Plumes of white fly on the wind, invading from the west to confront the setting sun. Their clash paints the sky a radiant gold, as beams of broken light cascade down upon the earth below. Soon, the rain will follow—and with it will come a cold, gloomy prelude to the long winter ahead. Sapporo shivers to the beat of the wind... Another autumn come and gone.
Just as the seasons flow, so too does the river, lazily snaking its way south and carrying the lifeblood of the land on its back. Route 230 follows closely at its side, leaving the big city behind. Here, Sapporo gives way to the natural majesty of Hokkaido, untamed and untainted even by the sprawl of the suburbs. None can tame the mighty Mount Moiwa, standing tall on the horizon west of the corridor; nor can they touch the parks and forests to the east, preserved in all their beauty. Here, harmony reigns supreme.
...Yet there is one garish challenger to this equilibrium of nature. A defiant box of brick and mortar, contrasting the greens and blues with a sore-thumb American red and a sea of concrete gray. Most of the locals couldn’t tell you how long this place has been here, but it’s been a constant in this neighborhood’s memory, always in the corner of their eyes as they trundle down 230. It’s like it belongs to a different world entirely... A world few know.
But it would seem the endless river of time has left this building behind. Bold katakana spell out words no one understands. Vines crawl up the walls and drown the red bricks in green. The sprawling parking lot is devoid of customers. The building still persists in spite of the world around it—or perhaps, in spite of itself. But the river just keeps flowing on.
For a moment, the building stirs—a ringtone from deep within its confines, breaking the stillness inside. Footsteps echo through the lobby as a shadowy figure approaches the front desk, her sandy locks dancing below her shoulders. She yearned for a distraction like this... Anything to take her mind off things. Anything to make her feel like she belongs. She takes a deep breath, picks up the phone and goes through the motions, just like Mom does.
“Aikawa Auto Company. How may I help you?”
“Evenin’! Hope this isn’t a bad time.”
“Not at all, Mr. Shimizu. Is it what I think it is?”
“Yeeeah, she finally gave up the ghost. Thought I could leave it for next week, but nope.”
“I don’t wanna pay to get ‘er towed if I don’t have to. You mind comin’ up here and givin’ ‘er a quick check for me?”
“Of course. I’ll be up there in just a bit.”
“Oh! Actually, uh... I needed to go pick up my kid today too, but with the truck outta commission, I can’t exactly do that. Could I trouble ya to pick him up and drop him off at my place on your way here? I’ll pay extra.”
“Oh, sure! I can do that.”
“Man, you’re a lifesaver. Really appreciate it! This is why I stick to the local places—ya just don’t get service like that with the big shops, heh. Right, see ya in a bit!”
“See you later.”
A job. They don’t take those for granted. She picks a key chain up off the front desk, dangling delicately in her hand. With a click, the front door locks tight—and with it, the sign flips from Open to Closed. One last job for the day, and just in the nick of time.
The lights in the garage flicker to life above her, revealing a proud workshop that has nonetheless lost its luster. Once upon a time, this bay would be full of cars of every kind, awaiting the services of their master mechanics. Now, all the spaces sit empty...
Save for one.
“Alright... One more quick run tonight, girl. Let’s earn some bread.”
The garage slowly unfurls with a hum, the darkness beyond creeping through the open door. It punctuates the isolation of this once mighty shop—an isolation she knows too well.
In her mother’s stead, she’s manned this place alone more and more as of late. She inherits from her a legacy in decline, a story with no new chapters—and as the years drag on, the glory days of the Aikawa Auto Company fading further and further in the rear view mirror, it’s easy to write this company off as yet another casualty of Father Time’s endless march.
*Click!* *Bzzzz...*
...Yet within these withered walls rumbles the still-beating heart of a monster.
*VRRRMMMMM!*
The beast’s piercing eyes bathe the lot with an antique yellow glow, its guttural growl drowning out the pitter-patter of the rain. The legacy survives in the form of the company’s most precious heirloom: a snarling speed demon that howls into the night and leaves its lasting impression wherever it goes. Its custom-built V8 bellows with the force of a thousand angry lions, and as it trundles out onto the asphalt, it threatens to tear up the very ground beneath it. This is what Aikawa is: American muscle from across the pond.
She can’t help but brim with glee whenever she gets behind the wheel, evident even in her voice. To her, the car is far more than the sum of its parts—it represents this shop’s storied past, and everything she strives to be in the future. And in the present, behind the wheel, she feels a rush of pride as its behemoth engine thrums to life.
This is the world few know... Maybe she can take her place in it, some day.
“Let’s go.”
***
Up the river, what cold grips the outside feels like worlds away, masked by warm lights, hot coffee and a king’s ransom of sweets. Sitting just a couple blocks from the local high school, this cozy little coffee shop is a popular study spot for students after-hours—especially this time of year, with university entrance exams looming large over them.
Indeed, the seasons are changing.
“Phew... Okay, I think that’s enough for one day.”
The night is young, but his studies are not. He’s had to hunker down and hit the books for quite some time now, both to avoid falling behind his peers and to make sure he lands on his feet in college. It’s the next step on his journey, and one way or another, he’ll take it.
He can’t help but wonder where that next step is going to take him. He’s never been the type to plot his own course—after all, everyone else is doing the same thing he is, so what’s the point in straying from the beaten path? He’s content to just go with the flow and take life as it comes.
It just makes him feel like he’s missing out on something...but what?
*BZZZT!*
“Oh, my phone... Who’s calling me?” Only now does he realize how much time has gone by. It’s already nearing up on closing time. No wonder his father is calling him—it’s about time for him to pack up and head home anyway.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey there, kiddo! So, the car’s actin’ up. I went and asked a friend of mine to pick you up tonight, so she’ll be over there in just a bit. Her name’s Aikawa.”
“Oh... Are you sure? I can just take the bus if I need to.”
“And walk the rest of the way? Nawww, save that for warmer days. Don’t worry, Miss Aikawa’ll take care of you. See you in a bit!”
“A-Alright. See you soon.” His father comes and goes like a whirlwind.
He can’t deny he’s curious. The name seems faintly familiar, but he can’t quite place where he’s heard it before. It doesn’t help that his dad didn’t actually tell him what kind of car Miss Aikawa is going to roll up in...but, well, c’est la vie. They’ll find each other somehow.
Trying not to worry too much about the details, he quickly packs up his belongings and pays for his food and drink. He’s one of the last to leave for the night. Other night-owl students accompany him out the door, each bound for their own homes—some on foot, some by train. It must be convenient, he thinks.
“Brrr... I really should’ve thought to bring a jacket. Or an umbrella.”
An overhang above the door shields him from the rain, but leaves him to fend for himself against the cold November wind. Beneath him, the pebbly rivers at his feet threaten to freeze over, the clouds above cloaking the city in a dour gray mist. Traffic is thin, headlights ebbing and flowing behind the monochrome curtains. His sister adores this sort of weather... He’s too busy shivering to appreciate it.
He still doesn’t feel like an adult yet. Despite recently turning 18, he’s still relying on his old man to come pick him up from the city. Perhaps that’s just a side effect of his laissez-faire approach to life—a consequence of his...hesitation. Would he benefit from taking the reins a little more? Maybe that’s what university is really for...
He sighs. He might have to face some uncomfortable truths, sooner or later.
“Whoa, shoot—“ A passing truck snaps him back to reality as he darts back to avoid a splash of standing water. He scans the street for any signs of his ride, but the cars keep rolling in and out of the mist. 8:08, his phone tells him...and still, nothing.
“I’m in the right spot, right? I don’t know where else she could be coming from...”
*RRRRRMMMMM...*
“...Huh?”
The wind carries a hint to his freezing ears: an imposing mechanical roar coming from the west, nothing like the cars passing by. And speaking of, he notices those, too, are thinning out as the traffic wanes further. Within seconds, this bestial roar is the only thing he hears on the road...and it’s getting closer.
“What on Earth is that...? That can’t be Miss Aikawa, can it?”
He doesn’t know why, but that’s what his mind is telling him. Aikawa... Aikawa...
“H-Holy...”
Blazing lights pierce through the darkness, and the veil of mist finally gives way to the cloaked car. He has no idea what to make of the bestial machine growling at him—it doesn’t look nor sound nor move like any car he’s ever seen. It freezes him in place like a deer in its headlights, the rain shimmering off of it like some kind of mystical mirage. It commands his attention and his silence as it rolls up to the front of the shop.
His confusion abates nothing as the car draws closer. Black tops red on a brutish American chassis, with not a blemish to be found. He makes out a badge reading Plymouth on the side, along with another emblem on the hood: Aikawa Speed Shop.
(Aikawa...!)
The car’s mighty engine falls silent, returning the sound of the rain to his ears. He can’t see the driver through the wet stained windows, so he can only watch as the door swings open. The driver gracefully exits, an umbrella unfurling above her.
“Good evening! My name is Reina Aikawa. And you would be Haruomi Shimizu, right?”
Haruomi gulps to try and break the spell on his lips. “E-Err, yes, that’s me.”
“Pleased to meet you! I’ll be taking you home tonight.”
Reina Aikawa... A standard Japanese name, and she speaks the language flawlessly. Yet she doesn’t look Japanese in the slightest—she’s taller than him, for one. Her long blonde hair flows in the wind, gently prodded by the rain as it curls around her fluffy, well-worn hoodie. He notices her tan complexion as well; combined with the monster of a car she rode in on, he stands bewildered by the sheer novelty this character exudes.
*Ahem!*
He eventually manages to shove a “Th-Thank you” out of his mouth, before taking two steps forward and awkwardly pausing. Reina steps forward to accompany him, taking him under the umbrella’s wing. It takes him a beat to calculate that, since she got out of the car on the left side, the passenger side is on the right.
“Oh. Right, left-hand drive.”
Reina smiles disarmingly—it’s not a common quirk around here. He quickly corrects himself and makes for the right side, minding what traffic remains. The car’s hefty door inches open, and as he sits down inside, he feels like he’s stepped right into another world. The interior serves as a stark contrast to just about every other car he’s been in, from the leather bench seat to the flashy styling to the dark, imposing colors. Reina smoothly slides in beside him, the car lacking a center console to separate them; the only thing in their way is a massive gear shifter.
“Make sure to fasten your seat belt before we set off,” Reina advises to him...but where? It’s not up by his shoulder. He searches around frantically, but he can’t find—
“It’s down there, by your hip.”
“Oh.”
The lack of a three-point seat belt is also new for him. He finds the primitive buckle and stretches it across his lap. Reina, meanwhile, slots the key back in the ignition. The aftermarket CD player immediately hums back to life, blasting Boston from the speakers in the back. Haruomi hardly understands a word. Reina quickly shuts it off.
“You’re up by the ski center in Moiwashita, correct?”
Caught him staring. “O-Oh, uh, yeah. It’s right on the main road, you can’t miss it.”
“Alright. Off we go, then~”
With that, Reina presses the clutch in with her left foot and pumps the gas once with her right, settling the throttle about halfway down. She grips the key and gives it a twist, and Haruomi can instantly feel the car begin to stir. A strange whinny echoes from within the engine bay like some sort of metallic hummingbird...but after a second or two, the high-pitched whine is replaced by a low, guttural growl, shaking Haruomi’s very soul as the engine comes alive.
“She’s a little loud, sorry.” She chuckles calmly.
His heart rate finally calms down in time to watch her wield the car’s pistol-grip shifter, gently coaxing the revs up. He can feel the motor rumbling through the seat beneath him, as if the behemoth engine is attempting to break free from its worldly shackles. Then, with routine precision, she clutches up to first and all that power goes straight to the wheels, rolling them out from in front of the shop and into the mist beyond. His return trip is belatedly underway—in a manner he least expected.
Welcome to the world that few know.
***
The rain falls gently on the river, almost reluctant to disturb the surface of the water with its tiny little splashes...but the car cruising alongside it is anything but subtle. Reina rounds the bend and applies just the tiniest bit of throttle—still enough to get the car up to the speed limit in the blink of an eye. Passersby can’t help but stop and stare, the sheer sight of it unlike anything they see in their everyday routine. It sticks out like the sorest of thumbs.
Haruomi feels the back of the seat pushing against him. He’s been down this road hundreds of times, seen this river more than he can count, but it feels so much different tonight—just being in this strange and powerful car has scrambled his senses completely. Normally, he’s content to just stare out the window and daydream while in the car...but he kinda can’t here. Not in a car so aggressive and audacious. He can feel all the eyes on the car as it commands their attention, their gazes piercing the windshield. He feels so seen in this thing...not that that’s a bad thing, per se—it’ll just take him some getting used to.
Reina feels the opposite way: in drawing all the attention to itself, the car shields her from their prying eyes, leaving her blissfully invisible behind the wheel. She prefers it that way.
“Let me know if it’s too hot or cold in here—though I can’t do much to cool us off beyond opening the window.”
“Yeah, no, that’d be a bit soggy. I’m fine though, thanks.”
“No problem! Just making sure you’re comfortable.”
“I am! Sorry if I’m a bit awkward here. I just wasn’t expecting your car to look and sound like this, is all.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s rare I see cars this old out on the streets here, especially Western ones. Sometimes you’ll find a new Mustang or Camaro, but never a vintage.”
Slowly but surely, his nerves are calming down. Don’t get him wrong, this car is still downright terrifying, and it’s almost too loud for him to hear his own thoughts, but the way she commands the beast with such ease, such instinct, is pretty calming. It’s as though this is all second nature to her.
The onslaught of power is briefly interrupted by a traffic light, which affords an enterprising Subaru a chance to get up close and personal. Alongside her at the light, the hooligan revs his engine—he wants to know if she’s down for a little quarter-mile drag.
“What’s his deal...?”
She chuckles to herself. “It happens. Sometimes people come up and ask for a race to the next light. I’m flattered, but that’s not my scene.” The light turns green and she lets him make a fool of himself.
“That said, this car certainly is built for it, heehee.”
“I’m kinda curious now. Just what sort of car is this? I made out the, uh...the ‘ply mouth,’ is that how you pronounce it?”
“She’s a Plymouth Road Runner~! 1970 model, to be exact.” Haruomi’s taken aback that she pronounced it in solid English—she had no trace of a foreign dialect before.
“I’ve been driving her ever since I got my license. And a bit before then too, really.”
“How’d you even get it...? Did you buy it used somewhere?”
“Nope, she’s a hand-me-down. She’s been in the family for...40 years now, I think?”
“Forty ye—?!” Having grown up exclusively around contemporary Japanese makes, the number staggers him. Keeping a car around for 20 years is a stretch, but 40 is a whole new league of dedication.
“I had no idea. Has it just kept going all this time?”
“Mhm! It’s amazing what TLC can do. They’re not quite built to last this long, sure, but when you take care of them, they take care of you.”
“This car meant a lot to my grandma... She and my grandpa started an auto shop together, all the way back in the 50s.”
And only now does he make the connection.
“...Ohhh, is that what that ‘Aikawa Speed Shop’ is?”
“That’s right! She bought it new straight from the factory, and then she built this engine herself from the ground up. For 25 years, this car has been the flagship over at our shop, and she’s good for plenty more.”
“This is the kind of thing we specialize in, actually: we used to build race engines, and now we put them in street cars of all shapes and sizes—plus other sporty mods.”
“I see...”
“She makes more horsepower than anything has a right to. It took me ages just to get a feel for it, the power band is so ridiculous. That’s like our little party trick: people ask to drive her all the time and they can barely make it out of the parking lot...and then my five-foot mom just walks up and schools them.”
“Back when I was younger, she’d sneak the car out to a track down in Tokachi. We’re good friends with the owners there, so she got them to look the other way once or twice and I got to cruise around the circuit... And that was pretty much how I learned to drive.”This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Honestly, I think I’d be a total liability if you put me behind the wheel of anything else. This car is hard-wired into my muscle memory.”
He wasn’t expecting her to open up like this... It’s almost cute of her. Breaking the ice is a foreign concept—and not a very popular one—but Reina’s abundant passion for the family business shines through nonetheless. Something about her compels him to soften up...
They’re interrupted, however, by a very ill-timed light. Just as her hand lands on the shifter to put the car in neutral, red turns to green and forces her to speed up. Not wanting to stall the engine, she quickly orders gas back through the pipes, and the Road Runner flies through with a jerk.
“Ack, sorry! Gave her a bit too much gas there.”
“Y-You’re good!” He’s practically bolted himself to the seat now. He’s just amazed that she can drive stick at all—that’s something you never see in cars nor drivers nowadays.
“I’m still not too used to driving her around the city much... She’s not ideal as a city car, I’ll admit—we had to sell our daily driver to keep the lights on.”
“We’ve been in kinda dire straits lately, if I’m being honest. We were never meant to be just a repair shop, but there’s just not as much demand for our cars and engines as there used to be...”
“But we still wouldn’t give her up for the world. Keeping this car in tip-top shape is our way of honoring her legacy...and then, maybe I can take the reins myself some day.”
“Ah...”
“E-Er, sorry, I kinda rambled on there.”
“You’re good! It just made me think for a second.”
“How so?”
Haruomi takes a second to gather his thoughts. “The bit about your family legacy, it just... I kinda envy that.”
“It’s something to work toward, I mean. I don’t really know what I wanna do yet. I’ve been so focused on getting into college that I haven’t thought about what to do once I’m there.” Now it’s his turn to open up, which he was expecting even less. Still, he continues. “I wish I had something like your family background. You sound like you already know what you want to do with your life because of it.”
“...I can relate, yeah. I still don’t have everything figured out myself. My mom’s getting ready to step down as head of the shop, but I still don’t feel like I’m ready to take her place.”
“Once you figure out what you want to do, doing it is a whole different beast. I had my grandma for help, and I’ve still got my mom, but filling their shoes is no easy task. It’s scary having to dive in headfirst like this; you never know where you’re going to land. Especially in my case, having to figure out how to get us out of this rut...”
“But...they always tell me that things find a way to work out. That I have to figure out the present before I can worry about the future. If it worked for them, then...maybe it can work for you and me too.”
“I hope so... I guess I need to just focus on the present, like you said.”
The words linger in Reina’s head. It’s so easy for her to say all that to him...but it’s so much harder to do it herself. The family legacy gives her a sense of direction, but it doesn’t make walking the path any easier—and in a sense, it might even be a shackle at her feet. She wonders when, or even if, things will work out for her...
But that’s neither here nor there, she reminds herself. Like mom always says, she has to focus on the present first.
“...Sorry, didn’t mean to drag down the mood.”
“You’re alright! I was the one who asked.”
“Thanks... Man, I wasn’t expecting to open up like this. Thanks for being an ear for my troubles... Do I owe you for that?”
“Aww, haha. On the house.”
Steel and glass give way to trees and grass, the imposing peak standing watch to the west. For all the chrome and cast iron weighing it down, the Road Runner takes the hairpin turns without so much as blinking, all eight cylinders firing in perfect harmony. Somehow, Haruomi doesn’t feel quite as out of place anymore—watching Reina nimbly navigate the switchbacks puts him at ease. It’s very...comforting to him.
That describes Reina in general, really.
“Straight through here, then take a left up at that big bend.”
“Gotcha, thanks. Hold on a bit here...!” The car’s sheer length does make those tight turns a bit of an ordeal—she has to slow down and drift wide for the car to clear on through, like a racing driver aiming for the apex. But, soon enough, she has the unruly beast through the bend. That’s the last turn she’ll make on this leg of the trip—the Shimizu household lies right ahead.
“Coming up on the right here.”
The foothills stretch in front of them, forcing Reina to give the car an extra helping of gas. The Road Runner claws its way up the hill with an authoritative grunt—other cars may struggle with a hill this steep, but not the American brute. As Haruomi guides Reina up the rows of houses, she brings the car to a gentle stop right outside his front door. A job well done...and done her own way.
“Thank you so much!”
“No problem! I’m glad I could help. Good luck with your exams!”
“You too with your shop!”
Haruomi exits the otherworldly car, and crosses the road to reach his home at last. The whole trip still doesn’t feel real to him, even as the engine revs assertively behind him. An exotic car with an equally unique driver at the helm, all right under his nose... He wonders how he went this long without noticing. Maybe there’s something to be said for charting your own course like that—for finding something you’re truly passionate about, and making it a reality no matter what others have to say. He wishes her well in that pursuit.
As he goes to open his door, though...
“...Huh?” He hears the engine suddenly stop, lurching backward in the corner of his eye.
“Did she...stall it?”
Reina prays that Haruomi can’t see her, because her face has to be red as a tomato. She tried not to give the car too much gas like she did earlier; unfortunately, this time she gave it too little. Can’t get away with that on a hill.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot! Sorry, car...!” Reina frantically reaches for the ignition key and tries to rouse the car back to life. A brief sputter rocks the car, followed by a long, feverish whinny. The embarrassment nearly cripples her. Sometimes the engine doesn’t particularly like starting hot, and combined with her stalling it, the Road Runner is reluctant to fire back up.
(Don’t panic... Just hold it down and try again!)
Usually a cranky Road Runner means it’s running too rich. Reina gingerly spreads her right foot between the gas and the brake, her left foot occupied with the clutch. This, she hopes, will help clear some of the excess fuel from the mixture and get the car to fire back up for her. So she twists the key again...
“Come on...!”
Mercifully, that adjustment does the trick. After another second or two of whirring, the hulking V8 fires back up with a disgruntled roar—and though it probably scared the neighbors half to death, Reina’s just happy to be back in business. She quickly shifts back into gear—making sure to apply enough throttle this time—and pulls away from Haruomi’s house, heading further up the hill to complete her job for the day.
That, belatedly, puts an end to Haruomi’s day out. As he watches the Road Runner cruise off into the distance, he wonders if he’s ever going to get another taste of that strange world of hers. Would he ever a reason to, really? It’s her world, not his... It’s strange to think of something so striking as a one-and-done deal, but perhaps it’s better that way.
He’ll go back to his world, wherever that takes him...and she’ll go back to hers.
***
There’s a certain foreboding that hangs over Reina’s head whenever she travels for a job like this—almost like a knot of pressure in her stomach. Not even the brief return of Van Halen’s heavy metal can dispel her nerves. As the ski lodge comes into view, she knows that she has to do the job right, whatever the client’s problem may be—and that if she can’t figure out the mechanical maze inside that truck, then she’s not even close to ready yet.
No second-guessing. No hesitation. Just trying to fill her mother’s too-big shoes.
“There she is.” The old-timer wraps up another day at the lodge in his tireless effort to get things ready for the season. This little hiccup chose an annoying time to strike—but at least it didn’t let go on him during the ski season proper. That would’ve spelled disaster.
He’s never worked with the daughter of his favorite mechanic before. Time to see how she measures up.
“Hello there! Thanks for waiting.” The Road Runner earns its rest—this time on level ground. She gently shuts the door behind her, feeling the cold mist on her skin. No use bringing the umbrella, she figures—she knows what kind of truck he’s rocking.
“Well, good to put a face to the name! Been a while since I last saw ya—think now’s the first time I’m speakin’ to ya as a full-fledged mechanic.” Mr. Shimizu extends his hand, a jolly grin on his weathered face.
“Thank you,” Reina obliges. “You flatter me a bit, though—I’ve still got a long way to go before I can match my mom, or my grandma.”
“Ahhh, don’t sell yourself short. With teachers like those two, I already trust you more than any other greasemonkey in town!”
“Is that her old ride, actually? I haven’t seen the ol’ Road Runner on the road in an age.”
“Ah... Yeah, we’ve had to take her out a lot more lately. We got that new truck only a couple years ago, but money’s pretty tight, so we had to sell it off.”
“Well, damn, man, I woulda bought it, hah hah!”
“Still, I don’t think there’s too much wrong with my old dinghy—just a part or two I’ll have to order. Should be a pretty easy job.”
“Well, let’s have a look and see.”
Reina whips out some diagnostic tools from the Road Runner’s trunk, and with that, she’s ready for work. Mr. Shimizu leads her over toward a storage shed, beside which his stricken vehicle, an old Suzuki Carry mini-truck, sits sadly in wait for a helping hand. Utilitarian to a fault, these plucky little work mules dominate Japanese roads, keeping the tide of hulking pickups at bay with their convenience and efficiency. It’s a shame something had to let go on Mr. Shimizu’s.
“So, what’s she up to?”
“Well, she won’t start. She started actin’ up about a week or two ago—she was runnin’ rough whenever it rained out. Down on power and I could feel her misfirin’.”
“Was it running fine when it was dry out?”
“Fine-er. Still felt like somethin’ was a little off.”
“I had her sit for a day or two ‘cause I’ve been spendin’ all my time here movin’ stuff around. Today I needed to go pick up some supplies, so I hopped in aaand she wouldn’t go. She cranks, battery sounds fine, but no ignition.”
“I see... Yeah, that does sound like something broke somewhere. Probably something electrical, if I had to guess.”
“That’s what I was thinkin’.”
Already the gears are spinning in her head, trying to draw upon what info she knows to make a diagnosis—a starting point. If she can iron out where to look first, she can do this job a whole lot faster.
Mr. Shimizu’s description so far has all the hallmarks of a spark problem. If it got put away wet and won’t fire back up, then...
(That makes me think there’s moisture somewhere it shouldn’t be.)
“Alright. I think I know where to start looking, then.”
Mr. Shimizu hands Reina the key to the Carry, and she swiftly clambers on in. The truck’s miniature proportions don’t make it easy for her, of course... At over six feet tall, squeezing into this thing is a tall order.
“Oof... Man, these trucks were not built for people like me.”
“Lemme know if there’s anything you need me for.”
“Thanks! Hopefully this won’t take me too long.”
The engines on these trucks are mounted right beneath the passenger seat—which is convenient for diagnosing problems, because she can crank the engine while staring right down at it. It’s just a bit...claustrophobic.
“Okay, there we go...” With effort, Reina has the engine uncovered and ready for her repairs. These turbocharged 3-cylinders have a good rep for reliability, so she agrees with Mr. Shimizu that it’s probably a simple problem. It’s just her first solo job in a hot minute, so she tries to remember the basics...
(An engine needs three basic things: air, fuel and spark. If it has those things, it runs.)
Reina’s first step is to check for fuel. She slots the key in the ignition and hears the fuel pump steadily tick over. That’s one part of the equation solved.
“Okay, sounds like we’ve got fuel. Now, do we have spark...?”
Reina sets the engine up for a quick spark plug test; she eyeballs them and determines that the plugs themselves don’t seem to be the culprit, looking new enough not to bother replacing them. Nonetheless, she turns the key, aaand...
“...We do not have spark. He was right, the battery sounds healthy, but still no start.”
“Okay, so that bolsters the moisture theory... I think there might be a short somewhere.”
Water is the ultimate nemesis of the internal combustion engine. Just about any amount, anywhere, can throw the whole thing out of whack. Her hypothesis is that something in the electrical system got just a bit too wet from today’s showers, and that’s causing the electrical current to short out somewhere. She decides to work her way back from the spark plugs to test each part in the ignition chain.
“First up, the distributor...” Reina fishes around the engine some more, finding her way to the distributor—the part that sends power to each of the spark plugs. Mercifully, these engines are relatively easy to work with—if this were a more modern car, she fears she’d be absolutely clueless with their billions of parts and connections. An ECU guru, she is not. Yet.
“Cap first.” The distributor cap comes off easily enough...
“...Ooh. Yeah, that’s cracked.” A decent-sized fault line runs right up the side of the distributor cap, along with general wear and tear throughout the ailing part. With that crack, moisture must be getting into the distributor and shorting out the electrical signal, preventing it from getting to the plugs. That would explain the lack of spark, and thus the lack of power.
Reina can’t help but don a tiny little smile as her deductive skills bear fruit.
“Well, that sucks. I don’t think I have a spare on me, so I can’t fix this outright. But I can at least let him know...”
Mr. Shimizu bides his time, finishing up other work around the outside of the lodge as Reina suddenly makes her exit.
“How’s it lookin’? What’d you find in there?”
“Well, I think I found the problem!”
“That’s the spirit! Hopefully it’s nothin’ too expensive?”
“Not from what I can tell, no: there’s a crack in your distributor cap. All the moisture in there is shorting out the spark, so your spark plugs aren’t sparking.”
“Ah. Yeah, that makes sense. We’re gonna replace that, I take it?”
“Yeeeah, it’s a cheap part. It’s not really worth trying to fix it.”
“For reference, do you store the truck inside?”
“Nah, we don’t have a garage at our house—and that storage shed has a ton of crap in it, so I’ve never put the truck in there.”
“Gotcha. I think it would help if you made space for it—that’ll help keep the engine drier.”
“Yeah, I getcha.”
“So, you think there’s any chance we can get it running while we wait for the new part to come in?”
“Well... Probably not, sorry. Especially not when it’s this wet outside. I can dry off the cap for you and stick it back on, but it’ll just get damp again.”
“Hmm...” Mr. Shimizu furrows his brow. “Maybe I can make some space for it in the shed real quick. We can put it in there so it doesn’t have to sit outside. Maybe if ya dry off the cap, it’ll run long enough that we can get it into the shed and park it there.”
“Mmm...” Reina figures that’s a real longshot, but it’s better than having to push the truck, at least. “Well, I’ll hit it with some spray and see how that goes.”
“Great. Have at it!”
Reina makes a quick retreat to the Road Runner, where her secret weapon lies in the trunk. No mechanic is complete without it.
“There you are, you beautiful thing.”
WD-40. God’s cheat code.
With a rag in one hand and a can of spray in the other, Reina returns to the stricken Suzuki and gets back to work. The distributor cap really, really isn’t worth repairing in its state, but with a wipe down and a spritz of the water deterrent, it might just be able to move to drier ground and save them the hassle of pushing it.
Not that the truck weighs anything anyway.
“Oookay.” Reina finishes her hack job and turns her attention back to the driver’s seat. The key slots back into the ignition with a raggedy clunk.
“Feel like starting back up for me now?”
One more time, the Carry’s tired starter groans and whinnies, trying to get a response from the old three-cylinder. Reina can see it twitching and jittering beside her, begging for its spark back.
“Mmm...” After a few seconds of frantic whirring, the engine doesn’t seem any better off yet. Reina listens intently for any sign of a spark—she knew it would be a longshot, but if she at least gets something from the engine here, she’ll know there probably isn’t some other issue with the truck. She keeps the key held, trying to coax the engine to respond...
*POP!*
“Oh! She wants to, she wants to...”
An intermittent splutter rocks the engine as one of the cylinders tries to fire. Reina gives the throttle a few slow pumps to try and get the revs up, feeling the Suzuki struggling mightily. It wants to fire back up, but the spark just isn’t there.
“Come on, baby, you can do it...!” Reina thinks that if she can just get a little more spark, the heat from the electricity will help keep the moisture at bay. She can feel the engine slowly, painstakingly gaining strength—cylinder two has joined the fray now. The tachometer flutters between 0 and 1, almost teasing her as it climbs up the scale at a snail’s pace. She’s almost got it, though. She lets off the key, holds the throttle down and crosses her fingers...
“That’s it, almost there...!”
*V-VRRR-POP!*
“Ack—!”
Alas, the engine is undone by a heavy backfire, echoing like a gunshot into the trees. Unable to hold an idle, the Suzuki calls it quits. Silence returns to the truck’s interior, and Reina is left with yet more bad news to break to Mr. Shimizu: somebody’s gonna have to shlep this thing into the shed.
*sigh* “Yeah, I don’t think this is gonna work.”
Thankfully, Mr. Shimizu is just about finished making space in his shed—though the sudden percussion did make him stop and poke his head out in confusion. He’s greeted by Reina waving the white flag in surrender as she files out of the truck.
“No dice, huh?”
*cough!* *cough!* “Nope. I’ll go ahead and push.”
“You sure?”
Reina tries to hide the embarrassment on her face. She knows that the car’s predicament really isn’t her fault, and that it’s not a surprise that it can’t move under its own power, but she still feels bad for Mr. Shimizu. She wishes she could get his car back on the road, but that’s just not in the cards.
“Well, you were just moving all that stuff in the shed, so this’ll be my fair share...and I couldn’t get the truck to run in the first place, so this is the least I can do.”
Reina did not foresee today becoming an impromptu leg day—and her tired body hates her for it. Thankfully, her mighty stature isn’t just for show: she’s got some decent muscle on her. She likes to stay fit. This is hardly the first car she’s pushed, at any rate—she’s been helping move cars aplenty in the garage ever since she was a kid. These mini-trucks really don’t weigh much, so it doesn’t take her too much effort to get the wheels turning while Mr. Shimizu steers...but here in the rain, at the end of a long, long day, the whole thing really dampens her spirits.
“Whew... There we go...” At last, the job is done—albeit not in the way she had hoped. The Suzuki sits safely inside the shed, waiting for its replacement part so that it can roam the roads again. Mr. Shimizu gets out and shuts the door, with a much different look on his face: where Reina feels down, he’s still jolly as ever.
“Hey, c’mon, what’s with the long face now? You did great!”
“I... Thanks. I just wish I could’ve done more for you.”
“Nahhh, don’t sweat it. It’s my fault in the first place for tryna put the repairs off. I could’ve avoided this entirely, but nope! That’s just life.”
“So, er... Would you like us to order a replacement part for you?”
“Sure, that sounds good. Man, you guys treat me too well! Here, lemme give you a little extra: your usual rate and then some.” Wasting no time, he hands her a generous payday in cash before even hearing her quote.
“O-Oh... Are you sure? You don’t have to do that, sir!”
“Nah, c’mon. You earned it! You did everything you could: you found the faulty part, you’ve got a replacement comin’ in the mail, you even picked up my kid! Don’t sell yourself short, young lady—you’re all I could ask for in a mechanic.”
“Here, go ahead and take it. I love givin’ my support to the little guys anyway. I hope you guys get a nice break soon—and I hope this helps just that little extra bit. I know I’m not goin’ anywhere else for my maintenance, hah!”
Reina flushes red. She realizes she can’t refuse his offer—the extra pay means a whole lot in their straits. She accepts his generosity with a bow.
“Thank you so much...!”
“Don’t sweat it, lass. You have a good weekend, now!”
“You too!”
Reina bids Mr. Shimizu farewell, a strange medley of emotions swirling through her head. On one hand, she got a sizable bonus for going above and beyond for her client... On the other, his car is still broken and the stop’s future is still a giant question mark. Just doing neighborhood repairs and mechanical work isn’t a sustainable business model in this time and place... They’re a Speed Shop. Or perhaps, were.
Something’s got to give.
(I can at least hold my own out here... Just gotta hold out until Mom recovers from her surgery. If I can get us through the short-term until then, we might have a chance at something next year.)
(But we have to figure something out soon... Just doing repairs isn’t enough.)
Mr. Shimizu watches as Reina packs up her tools and files back into her unusual machine. He tries and fails to stifle a chuckle. Those Aikawa girls always march to the beat of their own drum... Reina may not realize it, but she’s already a lot like her role models in that sense. It’s just a matter of channeling that boundless whimsy into confidence. She could really use it.
“Yeah... That girl’s goin’ places.”
Reina lets out a heavy sigh as she props herself against the back of the Road Runner’s plush bench seat. It’s been a long day, between her university work in the morning and her part-time work at night... She can’t wait for the weekend, for a variety of reasons. Her aching calves beg for reprieve—and a hot shower sounds mighty nice right now. It’s been a while since she ate too, come to think of it. She’s running on empty...but she’s confident that her trusty steed isn’t.
“Now, you won’t have any trouble starting, will you?”
Reina twists the key, and the Road Runner responds with a resounding nope, the old V8 bursting to life in the way that only an Aikawa motor can. For all the tension and pressure looming large over her, the engine never fails to put her at ease. She charts a course for the shop, and rolls out into the nighttime mist.
***
Another day in the books for Reina Aikawa, student-mechanic and impromptu chauffeur. The money from this job will help cushion her in the short-term...but that’s about all she can do right now. The grander ambitions of the Aikawa Auto Company are on hold for the time being, their well drying up year after year. Reina, too, is uncertain about her future... Rather than soaring to the heights of her childhood dreams, she instead finds herself as a meandering cloud, drifting beneath the stars.
How much longer will she have to tread water? How long will it be before the epiphany arrives? The future ahead of her is rough and uncertain, and the waves of time threaten to swallow her whole. She isn’t the mad scientist mechanic her grandmother was, and she isn’t the red line racer her mother was; she instead is a jack of all trades, master of none. Her life moves on in limbo...but at the very least, she has one constant by her side: the Road Runner. The company’s crown jewel; their magnum opus in service of speed. For now, it is the rock that keeps her anchored. She can drive for as long as she needs to...until, some day, she might find the answers she seeks.
(Just a little longer...)
(One of these days, I’ll make you proud.)
(I’m sure of it.)