Cassandra sat on her bed, the window open, night wind gently brushing her face. Her phone buzzed. She glanced down—a message from Robinson.
> "I don't remember everything… but today, I saw flashes. You. Daryl. Mom. The races… It's all starting to come back. Sorry I didn't text sooner."
"I really miss you guys."
She stared at the screen for a long moment. Her eyes glistened.
She typed back quickly:
> "I'm waiting for you to come home… Robinson."
GARAGE 17, NEW YORK
Inside the now quieter Garage 17, Paul was checking over a vehicle monitor when a text popped up on his phone. It was from Maya.
> "Robinson's memory is coming back. He just messaged Cassandra and me. Little by little."
Paul closed his eyes briefly, a small smile forming.
Marcus, chewing on a sandwich nearby, looked over.
"You look like your kid just got into college or something."
Paul gave him a sideways smirk. "It's bigger than that."
Marcus's girlfriend—still fiddling with a car ECU on the workbench—glanced up and smiled gently, placing a hand on Marcus's shoulder.
"At least we know he's still fighting. He's your son, after all."
The Tokyo sky was painted orange and gold as Robinson walked down a quiet street alone in his school uniform.
A sharp car horn blared behind him.
He didn't turn. Still lost in thought.
A red sports car screeched slightly to a halt beside him.
The door flung open.
"Hey!" a sharp voice called out.
Robinson turned.
A young man with messy dark hair, wearing a leather jacket, jogged up to him—it was Arai, a long-time friend of Paul, assigned secretly to watch over Robinson in Tokyo.
Arai lifted a hand, breathing a little hard. "Looks like… your memory's coming back, huh?"
Robinson didn't answer immediately. Just gave a slow nod.
Arai exhaled in relief and held out his hand.
"I'm Arai. I've known your dad for years. I've been assigned to look after you since you landed. But since you didn't remember anything… I held back."
Robinson looked him in the eye… and shook his hand.
"Finally. Something familiar in this place."
Arai smiled. "Hop in. I'll drive you home. But tomorrow… we've got somewhere to go. Something you need to see."
The night blanketed Tokyo, city lights shimmering outside the high-rise apartment window. Inside, Robinson lay on his bed, the grey sheets barely rumpled. The room was dimly lit—peaceful on the surface, but his mind was anything but calm.
His phone glowed in his hand. Notifications lit up one after another:
> 🟢 Cassandra: "You must be tired. But I'm glad your memory is coming back."
> 🟢 Daryl: "Bro… you alive? Don't ghost us like that. When you're back, I'm racing you again!"
> 🟢 Maya (Mom): "Stay safe out there, sweetheart. I trust you'll take care of yourself."
Robinson stared at the screen, reading each message slowly. He didn't reply right away. Images kept flashing in his mind—races, explosions, Vance, Zero Divide… and the faces of those who stood by him.
He opened his gallery and saw a photo: him, Daryl, and Cassandra back at Garage 17. A faint smile tugged at his lips. But his eyes told a different story—one of unrest.
Then, a new notification popped up.
> 🔒 Unknown Number: "You might feel safe in Tokyo. But Zero Divide's shadow doesn't vanish just because you moved."
Robinson sat up, expression darkening.
He quickly typed back:
> "Who are you?"
No reply.
He locked the screen, then stared out at the Tokyo skyline.
The night breeze rustled against the window—but inside, it felt like a storm was brewing in his chest.
Robinson whispered to himself: "Looks like… this isn't over."
The classroom buzzed with morning energy. Sunlight spilled through the windows, casting warm lines across the desks. Voices blended—footsteps, chatter, soft laughter.
Robinson sat at his desk, half-lost in thought. His uniform shirt was unbuttoned at the top, tie loose, hair messy in his usual style. Beside him, Tachibana, a slim guy with a chill expression, lightly nudged his arm.
Tachibana:
"You're Zashiro's friend, right?"
Robinson turned, slightly confused.
"How do you know that?"
Tachibana chewed his gum slowly, glancing out the window.
"He messaged me last night. Turns out we're in the same class. He asked me to keep an eye on you."
Robinson raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised.
"Keep an eye on me?"
Tachibana gave a small nod.
"Yeah. Said to let him know if anything happens. Apparently, you cause trouble sometimes. Oh, and one more thing..."
Tachibana turned to him with a sly grin.
"He said you're dangerous when you zone out for too long."
Robinson scoffed and leaned back in his chair.
"Still the same Zashiro. Always trying to control things, even from far away."
Tachibana:
"Can you blame him? He's my cousin. I know his style. But honestly... who are you, really? Zashiro doesn't go out of his way for just anyone."
Robinson glanced sideways, his eyes sharp for a second… then softened again.
"I'm trying to figure that out myself."
The school bell rang. The teacher entered with a textbook in hand.
Tachibana leaned back in his chair, whispering,
"Don't worry. Starting today… you're not alone here."
Robinson gave a faint smile.
"I was never alone to begin with. I just… forgot sometimes."
The school hallway buzzed with footsteps and chatter. Students moved toward the cafeteria, laughing, texting, some tossing snacks between each other.
From the far end, Robinson walked calmly with his hands in his pockets. His eyes scanned the hallway casually—but there was a sharpness in them. Calm. Focused.
Suddenly, the gang from yesterday—five cocky guys with loud fashion and louder mouths—rounded the corner.
They noticed Robinson instantly.
One of them muttered,
"Hey, it's that transfer punk from earlier."
Another added,
"Looks too chill for someone who walked out on us."
They closed in.
One guy carried a half-full water bottle. Without a word, he stepped up—and poured it over Robinson's head with a smug grin.
Robinson froze.
Water dripped from his hair. His shirt clung to him slightly from the dampness. Slowly, his eyes lifted—cold, razor sharp.
Robinson (low, dead calm):
"Fucking bitch."
In a flash, he grabbed the guy's arm, twisted it backward into a painful lock, forcing him down.
Gang Leader:
"Hey! Let him go!"
The rest charged—but Robinson moved first.
BAM!—A punch to the chest.
THUD!—A kick straight to the knee.
CRACK!—One guy's head hit a locker.
In seconds, the whole gang was down—groaning on the floor, some stunned, others in real pain.
Robinson calmly pulled a small tissue from his pocket and wiped his hands. Then he picked up the dropped water bottle.
He walked over to the gang leader—who was now sitting on the floor, breathing heavily, blood trickling from his nose.
Robinson, without emotion, tilted the bottle—
SPLASH!—Poured the last of the water right over the leader's head.
Then, in fluent Japanese, he muttered coldly:
"この野郎." (Kono yarou – You bastard.)
The hallway went dead silent.
Students nearby gawked in shock. No one said a word.
Off to the side, Tachibana leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the whole thing.
He gave a low whistle and muttered to himself,
"Damn... he actually learned Japanese."
That morning in New York, Cassandra was lying on her bed, scrolling through her phone. Her hair was tied in twin braids, and a loose gray hoodie draped over her shoulders.
As she browsed social media, a trending video popped up on her feed.
Video title:
> "Transfer student knocks out entire gang at Japanese school!"
Her expression shifted immediately. She tapped on it.
Clear as day—it was Robinson.
His hair soaked from water poured over him. His expression calm. Then, in a flash, he moved—fighting off the bullies one by one. At the end, he splashed the gang leader with the remaining water and said in fluent Japanese:
"You're disgraceful."
Cassandra (suddenly tense):
"He's… back."
She quickly opened her messages and found Robinson's last text.
> "I remember everything, Cass. But I need time to rebuild myself from scratch. If I don't reply fast, it's not because I forgot—it's because I'm figuring things out. I hope you understand."
She stared at the message, emotions swirling—relief, worry, and longing all mixed together.
Then she opened her school calendar and read:
> MID-SEMESTER BREAK – 5 DAYS OFF
A small smile appeared on her face. She switched tabs and searched:
> ✈️ Flight from JFK to Tokyo – 2 seats left
Cassandra (murmuring to herself):
"If you can't come back… then I'll come to you. We're not done, Rob."
She immediately messaged Daryl:
> "I saw the video. He's insane. I've made up my mind—I'm flying to Tokyo. I need to see him."