The wheels of the plane screeched against the tarmac as the Vaayu GP team landed in Tokyo. The city glowed beneath the afternoon sun, steel and glass towers slicing through the sky like giant blades. Even through the airplane window, Sukhman felt the familiar thud in his chest — not of excitement, but of something heavier. Memories. Ones with jagged edges.
He watched as airport signs flicked past in rapid succession. Japanese announcements played over the speakers. The entire team moved briskly, excitement and nervous energy buzzing like static around them. But for Sukhman, the air felt heavier with each step he took closer to the terminal exit.
"Tokyo, baby!" Harinder exclaimed, stretching his arms dramatically. "Hope they got butter chicken somewhere near."
Sukhman smiled faintly but remained quiet.
As they stepped out into the terminal, a few local fans recognized Sukhman, snapping photos from afar and murmuring excitedly. But their cheers were distant echoes against the scream he remembered from the last time he was here — t
he screeching tires, the collision, the helpless spiral into the barricades.
---
Back at the hotel, Siddharth was already waiting in the lobby, clipboard in hand, eyebrows furrowed in typical fashion. His white polo bore the Vaayu GP logo, and a small Japanese flag pin rested above his name tag.
"You're late," he said flatly, though his eyes softened the moment he looked at Sukhman. "Room's ready. Come, I'll take you there."
As they walked through the clean, minimalist hallway, Sukhman stopped at a particular window overlooking the Tokyo skyline.
"This place hasn't changed," he said. "Neither has the smell of burnt rubber."
Siddharth hesitated.
"Sukhman..."
The driver turned to face him.
"I should've said this long ago. I'm sorry," Siddharth said, voice low. "Last season — that crash. I reviewed the diagnostics. The telemetry spike... we missed it. I missed it. I know it's my job to make sure you're safe. And that day, I failed."
Sukhman held his gaze for a long moment.
"You didn't put me in that wall, Sid. Racing did. It's a game of seconds, of instincts. We both know that."
"Still. That doesn't lift my guilt. But it won't happen again. I promise. This car — this season — we're doing it right."
Sukhman nodded slowly. "Let's just make sure Tokyo remembers us for something better this time."
---
The hotel room was modest. Two beds, one large window overlooking a quiet side street, and a tiny television mounted in the corner. Comfortable, but not luxurious. Vaayu GP wasn't burning money on flash — not yet. The team had something more valuable: heart.
Harinder plopped onto the bed with his arms behind his head. "Man, you'd think with all this racing stuff we'd at least get a room with a jacuzzi."
"Yeah, and a butler named Kenta," Sukhman replied, tossing his duffel onto the second bed.
Harinder grinned. "Hey, if I'm gonna be your bodyguard, I demand hazard pay and extra pillows."
"Bodyguard? You just don't wanna pay your own hotel bill."
"Details, bro. Details."
They both laughed. The kind that helped clear away lingering shadows.
After a brief round of room-service ramen and an aggressive battle over who got to control the remote, Sukhman finally flipped to the sports channel.
The screen faded in, revealing the iconic pairing of Jack Simmons and Whitney Moore.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, let us celebrate the return to all of our favorite sport — racing. And it's biggest event the World Grand Prix Championship!" Jack bellowed, his voice full of flair.
Whitney smiled gently beside him. "It's been a long off-season, and now, we finally begin a fresh chapter."
"Tokyo Circuit — the one where rubber meets neon! And where last season... well, let's not sugarcoat it, folks. We saw one of the most brutal crashes in recent GP history."
Sukhman stared at the screen. A replay clip flashed: his car spiraling into the barricade, flames licking the rear tires, crew members running, the entire circuit holding its breath.
"But he's back," Whitney said softly. "Sukhman Singh. Rising from that crash with nothing but scars and ambition."
Jack nodded. "The man has got guts. And with Team Vaayu GP restructured, bringing in new tech and old blood like Chief Engineer Siddharth Mahato, they might just stir the standings."
The camera shifted to a digital map of the Tokyo Circuit.
"For our new viewers....," Whitney continued, "Here's how the championship works: 20 teams across the globe, 10 races in 10 countries. One driver per team. Qualifying happens every Saturday. Top 10 move to the main event on Sunday."
"Points are awarded after each race," Jack added. "And at the end of 10 GP's, whoever stands atop the leaderboard walks away as world champion."
Whitney gestured toward the screen.
"The Tokyo Circuit is known for its tight hairpins and long stretches. It's both a test of strategy and raw speed."
"Don't forget the chicane at turn six. It's where champions are made — or mangled," Jack said with a wink.
Harinder looked over at Sukhman, who hadn't blinked once.
"Hey," he said softly. "You okay?"
Sukhman exhaled slowly.
"I will be."
Harinder nodded, serious for once.
"You know, if you get scared, I can always run onto the track and body-slam that Callum Graves guy."
Sukhman chuckled. "Tempting. But let me try the whole 'driving' thing first."
"Suit yourself. Just know I'm always one guava away from going rogue."
They laughed again. But this time, there was weight behind it. Not just joy, but survival.