 2022, America

Media day, as it always is in America, is an uncomfortable shit show from start to finish.
Gojo has no idea why there’s cheerleaders here. He has no idea why there are so many
American flags everywhere. Megumi can’t mask his general distaste for the whole thing, and
he gets grilled even more about it, which would make Gojo feel sorry for him if it wasn’t so
funny to watch.

The higher-ups seem to have cottoned onto the fact that Yuuji, Nobara and Megumi as a trio
bring a lot of engagement, so they’re pulled away to film a challenge video, midway through
the day, and Gojo tags along, watching from behind the cameras. Because, why not? He has
nothing else to do, and at least the cameras in here aren’t pointed at him.

Yuuji wrinkles his nose at the table in front of them. “What are these?”

“American candy!” Nobara grins, tucking her hair behind her ear and rustling through the
pile. “Did you guys get Hershey’s? I love those!”

“I'm not even going to be able to eat half of these.” Megumi grumbles, and glances at Gojo
with a look that says they really didn’t think this through, huh ?

“There’s some stuff there with low sugar, Megumi,” the camera operator says, all sunny and
bright and her accent is definitely going to become grating in a minute. Gojo grins. “But you
guys can save your reactions for when the cameras are rolling, please?”

Megumi grumbles, Yuuji nods enthusiastically, and Nobara raises an eyebrow.

Honestly, Gojo isn’t quite sure what the exact challenge is. He knows it involves a blindfold,
and the three of them screeching at each other, and a battle for points, which Nobara and
Megumi get insanely competitive over, but he doesn’t really understand, not fully.

About an hour passes before the side door opens, and Getou peers through, letting himself in
easily. The three young drivers don’t even notice him, too caught up in Yuuji choking on
some sort of spicy crisp.
“Ah, they’re not done?” Getou says, in Japanese, so they aren’t overheard by the American
staff members, right beside him. Gojo isn’t sure how he got there so quickly.

“No, I think they’re almost done, though,” he replies.

Getou sighs and looks impatiently at his watch. “I needed Yuuji back, like, half an hour
ago,”

“What for? It’s media day.”

“He was supposed to be at a sponsor talk, for paddock club,” Getou grimaces, “they say they
don’t mind him being late, but I think that only works for the first ten minutes.”

“Fuck the paddock club,”

Getou laughs, “we used to be in paddock club, when we went to races when we were
younger,”

“Still.” Gojo says, “none of them care about the racing. They’re all just there to show off
their wealth,”

“What’s your net worth again?” Getou scoffs, and the point comes home. “We all have
responsibilities. This one is one of Yuuji’s, and he’s late.”

Gojo just hums in response. “It’s not his fault, though.”

“Like your lateness was never your fault?” Getou teases, and Gojo scoffs in response.

“Most of the time, it was yours,”

They were as bad as each other, really, in those first few Grade One seasons.

Gojo frowns, looking at the three younger drivers up on the stage, “why? Does Yuuji remind
you of me?”

It’s meant to be teasing. Light. And yet, Getou takes it seriously. “No, Megumi is much closer
to you. Yuuji reminds me of myself.”

Whatever answer he’d been expecting, it sure as hell wasn’t that. He stares at Getou for a few
seconds before they’re interrupted by the camera operator clapping her hands together and
smiling, much too wide. “Oh-kay! I think we’re done here, thank you guys!”

Getou immediately whistles at Yuuji, waving him over. “Itadori, let’s go, we’re late for
paddock club.”

Yuuji’s eyes widen as he scrambles to grab his lanyard and his water bottle, smiling at Gojo
in passing as they leave. When he looks back up to Megumi, he’s giving Gojo a strange look.

The camera operator turns, all smiles, to Gojo and Megumi, and says, like it’s the most casual
thing in the world, “you couldn’t convince Getou to be in one of these with you, could you
 Satoru? You two are in high demand,”

“No,” Gojo says, turning, “come on Megs, we’re late,”

Nobara follows them, hot on their heels. As soon as the door slams behind them, she’s
asking, “what’re you late for?”

“Dinner,” Gojo grins, “you wanna come with? My treat.”

Nobara punches the air and hugs Gojo’s arm briefly, “you’re the best! Can Maki come? Um,
my race engineer, I mean.”

As if Gojo doesn’t know who Maki Zenin is. Cute.

“Sure,” agreeing easily, Gojo turns back to Megumi. “You coming?”

Megumi is still standing there, with that look from before on his face. “Are you two
talking?”

“No. You want dinner, or not?”

Any protests die on Megumi’s tongue. He sighs. “Sure.”

Gojo grins, and wraps his arms around his shoulders, trying to knock him over. It doesn’t
work, and all is right with the world.

Chapter End Notes

tw: ED talk and talk of dieting, minor character death and graphic description of a motor
racing crash involoving sukuna and kenjaku. quick note about this crash: it may not be
accurate or realistic to portray a life-ending crash in Monaco, but I was incredibly
hesitant to use a track with high death rates or take inspo from real life fatal crashes.

anyway!! i hope u enjoyed this offering. pls remember to comment so i can feed my
kids! shoutout to ao3 user noxdragon, ur bookmark notes made me insane!! come
comment next time i love you

EDIT IF YOU KNOW F1 PLS COMMENT BC WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING

IN VEGAS FP1 IS CANCELLED LECLERC IS P1 AND SAINZ CAR IS
FUCKED???

the tracks referenced in this chapter are the Imola Circuit, Monte Carlo, Monaco and the
Autodromo Nazionale Monza, otherwise just known as Monza, in the flashback. Like
Suzuka, Monza will make another appearance later, as will Monaco. :)
please please tell me ur thoughts pls
 v - out brake
Chapter Summary

Verb. A term used to describe a driver braking either too late or too softly and
subsequently overrunning a corner. A common mistake made during overtaking moves.

Also used to refer to a driver braking later than their opponent, even when they do not
overrun the corner as a result.

Chapter Notes

the las vegas gp made me so insane that i banged this out in five days. charles leclerc u
beautiful man that last lap overtake was sensational forza ferrari siempre and fuck that
second safety car.

content warnings in end notes, enjoy

See the end of the chapter for more notes

April 2005, Japan

Suguru knows a few things, even though he’s really uncertain about the future right now. He
knows he has a seat in Haein in Grade Four. He knows that seat is fully funded. He knows,
that because the seat is fully funded, that he is expected to perform better than his teammates,
and his peers.

He knows he is fifteen years old. He knows that the average age to get into Grade One is
twenty one. He knows he is Satoru’s best friend. He knows Shoko will be driving alongside
them.

He recounts all these things as he bounces his leg in the motorhome on their way to the first
race of the season.

He’s travelling with the team, which is new. His bag is packed, and he has to wash his own
race suit and thermals, and his shoes, and his helmet is safely tucked away in protective
casing somewhere. It has all the team logos and sponsors on it, and Suguru had to go to the
Haein headquarters, all the way in England, to get everything measured and fitted, including
the seat. Of his car. The car that he will get to drive all season. His! Car!

But now he’s here, watching the world spin by as they drive towards the first race, and he
kind of misses his dad.

His teammate is younger than him, but by how much, Getou isn’t entirely sure. He had
introduced himself with a massive grin on his face, and rocked back and forth on his heels
like a puppy. His hair flopped about much the same way. “Hey, I’m Haibara Yu, nice to meet
you!”

Suguru had told him his name, the younger boy had told him “cool!” and they’d been herded
onto the motorhome and not said a word to each other since. Haibara had pulled out a brand
new nintendo DS. Apparently Satoru had gotten one, too, the newest thing, but Suguru hadn’t
been able to afford one. They’re fifteen thousand yen to buy, which is kind of a lot of money.
His dad is still working to pay off debt, on credit cards, and their house, even though
Suguru’s driving is fully paid for now.

But anyway, Haibara is playing something on it, his tongue sticking out as he concentrates.
Suguru stares at him. He wonders how rich he is. Whether he has a sponsored drive, or
whether he can afford to have fun. He doesn’t look like someone who has a lot of pressure on
him. He seems carefree.

“Do you want to play?” Haibara says. His eyes are wide, offering the console to Suguru with
a questioning expression. Suguru stares at it for a minute, then shakes his head.

“I don’t know how,”

“I can teach you,” Haibara says. He’s got braces, with sky blue colours. “We still have like,
three hours to go, are you sure?”

Suguru isn’t. He really, kind of wanted a DS when they got announced late last year. He
didn’t ask for one for Christmas because his family had been figuring out how to cobble
together enough money to keep him racing, and he had wanted that more than any game
console at the time.

He crosses over to where Haibara’s sitting, and looks at the screen. “How’d you play?”

By the time they pull into the race track, Suguru has learned quite a bit about Haibara. He has
a younger sister who’s in karts, but doing really well. She wants to race like her big brother.
He says he likes cooking, and his favourite food is rice, and he insists on making up a
handshake with Suguru because he wants them to look cool when they meet his competitors.

He talks a lot about how he has friends in Grade Four already, and he talks a lot about his
friend Nanami, who’s blonde, apparently. “He’s on the Nara junior team, which is super cool,
and I wanted to be his teammate, but I’m glad you’re my teammate, because you seem more
experienced than me, which is good ‘cause I wanna learn new things.”
“I haven’t met him,” Suguru replies, honest. The boy talks a million miles a minute. It’s hard
to keep up.

“I’m also friends with Utahime, and she drives for Sengoku juniors,” Haibara rambles on,
and Suguru grins in recognition.

“I’ve met her, a couple of times. She seems nice.”

She doesn’t. She’s surly, and she hates Suguru because he’s friends with Satoru, and Satoru is
her biggest competition. But Haibara doesn’t need to know that.

“Have you met the other drivers already?” Haibara looks up at him with stars in his eyes.
Suguru laughs.

“I know her teammate from karting, and I watched some of his races last season.”

“You know Gojo ?” Haibara gasps, and Suguru sighs, deep and long.

Satoru comes to them, like he always does. The Sengoku guys got there first, and they’ve
kept both Satoru and Utahime for the new season. As usual, as soon as they see each other,
Satoru is bowling over Suguru into a hug, and he can’t help but grin into his shoulders, hands
coming up to clasp at his shirt.

Satoru smells good. Like petrol and oil and metal all rolled into one, with something sweet
layered over the top. He doesn’t linger on it, though, because that would be weird. Instead, he
pushes Satoru back. It half works, because the other boy stops hugging him, but drapes
himself over his shoulders all the same. Suguru fishes a lollipop out of his pocket and hands
it to him.

“Aw, sweet,” Satoru grins, immediately tearing the wrapper off and putting it in his mouth,
sucking obnoxiously loud. Then he stops, pointing at Haibara, and blurting, “who’s that?”

Haibara’s eyes widen comically at being referred to. He glances at Suguru, like he can’t
believe Satoru is here, draped so casually over him, then he bows, rather abruptly. “Haibara
Yu, I’m Getou’s teammate,”

Satoru’s jaw drops open and he laughs, “you look like an idiot!”

Haibara stands back up straight, cheeks flushed bright red, and stammers, “I’m trying to be
respectful,”

Satoru shrugs, “how old are you?”

“Fourteen,” Haibara says, indignant.

Gojo shrugs, “you don’t need to be respectful to me, I’m only a year older. We’re gonna be
racing each other.”

Suguru laughs, because he doesn’t think the respect Haibara feels is necessary probably has
nothing to do with age, and more to do with Gojo’s name and multiple championship titles in
karting.

“Oh, okay,” Haibara says, regardless, eyes darting between the two of them like he still can’t
quite believe they’re friends. It lights something up in Suguru’s chest. Like, yeah, you better
believe it. I know him better than anyone.

“Come on,” Satoru says then, suddenly growing impatient, “Shoko’s here somewhere and I
haven’t seen her yet,”

He grabs Suguru’s hand and starts dragging him away, then stops and turns around. “You
know you can come, too, right?”

Haibara looks even more like a lost puppy than before, standing on the steps. He looks
around, then darts up to meet them.

May 2022, America

“Radio check?”

“Loud and clear.” Gojo replies, waving his hands around above the cockpit to gesture for his
gloves. Someone hands them to him and he flexes his fingers as he puts them on.

“We’re expecting the track to be slippery for the first few runs and improve with time,”
Shoko says, over the radio. “So be careful, okay?”

“Yep,” Gojo replies, popping the p. “Let’s get out there.”

The car gets dropped down, and Gojo can see the engineers milling about, holding the tyre
covers over the top. Gojo strains his head to see someone waving him out of the garage, and
then it’s go-time.

When he drives, the world shrinks. Racing is such an all-encompassing sport, at times. Gojo
has no privacy, no real friends, is on the road for nine months of the year. He hasn’t seen his
parents outside of a racetrack in almost a decade. He only gets to spend about a month out of
the year in Japan, and two weeks of that is usually for the Grand Prix in Suzuka.
He’s expected to be funny, someone to look up to, attractive enough to be a model all at the
same time. But he’s Satoru Gojo, Greatest Of All Time, and he balances it well.

But none of those things matter when you’re in the car. The world shrinks to the cockpit, the
air flying past your helmet, your feet on the pedals. All that matters is when to break, when to
put your foot on the throttle. When to upshift, when to downshift, when to steer.

Gojo thinks that might be why he keeps coming back to it, after all these years. The focus
you need. One wrong move and you’re dead. Gojo finds that exhilarating. He’s taken on
death, looked it square in the eyes, and won. And he keeps doing it, week in, week out.

All he has to do now is put together the perfect lap, round a brand new track. Set the
standard.

He rounds the final corner on his outlap, and hears Shoko’s voice over the radio. “Okay,
mode push, mode push, let’s go,”

He’s over the line, braking late into turn one and praying it goes well. The car responds
beneath him beautifully, like a wild animal, tamed, and Gojo pulls it through turns two and
three and gets on the throttle again down the straight.

The straight is short, and Gojo navigates the chicane at turns four and five, then sweeps
through turns six, seven, eight.

“Beware of Inumaki, ahead, he’s on a slow lap,” Shoko says.

“Copy,”

Then: his favourite part of the track. Turn eight to turn eleven, full throttle, as fast as you can.
The braking zone at the end of it is a bitch, and Gojo doesn’t get a choice about where to
position his car because Inumaki is on the outside of it.

“That’s a penalty, there,” he says to Shoko. The reply comes quick.

“Focus, we’re already on it.”

A series of tight turns keep his brain busy as the car squeals beneath him, tyres slipping on
the new tarmac. He swears to no one in particular about it, rounds the tight turn sixteen and
gets on the throttle, gears shifting up again.

Hairpin, turn seventeen, down to turns eighteen and nineteen, then foot on the throttle again,
across the line-

“That’s P1, currently,” Shoko seems pleased, “we think that’s good, come in and we’ll send
you out again on new tyres at the end of the session, if we need.”

“Copy, boxing,” Gojo replies. His world is opening up again. He can see the hospitality suites
towering above him, the world flashing by. His heart is spinning in his chest as he pulls into
the pitlane.
—

Post-Qualifying Press Conference, Miami Grand Prix 2022 - Hosted by Yu Haibara

Q: A very warm welcome to our top three qualifiers! In third, we have Megumi Fushiguro, in
second, Yuuta Okkotsu, and on pole, none other than Satoru Gojo! Gosh, that lap was just
brilliant, Gojo, over four tenths clear of the rest of the field! Talk us through how you did it.

SATORU GOJO : I think that the gap is more to do with how difficult the conditions are out
there in terms of grip, rather than a genuine gap in speed, but yeah, I’m pleased, being able to
pull everything together right at the end of Q3 was definitely a gamble but it paid off.

Q: Still, the level of skill needed to pull that much of a gap is definitely something to be proud
of.

SG: I know the guys behind me made mistakes, and Yuuji in particular, according to Shoko, (
note: Gojo’s engineer ) was on my pace but spun, so I’m not going to sit and gloat. I’ll still
have to work hard tomorrow to keep them behind me.

Q: After the DNF in Imola, are you hopeful to come back with a bang?

SG : Of course, we have the strongest car here, and a double podium is definitely possible.
We just have to be hungry enough to take it.

Q: Now, let’s come to you, Yuuta, P2, and you’ve out-qualified your teammate for the first
time this season. Is it starting to come together with the car now?

YUUTA OKKOTSU : Ah, well, as Gojo already said, Yuuji made a mistake behind, and both
Sengoku drivers were struggling more than we expected, I think, so this is a surprise, but a
welcome one.

Q: But the pace tomorrow is, of course, your strong point?

YO : Yes. I believe we’re more than capable of hanging onto this podium finish.

Q: Okay, so finally, Megumi. What a lap, and what an incredible rookie season you’re
having. You just seem to be going from strength to strength! Talk us through it.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO : Ah, where to start? I think the three- wait no- [to Satoru] was it
five? [laughs] track walks here with Gojo made a difference. The team has really helped me
this weekend, and having a level playing field in terms of experience here has put me
probably a bit higher than I would be normally, but I’ll take it.
Q: Your season is starting off incredibly. You’ve not been out the points yet, and now you’ve
qualified top three for the first time. How good does it feel?

MF : Well, I have to thank the team, really. I’m in a top car, and of course points finishes
should come easy. Of course it feels good, but we score our points tomorrow, and that’s
where I have to aim to fight.

Q: You have something to add, Gojo?

SG : Yeah. Megs, I’m proud of you. Take the compliment from poor Haibara.

MF : Stop.

SG : See! He’s too modest. Rookie of the year, this one!

YO : [laughs] Rookie of the year, for sure!

“Congrats on the pole, Satoru,”

Getou is standing in the paddock, microphone in hand, and he’s just turned away from his
own interview. To congratulate him on something he does every other week.

Satoru’s heart flutters in his chest. Then it flips, and crashes and dies, because there’s cameras
everywhere, watching them, and Getou is playing the good sportsman with an easy grin.

Gojo looks to Yuki, who’s one of the presenters conducting the interview, because of course
she is. She’s standing, smiling, and so he plasters a fake one on his own face in response.
“Yeah, I beat your drivers out there today, huh?”

It’s not close enough to the microphones to be picked up, but Gojo knows that Getou hears it.
As he walks away, he hears another presenter say it’s good that you two still have such
respect for each other.

Gojo doesn’t stick around long enough to hear Getou’s response. He doesn’t care about it,
anyway.

Although Gojo doesn’t concern himself with tyre strategy too much, he knows that this
weekend, it's completely and utterly up in the air. Without any knowledge of how the race
will pan out, they have no idea how to prepare for safety cars, weather, or the pace of one tyre
compound compared to another.

Apparently, most of the teams are going for a two-stop, which is predicted to be fastest. Gojo
isn’t sure if he agrees the tyre degradation will be high enough for a two-stop, especially in
their car, which looks after its tyres quite well. But nevertheless, the track temperatures are
going to be high, and the air is humid, and there’s far too many factors at play here, really.

Luck is going to come into it.

But luck doesn’t exist out on the track. Skill does. Managing the tyres does. The right
strategy call does. He has to trust his team entirely, and he does. He’s known Shoko his entire
life, or near enough. Yaga is basically his dad, after spending nearing a decade in the team,
with him being his race engineer and then his team principal. He trusts Megumi to push as
hard as possible.

“Simulations are saying a one-stop is possible,” Shoko grits her teeth, looking at the screen in
front of her, “but it relies on good management, so I’m hesitant to suggest it. It leaves us
vulnerable to a safety car.”

“Is it likely?” Gojo hums, pressing his hand to his hip, “there’s a few narrow sections, but-”

Shoko presses her lips together, rubbing her fingers over the circles under her eyes. “I’d be
hesitant to prepare for one, or count on one. But I don’t want to be vulnerable if it happens,
either. An engine breakdown in the wrong place could bring one out.”

Yaga grimaces. “So Megumi definitely won’t want a one-stop, then. His tyre management
is-”

Gojo presses his lips together and suppresses a half-hum in his throat. He feels Yaga’s
shoulders slump.

“Getou was always good at making calls like this.”

“Well let’s hope he’s not anymore. Come on, let’s get the debrief done, then we can all go
home,”

Yaga turns away first, and Gojo goes to follow him, but sees Shoko hanging back, hands
carding through her hair and elbows on her desk.

“Shoko?”

She smiles weakly and stands, tying her hair back. They walk side-by-side, slow and quiet.

“Do you miss him?”

Gojo frowns and looks at Shoko. She’s biting her lip, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
Like she’s unsure if Gojo feels the same.

“I miss him now,” Gojo laughs, “his uncanny strategy calls would be appreciated right now,”
Shoko swallows and looks away, and Gojo feels it slipping from him. Like Getou slipped
from him, at the end of 2014, when everything was going wrong in his career, and he was
losing races, and losing Getou. It’s left claw marks in him, he thinks. The loss of his best
friend eats at him from the inside, always, and now it’s eating at everyone around him, too.
Infectious.

He reaches out, grabs at Shoko’s wrist: a desperate attempt. “Yeah. Sorry. I do. You know I
do.”

“I don’t know how to stop loving him, for who he was. He’s not the same person, anymore.”
Shoko says, and Gojo laughs.

“Yeah, I don’t know either,”

As usual, Gojo ignores the press on the pitlane. As usual, he stands and sways side-to-side
during the national anthem, and pats the head of the gap-toothed kid who stands in front of
him. He ducks past all the microphones, and the cameras, and then he’s surrounded by his
team, and finally, everyone gets out of the way.

He lowers himself into the cockpit, and sees the run down to turn one ahead of him, and
breathes in and out. In his wing mirrors, he can see Yuuta. They set off on the formation lap,
and Gojo watches the way the Keicho moves behind them, tries to imagine what Miguel is
saying in his ears. Tries to picture their strategy. Is it to get Gojo off the line? Is it to be
patient?

They pull into their positions. Shoko’s voice comes in, clear and crisp, “last car pulling up to
the grid now.”

“Copy.”

The first red light comes on. Gojo’s whole body reacts. His fingers twitch over the paddle.

The lights go out. The whole track roars. And then-

Commentators’ transcript from the 2022 Miami Grand Prix Broadcast, Grade One TV
MOMO NISHIMIYA: It’s lights out, and we’re racing in Miami for the first time ever!
Fushiguro gets off the line well, he’s alongside his teammate, Okkotsu down the inside, Zenin
right behind him, and- oh-!

YUKI TSUKUMO : That’s a big incident! Four cars out at turn one-

MN : That’s Gojo, he’s spun, so has the Sengoku of Kento-

YT : Itadori spinning out too, and he’s lost a tyre to the debris- he’s out, Zenin looks to have
picked up significant damage, too, and the rookie, Megumi Fushiguro, leads the Miami
Grand Prix, followed by Okkotsu, then Inumaki from Zenin, Kasumi has made up places and
Kugisaki has stayed out of trouble, too-

MN : Wait, there’s a radio message coming through-

RADIO TRANSCRIPT HIGHLIGHTS - Initial Start Incident, Miami GP 2022

LAP 1:

IERI : Yellow flag, yellow flag.

GOJO : Yeah, no ****! That was my line! What the ****! Who the **** went bowling in
turn one?

IERI : Gojo, focus up, get back out. Is the car okay?

GOJO : I’ve got damage, I’ve got damage, on the side, on the front wing, I don’t know. I
didn’t get away from that clean.

IERI : Four cars involved, they’re gonna bring out the safety car, do we box?

GOJO : Wait half a lap, it’ll be a red flag, I think. What position am I in?

IERI : You are P17.

GOJO : So, last? Great.

FUSHIGURO : Oh my god, oh my god.

KAMO : And that is a safety car, do you have any damage?

FUSHIGURO : Negative, but it was close.

KAMO : You are currently P1, P1. Hold position, we think it will be a red flag.

FUSHIGURO : Copy, copy. Is Yuuji okay? I saw his tyre go.

KAMO : We are checking.

FUSHIGURO : Okay.

KAMO : He’s out of the car. No one is hurt.

FUSHIGURO : Good.

OKKOTSU : What the hell! What was she thinking?

MIGUEL : Are you okay?

OKKOTSU : I think I have damage, somewhere, I don’t know. Front wing made contact.

MIGUEL : Copy, we think it will be a red flag, stay out for now.

OKKOTSU : Right. Yeah, copy. I am P2?

MIGUEL : P2, car ahead is Fushiguro.

ITADORI : ****, ****, ****! I had such a good start, what’s going on this weekend?

TODOU : Stay in the car, we might be able to repair under red flag.

ITADORI : Zenin needs a penalty next race for that, what the hell.

TODOU : Copy. We’re on it.

IERI : So that’s a red flag, red flag.

GOJO : Yeah, there’s so much debris they need to clear. Copy.

—
Gojo hauls himself out of the car, leaves it to the mechanics, and goes straight to the pitwall.
Shoko is there, waiting, speaking down the radio in furious English, but she stops when she
sees Gojo.

“Was it actually Zenin?” He asks, against his better judgement.

Shoko just sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose in response, “you wanna see the replay?”

Shoko shows him. It’s a hundred percent Mai’s fault, diving down the inside with no room
and causing a knock on effect which swung the rear end of Yuuta’s car into Gojo, who spun
and took Nanami’s car with him. Huge pieces of debris fell from all of the cars involved, and
then Yuuji, the poor kid, who’d gotten a really decent start, hit one of them with his left front,
and the tyre was gone, immediately. No chance of getting back to the pits.

“She should take a penalty for that.” Gojo says, and again, Shoko grits her teeth.

“She probably won’t, though.”

Probably. The higher-ups like to keep the Zenins happy, since they’re big investors. Giving
their prodigal daughter a penalty probably isn’t a great way to do that.

“She’s fucked my race,” Gojo tilts his head back, “and Yuuji’s, and Nanamin’s.”

“Megumi is going to struggle to hang onto that podium with Inumaki and Yuuta right behind
him,” Shoko says, “and for the drivers’, you really need to be up there.”

“He’d understand team orders,” shrugging, Gojo takes a deep breath, “we need to see how it
goes off the line. Standing start?”

Shoko nods, “we could try a one-stop. I think Yuuta’s going to.”

“So we box opposite him? Is he who we’re racing?”

“Megumi is staying on the two stop,” Shoko says, “it’s up to you, no risk, no reward,”

They’re one lap in. “Let’s get off the start line, first.”

RADIO TRANSCRIPT HIGHLIGHTS, Miami GP 2022 (Post restart):

LAP 1 :
IERI : Good start, we’re up into P13, P13.

GOJO : Shoko, let me race, tell me what I need to know.

LAP 5 :

GOJO : Okay, what position am I?

IERI : P9, car ahead is Kugisaki. Gap seven seconds.

GOJO : Copy.

LAP 7 :

KUGISAKI : I am burning through my tyres trying to hold him off, here! I’ve got, like no
grip!

ZENIN : You can let him by, if it is hurting your race.

KUGISAKI : Maki, I have to, he’s too fast.

ZENIN : Let him go.

LAP 8:

GOJO : Gap ahead?

IERI : Eight seconds, car ahead is Kasumi.

GOJO : Copy.

LAP 10:

KASUMI : What’s the gap behind?

MUTA : Two seconds.

KASUMI : What pace would I have to do to keep him behind?

MUTA : 1:31.5.

KASUMI : What?! Oh my god, he’s definitely going to catch us!

MUTA : Stay calm and don’t compromise your race, Miwa.

LAP 15:

GOJO : Position?

IERI : You’re P7, P7. You can push.

GOJO : These tyres are starting to go.

IERI : Copy, how many laps have you got left?

GOJO : Like, two?

IERI : Copy. We need to push now, though, so that you come out of the pitstop into a gap and
not into traffic. We need a gap of six seconds to Kasumi behind.

GOJO : Damn, you’ve given me a tough job!

IERI : She’s dropping off, too, you can do it.

GOJO : Thanks for the encouragement!

LAP 17:

FUSHIGURO : Tyres are gone.

KAMO : Copy, box and pit confirm.

FUSHIGURO : Boxing.

LAP 18:
IERI : Ok good, box this lap, box this lap.

GOJO : Copy.

LAP 27:

GOJO : What’s the gap ahead?

IERI : Point-eight, you have DRS.

GOJO : Sweet.

LAP 40 :

IERI : Box and pit confirm.

GOJO : Copy.

It’s a miserable race, really. Megumi struggles with his tyres, dropping to P4, and Gojo ends
up P5, right behind him. By the time he catches up, in lap 45, the gap to Mei Mei in front is
too large for even Gojo to close, so they hold position since Megumi had the better position
naturally. Shoko volunteers to swap the cars, but Gojo isn’t interested in demoralising a kid in
return for like, three extra points. His main fight is with Yuuji, who hasn’t gotten points at all,
this race anyway.

He gets weighed. He lost three and a half kilos, this time, because of the humidity. He feels
dizzy with it. He gives all his interviews. They compliment him on the incredible drive, on
the comeback, blah blah blah. He calls out Zenin a couple times, voices his opinion about the
fact she didn’t get a penalty.

Then he goes back to his drivers’ room to get changed, half-embracing Yaga on his way
through the doors, and picks up a phone and a sugar-free lollipop. He wishes he could have
something properly sweet, but he can’t.

His phone buzzes with a text.

Suguru ICE <3 <3 <3 : letting you know that we’re putting in a complaint against Zenin. It
probably won’t go anywhere but I know Sengoku is also going to. In case your team was on
the fence about it.

Satoru frowns, and throws his phone across the room. No one is here to see the theatrics.

He stares as it as it buzzes again, then sighs and picks it up.

Suguru ICE <3 <3 <3 : hard luck today. with your pace, you should’ve been on that podium.

Gojo stares for a moment and thinks he should really change the contact. Above the three
messages Getou has sent this year, the closest one is from him, back in 2015. He never had
the heart to delete the conversations. Or to change the contact name, apparently. What would
he even change it to?

The only two other people with the In Case of Emergency tag on his phone are Yaga and
Shoko. His dad doesn’t have one. If Satoru died, he’d want Getou to know. He’d want him to
be sad.

He doesn’t change the contact name, and swipes across to text Yuuji. Plausible deniability.

Me : hi u ok

Me : hows th car

YUUJI ITADORI ☆ : doin absolutely shit m8, cars fine apart from sum floor dmg

YUUJI ITADORI ☆: did meg evn get a podium

Me : no, he was P4

YUUJI ITADORI ☆: wtf it lit wasn’t even wrth nything then

Gojo laughs, because of course that’s what Yuuji’s concern was after not finishing a race and
losing valuable points. Megumi. He should really start playing cupid. His phone pings with
another text.

YUUJI ITADORI ☆: getou said it was my fault at the start when i came off
Me : thts a joke

Me : what the fuck

YUUJI ITADORI ☆: he wtched the replay and then said there wsnt anythng i cld do after
but hed alrdy said it was a rookie mistake

Gojo can practically feel Yuuji being gutted through the screen. The kid is so, so, desperate to
please. He gives everything, all the time, even when the car is a shitbox, even when he’s in
the wall.

But Getou- Getou used to lie about bad drives, to the juniors, all the time. He cheered
Haibara up constantly, when they were in the lower grades, encouraged Nanami, patted Riko
on the back and told her hey it’ll come next time .

So why has he suddenly changed?

Me : if i was frthr back i wouldve got damage, the red flag was lucky 4 me 2 bc i could fix
the front wing

Me : wasnt ur fault yuuji

YUUJI ITADORI ☆: thanks gojo

YUUJI ITADORI ☆: see u @ the briefing?

Me : yh see u

Gojo gets up, pulls his race suit off, grabs a sweater and baggy jeans, his old converse, and
struts straight out the door. He finds Getou quickly, still hanging around parc ferme giving an
interview about Yuuta’s win. Gojo stands just out of frame, and shakes his head at the camera
operator to say no, I’m not giving an interview, right now. His media duties are done, after
all.

Getou thanks the interviewer, and turns, immediately locking eyes with Gojo. He takes a step
towards him. They immediately slip into Japanese. “Hey, are you okay?”
“What the hell did you say to Yuuji?” Because Gojo is tired. He’s tired of Getou pretending
to be nice, and pretending to care, even though he left without a second thought seven years
ago, and he hates racing! Why did he even come back just to berate a talented and
inexperienced driver?

“I haven’t spoken to him,” Getou, for his part, looks genuinely confused. His brows crinkle
and his eyes go wider, just by a fraction. When he lies, his eyes go doe-like as he tries to
convince you. But that isn’t the case, here, and-

Gojo hates that he knows that.

“He was upset.” Gojo walks alongside Getou, heading back towards the motorhomes in the
paddock. Gojo has a drivers’ briefing to attend, but they need to look at least partially like
they’re not arguing. So.

“Because of me?” Getou says. “I just told him hard luck, and then he went to do media.”

“Why would he lie? He said you told him the DNF was his fault, which it wasn’t, by the way,
and then you watched the replays and backtracked. Are you trying to ruin your drivers’
confidence?”

Getou frowns, racking his brain as Gojo jabs a finger into the centre of his chest. “I- oh. I
didn’t say anything to him, but I said to Kamo that he could’ve avoided it, right after, he
might’ve heard it as he came in.”

“You’re an idiot!”

“I didn’t even know he heard! And saying he could’ve avoided it is different to saying it was
his fault-!”

“You think he knows that? He jumps to conclusions faster than he drives a car!”

Getou stares at him in shock for a few moments, then laughs out loud. So loud that someone
walking past turns and looks at them. Gojo feels his face go red.

“I forgot that you defend the kids like this,” Getou grins, “did you really think I would’ve
said that to him?”

“No, but I- it’s been a while,” swallowing, Gojo takes a step back. “Anyway, I have to go to
the drivers’ briefing- and-”

“Okay, stop.” Getou says, and he doesn’t even reach out. He just folds his arms across his
chest, and his voice alone is immobilising. Gojo watches the way his shirt creases across his
arms. He’s filled out so much, like he was meant to when they were younger, he thinks. He
wants to see all of it. He doesn’t ask. That would be insane. He’s insane.

“Look, I’ll talk to him, offer him a lift back to the hotel. The team is celebrating tonight but I
doubt he’ll want to go. I don’t really want to drink tonight, either, I’m too tired.” Getou sighs,
long and deep, “I didn’t mean to hurt him over something that couldn’t be helped.”
“I trusted you to like- not be doing that,” he feels dumb. Gojo feels dumb saying it. He knows
his cheeks are so red, right now. Getou has this uncanny ability to make him feel like a
teenager all over again when they talk. Like an overgrown kid in karting, not a six-time world
champion with the world at his feet.

“Right.” Getou frowns, and something flashes across his features, but he says nothing.
“Thanks.”

“Yeah. I- I’m going, to the briefing. I’ll-” see you around? “Bye.”

He doesn’t stick around to see Getou’s response.

OFFICIAL 2022 G1 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP POINTS STANDINGS AFTER ROUND

FIVE - TOP TEN

POS DRIVER CONSTRUCTOR POINTS

1 Yuuta OKKOTSU (+2) Scuderia Keicho 91

2 Satoru GOJO (=) Jujutsu Technical Racing 81

3 Yuuji ITADORI (-2) Scuderia Keicho 76

4 Megumi FUSHIGURO (+1) Jujutsu Technical Racing 56

5 Nanami KENTO (-1) Sengoku 55

6 Toge INUMAKI (+1) Sengoku 44

7 Mai ZENIN (-1) Meiji 36

8 Mei MEI (+1) Haein 29

9 Iori UTAHIME (-1) Kyoto G1 Team 18

10 Nobara KUGISAKI (=) Meiji 17

OFFICIAL 2022 G1 CONSTRUCTORS’ CHAMPIONSHIP POINTS STANDINGS AFTER

ROUND FIVE

POS CONSTRUCTOR POINTS

1 Scuderia Keicho (=) 167

2 Jujutsu Technical Racing (=) 137

3 Sengoku (=) 99

4 Meiji (=) 53

5 Haein (=) 32

6 Kyoto G1 Team (=) 19

May 2005, Japan

“Getou, track walk, come on!” Haibara shouts, from outside the motorhome. Suguru can hear
the smile on his face.

He stares down at the bowl of yoghurt and fruit he’s been trying to eat for the last half an
hour. It was already too squishy to eat half an hour ago, which is why it’s taken him this long.
Since Suguru’s been staring at it, it’s only gotten worse.

His and Haibara’s team doesn’t dictate a weight they have to be, unlike some of the other
teams on the grid in Grade Four. But they do have nutritionists and meal plans now, and
workout plans, too. Suguru knows that they’re still one of the stricter teams on the grid for it,
because they’re a junior team rather than a Grade Four team, representing the brand of a team
that has its main team in Grade One.

Satoru, in the Sengoku junior team, has the same thing, after all. Nanami and Shoko, who are
in a team that only competes in Grade Four, don’t: they just get judged on their performances
out on track.

But it’s harder on Suguru in particular, because his funding depends on his performance, and
his funding decides if he gets a seat again next year. And it’s ruthless. If he follows the diets
they set, and the workout plans, and smiles for them big and bright and wide, then the only
reason for finishing in the midfield is him being a rookie, which is an acceptable reason.
Because at least then, he’s working hard. That’s what his dad tells him, when they call on the
phone.

Haibara shouts again, “Getou? You in there?”

Despite Getou saying numerous times he could call him Suguru, Haibara still calls him
Getou, out of respect. It’s sweet, really.

Suguru groans and leaves the bowl on the side. He’ll eat it later. Or maybe he’ll blend it up
and swallow it back and try not to gag at the texture. It’s whatever.

He opens the door and heads down the steps to see Haibara beaming back up at him, and he
can’t help but smile.

Technically, they’ve already walked the track. Earlier in the day, it was one of the first things
they did with the whole team, and their coaches and a couple of the engineers. But Satoru had
pulled him away from everything on the first race of the season and insisted on him, Shoko
and Suguru walking it together because of tradition. Haibara had tagged along, and so had
Nanami, and Shoko had shyly asked if Utahime wanted to come too.

So now there’s a group of them, and they all rewalk the track in the evenings and offer
advice, or just chat about their teams, and the feeling of the cars, and everything else. Haibara
grabs him and they walk off, and he’s chatting already about something the engineers said to
him.

Satoru lights up when he sees him. They’re already waiting by the start line, and Shoko is
wearing her hair down, grinning when she sees Haibara and Suguru approaching.

The sun is beginning to set, now. Satoru comes over and immediately starts bumping
shoulders with him, explaining something about graining on the track with big hand
movements. Utahime watches them with a frown on her face, and shrugs as they start
walking.
“Anyway- in turn one-”

Nanami groans, “enough about turn one, Gojo, you’ve been talking about it all day-”

“Someone crashed here last year! And it’s gonna happen again, I bet-”

Utahime sighs, deep and long. “He is right. It’s a weird corner, lots of potential for an
incident,” she says, “although I hate agreeing with him.”

“See!” Satoru crows, “and she has the most experience, so I’m right!”

This is Utahime’s third season in Grade Four. People are saying it’s the last one she can
afford before she either quits or goes to Grade Three. She’s on a tipping point.

Maybe, in a way, he understands her because of it.

For them, racing here is do or die. For everyone else, it’s a sport.

Utahime whacks Gojo around the scruff of his neck. He yelps and Haibara laughs, telling her
she’s mean. Shoko says it’s funny.

Utahime wins the race the next day. Gojo comes in second, and despite being on edge all
weekend and qualifying in the midfield earlier, Suguru manages to drag his car across the line
for third: a podium. His first podium finish in Graded Racing (with the capital letters and
everything). And he shares it with Satoru.

They clamber out of their cars in Parc Ferme, and Suguru is grinning under his helmet. He
thinks Satoru can tell, because he can tell that his friend is smiling, laughing, despite only
being able to see his eyes through his helmet.

And then Satoru is running towards him, and their helmets are knocking together, and they
stumble back, and Suguru can hear it. The laughter. Their bodies press together under the late
afternoon sunshine, through race suits and sponsor logos and layers of nomex. They might as
well be a part of their bodies at this point, along with the branded team gear they have to
wear all weekend.

But their fingers touch, because they’ve taken their gloves off, and Satoru laughs, bright and
loud, “you were amazing! Oh my god, we’re on the podium together! I get to spray you with
champagne on your first podium!”

Suguru wants to argue back that it’s not real champagne. You don’t get real champagne until
you get to Grade Two. But the words die on his tongue, because it doesn’t matter.
The champagne isn’t real, but Satoru’s smile is. The way their bare hands are still clasped
together, in the middle of parc ferme, is. The way their shoes tap together, stepping on each
other on the tarmac, wearing in each other’s footsteps? That’s real.

So maybe it doesn’t matter that the champagne isn’t real, when they’re on the podium in the
dying light, and Satoru grins at him. It’s devilish. His hair is spiked all in different directions
from the balaclava and the sweat.

Utahime shakes the bottle, grinning because this is her win, after all. Suguru plans to drench
her first, he really does, but Satoru is on him before he can, spraying him right in the face. He
almost chokes on it, and splutters, and then Utahime is spraying Gojo, with a satisfied
expression making its way onto her features. Suguru follows suit.

He ignores the way his chest tightens when Satoru wipes the not-champagne from his face,
from his lips, from his hair. He ignores the way that his friend’s flushed skin and dazzling
grin makes him feel like a kid, standing on a podium with a bottle in his hand, rather than a
real racing driver. He’s still a kid. But he’s also a real racing driver. Always toeing the line
between the two.

To Utahime, he is a kid. To Haibara, he is a racing driver, with real sponsors, and a drive to
succeed, and good results and talent.

But Satoru is looking at him like he sees both of those things at once.

He ignores the way it makes him feel. Because what else can he do?

May 2022, America

Gojo is the last one to shuffle into the room, late because of his conversation with Getou. He
apologises, and sits quietly next to Yuuji, whispering, “Getou’s gonna talk to you, he didn’t
mean it.”

Yuuji frowns, and goes to open his mouth, but Tengen interrupts them. “So, now that we’re
all here-” he clears his throat, “any questions about the race?”

“Yeah, I’ve got one,” Nobara says, from her spot next to Yuuji, “why the hell was Zenin not
given a penalty?”

Yuuji tenses beside Gojo. He doesn’t want to be talking about this at all, he knows. Reliving
the crash and the cruel luck of the day is like pouring salt in the wound. From his place in
front of them, next to Nanami, Megumi turns slightly, sensing Yuuji’s discomfort. But he
can’t do anything, not here.
“The regulations are designed to be more lenient off the line,” Tengen says, calmly, “because
of the nature of the start, it is easy to make mistakes.”

“I’ve been penalised for less, on turns one and two,” Nanami cuts in, “so is the leniency
because this is a new track?”

“The stewards have made it clear that it was a turn one incident and that leniency was
allowed.”

“She bowled out like, five cars,” Nobara huffs, “so do we all get a free pass on turn one for
stupid racing?”

“It wasn’t stupid racing, I was trying to get an overtake that didn’t work, and Yuuta gave me
no room.”

“It wasn’t your line.” Yuuta says, and normally he’s pretty cool-headed, but he’s sour, now.
He’s playing with the ring around his neck, seemingly to calm himself. “I didn’t need to leave
the space, even if I could, which I couldn’t, because I had Gojo next to me, who did have the
racing line.”

“You could see me in your wing mirrors,” Mai says.

Yuuta huffs, the closest he’ll get to shouting in a space like this. “Yeah, and we’re just gonna
have another Riko, or another Haibara, if you race like that-!”

“Do not compare me to those-”

“Alright, alright, calm down everyone,” Tengen says, “the penalty wasn’t given, and it can’t
be given post-race. Are there any other concerns? About the track?”

“Sorry, we still have no clarification on the rules, because someone seems to be able to ignore
them,” Nobara huffs, folding her arms and leaning back, “these meetings are for clarifying
legislation, too, right?”

“Well, yes, and we will take another look, but-”

There is a cleared throat and a shaky but firm voice from the corner of the room. “You can
race however you want as long as you are a Zenin?”

Inumaki doesn’t say much. Gojo isn’t quite sure on the details- it’s not anything physical, and
in theory, doctors say that he should be able to speak just fine. But he can’t. Not very often,
anyway. The only thing he ever says on the radio is copy, pretty much. He doesn’t do any
interviews without a sign language translator, who speaks for him if he gets a podium.

So when he does speak, it hollows out the room around him. Everyone turns to look. He
looks back at Tengen with a piercing gaze, daring him to say otherwise.

“Well- no-”
“Oh, bullshit,” Nanami says, and the whole room devolves into chaos. Gojo should be angrier
about this. His race was affected by Zenin’s reckless racing, after all. But he’s much more
concerned by the way Yuuji slumps in his chair, saying nothing at all, blinking slowly.

It’s not about Mai. It’s never been about Mai. She’s in a midfield car, with no real shot at the
championship, and a penalty won’t change the fact that at times she’s a dangerous racer. It’s
not going to change her driving style, and she’s probably not going to learn her lesson.

So, it’s not about Mai. It’s about Toji. And what happened the last time the higher-ups didn’t
apply penalties properly. No one wants a repeat. That’s why Nanami strips off his cool
exterior and growls at Tengen in the argument. It’s why Inumaki says the most he’s said all
season. It’s why Gojo and Megumi stay quiet.

July 2005, Japan

The forecast for the weekend is abysmal. Truly, honestly horrific. It started raining when they
were about half an hour out of the race track, and it hasn’t stopped yet. They did their usual
track walk in the pouring rain, half-running through it because despite all the waterproof
layers, they were getting completely and utterly drenched.

In fact, Satoru fell over running, skidding across the tarmac and slicing his palms open. But
everyone was laughing at it, including Satoru himself, and when Suguru went to pull him up,
he’d slipped again, and dragged him down with him. Haibara had screeched with laughter,
and Shoko cried out that she was gonna piss myself, oh my god .

Suguru had gotten Satoru’s blood on his hands and winced: he hated the sight of it. But
Satoru noticed, and wiped it off, and then washed it off both of their hands in the sink of their
motorhome, with Suguru’s chin tilted up so he didn’t have to look.

In return, Suguru was rubbing antiseptic into Gojo’s hands whilst he winced and hissed
through his teeth.

“What does it feel like, a podium?” Haibara says, turning to look at- well, Suguru isn’t sure
who he’s looking at. Satoru, or Suguru. They’re nearly always next to each other, and this
could be directed at either of them.
“Uh-” Suguru glances at Satoru, and thinks he’s not really qualified to answer this question.
He’s only been on the podium once, so far. He’s been pretty close a couple of times, but
compared to both Satoru and Utahime, who’ve barely been off it this entire season, it seems
silly to ask him. So Haibara is asking Satoru, definitely.

“You wanna know what it feels like?” Satoru grins, reaching the hand that Suguru isn’t
holding behind his back to grab a can of lemonade, unopened. Haibara grins, still looking up
at their faces and completely missing the action. Behind him, Suguru hears Shoko lean over
and reach for a can, too.

“Yeah, of course I wanna know, I can’t wait, like-”

Satoru grins, shaking the can vigorously behind his back. “Yeah?”

“It looks so fun up there, with the champagne and stuff-”

Satoru opens the can and sprays it in Haibara’s face, who splutters and chokes on the
lemonade. Shoko, from the other side, opens up her can too, and then Haibara is screeching
and they’re all laughing and Utahime is crowing, “you’re gonna have to clean this up,
y’know!”

It doesn’t stop raining for qualifying.

Here’s the thing about rain: it’s an equaliser. It’s a test.

In the rain, grip on the track is hard to find. Suddenly, the race becomes more of a test of skill
than it was before. If you don’t have a true feel for the car, it becomes glaringly apparent.

Which means the pressure is on: if Suguru can prove himself here, he proves he’s not just
skilled, not just a hard worker, and proves that he has potential. For real Grade Racing. The
kind of Grade Racing that travels the globe, not just the country.

He’s been learning English, lately. From Satoru, and Haibara, and his mechanics. He’s
praying that one day it comes in useful. When you get to Grade Three, and Two, and One,
you have to speak English. Suguru’s trying to get ahead of the game.

(He ignores that most of his peers can already speak English, or other languages, from time
abroad on expensive holidays, and time racing and fancy boarding schools.)

He knows he’s a better racer than most of them. He knows that with more practice time, he
can be almost as good as Satoru.

“Any chance of it being cancelled?” Shoko groans, looking out the windows. They’re really
not supposed to be together, right now, since all three of them are on different teams, but
they’ve fallen into a routine of warming up together. Satoru is holding a resistance band for
her, and she’s leaning back against it, twisting her shoulders. In a moment, they’ll swap, and
Suguru will hold the bands for Satoru to do the same thing.

“Nah,” Satoru wrinkles his nose, “but they probably should,”

“Why? You like the rain.”

“I wanna race,” Satoru says, “and I think we’ll be fine, but there’s people on the grid right
now who won’t be. It’s gonna be carnage.”

Shoko hums, “it’s gonna be my first time racing with wet tyres,”

Suguru qualifies P2. He’s over a second clear of his teammate, about two tenths off Satoru on
pole, and over half a second clear of the rest of the field.

He holds onto the second place for the first race, and he and Satoru stay close to each other
the whole time. He laps Haibara twice, in the same car.

He and Satoru share all three podiums that weekend. Utahime joins them on one. He can still
smell the champagne on his hair on the way home when Satoru texts him.

Gojo Satoru : my team boss wants 2 sign u 4 next yr

Gojo Satoru : dont tell him i told u lol, they dk if utahime has a g3 seat yet

Gojo Satoru : we’re gonna be teammates

Gojo Satoru : !!!!!! we’re lit gonna be unbeatable tg yk

YOUNG DRIVERS TO WATCH: Who will be Grade One’s next stars? - Opinion Piece in
Feeder Series

Written by Tanaka Akiko, 31 July 2005

All eyes have been on an extremely wet race in Japanese Grade Four this weekend as the
drivers took to the track to prove their worth in difficult conditions. Gojo Satoru, son of the
Grade One World champion Gojo Kiyoshi was on fine form, qualifying on pole for Sengoku
G4 Team, and, in what may have been a surprise to some, Getou Suguru for Haein Junior G4
Team was right behind him.

Also impressive this weekend: Utahime Iori for Sengoku, Gojo’s teammate, made her way
through the field well in both races on Sunday for two podium finishes after having a difficult
Friday. She maintains her lead in the overall standings, showing her experience well. Kento
Nanami also impressed, finishing in the top ten in every race and qualifying P7, his best
results yet in his rookie season.

But regardless, the standout drivers throughout in difficult conditions have been the fifteen
year old Getou Suguru and his self-proclaimed best friend from Karting, Gojo Satoru. Both
of them remained on the podium for all three races after qualifying well, and maintained a
lengthy gap to the rest of the field throughout.

“It’s nice, to race in the rain,” Gojo said, after his win in race two, “I like a challenge, and the
rain makes it harder in the braking zones, in the high speed sections, everywhere, really. And
because Suguru [Getou] was out there challenging me, it made it even better.”

Meanwhile, Getou had similar things to say of his friend: “he challenges me, we race each
other cleanly, and sometimes he beats me and sometimes I beat him… We’re friends, it’s a
good kind of rivalry, right now. The rain makes everything more fun, more challenging. It’s
an opportunity to prove ourselves.”

The way these two drivers rate each other so highly is something rare to see: even Gojo’s
own teammate didn’t share the same sentiments that Getou did. Even so, despite this, the gap
that Getou and Gojo put in between themselves and the rest of the field in the rain - in
equalising conditions - is something to not be overlooked.

Gojo Satoru has long been considered something of a generational talent after his dominant
performances in karting, and now his performances in Grade Racing against much more
experienced racers are turning heads too. But despite this, Getou Suguru, who has been
nipping at Gojo’s heels since their karting days, has been overlooked, and now has proved
that he deserves his seat and his place in Grade Racing right next to Gojo, with even less
experience - this is still his rookie season.

They share their initials, and they share a talent, too, one that shouldn’t be passed up on by
teams looking to fill their seats for next season. With them being so far away from the rest of
the field, their rivalry could be the next big thing: a once-in-a-generation spectacle
reminiscent of the Haein rivalry.

—
May 2022, America

Gojo has to stay in the States for a few days after the race finishes. He doesn’t mind, really,
because he’s recognised less, here, and if he puts on a cap and a mask, he rarely is at all. He
doesn’t get that kind of reprieve in Europe.

Megumi is staying, too. They’re here to fulfil media duties, film promotions, all that jazz. His
younger teammate isn’t really comfortable in front of all the cameras, yet, but Gojo manages
to get him to laugh, most of the time, now, which is a bonus.

He knows that Yuuji and Nobara are staying too, because Grade One has organised a meet
and greet slash exhibition drive in New York, and a bunch of teams are showing up. Gojo is
getting to drive his old car from the 2012 season: his first world championship. He can’t
wait.

He gets to sit in the cockpit, hear the engine roar beneath him, and remember how it felt to
cry at the wheel as he crossed the line when he does donuts in a random city street. So, he’s
living the dream, really.

Yuuji’s going to be there, too, and Yuuta. They’re driving some old Keichos, but Gojo isn’t
entirely sure what season they were from. But all of them are pre-halo, so. There’s that.

It’ll feel strange to drive without it, and like coming home all at once. Gojo hasn’t done an
exhibition drive for a while.

They fly over a day after the race, and stay in a hotel for one night before the chaos begins.
The crowds are pressed up against barriers, and their first duty is to go up and down signing
things, accepting presents. Gojo ends up with an ungodly amount of bracelets, because at
some point last year, he made the mistake of saying in an interview that his favourite gift
from a fan was a little handmade bracelet that he got back in 2013, with his number on it.

(He still wears the bracelet, and it has Getou’s number on it, too. He didn’t say that in the
interview, though.)

He still likes the sentiment, though. He gets some with his initials, some with his number,
some with nothing apart from the Jujutsu colours. Some have the letters of quotes from
interviews and things, which he has to admit is super creative. Yuuji and Megumi end up with
bracelets, too, and Gojo watches as they admire them together.

“Hey, we should swap,” Yuuji says, “we can have each other’s,”

Megumi agrees. He keeps touching the bracelet as he follows Gojo: a pink bracelet with YI-
83 on it. Yuuji’s initials, and Yuuji’s racing number. He knows Yuuji has one that’s blue and
red, with MF-35. It’s cute.
Megumi gets pulled away to do a silly short video with Nobara and Yuuji, and Gojo hangs
back to watch, waiting for his turn. They want him after. Just short little interviews, is what
they want. Something easily digestible.

He turns his head to watch as a group of people start pushing his car towards the middle of
the tarmac. It’s just as beautiful as he remembers, with new tyres bolted on and his number
pasted on the front. Thirty-seven.

Someone whistles lowly from beside him, and Gojo turns to see Getou standing there, a self-
satisfied smile on his face, “it’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”

Gojo swallows, “yeah,” because this car wasn’t just his. It was Getou’s too, from when they
were teammates. Their first year as teammates, before everything went to shit. If you flipped
the numbers on the car, it would be his. Seventy-three, and thirty-seven. Never apart.

Gojo had picked his number specifically to match Getou’s, and then when he left, he had
taken on the number one. The choice a champion is allowed to make.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Gojo says, looking decidedly at the car, and not at Getou, “I
thought you were in Barcelona.”

“I’m leaving tonight,” Getou says, easily, “but they wanted me here. To make an
appearance.”

“They should have had you drive the car,” Gojo grins, “it would send everybody wild,”

Because it was. Getou was beloved in his time as a driver, and is still missed on the grid
today. If he got back in a Grade One car, even just for an exhibition, it would be good
publicity. Generate views, and all that jazz.

Getou laughs, “I’m too out of shape,”

Gojo doesn’t believe him, with the way he looks, now. Sure, his neck is skinnier, but he’s
filled out everywhere else: his chest, his arms, his thighs. And besides, you don’t need to be
in shape to drive for an exhibition like this, not really.

“You could do it in your sleep,”

“They offered,” Getou says, then, “I said no.”

“Why?” Gojo replies, turning away from his car to look at Getou, “are you scared?”

“It was the 2003 Haein.” He says. The conversation, and Gojo’s attempt at humour with it,
dies.

“Oh. Why the hell would they even-”

“No, it’s fine, I get it. It was- it was Kenjaku’s car, anyway, not Sukuna’s, but- it still-”
 “They asked you to drive the Haein that someone died in, and didn’t think that would be a
bad idea?”

Getou snorts, “you’re so righteous. It’s just a car. One of the greatest cars ever built,”

“You say that, but you turned it down,”

“Yeah, I did turn it down.”

Gojo swallows. He remembers that day in Monaco. He doesn’t remember the crash itself, not
really, but he remembers the dawning panic on Getou’s face when they realised Sukuna
wasn’t getting out. He remembers Yaga’s gritted teeth and the vice-like grip on his arm as
they were dragged out of hospitality.

He knows it was bad. He doesn’t remember the details. Maybe that’s a blessing. Because he
knows that Getou does remember. He remembers the blood on the car, and the way it
crumpled, and the way Sukuna didn’t move after. He’s told Gojo, before, in the aftermath of
crashes in their own careers. In the aftermath of near misses.

“You’re still the same, then.”

Getou laughs. It’s dizzying: the sound of it.

“No, I don’t think so.”

The ground sways beneath his feet as Getou excuses himself for an interview and someone
gives Gojo his helmet to get in the car.

The world is cruel, Gojo thinks, as he puts his foot on the throttle.

Chapter End Notes

cw: eating disorder talk specifically relating to sensory difficulties eating, mentions of
character death.

HOPE U ENJOYED!!! I am so insane about this au. like literally so insane. I've written
10k in 5 days. pray for me. next chap won't be as quick bc uni is picking up but see u all
next time!! comment and kudos to feed my kids!!!<3
 vi - gravel trap
Chapter Summary

Noun. A bed of gravel on the outside of corners designed with the aim of bringing cars
that fall off the circuit to a halt.

Chapter Notes

warning here for some talk of a kiss between an underaged chara and overaged chara
(more details in end notes if needed) added it here because its not tagged and idrk how
to tag it, lol. more warnings in end notes

please kudos and comment so i can feed my kids! :) please don't pay too close attention
to my knowledge of feeder series, here, thanks! it is not accurate, but i cant find a
reliable source to make it accurate, so! oh well!

enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

January 2006, Japan

“What’re you calling me for?” Suguru groans as he picks up the phone. He’d been half-
asleep on the sofa when his phone rang. It was Satoru. Suguru didn’t even know if he was in
the country or not.

“You didn’t sign for Sengoku. You declined their offer, and now they’re looking at the other
drivers,” Satoru blurts out, all in a rush. His voice crackles over the line.

Suguru sits up, and rubs a hand across his face. “I- Satoru,”

“What? You promised, we’d be teammates this year! They wanted you and everything, it’s
perfect,”

Suguru’s dad had warned him against it, before he’d even seen the contract. “You’ll be
second to him, and you need to win if you have a chance at a seat in Grade Three,”

Suguru had kind of ignored his dad. He really wanted to be teammates with his best friend.
Share the same garage, motorhome, the same meals and the same training plan. He’d be
second to Satoru wherever he signed, but being on the same team? He’d give anything. He
voiced that sentiment to him, in a less embarrassing way.

“You’ll be compared to him more than before, though. I don’t want to put you off, but- it
might make things difficult for the two of you,” his dad had said. Suguru had scoffed. They
were stronger than that. There was nothing Satoru could do to make him hate him, and vice
versa.

Then he’d read the contract.

“Look, Satoru, they only- they only wanted to cover half my costs,”

“What? I thought Haein only covered half your costs, anyway.”

“No,” Suguru sighs. This is the one thing that they don’t see eye to eye on, sometimes. Satoru
just- forgets. That he can’t afford to race without serious help. “Haein fully funds me, they
told me they’d give me the same contract again, that last season I did well enough. They’re
renewing Haibara, too, I think.”

“Are you kidding? What if Sengoku covered your costs? The boss really wanted you, I
thought they’d offer you a better deal,”

Suguru laughs hollowly. Teams at this level don’t need good drivers to prove themselves. The
drivers need the teams. There’ll be a million younger drivers wanting that seat and be willing
to pay for it. The fact his seat right now is funded is a miracle. But Satoru doesn’t understand
that. “If they wanted to, they would,” he says, “we’re still gonna be racing together, it’ll be
the same.”

“Have you signed for Haein?” Satoru blurts. “I can-”

“Yeah. I signed the contract yesterday,” Suguru says, “I’m lucky, you know I’m lucky.”

There’s a pause. Satoru breathes deeply on the other side of the line. “I don’t believe in luck.
You’re a good driver. That’s why you have your seat.”

He’s also in the right place at the right time, but whatever.

“I’m sorry we can’t be teammates,”

“It’s okay, we’ll be teammates next year,” Satoru says. He sounds sure of himself. Suguru
laughs, and allows himself to indulge in it.

“Yeah, we will.”

He’s sixteen, soon. The average age of entry to Grade One is twenty-one. He has no idea how
he’s going to do it, but he’s going to get there.

He hears Satoru grin on the end of the line. “If not, we’ll be teammates eventually! In Grade
Two, or Grade One,”
“Hey, why not Grade Three?” Suguru laughs, “where are you, right now, anyway?”

“Tokyo,” Satoru says, then switches languages, “wanna practise your English?”

Suguru groans, and tips his head back, “Yes, I do want to practise,”

Satoru laughs. Suguru would do anything for him.

BREAKING: Gojo Satoru signs for Sengoku Junior Team in Grade Three – in Feeder
Series / Grade Three News

Written by Suzuki Hiroshi, 26 January 2006

In what may be considered a shock move to many, the sixteen-year-old Grade Four driver
Gojo Satoru, son of ex-Grade One driver Gojo Kiyoshi, who raced with Scuderia Keicho for
a decade, has signed to Sengoku’s Grade Three team for 2006, and signed to their Driver
Development Program under a two-year contract. Following his recent retirement, he said
he’s been focussing on his only son’s future career in motorsport, and it seems that this focus
is paying off.

At sixteen, Gojo is remarkably young for a seat in Grade Three, and the youngest signing to a
major team since Sukuna’s signing to Grade Three at seventeen for Haein’s junior team in
1985. His Grade Four teammate and current Japanese G4 champion, Utahime Iori, will race
alongside him, in a deal that has been confirmed since November of last year.

“He is an impressive young talent,” Sengoku’s team boss, Kaneko Haru, says of Gojo, “he is
definitely an immense prospect for our development and for a future in Grade One. He
consistently outraces his peers with more experience than him, and has had impressive
performances in difficult conditions. It makes sense for us to lock him in as our future,”

Gojo himself seems thrilled, “I was going to spend another year in Grade Four, but… I’m
glad the circumstances changed, and I was able to take this seat. I’m excited to race in a
higher level and in a faster car, and I can’t wait to prove that I deserve this.”

May 2022, Spain

They’re sharing the same hotel again in Barcelona. Which feels so ridiculous, because Gojo
knows that, more often than not, the Grade One teams will book hotels near each other, or the
same ones, because there’s always ones that are willing to do discounts in exchange for the
bulk bookings. The drivers usually end up somewhere nicer than the many miscellaneous
staff members and engineers travelling with them, but so do team principals.

They’re not on the same floor, this time, Gojo thinks. He hasn’t seen Getou like he did in
Melbourne, but that’s fine with him.

They used to share hotel rooms, when they were both in Grade One together, even before
they were teammates. It was a Suguru-and-Satoru thing, a Getou-and-Gojo thing. Even if
they weren’t officially in the same hotel, they ended up in the same room, in the same bed.
More often than not, intoxicated after the celebration of the week. Getou would be wine
drunk, Gojo beside him keyed up on something that was decidedly not alcohol. Sometimes
Shoko would stumble in with them, too, all loose limbed and giggly, and they’d talk and
laugh and order room service at obscene times of night.

Gojo had thought everything was fine, at that point. It hadn’t been.

So, yeah, they used to share hotel rooms, a team, a life. Now they’re not even in the same
corridor. And no one really understands apart from Getou, and for obvious reasons, he can’t
talk to him about it. That would be ridiculous.

The week starts horribly. He oversleeps his alarm and wakes to someone banging on his door,
and then has to rush getting ready for media day. His outfit is basic: baggy navy cargo pants
and a tight, sleeveless crop top with a half zip that shows the lines of his hips and his
stomach. He wears a necklace (or three) with it, and puts earrings in and rings on.

His critics say he’s a show-off and that media day isn’t a fashion show. He disagrees. It’s not
his fault he’s become so recognisable that he doesn’t need to wear team merch anymore! He’s
Satoru Gojo, driver number thirty-seven, (almost) the Greatest Of All Time, and he drives for
Jujutsu Technical Racing. He’s raced for them for over a decade, and everyone knows it, and
he doesn’t need to wear some shitty cap to show his loyalty. That’s ridiculous. He’s never
leaving.

Megumi rolls his eyes at him when he clambers into the car to drive them to the track. “So
that’s why you’re late.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Megs. I look fabulous.”

Megumi rolls his eyes. He’s wearing a Jujutsu cap with his spiky hair sticking out underneath
it from all sides. His number is on the brim, and his team shirt and skinny jeans are an
eyesore.

“It’s not a fashion show.”

“Just because you look ugly doesn’t mean you need to take it out on me,” Gojo grins.
Megumi huffs and slumps in his seat. “Don’t be grumpy, you know today’s gonna be easy for
us.”

Over the last two days, a speculative news story had dropped about unrest in the Keicho
camp. About the car being built and developed to Yuuta’s preferences, and not Yuuji’s. Yuuji
being unhappy in the team. Gojo, personally, thinks it’s ridiculous, but fans love to speculate
about who’s better or worse, and that often means talking about things they know nothing of.
The news story had just stoked the fire.

“Yeah.” Megumi sighs. “I got an email from PR. Apparently the reporters are gonna be on
one about Keicho this weekend.”

And as their closest competitors, it’s still going to manifest into questions for them.

“How’s Yuuji?”

Megumi grimaces, and that’s all the answer Gojo needs. But he actually offers up a full
sentence, too: “he’s- he’s pretty annoyed about it, to be honest. But I dunno if the story is
true,”

Gojo shrugs, “I don’t think it’s true. It doesn’t make sense for them to bank so much on
Yuuta.”

“He’s a world champion.” Megumi says, deadpan. “He has the number one on his car. They
have every reason to bank on him, over Yuuji.”

“I’ll tell you something, if you promise you won’t tell Yuuji about it.”

Megumi looks at him like he’s not sure if Gojo’s about to grow a second head. “Sure.”

“You have to promise.” He holds out a pinkie for dramatic effect.

“Seriously?”

“Deadly. Come on, Megs.”

Megumi takes his finger with such force that it almost rips it out the socket. “Deal. Come
on.”

“I think Yuuji’s the better driver out of the two of them. And Yuuta’s good, but Yuuji has
something else. And he just needs to be consistent.”

“Huh.” Megumi frowns, reaching down to pat Toto between his knees. “But Yuuta’s world
champion. He races with the number one on his car,”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Gojo says, and Megumi is graceful enough to accept it for
what it is.
—

He walks straight into Getou on his way to his scheduled pre-race press conference. Like,
completely, unceremoniously, straight into him, sunglasses toppling straight off his face and
water bottle spilling over the both of them.

Immediately, the bright sunlight hurts his eyes, and his head spins. He blinks, twice, and
reaches out-

Getou is already handing him the sunglasses, face screwed up in discomfort because most of
the water got all over his shirt, and his left eyebrow is twitching like it does when he’s mad.
“Here.”

“Thanks. Sorry, I- I wasn’t looking,”

Getou sighs, and the lines of his face dissolve in front of Gojo’s eyes. “It’s fine. I’ll just have
to change this.”

In the old days, Gojo would’ve whisked him away to their drivers’ rooms and given him a T-
shirt with the number thirty-seven on it, for a laugh. They regularly wore each other’s
clothes, because with such similar numbers, it was easy to mix it up. No other reasons
involved. No flash of something in Gojo’s chest seeing Getou talk to a reporter with his
number embroidered over his chest. Nope, not at all.

He, obviously, can’t suggest that now. So he stands and fiddles with his water bottle, feeling
like he’s seventeen and a rookie all over again. Time is a flat fucking circle.

Getou sighs, long and deep, as he mercifully pulls the damp half-see-through fabric away
from his chest. “Right, well, I’ll see you later. You’re already late for that press conference,
by the way,”

“Shit, what time is it?” Gojo steps away, checking his watch, and his face falls when he
realises he should’ve been there ten minutes ago. “Oh- okay, sorry, I- sorry!”

He shouts over his shoulder. He gets to see a glimpse of Getou smiling and shaking his head.

Transcript for Interview with Suguru Getou, Team Principal of Scuderia Keicho, Pre-Race
Barcelona Grand Prix 2022 - G1TV Commentary

YUKI TSUKUMO: Good to have you back, how do you feel your prospects are for this race?
SUGURU GETOU: Positive. We’ve bought our first major upgrade package, here, so we’re
expecting to be ahead of or very close to Jujutsu, but Sengoku also have some upgrades, so
we will see.

YT: What upgrades?

SG: Ha. Wouldn’t you like to know? Ah, no, no, of course I cannot talk about them live. But
they’re mostly to do with the aerodynamics.

YT: I see. So, the other big news-

SG: Listen, I can’t talk about that. The story is fabricated, and there’s currently a lawsuit
under way for the breaking of an NDA , so I quite literally cannot talk about this on air.
Neither can my drivers.

YT : Convenient?

SG : I suppose so. Less convenient for you, though, I assume? [laughs]

YT : [laughs] Never change, Suguru. Okay, then, I’ll move on. Your drivers have been a lot
more equal in points and race pace than anticipated. I think most of the paddock was
expecting Yuuta to outscore Yuuji considerably, and that hasn’t happened. Gojo has come
back to form, and he’s going to be a formidable opponent. How are you planning on securing
the drivers’ championship for Keicho?

SG : It’ll be tough with such a formidable opponent, for sure. But we’ll do everything we can
to bring it home.

YT : Well, Jujutsu has, at the moment, a very clear number one driver in Gojo. Will you do
the same?

SG : I know what you were asking me, before, thank you. No. Keicho has no number one
driver. We are in a very good position with two incredibly talented boys on the team, and
they’re allowed to race each other for positions out on track.

YT : So like you and Gojo were at JTR.

SG : As long as history doesn’t repeat itself, yes.

YT: Oh, so you’re not looking for a repeat of 2014?

SG: [laughs] No, surprisingly not! Imagine that!

—
Gojo, unlike a lot of other drivers, likes watching the feeder series, from time to time.
Nanami and Shoko both say they’re bored by it: the cars are slower and the stakes, with
pretty equal machinery across the board and no constructors’, are much lower. Shoko will
perk up and pay attention if there’s a serious talent coming through and turning heads, like
Megumi and Yuuji, but otherwise, she’s content to sit and listen to Gojo ramble on about it in
a meaningless way.

Both the grade two and three seasons started in Bahrain with the grade ones, and then the
grade twos followed them on the double-turned-triple header to Jeddah. Then they got a
break between there and Imola, the lucky bastards, where the Grade Threes joined them
again. No feeder series joined them on the new track in Miami, and so now they’re here, in
Barcelona.

Both the grade two and three drivers join them here. In a week, when they head down the
road to Monaco, the grade twos will follow them on the double header.

With all the hecticness of a new season, Gojo hasn’t had time to go down to the grade two
paddock yet, but this weekend is quiet, for them. So he excuses himself, and heads down to
the support paddock, before free practice one. He won’t have time to watch qualifying later,
stuck in debriefs, probably, so he’ll judge from data in a practice session.

No driver is standing out, yet, in either feeder series, scrabbling for points in the absence of
Megumi and Yuuji, who have dominated the last two years separately and left everyone else
fighting for scraps. A visit to the paddock there usually is followed by cameras, and shaking
hands, and the young drivers looking up at him with stars in their eyes. There’s no
generational talent, here. Just a bunch of drivers battling for points.

Gojo almost likes it better like this, honestly. Not every grade one driver can be a Getou or a
Yuuji or a Yuuta. Some have to be Nanamis or Mei-Meis. It’s just the way it is: big fish, in a
small enough pond that you’ll get eaten by a shark if you’re not careful.

He’s pushing his sunglasses up his nose in the Junior Jujutsu garage, watching the girl climb
into the car in front of him for the practice session, when he sees it.

Getou, walking along in front, his arm around a girl. His head is tilted away from them, long
hair spilling down his back. It’s tied up, this time, in a low ponytail, but strands still fly away
and frame his face in the sunlight.

Back when he was racing, Gojo used to give Getou hair clips to put on under the balaclava.
He used to braid his hair, too. He obviously doesn’t wear any now, but he puts his hand in his
pocket, and feels the clips he keeps for Shoko, and wonders rather stupidly if he would like
one.

The girl is short, slight, young, racing suit bunched on her hips. She can’t be much older than
Yuuji or Yuuta, caramel hair twisting around her fingers as she pulls it into a low bun.

Gojo doesn’t recognise her, so she must be a relative rookie, or some midfielder kid with no
chance of getting into Grade One at all. But Getou is with her. And he’s talking, a serious
look on his face that she’s mirroring, all dedicated and fawn-like.
She catches Gojo looking at them and scowls, face going stormy, and Getou turns, laughing
when he sees who it is. “Ah, Gojo! Having fun?”

The girl is still behind Getou staring daggers at him, so he just smiles, stepping out of the
Jujutsu garage. Now that he can see her in the light, he can see the girl is in Sengoku colours.
So not part of Getou’s drivers’ academy, or his team.

“Yeah, of course,” he says. It might be overly sweet, but hey, if it annoys this kid any more,
he’ll take it. “Who’s this?”

Getou swallows, “this is Hasaba Nanako, she’s been promoted from grade three this season,
racing for-”

The girl groans and switches back to English, which is a curveball. “Come on, I need to
warm up and Mimi wants to see you before she starts too,”

“Right,” Getou laughs, light, “I’ll see you later, Satoru.”

Gojo feels like an idiot standing in the Jujutsu garage. Because this is it. This is what dying
feels like.

April 2006, Japan

Satoru isn’t there when they arrive to the first race of the season. For the first time in as long
as he can remember, Suguru isn’t racing him. He’s just racing himself, and his teammates,
and the other people here who don’t matter half as much as he does.

Haibara is more than bubbly enough to make up for his absence, but it’s not the same.
Especially when Nanami comes out to find them, brushing his hair behind his ear, and
Haibara glows like a traffic light retelling some story from his expensive winter break on a
yacht in Australia.

Oh, to be rich enough to chase the sun.

Shoko is still there, though, and she’s good company. Here they are again, two people down
but still so, so happy to be racing, despite it. Suguru’s been keeping up rather obsessively
with Grade Three news, recently, too, so there’s that. Satoru won his first sprint race in
Bahrain in March, and Suguru saw the photos of him standing on top of his car, brilliant
smile more dazzling than the sun on his face.

Satoru gets to race in Monza, and Brazil, and in Spain and England, but Grade Three doesn’t
stop in Japan, this year. So, they won’t see each other, is the thing. It’s not been said, yet, but
Suguru knows it deep in his bones and has steeled himself for it.

For the first time, Satoru has picked a number. Most drivers carry their numbers all the way
through to Grade One. He said over the phone, so proud, “well, your number in Grade Four is
seventy-three-” that much is true, forty-seven had been taken- “so I picked thirty-seven, cause
then when you come to Grade Three with me next season, we’ll match.”

Suguru had laughed, “what if someone takes it?”

“They won’t. It’s yours. I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

Sometimes, Suguru allows himself to hope that Satoru feels just as strongly about him as he
does about Satoru. That was definitely one of those times.

He looks at Shoko in her race suit. He wonders, if he were a girl, whether he’d still be racing
by now. Whether he would’ve given up for the chance of an arranged marriage. He feels
slightly insane thinking about it, and he doesn’t tell anyone, especially not his dad, who is so
proud of him, and not his mom, and not Shoko. She fights just as hard as anyone for her seat.
She wouldn’t want to hear about Getou wanting to give his up just for the thing she is so
desperate to avoid.

Him and Haibara warm up together. He likes Haibara. He’s gotten a lot better this season, a
lot more switched on and a lot more serious about doing well. The delta between them is no
longer thirty seconds in free practice.

He ends his first qualifying session of the year on pole. None of his friends are anywhere near
him in the standings, and he only vaguely knows the two boys that he wraps his arms around
for photos.

It’s equal parts thrilling and empty, smiling for the cameras.

Just before the final race of the weekend, Suguru catches Haibara hiding in one of the
corridors, tapping away on his DS, and laughs immediately. Haibara looks up like he’s been
caught, red in the face, and Suguru laughs again.

He goes to sit next to him, resting his head against the wall and bouncing the tennis ball he
has in his hands off the wall opposite. He hears the occasional beep of tetris blocks imploding
on the screen, and they sit in companionable silence for a while.

“Do you get nervous?” Haibara says, then, shutting the DS with a snap.

“About racing?”

Haibara nods. Suguru takes a moment to think.

“No.”

Haibara smiles, weakly, “I don’t think I can do this, like you and Gojo can. He never got
nervous either.”

Suguru opens his mouth to say, well, Satoru’s different, even different to me, but the words die
on his tongue. They’re not useful. “Shoko gets nervous. Utahime gets nervous. You just need
to learn to channel it in a way that’s useful.”

“Yeah, you’re right!” Haibara nods, “I’ll give every race my all, even if I get scared. Fear is
just adrenaline!”

Suguru grins, “that’s the spirit.”

Another New Star?: Getou Suguru Shines in absence of Gojo - in Feeder Series / Grade
Four News

Written by Sato Haruki, 12 July 2006

After the first three races, Getou Suguru, driving for Haein Juniors, has taken a comfortable
lead in the Grade Four Championship of Japan. His consistency has been remarkable: two
wins and a further two podiums. He’s not finished outside of the top five yet across nine races
and nine qualifying sessions.

His team boss Asahi Kato is full of praise for the younger driver: “he is remarkably
consistent, now that he’s gaining the experience that he needs to really compete. Of course,
headquarters are keeping an eye on him, we think he’s got a lot of potential.”

When asked whether he thought a move to Grade Three next season was possible, he seemed
less certain: “we are thinking about it. We don’t know if we will have the seat available and
he has a long way left to go this season.”

Getou himself seemed pleased with his recent string of results: “yeah, I’m enjoying it, and
being able to win makes it better. It’s a long season ahead, though, and I’ve got to keep my
head down if I want to win.”

—
May 2022, Spain

The first practice session is nothing short of horrific. The car has decided it doesn’t want to
behave, bouncing all over the place, and Gojo huffs down the radio that the brake balance is
completely fucked, and the steering keeps snapping, and Megumi’s car doesn’t seem to have
the same issues, for some reason.

Which is humiliating, being outpaced by a rookie teammate, but whatever, its practice, and it
means precisely nothing. The debrief is long, with Shoko pouring over data differences and
delta times and in the end, it turns out its a difference in rear wing loading, and Yaga chews
out a staff member who thought the change would be a good idea.

Free Practice two is better, but the car still bounces, and Gojo manages a three hundred and
sixty degree spin that almost lands him in the gravel trap at turn four.

In grade two, Mimiko Hasaba qualifies on pole. Gojo tries not to think about Mimi , about
Getou looking fond in the crowd as he watches his Keicho Junior driver take two points.

He doesn’t replay the clip of him hugging her after the debrief.

He’s going insane. This might be it for him, he thinks. Because he’s been doing a deep dive
on the Hasaba sisters for the last hour, and distantly, he’s kind of aware that he’s a massive
creep, but there’s clearly something more there than just a team principal and junior driver
relationship. Getou should have even less time than him to be in the support paddock, and
yet, he’s there with an arm around a girl not even from his drivers’ academy.

So far, the spoils of his research are as follows, in no particular order: two private instagram
profiles, an abandoned linkedin, a public profile with no photos of Getou on, but a lot of
photos of grade three cars, and articles about Mimiko’s potential and signing to Keicho’s
development program in 2020.

There’s race results, too, of course. Mimiko had come P3 in the grade three championship in
2021, behind Megumi and Nobara, and Nanako had finished P5, but with some extraordinary
bad luck and a couple of engine failures in the last three races. They’re twins, according to
their grade two profiles. The same age as Yuuji and Megumi. Nothing exceptional, but decent
drivers nonetheless.

There are zero details of how they could possibly be linked to Getou. It makes sense. Getou’s
always been so private, about everything. He was afraid of the press digging into his life, and
shied away from the paparazzi, and everything that came with being famous. Gojo was the
same, really.
If he did know these girls, there’d be something, though. Anything. Are they related to him?
They could be cousins or nieces, separated by a surname. He thinks that maybe Getou’s mom
had a brother? But they’re both only children, so niece is out of the equation. Maybe half-
siblings? If Getou’s mom had remarried after his dad died? But then, they’re too old for that:
his dad didn’t die until they were both twenty.

Getou’s too young to be their dad. Gojo’s sure he would’ve known if he’d accidentally had a
kid at thirteen: they were attached at the hip, racing together, travelling to Grade One races
together and too busy with the cars to think about much else. Getou never even kissed anyone
until he was nineteen.

He could ask Haibara. But as much as he sees him every other weekend, and talks to him,
they’re not really close. Not in the way he and Getou were, the way he and Shoko are. He’s
not even really close enough to Nanami to ask.

Crazy that he and Nanami were teammates for five whole years, longer than he and Getou
were teammates, and they were never friends. Not really.

There’s two universal truths to being teammates. The first is that you are at once so much
closer than two competitors, the closest two people on the grid. The second is that, at the
same time, you are deeply separate by design.

He’s only really had four teammates: Mei Mei, when he first got to JTR, Toji, as a rookie,
Nanami, after Getou.

It’s hard to explain, why teammates are so separate when they are a part of you, to someone
who’s never driven a car. Hell, it’s even hard to explain to younger grade drivers from the
feeder series.

He wonders if the Hasaba sisters know about him. If they know that Getou left without
saying goodbye, and Gojo spat out that he was a coward, and that they were doomed from the
start, without either of them knowing it. Being teammates requires separation: Gojo and
Getou were part of each other. They could clamber into each other’s heads and read the
strategies from body language alone.

But being teammates requires you to be separate. So they became separate. The issue was
that they shared a heart and a brain and lungs and they had to prise the veins apart one by
one, and in hindsight, Gojo should’ve seen it happening, tried to stop it.

But if he got to do it all again, he’d still tell Getou to sign the contract. To race with him. Til
Death Do Them Part, except death is retirement after winning a world championship.

—
A yellow flag in quali on Saturday absolutely destroys both Jujutsu’s chances at a front row
start. They didn’t really have the pace for pole compared to Keicho’s upgrades, anyway, but
the lap that Gojo was completing when Inumaki went off into the gravel was definitely quick
enough for the top three, at least. But now he’s P-fucking-7 and Megumi is P4, behind a
locked out front row for Keicho and Nanami, who seems to be finding pace quite well in the
Sengoku.

Then Inumaki himself gets P5, and Mei Mei is ahead in P6. Mai Zenin starts right behind
him, in the same row, and Gojo almost prays for a repeat of Miami, but like, avoiding him
preferably.

He’d be confident in his ability to catch the Keichos from the second row, or even the third,
but he wants (needs) the win for the championship, and it’s not enough, really, to just catch
them. He needs to beat them. But from the fourth row?

He voices these concerns in their debrief, and Shoko says, “you’ve come back from worse,
you were what, P16 in Baku last year?”

That’s true. He had to take an engine penalty, and climbed up the pack to win. However-

“This isn’t Baku, though,”

“It’s not Monaco, either,” Yaga had griped. “It’ll be tough, but we can try our best and that’s
all. If we’re in a position to, we can use Megumi to back up the pack.”

Megumi’s nose had wrinkled at that, “you don’t want me to try and gain positions?”

On Sunday, it’s rinse and repeat: avoid the grid walkers and wannabe celebrities, sunglasses
on, listen to the national anthem, get in the car, wait until the last possible second to squeeze
the helmet over your head.

“Radio check?” Shoko’s voice is clear in his ears as he drives round the formation lap.

Gojo grins in the helmet and pushes down the button to activate the mic. “ Shame on me for
loving you! Can't deny that you've been untrue !” He’s a shit singer, and he knows it, and it
annoys Yaga, when he does stuff like this on radio checks.

“Okay, radio’s good-” Shoko says, and Gojo can hear her smile, so:

“ You lie so sweet but you love to tease -”

“Gojo-”

“Putting out the fire with gasolineeeeeeeee,”

He hears Shoko dissolve into giggles down the radio, “Yaga’s going to die on the pitwall and
it’s going to be your fault-”

“ Woah, yeah !” Gojo laughs, and concedes, “sorry, sorry,”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, head down, we need to start well.”

There’s silence as the engine quivers beneath his legs, and Gojo hovers his fingers over the
paddles.

“Okay, last car pulling up now,” Shoko says. It’s game on. The red lights flicker on, on, on,
then out-

Gojo’s foot slams down on the throttle, as he shifts up into second gear, third, fourth, fifth,
sixth. He dives straight down the middle, gets a way better start than Inumaki and Mei Mei
ahead, and slots in behind Megumi as he downshifts for turn one.

“Yes! P5, Gojo, keep going,”

Barcelona is a circuit where overtaking is difficult. Not borderline impossible, like it is in

Monaco, but still. One of the harder tracks on the calendar, for sure.

They all stay close. He can see Inumaki in his rear views, trying for a slipstream, maybe, but
the dirty air means he pulls back as they hit the high speed corner of turn three. Gojo presses
down on the throttle, seeing the speed reach two-hundred-and-twenty-five kilometres per
hour, and then gets on the radio, “hey, will Megumi let me by?”

He knows it’s a dick move. He knows Megumi did a better job in quali. But he’s not in a title
fight. They wouldn’t be drivers if they were selfish. He’s faster.

“Give us time,” Shoko says, “he will, but not until the pack settles.”

“Copy.” Gojo says, as they hurtle down the straight to turn four, and then-

Sparks fly, and Megumi swerves in front of him, and there’s a crash. Two cars into the gravel
trap. Two cars flying off at speed, and a loose tyre.

“Yellow flag, yellow flag,” Shoko says, insistent, in his ears, and Gojo slows slightly, holding
position behind Megumi.

“Who is it?”

“We are checking,” Shoko says, and Gojo remains silent.

Then, over the radio, “safety car, Gojo. We are staying out.”

“Who was it?”

“Itadori and Okkotsu,” he can hear the grimace in her voice. Teammates colliding is never
good news, and much less in a title fight where both rivals remained unscathed.

“Oh shit,” Gojo says, because what else is there to say. To himself, without his thumb on the
mic, he says, “hope someone checks on Getou,”
—

Nanami is easy enough to pass with DRS. True to their word, the team lets Gojo past
Megumi. The whole time he’s on the podium, with Nanami and Inumaki, who passed
Megumi around lap fifty, he keeps thinking.

Thinking about the Keicho debrief, wasting that many points. Crashing out of first and
second on a track position track, with their biggest rivals finishing in strong points positions.

The vibes in there must be rancid. Gojo and Getou only ever crashed into each other once,
but Yaga had gone red in the face, screaming at them both. But then again, that had the extra
layer of being in front of a home crowd. So. Maybe it isn’t as bad.

Besides, back in 2014, they hadn’t really been arguing about the crash. It was kind of near the
end of the season, and the atmosphere was already thick with tension, and Getou had wanted
an excuse to explode. And so had Gojo, to be honest.

So maybe Yuuji isn’t even being shouted at, right now.

Before the top three conference after the race, Gojo flags down one of the Jujutsu press
officers, and asks to see the video.

Yuuji was in first. Yuuta swerved, hitting the side of the track. He spun, took them both out.

“Who’re they saying’s at fault?” Gojo murmurs, and the girl responds, eyes wide.

“Racing incident. Neither of them.”

Gojo frowns. From his angle, it looks like Yuuta’s fault. But he’s never been that reckless
before.

OFFICIAL 2022 G1 DRIVERS CHAMPIONSHIP POINTS STANDINGS AFTER ROUND

SIX - TOP TEN

POS DRIVER CONSTRUCTOR POINTS

1 Satoru GOJO (+1) Jujutsu Technical Racing 106

2 Yuuta OKKOTSU (-1) Scuderia Keicho 91

3 Yuuji ITADORI (=) Scuderia Keicho 76

4 Nanami KENTO (+1) Sengoku 74

5 Megumi FUSHIGURO (-1) Jujutsu Technical Racing 68

6 Toge INUMAKI (=) Sengoku 59

7 Mai ZENIN (=) Meiji 46

8 Mei MEI (=) Haein 33

9 Iori UTAHIME (=) Kyoto G1 Team 26

10 Nobara KUGISAKI (=) Meiji 23

OFFICIAL 2022 G1 CONSTRUCTORS CHAMPIONSHIP POINTS STANDINGS AFTER

ROUND SIX

POS CONSTRUCTOR POINTS

1 Jujutsu Technical Racing (+1) 174

2 Scuderia Keicho (-1) 167

3 Sengoku (=) 133

4 Meiji (=) 69

5 Haein (=) 38

6 Kyoto G1 Team (=) 30

Transcript for Post-Race interview with Suguru Getou, Team Principal of Scuderia Keicho,
Spanish Grand Prix 2022 - Hosted by Yuki Tsukumo

Q: What a race, Getou. Both drivers out on the first lap, what happened?

SUGURU GETOU: Obviously we’ll be debriefing. I don’t know who’s fault it was, but
disappointment is an understatement. Both cars crashing out is something which we never
want to happen.

Q: Of course, coming into this weekend, we have seen tensions building between the two
drivers vying for that number one spot. Is that tension what caused this?

SG : The tension as you put it wasn’t in our minds. The press likes to make things up.
Regardless of being number one, both of them should know better than that. They are more
mature than this. Losing close to forty- maybe even fifty points? It’s unacceptable. They
know it’s unacceptable.

Q: Of course, now, with Gojo’s points haul, this puts you behind in both the drivers and
constructors championships. How will you handle that going forward?

SG : In the constructors’, the gap isn’t that big, and Jujutsu are still carrying a rookie. We can
close it in one race. The drivers’, is of course, a different matter, since Gojo is such a
formidable opponent, but at the end of the day, the drivers have themselves to blame for that.

Q: Oh, and of course, you and Gojo, that rivalry. This crash is- it is pretty similar to the one
you two shared in 2014, and we all know, of course, how that turned out. How are you going
to stop this rivalry turning sour, like at Jujutsu Tech all those years ago?

SG : The relationship between our drivers and the relationship between Gojo and I as
teammates is completely different. Don’t ask stupid questions.

Q: Is it really that different?

SG : Yes, because Gojo and I had history. These two don’t. They need to get it together.
—

October 2006, Brazil

Suguru wins the Grade Four Championship. Comfortably, even. He can’t compete in Grade
Four anymore, now he’s won, which means that the team has been looking into getting him a
seat in Grade Three. He’s moving up! He’ll be with Satoru!

Satoru invites him to Brazil. Interlagos. The final Grade Three race of the season, and there’s
also the Grade Twos and the Grade Ones driving at the same race. Because he’s with Satoru,
he gets a paddock pass, and then Haein, as a reward, offered him a garage pass for the Grade
One paddock.

The cherry on top of the metaphorical cake is that Satoru only has one race on Sunday, in the
morning, and then they’re allowed to do whatever they want in the afternoon, after Gojo’s
done. They’re going to go and watch the Grade One race, and run for the podium, and
honestly, Suguru is just excited to spend time with Satoru again.

Gojo comes a dismal - according to him - P4 in the Grade Three championship. Suguru
thinks it’s pretty good, for a rookie, but Satoru is pissed about it, talking Suguru’s ear off
about brake balance all the way back to his drivers’ room.

They share a hotel room. They sneak a bottle of something alcoholic off one of the engineers,
or maybe they bribe him, Suguru doesn’t really know what Satoru does for it.

All he knows is that they’re halfway through it when Satoru blurts, “a girl kissed me at
Silverstone,”

Suguru frowns. “England?”

Satoru nods, violently. “Yeah, England, but like, at the track. After I won the sprint, and she
was like- oh you looked good up there and-” he makes a bam motion with his hands, eyes
wide. “She kissed me.”

Suguru swallows. The alcohol is making him feel sick, all of a sudden. “Was it Utahime?”

“No! Ew! Just- she was, like. One of the engineers’ girlfriends, or something.”

“So you stole someone’s girlfriend?” Suguru grins, some of the tension lifting from his
shoulders. Satoru didn’t have a girlfriend, after all, then. He hadn’t been keeping secrets.

“I didn’t do anything!” Satoru huffs, “I- it’s a secret. She’s like, older, or something.”

His stomach swoops for a different reason, “how old?”

“Like, um. Twenty five? Twenty two?”

“Well, which one is it!” Suguru squeaks, rather undignified, “you’re kissing an old woman!”

“Twenty three?!” Satoru’s bewildered, now, but there’s a smile on his face, “I dunno, I didn’t
ask! I-” his voice goes small, “I- I don’t even know her name. She told me not to tell anyone,
like-” he runs a hand through his hair. His white hair, that makes him stand out no matter
what-

“Did she- did she do anything else?”

“No,” Satoru blushes a furious red, “I didn’t even wanna kiss her, man.”

“Well, why’d you kiss her, then?”

Satoru laughs, “I didn’t! She kissed me, all, like passionate and shit-” he crawls across the
floor to Suguru, and his hands come down heavy on his shoulders as he meets his gaze, “like
this. Like-”

“I don’t need a demo!” Suguru squawks, wriggling out of Satoru’s grasp, who giggles
nonsensically.

There’s a lull in their conversation. Suguru thinks distantly about how it feels like there’s
bees buzzing in his head, bouncing off his skull.

“I didn’t like kissing a girl.” Satoru says.

“What?”

“I didn’t like it. The girl. It was too sweet.”

Suguru frowns. “I think that’s more to do with the fact she’s twenty five than the fact she’s a
girl.”

“I’ve never wanted to kiss a girl. Ever.” Satoru blurts. When Suguru turns to face him, his
face is red. His chest is jumping up and down. He looks back at Suguru with urgency. “Don’t
be stupid, but like. I don’t want to kiss girls.”

There’s something implied there, Suguru knows. But you can’t be gay and a driver. You
can’t. It doesn’t happen. Ever. You can barely be gay, at all, in Japan.

He’s heard what the mechanics say to each other, in English, where they think he can’t quite
understand. The casual jabs at each other. The you on your period ?’s. The why you lookin’ at
him like that?’s. The go on, suck his dick at this rate, you might as well!’ s.

So he’ll blame the alcohol when he tells Satoru, “you’ll find a girl you wanna kiss.”

Satoru sighs, and shuts his eyes. His breath ghosts Suguru’s arm when he leans in and rests
his head on his shoulder. “I hope so.”
—

Back home, Suguru gets an email.

Dear Mr. Getou,

We hope this email finds you well. We’re pleased to offer you a seat in Haein Junior G3 Team
for the 2007 season– please find attached the contract, terms and conditions and costs
associated with racing.

Many thanks! We hope to see you soon!

Suguru frowns when he reads it. Associated costs? They mean no costs, right? He can’t
afford anything. They know that.

He reads the contract. They only want to cover twenty-five percent of the costs. Which means
that he has to come up with seventy-five percent himself.

A season of Grade Three costs one million US dollars. He doesn’t think his dad has earnt that
much money in his entire career.

He dials the number to their head office into their landline and lets it ring.

“Hello, Haein Office, how can I help you?”

“Hey, Suki, it’s Getou,” Suguru says, dumbly, “I need to speak to someone- I- I just got my
contract through, and I think they mixed me up with someone,”

“Ah- Getou! Hold on, I’ll transfer you, hold on,” she says, cheerily, and the line rings again,
for thirty long seconds as Suguru twirls the phone cord along his fingers.

“Getou?” The voice comes across the line, and he recognises it immediately as the team boss.
He must be in Japan, then.

“Yes, I- I think you gave me the wrong contract, it only covers twenty-five percent of the
costs,” Suguru says.

Like he’s been expecting it, the man on the other end of the line sighs, “no, that’s right. We
cannot waive that many costs for you, Getou, as brilliant as you are.”

His stomach drops. He feels sick. He might actually throw up.

“I can’t afford it,”

“You’ll have to bring in sponsors, have you had any offers after the win in Grade Four?”

“No.”

“Hm. We’ll try and put you through to some, but of course, if you can’t raise the funds, you
can’t race,”

Suguru hangs up the phone and stands shaking in his hallway. He did what he was supposed
to. Why was it not enough? He won, why was it not enough?

He’s crying when he calls Satoru. Satoru can’t tell, of course. He’s gotten really good at
steadying his voice, recently.

“I got a Grade Three seat.”

“Oh my god, in Haein? See I told you-”

“No, Satoru, I- I can’t afford it. I’m gonna have to quit.”

There’s silence on the line. Satoru’s voice is determined when he speaks next. “You should
move to Europe.”

“What? I- there’s school and-”

“Kenjaku did it, to get into Grade One, when he was younger.” Satoru says, matter of fact,
“all the way from Australia, and that’s way further away than Japan.”

“Moving to Europe isn’t gonna give me any more money, Satoru,” Suguru sighs, “and I can’t
even get into Grade Three.”

“You should do a Grade Four series in Italy, or Spain, or England,” Satoru says, “they’re way
more competitive, so you can just go and win one of them,”

“I don’t have any money for another season of Grade Four,” Suguru says, “and I’m not
eligible.”

“There’s GREC, and that’s like, inbetween, so you’re definitely allowed to do that.” Satoru
says, “racing is boring without you. Please don’t quit.”

“Okay,” Suguru says. As soon as he hangs up, he rephones Haein.

“Um, hi, Suki. It’s me again, can you put me through?”

—

May 2022, Spain

Gojo only goes into the hotel bar to get a bottle of water, he swears. His room service phone
isn’t working. He doesn’t expect to see Getou there, nursing a glass of wine. He almost turns
and runs for the hills, water be damned, but then Getou catches his eyes and it’s all over.

Come to gloat? He mouths, and Gojo goes to him. Like drawn in by a magnetic force. “No,”

“Why are you here, then?” Getou says, bitter, and Gojo thinks oh, he’s a few glasses down,
then.

“We share a hotel,” pulling up a chair, Gojo sits next to him at the bar, “crazy, right?”

“You don’t usually spend time at the bar,” Getou says, bite gone from his voice, replaced
with something quieter. More resigned.

“Is that why you’re here?”

Getou shrugs, swirling his glass in his hand. “Well. Go on then, say your piece about today, I
know that’s what you’re here for.”

Gojo isn’t here for that. He isn’t. He didn’t even really expect to run into Getou, to be honest.
They’ve successfully avoided each other all weekend and he hadn’t planned to break it then.
But-

“I’ve only seen the replay once.”

“And?” Getou raises an eyebrow.

“Yuuta’s fault. He took a risk that was stupid, and it wasn’t going to work.”

Getou’s jaw goes slightly slack. “Thank god.”

“What?”

“You agree with me,”

“The stewards don’t.”

“Neither do the team owners,” groaning, Getou’s shoulders slump and he massages the
bridge of his nose with his fingers. And Gojo is confused, because-

“Why does it matter what the owners think?”

“Yuuta is supposed to be the number one driver,” Getou sighs, “I- I really shouldn’t be telling
you this, y’know.”

“You don’t have to.” Gojo says, because he already knows, but- “but you know I won’t- I
mean. I wanna win fairly. I’m not-”

“I trust you, yeah, I know you– wouldn’t–” Getou trails off, then turns to look at Gojo, dead
on, “I want to tell you. Is that bad?”

Gojo finds a grin settling on his face, despite everything. “Yeah, it’s bad.”

Getou groans, “you haven’t changed- I- I don’t know what I expected, to be honest.”

Gojo swallows, and says what he should have said seven years ago. “I want you to talk to
me.”

“I’m breaking about four non-disclosure agreements by talking to you,” Getou’s face is
blank, an eyebrow raised. Gojo mimics zipping his mouth shut, locking it, and throwing away
the key. Getou laughs.

“So. Why does it matter what the team owners think?”

Getou sighs, and looks over at the singular bartender, who doesn’t seem to know who they
are, much less understand Japanese. “They want Yuuta to be the number one driver.”

“Why?” Gojo frowns. It doesn’t make sense. Yuuji is just as talented as Yuuta. Maybe even
more so: he only really started karting at thirteen or fourteen, when Yuuta and Megumi both
started before the age of ten. Hell, most of the drivers on the grid started before they were
eight. “He’s- he’s just as good,”

Slowly, Getou raises his glass to his lips and takes another sip. “But Yuuta brings in the
sponsors, he was an academy driver, he’s beloved. He’s a world champion. He has a good- a
good sob story, I guess.”

“Okay, maybe don’t call it a sob story, his childhood friend died-” Gojo laughs.

“Yes, I know, it’s horrible, but, I mean, we had Riko. Haibara. Nobody gave us any leeway
when those things happened. The general public doesn’t even know the half of it.” Gojo
doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t have to say anything, because Getou continues.
“It feels like the sponsors and the owners are all fetishising it. Because she was so young.
Riko, I mean. And- God, I don’t know.”

“The owners want Yuuta to be number one because of the sponsors.” Gojo repeats, “but
Yuuji- he’s getting more popular, now. The younger fans love him.”

“They didn’t- don’t- want him to look bad. Right now, they’re pretty equal drivers, and I
mean. To beat you, we’re going to have to pick. Have someone to prioritise. And I told them
that whoever won this weekend, we’d go forward with.”
“Them, as in- you told Yuuta and Yuuji this?” Gojo’s eyes widen, “that was a recipe for
disaster.”

“No shit,” Getou huffs, “no, I told the owners, the sponsors, the people breathing down my
neck. And then Yuuta probably found out, crashed them both out and we’re back to square
one.”

There’s a long pause, where Getou leans forward, hair slipping over his shoulders and
obscuring his face. Gojo watches him, and thinks back to the gaunt, skinny looking driver
that left Jujutsu Tech at the end of 2014, buying himself out of the contract with his prize
money. He’s not looking at the same man now, but he can see his ghost.

“You want Yuuji to have a chance.”

“Yes, of course I do. He’s talented. He’s-” Getou cuts himself off, looking up and down at
Gojo.

“He’s what?” He already knows the answer. He doesn’t have to ask.

“He’s like me. Like you, as well. It terrifies me how much he’s like you. His driving style is-
it’s exactly the same.”

“Yeah.” Breathing out, Gojo leans back in his chair, “you can’t let that cloud your vision
about it, though.”

“How can I not? Satoru, you’re the greatest driver ever- the fastest- whatever. You’re a six-
time world champion, probably seven-time, soon. When there’s someone like you, on the
grid, with an insane amount of talent, I- how can that not cloud your vision?”

Gojo stares. He wants to blame maybe the fact that Getou is drunk for him waxing poetics
about him. He knows that’s not really true.

“Okay, no need to flatter me-”

“Anyone sane would be thinking twice.” Getou doubles down. “Yaga would. Shoko would,
too. I mean- you are. You rate Yuuji more highly than Yuuta.”

“Who told you that?”

“No one. It’s just. I know you.”

Gojo blinks at him. There’s nothing he can say about that statement that makes him seem
normal. He has never been normal about Getou a day in his life . Then Getou downs the rest
of his glass, puts it back down on the bar, and stands abruptly.

“I’ll see you in Monaco.”

And he walks out.

All that bounces around in his brain when he asks for a bottle of water, in clumsy Spanish, is
that he thought they were getting somewhere .

January 2007, Japan

Somehow, Getou manages to scrape together a couple of sponsors who offer to cover his
costs to compete in the GREC: Grade Regional European Championship. Satoru tells him he
can live in his house, whilst he’s not at headquarters or racing. For free.

Suguru doesn’t want charity, but he’s not really in a position to decline the offer. He’s almost
seventeen. He’s taking a chance, quitting school, trying to do something extraordinary. And if
it doesn’t work out, he’ll come back home, get a real job, a real degree, and forget all about it.
It’ll become a blip in his childhood when he’s an adult and looks back at the life he’s lived,
and the people he’s loved.

Maybe Satoru will fade into the background, remembered with fondness and a film haze.

Since he told his parents he wanted to do this, his mom hasn’t talked to him. She got angry at
first: how could you quit school, how could you do this to us, you’re being reckless, stupid,
throwing away everything we gave you !

Suguru had argued back, but you encouraged me to kart ! I finished what I needed to of
school, you told me I was good, this is stupid!

His mom had argued with his dad, too, but now they’re here. In the airport. With Suguru’s
entire life signed and sealed away, sent off in a too-large suitcase, off to Italy. And his dad is
next to him.

All that’s left is to go through security. Then get on a plane for sixteen hours, and walk
through security on the other side, to Satoru’s open arms.

“Hey,” his dad jostles his shoulder, smiling weakly. “I’m proud of you,”

“You’re upset with me.” Suguru says back. It’s a fact. His dad is upset with him.

“I- don’t listen to mom, okay?” His dad’s smile lines scrunch up when he talks. The gravity
of everything hits him all at once. He lunges towards his dad and grips him tight, and his dad
is still strong enough to pick him off the floor slightly, despite being shorter than him, now.

“What if she’s right?” Suguru murmurs into his dad’s shoulder.

His dad hums, “then she’s right. And you can come home. But I don’t think she is.”
“You’re saying that because I’m your son,” Suguru says, wetly, pulling away from his dad.
Crying in an airport, how embarrassing.

“No,” his dad smiles, “I’m not. I think you’re talented, more talented than most. I think your
results speak for themselves,” he wipes the tears from Suguru’s cheeks, “it hurts to see you
leave, because I raised you, and you’re sixteen-”

“Almost seventeen,” Suguru says, dumbly.

“Sixteen,” his dad reiterates, “and you’re moving across the world to take a risk. But I’m not
mad at you. I understand.”

Suguru throws himself at his dad again, to hide the fact that he’s crying. His dad pats his
back, “when we have the money, I’ll come and see you race. I’ll come and see you race in
Grade One, and I’ll see you beat that Gojo, finally,”

Suguru laughs, “I don’t think I can beat him.”

His dad pulls away, hands cupping his face. “Stick with that kid, okay? He loves you, more
than anyone out there.”

Suguru nods, and wonders if his dad knows , in the way that all dads know, maybe. And then
he goes through security.

May 2022, Spain

In the morning, Gojo goes to Megumi’s hotel room when he doesn’t pick up the phone. He
knocks once, twice, and-

Yuuji opens the door.

“Ah, you’re not Megumi.” Gojo raises an eyebrow, and Yuuji looks back at him, confused.

“You’re not room service.”

“No, I’m not. I could be, though,” Gojo says, putting a hand on his hip. “AirGojo leaves in
two hours, so I was just coming to get him.”

“Oh. He’s still asleep, I thought he must have a late flight,” Yuuji shrugs, and lets Gojo in
without complaint. Which is puzzling, because Gojo wouldn’t let anyone into his room if he
had a guy there the night before.
So this is something different, then.

“You okay?” He says, to Yuuji, who stretches and yawns like a cat.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he says, grinning. His hair is wild, still messed up from sleep.

“What, after yesterday?” Gojo frowns, because Yuuji really needs to be pushed into talking,
sometimes.

“I mean- I could be better. I slept here ‘cause I was upset, but me and Megumi talked, and-
yeah, I’m fine. Monaco’s next. I love Monaco.”

Oh, so they weren’t sleeping together , they were sleeping, together. A Yuuji-and-Megumi
thing. A Gojo-and-Getou thing.

“You were strong in Monaco last year,” Gojo smiles, “and Yuuta hates it.”

“Okay, don’t start.” Yuuji grimaces, “I mean. I don’t wanna be pitted against Yuuta.”

“That’s the whole name of the game, with teammates, kid. You’re in a team fighting for a
championship, now.”

Yuuji tilts his head to the side, “do you think that crash was my fault?”

“No.”

“Do you think it was a racing incident ?” He holds up air quotes around racing incident ,
mocking the term.

“No,” Gojo says, “but I already told Getou all about it, apparently the politics are pretty
tough.”

“Yeah,” Yuuji winces, “Getou’s on my side, he- next year I’ll-”

Gojo huffs out, “fuck next year, and fuck politics. You’re this good now,”

“I dunno, I kinda wanna keep my seat, to be honest-”

“You have to be selfish, Yuuji. Take it from me, Satoru Gojo, six-time world champion,”

“Is that why you and Getou fell out?” Yuuji blurts, “‘cause, like, I- I wanna be like you, I
wanna win, but-”

“No. Getou was selfish too, he’ll tell you that. Both of us cared more about driving than each
other.”

“I like Yuuta,” Yuuji protests, “I want to be a good teammate, I want to be his friend.”

The silence that stretches across the room gives Yuuji his answer. He groans. “And I’ve gotta
take a flight with him today,”
Gojo shrugs, “come with us. Text Getou, he’ll understand.”

Yuuji’s face lights up, “you sure? I mean, the cost cap-”

“I won’t charge you anything. As long as you don’t do it all the time, you’ll be fine.”

They both turn to the doorway as Megumi appears, hair sticking up all over the place and a
scowl on his face. “What the fuck are you doing in my room.”

January 2007, Italy

Satoru has made a sign for airport collection. It’s covered in sparkles and sequins, with
Suguru’s name written in huge, bold letters across it, almost as dazzling as Satoru’s grin. Not
quite, though.

Satoru hugs him, tight, rattling him around like a ragdoll, which is what Suguru feels like
after sixteen hours in a plane where he couldn’t really do anything except walk up and down
the aisles every couple of hours for fun.

Satoru immediately grabs all of Suguru’s bags off him, even ignoring the driver’s efforts to
take some. “No, I’ve got it thanks,” he says, and then off they go, Satoru readjusting himself
every few steps because of the suitcase and the backpack.

In the car on the way back to Mugello, Suguru falls asleep on Satoru’s shoulder, as his friend
murmurs, “y’know, you might have to learn Italian,”

May 2022, Spain

Haibara grabs a hold of his sleeve as they’re getting on the plane. “Gojo, look, I- can I show
you something?”

The something in question is a shaky video, taken through the windows of the hotel bar. But
without question, it’s Gojo and Getou. Sitting together. Talking.

“I thought you weren’t friends.” Haibara frowns.

 “We-” Gojo grimaces, thinking of how best to describe them. Friends isn’t one of the words
on that list. “We aren’t.”

“People are going crazy about this. The broadcasters are already, like, drafting invasive
questions around it, because they wanna know what’s up between you two, and-” Haibara
sighs, “you need to be more careful.”

Haibara gets it, you see. He removes his