That morning, the sunlight over Tokyo streamed through the fifth-floor apartment window. Robinson stood in front of the mirror, staring at his new school uniform—white shirt, classic black Japanese school blazer, and dark grey trousers.
He unfolded the paper Arai had given him the night before. On it was the school's address and a hand-drawn map. He scanned it, memorized the route, then folded it and slipped it into his pocket.
He left the undershirt off, buttoned only the middle part of the white shirt, and wore the black blazer loose. His hair stayed slightly messy—not too styled, but effortlessly cool.
Clean white sneakers on his feet. The black watch was still strapped to his wrist, though its tracker had long been deactivated.
As Robinson walked down the Tokyo sidewalk, he kept one hand in his pocket, strolling with calm confidence. His presence drew attention. A few schoolgirls walking in the opposite direction glanced his way, whispering with shy smiles.
> "Dare ano hito…?" (Who's that guy…?)
"Kakkoii…" (He's hot…)
Robinson didn't react. His eyes stayed ahead, his walk casual but with quiet power—like an anime protagonist just transferred from another world.
At the school gate, students trickled in. A couple of boys noticed him.
> "He's not from around here, right?"
"Must be the transfer student… but he walks like a movie character."
Without a word, Robinson passed them and stepped into the school grounds.
Far above…
From a classroom window on the top floor, a girl with short hair and unreadable eyes stared down at him. Her expression was calm, yet her eyes narrowed slightly.
> "He's… not ordinary."
Robinson stood in front of the door labeled 職員室 (Shokuinshitsu)—the teacher's office. He took a deep breath and knocked softly.
The door opened, revealing a middle-aged man in a gray suit and green tie. His face was kind but carried a firm presence behind his glasses.
"Ah, you must be Robinson," the man said in lightly accented English. "I'm Watanabe-sensei. Come, I'll take you to your class."
Robinson nodded and followed him through the hallway.
They stopped in front of a classroom labeled 2-K.
Watanabe-sensei opened the door.
Instant shift in atmosphere.
Class 2-K wasn't like any ordinary class—it was full of kids lounging around, some with their feet on desks, others sleeping, a few playing cards. It was clearly the "problem class."
Watanabe-sensei slapped the chalkboard with a ruler.
"Oi! Quiet down! We've got a new student."
All eyes slowly turned to the door.
Robinson stepped in, calm and unbothered. His school shirt was half-unbuttoned, his messy hair untouched, and he carried himself like he'd seen worse. A few of the boys scoffed—some girls smirked in silent admiration.
Watanabe-sensei motioned toward him.
"Go ahead. Introduce yourself."
Robinson shoved one hand into his pocket and said coolly:
"Name's Robinson. From New York. Not really into too many rules."
Some of the guys burst out laughing.
"Yo, this guy's cocky."
"Trying to flex just 'cause he's foreign."
But Robinson didn't flinch. He smirked slightly and added:
"I'm not here to cause trouble… but if anyone's looking for it, I'm easy to find."
The room fell quiet for a second. A few expressions shifted—more cautious now. A girl near the center with side bangs and one earbud looked up and smiled faintly.
"Interesting," she murmured.
Watanabe-sensei sighed.
"Robinson, take the empty seat in the back next to Tachibana."
In the back-right corner, a skinny guy in a black hoodie just nodded slightly. Robinson made his way to the desk, slouched down, and scanned the room.
From this seat, he could see everyone… and he could tell right away—
This wasn't going to be a normal school year.
Engines roared inside a cramped, smoky garage on the outskirts of Tokyo. Exhaust fumes filled the air as an old modified car was being tested on a dyno rig.
Arai sat on a stack of worn-out tires, his work overalls stained with oil. Around him, three trusted friends were busy tuning parts, but their ears were tuned in to the conversation.
One of them—Riku—wiped his hands clean and glanced at Arai.
"So… how's Paul's kid doing? That Robinson guy? I heard he's transferred to a school nearby?"
Arai let out a breath, then replied without looking up,
"He's doing fine… but it's getting harder to read him."
Riku raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Arai stood up, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the wall.
"He wasn't moved here just for school. It's protection. After what happened, Zero Divide's heating up again. They know who his father is."
Tatsu, another friend working on an ECU board, looked up and said,
"So he's basically being hidden here?"
"More like… kept away from the center of the storm," Arai answered. "But you know how it is. The further you are from the battlefield, sometimes the closer you are to the real war."
Riku nodded slowly. "Zero Divide had an old presence in Japan, didn't they? What if…"
Arai gave them all a serious look.
"That's why I need to watch him closely. Paul asked me to keep an eye. And right now, Robinson's becoming part of something way bigger than he realizes. Race Vault, Zero Divide… and the ghosts of old conflicts—they're still moving."
Silence fell over the room. The distant sound of cars rushing by outside added a cold tension to the air.
Arai flicked the ash from his cigarette and looked up at the garage's dim ceiling.
"If Robinson fully steps back into that world… it's not just his life at risk. It might be everyone who's ever been close to him."
TOKYO SCHOOL, ROBINSON'S NEW CLASS
The class went silent for a moment after a loud thud! echoed—caused by a basketball slamming into the back of Robinson's head. The ball bounced off and rolled near the teacher's empty desk.
A few students chuckled quietly. Others turned, curious.
At the desk beside him, Tachibana—a sharp-eyed student with messy, slightly blonde hair—glanced at Robinson with a raised brow.
Robinson held his head, his vision slightly spinning. For a split second, flashes of memory flickered in his mind—cars on fire, Zashiro's face, his mother's voice calling his name, and a loud explosion. His breath caught in his throat. His heart raced faster than usual.
One of the gang members who'd thrown the ball—wearing a black jacket with a piercing on his eyebrow—walked up with a mocking grin.
"Oops, my bad, bro. Just reflex. Maybe tell the PE teacher or something?"
Robinson didn't answer. His face was pale. His eyes stared blankly at the desk. His hand remained on the side of his throbbing head.
Then, without a word, he stood.
His steps were a bit shaky but quick. He left the classroom silently, one hand brushing the wall for support as he made his way through the hallway.
Tachibana watched him go, his eyes following the figure disappearing through the restroom door. He muttered under his breath,
"…He's different."
INSIDE THE SCHOOL RESTROOM
Robinson splashed cold water on his face. It didn't help much. His hands were trembling. He looked at his reflection in the mirror—his eyes looked tired, but something was flickering behind them. Something starting to return.
Then, like echoes in his head, voices came crashing back:
"Don't get involved, Rob… This world won't ever let you go."
"Race Vault isn't just racing…"
"If I die, protect Mom..."
He panted heavily, gripping the edge of the sink tighter.
"What the hell happened to me…"
His eyes slowly sharpened.
And for the first time since the explosion—Robinson started feeling like his old self again.
Robinson stood in front of the school bathroom mirror. His face was wet from the sink, but his eyes were no longer blank—now they were sharp, focused, and alive. His breath was heavy, like someone who had just risen from deep underwater.
Flashes of memories crashed into his mind like a film reel in fast-forward:
Cassandra standing under party lights, smiling.
Daryl laughing while handing him a drink.
Paul gripping the wheel during a high-speed chase.
His mom in the hospital, holding his hand.
Zashiro behind the wheel during the ambush.
Marcus laughing as he tuned the engine.
And... the explosion. The pain. Blood. Darkness.
It all came back, sinking deep into his chest.
Robinson stared at the mirror again. His reflection looked back—this time, someone who remembered everything.
"This is me," he whispered. "I remember."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Quickly, he opened his messages.
[Message to Cassandra]
📱 Robinson:
Cass… I remember everything. I'm sorry I left without explaining. But I'm back. I'm still here. And I… I still love you.
[Message to Mom – Maya]
📱 Robinson:
Mom… It's me. My memories are back. I don't know what Paul or Grandpa are planning… but I'm not running anymore. I just wanted to say… I'm ready. For all of it.
His hands trembled slightly as he hit send. Then he looked at the screen glowing in his hand—his own reflection in it had changed.
Calm. Determined. And ready to dive even deeper.
Robinson stepped out of the bathroom, his footsteps slow but heavy. The school hallway buzzed with energy, yet everything felt distant—Japanese voices surrounded him, unfamiliar faces, and no one he recognized.
He looked around, his breath tightening.
"This isn't just culture shock… this is a nightmare," he muttered to himself.
Before coming to Japan, he thought it might be an escape—a clean slate. But instead, the pressure and isolation were closing in even more. He passed groups of students chatting in Japanese, none of them paying him any mind.
Back in the classroom, heads turned as he re-entered. Especially from the gang member who had thrown the basketball earlier.
One of them smirked, whispering to his friend,
"Hey, the foreigner's back. Head still sore?"
Robinson ignored them. He stared blankly at the seat near the window, then walked over and sat down again—beside Tachibana, the quiet student who hadn't said a word the entire class.
Tachibana gave him a brief glance, then went back to scribbling in his notebook.
Robinson leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the window. The Tokyo skyline stretched out beneath a gray sky.
Everything here felt foreign. Cold. Silent.
He reached into his pocket and gripped his phone tightly. Still no replies from Cassandra. Or his mom.
Under his breath, he whispered to no one in particular:
"I'm on my own again... but this time, I'm not running."
And behind all the confusion, Robinson knew one thing:
This wasn't the end. It was the beginning.