The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white as I pushed the accelerator, the low growl of the GT-R’s engine resonating through my chest. The Wangan was alive tonight, the hum of distant cars mingling with the pulse of my own heartbeat. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles whitening as I weaved through traffic. Another photoshoot, another hollow day of smiles and poses—I needed this. The rush. The freedom. The sense of control I could only find here.

And then, like a phantom, it appeared. A piercing roar cut through the night, and in the distance, I saw it—the Devil Z. Sleek, untamed, and impossibly fast. My breath hitched as it surged past me, its presence an unspoken challenge that I couldn’t ignore. My foot slammed the pedal harder, my GT-R surging forward in pursuit. The Z moved as if it were alive, weaving effortlessly, taunting me with every shift of its weight.

I followed it to a rest area, my heart pounding harder than the engine beneath me. Parking a few spaces away, I stepped out, the cool night air brushing against my skin as I approached the car. I didn’t know what I’d say or what I was even doing. My hand hovered over the driver’s side window, a blend of curiosity, adrenaline, and something I couldn’t quite name coursing through me. This wasn’t just a car—it was a story, a mystery, and I needed to know who the driver was.

"So, this is the Devil Z..." I murmured, my voice steady but laced with a reverence I rarely let slip. "What kind of person tames something like this?"