Chapter 70: The Refined and Amiable Good Driver

On a mountain road in the outskirts of Tokyo, the roar of engines filled the air. The biker gang sped along the winding path, their motorcycles tearing through the night. Though their ride seemed fast, their actual speed was less than thirty kilometers per hour.

Miho Kato led the pack, her motorcycle bearing a flag emblazoned with “Top Notch Ruckus” fluttering violently in the wind. Unlike any ride before, Miho was exceptionally cautious this time, her eyes constantly flicking to the rearview mirror.

Would that creature come?

Miho wondered silently. As the thought crossed her mind, a streak of crimson appeared in the mirror. A chilling laugh echoed through the mountains, striking fear into the heart.

A motorcycle engulfed in blazing flames burst onto the road. It was Suzuki’s latest model, its plastic shell dyed blood-red. The metal rods and shock absorbers had the appearance of decayed bones and limbs.

A figure clad in black leather sat atop the bike, helmetless. Only now did Miho truly behold the visage of this evil spirit—a skull ablaze, its features shaped by fire, sinister and terrifying.

As the laughter reached her, Miho felt her mind blur. Her handlebars nearly veered into the roadside barrier.

A warm surge suddenly spread through Miho’s chest. The Buddhist beads given to her by Mikoto Hoshikawa emitted a gentle warmth, dispelling the chill. Regaining her senses, Miho tapped the brakes and slowed down, aided by their modest speed. The biker gang behind her, affected as well, staggered to a halt along the roadside.

The flaming motorcycle sped by, its passage bringing a bone-dry wind.

“Target spotted at location A3,” Miho spoke into her walkie-talkie.

Ahead, the flaming bike would soon round a small bend and reach the gas station, where Mikoto Hoshikawa’s car was parked.

...

The instant the signal came through, Hoshikawa started his engine.

“Mr. Jo, the monk may act unpredictably in a moment. If you see something amiss, please stop me,” he said with a gentle smile, removing the beads from his wrist and hanging them on the rearview mirror.

“Don’t worry,” Jo Qiao replied, holding a long-barreled revolver loaded with six explosive rounds. At maximum firing speed, Jo could empty the revolver in two seconds—enough to annihilate the flaming motorcycle.

Just then, the sound of a resentful, furious engine approached. The woods to one side seemed to catch fire, tinted by the glow. The engine noise drew closer, and flames brighter than the streetlights spread rapidly.

The flaming bike entered Jo’s left field of vision, moving fast enough to leave afterimages as it zipped to the right.

“We’re almost—”

Jo’s words were cut short as a sudden acceleration pinned him to his seat, swallowing his voice. Adrenaline surged, and time seemed to slow within his vision. When he regained his composure, the flaming motorcycle he thought unreachable was now just ahead.

“Hoshikawa, you’re... incredible,” Jo murmured, growing accustomed to the speed. Truly, Mikoto Hoshikawa’s driving skill was exceptional.

“You little punk, just wait!” A string of curses interrupted Jo’s thoughts. He glanced over—Hoshikawa had changed. No, to be precise, the genius monk of Asakusa Temple, the one called Eijou, had vanished.

Hoshikawa, teeth gritted, spat curses as he drove, embodying the biker spirit.

“This damned bastard, got the guts to drive on the right, but not the left?”

“Did you learn to drive in a toilet pit? Why not fly a plane if you’re so fast, instead of riding a motorcycle?”

“A crap driver deserves a crap ride. I bet the fuel’s crap too.”

“Nice cornering—are you rushing to get your family reincarnated?”

“You [bleep] bastard, your laughter’s so loud, afraid your dead mother can’t hear you?”

Such vulgar and not-so-vulgar words poured out nonstop from the moment the engine started.

Jo stared, dumbfounded. So Hoshikawa didn’t have a fear of vehicles—rather, whenever he boarded one, he couldn’t help but curse?

Elegant and gentle outside the car, profane within?

Anger was a Buddhist taboo; perhaps Hoshikawa sought not to break the precepts.

Jo glanced at the map on his phone. They’d been driving for three minutes, mostly gentle uphill slopes and some small bends—a typical mountain ascent.

The flaming motorcycle, perhaps sensing the exorcists’ plan, accelerated even further. Yet Hoshikawa was intimately familiar with this stretch. Though he cursed, his driving remained unhurried, entering and exiting every curve at the limits of speed, without Jo feeling the slightest deceleration.

Based on his racing game experience, Jo expected such high-speed driving to be rough. Instead, after the initial blood-pounding burst, the ride was surprisingly smooth—like a leisurely drive.

The flaming motorcycle ignored some laws of physics, but could not shake off Hoshikawa’s AE86. In fact, Jo felt they were steadily gaining.

They crested the mountain; both vehicles entered the downhill path. This section featured many small bends, ending with a triple hairpin and a straightaway. Beyond that lay the tunnel, where the flaming bike might escape.

“Drive, drive, drive—what the [bleep] are you doing!” Hoshikawa continued cursing. “Got the guts, stop right now, you bastard!”

“Forget it, you’re rushing for reincarnation anyway—letting you go a bit doesn’t matter.”

Despite the curses, the AE86 had closed the gap to less than a car length. As planned, every bend presented a chance to overtake.

Jo raised his revolver. Left turns meant overtaking on the inside, so he couldn’t shoot at the flaming bike. According to the map, he had four bends left.

At the first, the flaming bike cunningly blocked the inner lane, cutting off the AE86.

The second was a tight curve; the smaller bike zipped through, denying Hoshikawa any chance.

The last two were hairpins. Amid Hoshikawa’s relentless profanity, Jo remained steadfast. On the mountain road outside Tokyo, both vehicles howled through the night, drifting in perfect harmony—man and machine as one. Drifting, Jo glanced at his own reflection in the mirror.

At the first hairpin, Hoshikawa attempted an inside pass, but the flaming bike anticipated and blocked him. This forced it to slow for the second turn.

Jo noticed the bike seemed reluctant to leave the road, perhaps bound by some supernatural “rule”—like vengeful spirits fearing sunlight, or earthbound ghosts restricted to certain places. Perhaps this bike was a road-bound evil spirit, unable to exist off the path.

At the second hairpin, Hoshikawa claimed the right lane, closing the gap to half a car length.

Jo raised his gun. Just as the target entered range—

Bang!

Faced with the revolver’s black barrel, the flaming motorcycle seemed to awaken a desperate survival instinct. Its flames flared violently, and the whole bike seemed to explode, boosting its speed just enough to pull ahead of the AE86.

The last turn was behind them.

“Damn it, this bastard’s cheating!” Hoshikawa cursed, preparing to slow down.

Jo stopped him. “Hoshikawa, as I said, just in case, I had Kato install that feature.”

“That feature—” Hoshikawa had no time to hesitate. He decisively pressed the button.

In that instant, he felt his familiar car transform—becoming wild, fierce, straining to break free. The engine roared, its power transmitted to the wheels through intricate machinery.

Bang!

Azure flames burst from the AE86’s exhaust.

Hoshikawa watched as the speedometer needle danced madly, finally exceeding its limit—breaking altogether.

He no longer knew their speed. He only knew they could catch the flaming bike.

Everything blurred in his vision, except for the burning figure drawing ever closer.

“Who do you think I am!” Unlike Jo, who watched the flaming bike like a hunter, Hoshikawa roared, “Don’t underestimate the biker gang, you bastard!”

At last, the headlights left a trailing afterimage.

The AE86 overtook the flaming motorcycle.

In that moment, Jo pulled the trigger.