Day Six.
The calendar on the wall of Tanaka Motors seemed to be mocking him.
Marco was lying face down on a yoga mat.
"Forty-eight..." he wheezed, his arms trembling so violently they looked like guitar strings. "Forty... nine..."
"You're cheating on the form," Uncle Jiro called out, sipping tea while reading a magazine. "Your butt is in the air. You look like a duck."
"I am... a graceful... swan," Marco gasped, pushing up for the fiftieth rep before collapsing into a puddle of sweat.
The last four days had been a blur of agony. The "Marco Rossi Boot Camp" was in full swing. He ran every morning until his lungs felt like they were filled with broken glass. He ate so much tofu and boiled chicken that he was starting to dream in protein structures. And in between the physical torture, he wrenched on the NSR250.
The bike was no longer a corpse. It was a patient in critical condition, but stabilizing.
The carburetors were clean enough to eat off of (though Marco wouldn't recommend it). The spark plugs were new.
"Get up, Swan," Jiro grunted. "You have an engine to finish. If you don't get the bottom end sealed today, the sealant won't cure in time for tomorrow."
Marco groaned, peeling himself off the mat. "I hate you. I hate everything."
"You love it," Rin chirped, walking by with a tray of iced coffee. "You've been smiling the whole time."
Marco paused. Was he? He touched his face. She was right. Despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, the thrill of the chase was back.
"Let's finish this," Marco said, chugging the coffee in one go.
He marched to the workbench. The engine block sat there, a beautiful, complex heart of aluminum. He had the crankshaft in. He had the pistons ready. He just needed to install the flywheel and the magneto rotor.
He picked up the heavy rotor a magnetic metal cup that spun around the coils to generate electricity and timing signals. He slid it onto the crankshaft.
"Okay," Marco muttered. "Now the locking nut."
He threaded the nut on. He grabbed the wrench. He needed to torque it down to exactly 85 Newton-meters. If it was too loose, it would fly off at 10,000 RPM and destroy the engine. If it was too tight, he'd strip the threads.
He placed the wrench. He needed to hold the flywheel still while he turned the nut.
"Rin, come hold the flywheel holder tool," Marco ordered.
Rin frowned, looking through the toolbox. "Uh, Kai? We don't have a flywheel holder."
"What?" Marco froze. "Uncle Jiro said everything was here!"
Jiro scratched his bald head. "Ah. Right. I lent that to Sato down the street in 2019. He never gave it back."
Marco stared at him. "You... lent the only tool that can lock the engine... to a rival mechanic? And you didn't think to mention this three days ago?"
"I forgot," Jiro shrugged. "Improvise. Use a screwdriver."
"If I jam a screwdriver in there, I'll shear off the copper windings!" Marco yelled, panic rising in his chest. It was 4:00 PM. The shop down the street closed at 5:00. Without that tool, he couldn't seal the engine. If he didn't seal the engine today, he couldn't mount it tomorrow. If he didn't mount it tomorrow... He wouldn't race.
"I'm going to Sato's," Marco announced. He grabbed his helmet not for safety, but to hide his desperate face and ran out the door.
He didn't have a vehicle. Rin was using the delivery scooter. So, Marco Rossi, three-time World Champion, sprinted down the sidewalk in flip-flops and grease-stained shorts.
"Sato's Speed Shop" was cleaner than Tanaka Motors. It had air conditioning. It had a waiting room with a coffee machine.
Marco burst through the door, panting like a dying dog.
"Mr. Sato!" he yelled.
A man with a thick mustache and a pristine blue uniform looked up from a computer. "We're closing in twenty minutes. No oil changes."
"I don't need oil!" Marco gasped, leaning on the counter. "I'm Jiro's nephew. Kai. He says you have our flywheel holder tool. The universal one."
Sato narrowed his eyes. "Jiro? That old raccoon? He owes me five thousand yen for lunch last month."
"I don't care about lunch!" Marco pleaded. "I need the tool. Just for ten minutes. I'll bring it right back."
Sato crossed his arms. "No."
"What do you mean, no?"
"I mean, I don't lend tools to kids who play mechanic. That tool is precision equipment. If you strip it, I'm out of business for the day." Sato smirked. "Besides, how do I know you even know how to use it? Jiro says you can't tell a piston from a potato."
Marco's blood boiled. The disrespect. But he didn't have time for ego.
"I know how to use it," Marco said through gritted teeth. "Please."
Sato checked his watch. "Tell you what. You bring the bike here. I'll tighten the nut for you. Charge you fifty bucks. Family discount."
"I can't bring the bike!" Marco shouted. "It's a bare frame! The engine is on the bench!"
"Then bring the engine," Sato said, turning back to his computer. "If I don't see the work, you don't get the tool. Shop rules."
Marco stared at the man's back. He wanted to jump over the counter and put him in a headlock. But violence wouldn't get the nut tightened.
"Fine," Marco whispered. "Fine!"
He turned and sprinted out the door.
He bolted back up the street. His legs were burning from the morning workout. His chest felt tight. He burst back into Tanaka Motors.
"Did you get it?" Rin asked.
"No," Marco snarled. He ran to the workbench. He looked at the engine.
It was a V-twin 250cc block. With the transmission gears inside, the crank, and the cases, it weighed about thirty-five kilograms. Maybe forty.
It was a lump of solid metal.
"Help me wrap it," Marco ordered.
"Wrap what?" Jiro asked.
"The engine!" Marco grabbed a thick moving blanket and swaddled the metal block like a very ugly, very heavy baby.
"Kai, you're crazy," Jiro said, standing up. "You can't carry that all the way to Sato's. It's three kilometers round trip! Your arms will snap!"
"Watch me!"
Marco squatted down. He hooked his arms under the bundle. He engaged his core.
"HRRNGH!"
The weight was instant and crushing. His knees buckled. His lower back screamed. This body was stronger than it was six days ago, but it was still a teenager's body.
"Kai, stop!" Rin cried out. "We can call a taxi!"
"No money for a taxi!" Marco grunted, shuffling toward the door. "And no time!"
He stepped out onto the street.
The engine block dug into his forearms. He had to walk with a strange waddle to keep his balance.
One step. Two steps.
"F***," he cursed loudly. "This is heavy."
People on the sidewalk stopped to stare. A teenager, red-faced, sweating profusely, carrying a massive, oil-stained bundle, shuffling down the street like a penguin.
Think about the race, Marco told himself. Think about the finish line.
His biceps were on fire. His fingers were starting to go numb. He had to stop every fifty meters to rest the engine on a low wall or a fire hydrant, gasping for air.
"Why... did I choose... a sport... with heavy machines?" he wheezed to a stray cat watching him. "Why didn't I play... ping pong?"
He picked the engine up again. Pain is just information, he recited his old trainer's mantra. Right now, the information is that I am weak.
He turned the corner. Sato's shop was in sight. The lights were flickering. He was about to close.
"NO!" Marco yelled. "DON'T YOU DARE!"
He summoned a burst of adrenaline from somewhere deep in his soul. He ignored the screaming of his muscles. He broke into a jagged, stumbling jog.
He kicked the door of Sato's shop open with a bang.
"I'M HERE!" Marco roared, his voice cracking.
Sato jumped, dropping his coffee. He stared at the boy. Marco was dripping sweat. His veins were popping out of his neck. He looked like a demon.
Marco marched to the counter and slammed the engine down.
"Tighten... the... damn... nut," Marco wheezed, collapsing onto the floor.
Sato looked at the engine. Then he looked at the skinny kid on the floor, whose chest was heaving like a bellows. He looked out the window, realizing the kid had walked the whole way.
Slowly, a smile crept onto Sato's face. It wasn't a mocking smile this time. It was a mechanic's smile.
"Crazy kid," Sato muttered. He reached under the counter and pulled out the tool. "Alright. Bring it here."
...
Two hours later.
The engine was back. The walk back had been even harder, but triumph is a powerful painkiller.
Marco slid the final engine mounting bolt through the frame. The heart was back in the body.
"Everything is connected," Marco whispered. "Fuel lines. Coolant hoses. Oil pump. Electrical harness."
Rin and Jiro were standing behind him, silent. The mood was heavy with anticipation.
"Will it start?" Rin asked nervously.
"There's only one way to know," Marco said.
He stood up. He felt lightheaded. He had nothing left in the tank. But the bike... the bike looked ready.
He swung a leg over the saddle. It felt different now. The suspension settled under his weight. The bike felt solid. Connected.
He reached for the kickstarter.
"Come on, sweetheart," Marco whispered, patting the tank. "Wake up for me."
He kicked.
Whirrr-chug. Nothing.
He kicked again.
Whirrr-chug.
"Fuel needs to cycle," Jiro muttered. "Give it some choke."
Marco pulled the choke lever. He took a deep breath. He focused everything on his right leg.
BRAAAAAP!
White smoke erupted from the tailpipes, filling the small garage with the sweet, acrid smell of burning two-stroke oil.
The engine revved crisply, the sound bouncing off the walls. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding. The classic two-stroke idle.
"YES!" Rin screamed, jumping up and down.
Even Jiro was smiling, clapping his hands slowly.
Marco sat on the vibrating bike, closing his eyes. The vibration traveled up his spine. It was the best feeling in the world. He revved the throttle. The needle on the tachometer danced.
I did it, he thought. I actually did it!
He reached down to kill the engine, savoring the silence that followed. His ears were ringing. His body was broken. But his spirit was soaring.
Suddenly, a strange sound echoed in his head. Not a mechanical sound. A digital ping.
Marco opened his eyes.
Floating in the air, right in front of his face, was a translucent blue rectangle.
Marco blinked. He rubbed his eyes with his greasy hands. The box was still there.
[ SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE... ]
[ CRITERIA MET: REVIVAL OF A LEGENDARY MACHINE ]
[ WELCOME, HOST. ]
[ MOTOGP LEGEND SYSTEM: ACTIVATED! ]
Marco stared at the floating text. He looked at Rin. She was wiping grease off her face, oblivious to the blue light. He looked at Jiro. Nothing.
"Can you... see that?" Marco whispered, pointing at the air.
"See what?" Rin asked. "The smoke? Yeah, open a window before we die of carbon monoxide poisoning."
Marco looked back at the screen. New text was scrolling.
[ NEW QUEST RECEIVED: THE DEBUT ]
[ OBJECTIVE: FINISH IN THE TOP 3 AT SUNDAY'S TRACK DAY ]
[ REWARD: ??? ]
[ PENALTY FOR FAILURE: SYSTEM DEACTIVATION ]
Marco Rossi, the man who had died in a fire and woken up in a nightmare of rust and debt, looked at the glowing blue words.
A slow, terrifying, exhilarated grin spread across his face.