[Hyde POV]
Bruce brought his Porsche inside through the garage door. I met the same tow truck guy who pulled the car away before.
Bruce explained that after he saw my detailed examination of his car, he tested out several renowned mechanics, but no one could give him the same details like I did.
"So, I'm going to let you try it." Bruce said.
"We'll just lounge around the area." Ross added. Both of them sat at the couches, bothering the two workers I've just hired.
Bruce did a couple of tuning on his car, but it was still on the brink of detonation. So as a last resort, he bought it back to me.
He has already given up on the car, he just wanted me to learn something about the Porsche tuning so I could do it for his next car.
I could see the optimal tuning data from the appraisal list, but I needed to use the machines he bought me.
First, he brought a Sun Distributor Tester (Sun Machine). The big rolling unit with the analog gauges and strobe timing light. These were the gold standard in the '60s–'70s and cost a fortune. Most small-town shops never had one.
Second, he brought a Bosch exhaust gas analyzer, an early analog type. Not digital AFR , just CO percentage and oxygen imbalance.
Porsche dealerships and European race teams used these to dial mixtures safely without detonating air-cooled engines.
Third, he brought a calibrated boost pressure gauge with a long hose, mounted temporarily inside the cabin. This wasn't exotic — Porsche racers used mechanical gauges long before electronics.
Fourth, he brought factory Porsche workshop manuals and spec sheets, including ignition advance curves and boost limits
"Why can't they do it with all of this equipment?" I muttered, frustrated, rubbing my hair furiously.
The data Bruce had brought looked good at first glance, but the more I studied it, the clearer the problem became.
They were stacking boost on top of ignition timing like it was a race car. Aggressive, borderline dangerous.
The engine wasn't designed for that. I could hear the pinging even in my head just reading the numbers.
I grabbed a marker and the whiteboard and started writing. I sketched a boost vs RPM graph, plotting what the turbo could handle safely versus what the factory numbers allowed.
Each line represented ignition timing, air-fuel ratio, and mechanical boost. I even noted the stable points for maximum safe boost at each RPM.
"Hoo…" Ross exhaled slightly, smiling in amusement.
Bruce suddenly said, "Hey Steven. What's this?"
"Huh?" I turned to him and saw he was holding some cup ramen.
"Instant noodles. There's instruction on the side. It's delicious. Try some." I said back as I took the temperature of the car.
With the infrared readers I had brought from the future, I measured exhaust temperature, cylinder head heat, and turbo inlet pressure.
My modern boost gauge let me read precise PSI levels instead of relying on the crude 1970s mechanical dial. I adjusted the mechanical boost controller, gradually retarding it in small increments.
Every time I did, I observed the exhaust and listened for ping. If it sang too sharp or the color shifted toward yellow, I backed off a notch.
While I was working hard, the two people were working hard too– ransacking my pantry. They ate three cup noodles each– I have like 50, so I didn't mind.
They ate some imported snacks I bought. They even drank my imported beers while they watched tv.
I almost hit the two of them on the head with a wrench.
Next, I tuned the ignition. With a strobe timing light and my mechanical distributor adjustments, I retarded the timing where necessary to handle the increased boost.
I wasn't changing the factory spark curve wildly. I was just smoothing it out to prevent detonation while letting the turbo do more work.
I checked the fuel delivery too. Using the mechanical fuel pressure regulator, I raised the line pressure slightly to enrich the mixture just enough to counter the denser boost air.
Not so much that it ran pig-rich, which would foul the plugs and smoke, but enough to give the engine room to breathe under boost.
"Hey! Do you want an oil change too?" I shouted at them.
"Yes! Do whatever you can!" Bruce shouted back. I assume both of them were bored. In the 70s, people got bored a lot.
I smiled and gave the cars modern synthetic oil and transmission oil. Even modern coolant too.
Every adjustment was cross-checked against my modern infrared readings and boost sensor. I plotted it all on the whiteboard, marking safe maximums, stable points, and optimal ignition curves.
The process was methodical, slow, precise. Two hours of constant tweaks, tests, and small revs, but in the end, the Porsche hummed smoothly.
The boost spooled faster, cleaner, and the engine ran harder without knocking.
Compared to the stock data the Rockwells had brought, I had basically rewritten the safe performance envelope of the engine. Higher power, safer timing, stable boost, all in a car that wasn't originally built to handle it.
Bruce and Ross didn't interrupt once. They just stood back, silently impressed as I wiped the sweat from my forehead and stepped back from the whiteboard.
The Porsche was now tuned beyond what even the factory engineers could safely push it to.
"Hey, it's done!" I called.
"Already?" Ross was quite shocked. He wiped the beer foam from his mouth and came to the car.
Bruce also puts down the beer but he bought my gummy worms with him.
"How is it?" Bruce asked. "Are you giving up?" He laughed.
"Nope, it's done." I said casually.
Bruce was taken aback a bit. Ross looked at my whiteboard clearly and asked, "You lower the boost?"
"Yeah. It was too aggressive before. But this optimization, I think, gives it even more horsepower."
The system confirmed it for me. It gave the car 25 more hp. And it can go from 0-60 in 5.5 seconds.
For comparison, the Ford Mustang II Cobra II hit that in 9 seconds. But that was an American car, so if it was an imported car?
A Ferrari 308 GTB with 250 hp could hit that in 6 seconds.
This car now has 225 hp, torque of 285 lbs, and it could hit 165 mph. The Ferrari could only go 165 miles per hour.
It was quite average if it was compared to cars in the future, but for the 70s, I could honestly say that other than a few race cars, this car was unbeatable.
"Really? More horsepower? Should we go and check it?" Bruce asked excitedly.
I agreed with him, "Sure. Which track?"
There was dynamometer equipment to test horsepower in the 70s. But it meant taking out the engine from the car. So they were going to do that later. Right now, we just wanted to see the performance of the car.
…
The snow had mostly been cleared from the track near Milwaukee County Fairgrounds, and a few old-timers, local racers, and Bruce's estate guests were standing along the sides. I positioned myself near the timing traps, a clipboard in hand.
We went to an estate instead of a race track. A rich man's estate 20 miles outside of Milwaukee. It took over 2 hours to get there. It was almost sundown now.
I didn't bother with the rich guy talking. I only cared about the car.
During the test, I sat on the side of the track cleared up from snow with a lot of old men and young women. There's also a few of the estate man's guests. They have their own people to time the car.
Bruce clutched his gummy worms nervously. "So… you really think it's faster now?" he asked.
"Faster, safer, and reliable," I said, not looking up. "We'll see in the quarter-mile."
The Porsche 930 rolled up, engine humming, polished and gleaming. I had already installed modern synthetic engine oil, transmission oil, and coolant,and fine-tuned the turbo to 0.7 bar (~10 psi) stable boost.
Ignition timing was optimized for each RPM, giving smooth torque across the range, and I'd retarded it just enough to avoid detonation.
I checked the weight: 2,700 lbs, all fluids full. The track officials had a mechanical timing system, classic 70s style, and I noted the trap speed at the quarter-mile.
The driver was notified. The Porsche shot down the straight, turbo whining, wheels gripping. I scribbled the trap speed: 105 mph at the quarter-mile.
Using the formula HP = Weight × (Trap Speed / 234)³:
105 ÷ 234 ≈ 0.449
0.449³ ≈ 0.0905
2,700 × 0.0905 ≈ 244 hp
"Not bad," I muttered, but I knew there was more in it. I adjusted slightly higher boost at higher RPMs, still keeping it safe. The key was stable boost rather than spiking, and with the modern synthetic oils, the engine could handle it.
In the second run, the Porsche hit 108 mph at the quarter-mile.
108 ÷ 234 ≈ 0.462
0.462³ ≈ 0.0987
2,700 × 0.0987 ≈ 266 hp
Bruce and Ross were wide-eyed. "That's… insane!" Bruce whispered.
I grinned. One last tweak, I refined the ignition curve, smoothed out turbo lag, and optimized low-mid torque. I wanted to push it safely to the max.
Third run: 110 mph trap speed.
110 ÷ 234 ≈ 0.470
0.470³ ≈ 0.104
2,700 × 0.104 ≈ 281 hp
Close enough—I rounded it up to 285 hp, confident that the car could safely hold it without risk of detonation. The Porsche now went 0–60 mph in ~5.5 seconds and had a quarter-mile in ~14.0 seconds at 110 mph, far ahead of any production cars in the US except for the very few exotic racers.
Ross looked over my notes, reading the boost charts I'd drawn. "You retarded the turbo for safety… but somehow got more power?"
I nodded casually. "The factory cranked too much too soon."
My turbo data was based on decades of research. Turbo in this era was only 2 years old. It wasn't mature in any aspect yet.
The estate guests were whispering, taking notes. None of them asked me about it since it was too hard to explain, and it was also too hard to understand.
I turned to Bruce and rubbed my index finger and thumb together.
"What?" He asked with confusion.
"So, how much are you going to give me?"
He went silent for a bit and grinned. "Alright. 500 bucks as your fee. 500 bucks more because you managed to impress these guys here."
I snorted slightly. I heard the bets he made with these guys. They were in the tens of thousands. All of it will go to him, yet he gave me only 1000.
"Hey kid. I have a 911 turbo too." A tall rich man approached me.
"Sure, bring it to my shop on Monday." I told him.
"Why Monday?" Bruce asked in confusion.
"I'm not free tomorrow. I'm going to the All Star game. And Sunday is Valentine's day. I already made plans."
The rich guys snorted, as if amused at my audacity. But they obliged and would come by on Monday.
There's only two of them there who have the 911 turbo. A few of them had Lamborghinis and Ferraris, but the tuning process was different.
I was pretty sure I would get more customers once the word spread.
I got back home around 10, and Red was pretty pissed when he saw me come back home a little drunk.
"So, did you have fun?" He asked sarcastically.
"I rode a Ferrari 512 BB, drank a glass of 5000 dollar scotch, and drank a lot of wine." I let out a hiccup. "You can scold me all you want, but I will do it again if I have the chance."
…
I got scolded, and got a curfew. But that was after the ALL STAR game. We took two cars to go there. My Celica, and the Vista Cruiser.
I modified the Vista Cruiser a bit before.
Better battery, better bushing, suspension, engine oil, oil filter, transmission oil, so the car felt pretty smooth. Red took care of the Vista Cruiser, so there's not much to be done there.
Also, Kelso's van. I took a look at the engine and changed whatever needed to change so it didn't stall as much. It was winter, so I was bored.
"So, you got the floor seats." Red said with a sly smirk. "But you bought us cheap tickets."
I smirked and said, "It's not cheap. And you don't have to go if you don't want to."
Kitty leaned in behind Red and teased, "Oh he got you there."
"What– No, he didn't get me." Red grimaced. "Let's go inside. Steven! Make sure to follow us closely."
"Alright." I replied casually.
Red said again, "But not too close."
"I know how to follow a car, Red." I said with exasperation.
"If you got lost, well… we already have the ticket, so find your way home by yourself." He said teasingly.
"Hey Hyde. Can I ride in your car instead?" Kelso asked, sticking his head out of the car window. "It's cramped in here."
Midge, Donna, and Bob took the middle seat. Jackie, Fez, and Kelso took the last seat. Red, Kitty and Eric sat at the front.
"No." I said curtly. "Please!" He begged.
"Micheal! Just stay in the car, Micheal!" Jackie scolded him.
Laurie suddenly came to the driveway and asked excitedly, "Where do I sit?"
After knowing I got everyone's tickets, Laurie has been quite happy for a few days. She even greeted me without insulting me in the morning.
"Oh, we're full. So why don't you go with Steven?" Kitty said before turning to me, "Steven. Are you fine with that?"
"Actually, no. If there's someone else in the car beside me and Victoria, it's not really going to be a date, isn't it?" I replied jokingly, although I was quite serious.
Victoria came to the driveway, wearing a fur jacket and a one piece dress that went to her knees. Then, she paired it up with leggings and gloves.
"Hey Steven." She greeted me bashfully.
"Oh Honey, we can't let Laurie interfere with their date. Eric, who don't you skootch in a bit, and let Laurie sit next to you."
"What? MOM! There's no room anymore." Eric whined.
"Here's a thought. Why don't I go with Hyde?" Fez asked obnoxiously.
"NO ONE can go with Hyde except for Victoria!" Eric snapped at him.
"Aww come on! I want to ride in his new car!" Kelso complained.
Laurie turned to me and said, "Can't I drive with you? I'll just stay at the back and not make a peep. So you can do stuff to each other all you want."
"What–" Victoria was taken aback and her face blushed. "We're not going to do stuff!" She said frantically.
"So it doesn't matter if I ride with you," Laurie said with a smirk.
I rolled my eyes and lowered my head to the car window. Then, I said to Bob and Midge, "Here's an idea. Why don't you drive your own car?"
"Then the road trip won't be as much fun!" Bob whined, reluctant to get out.
Midge rolled her eyes and slapped his arm, "Come on Bob! We're going to drive our own car. Donna–"
"Donna should stay!" Eric said immediately. Donna chortled and everyone snickered while Eric looked embarrassed.
"Now, we should drive soon or we will be late." Red said seriously. "Steven! How about Eric and Donna driving with you instead?"
I thought about it and turned to Victoria, asking, "Should we let them?"
Everyone stared at Victoria. Feeling being put on the spot, she quickly said, "Y-Yeah sure. Totally."
Eric laughed, "Alright!"
"Come on! Let's go already! MOVE IT!" Kelso shouted from the back.
…
I was surprised when the system told me it would consider the event to be an episode if it was done well.
"Less pressure I guess."
Victoria sat next to me, while Eric and Donna sat at the back.
"Hyde, your backseat is small and stuffy." Eric complained. "It's not like the Vista Cruiser."
"This is a compact car." I looked at him with disbelief. "Besides, there's still a lot of room back there."
Donna laughed and turned to the girl, asking, "So, is this like your first date?"
Victoria blushed hard and shook her hands no, "God. This is not a date. We're just two friends, hanging out."
Donna and Eric were a bit confused.
I added, "Yeah. She told me she's not dating anyone until her divorce got through when we went to eat at a hotel restaurant."
"You went to eat at a romantic place?" Eric was startled. Donna furrowed her eyebrows and said, "Yet she rejected you?"
"No! I didn't reject him!" Victoria said urgently.
"Oh, so you do like him, but you don't want to date him right now." Donna muttered in realization.
Eric was confused, but he still took the chance to take a shot at me, "Tough luck you have there, huh buddy?"
"You want to keep your ticket?" I said with an evil smile.
"I'll shut up now." Eric lowered his head immediately.
"Wait, so is he allowed to date other people, or like, he needs to wait for you?" Eric asked again after a moment of silence.
"Huh?" Victoria was flabbergasted. "Eric!" Donna hit him in the arm to punish him.
I turned to Victoria, waiting for her answer too.
"Um. I guess… if he wants to." Victoria replied, a bit dejected. "I can't control him. I'm not his girlfriend."
We went silent again. "Great Eric, now you've made things awkward." Donna rolled her eyes.
…
At the AllStar game. People were still allowed to smoke indoors, the seats were filled with loud people in thick jackets.
We stood in front of the entrance together. "Well, we're going to go to our seats now." I said casually.
"Oh yeah." Red smiled slightly, "The seat with the best views that cost you hundreds of dollars."
"Hyde, isn't it a waste giving that seat to Victoria. I mean, she doesn't even watch basketball." Kelso interjected suddenly.
I grimaced and said, "It's fine even if she doesn't watch it. We're watching it together. That's already a good thing."
Victoria blushed slightly.
Jackie slapped Kelso's arm and said, "Micheal! Why can't you be as romantic as Steven, Micheal?"
"Oww! Stop hitting me!" Kelso whimpered.
"I'm… I'm fine if I don't get the floor seat. You can bring someone who actually watches the game." Victoria said suddenly.
"No! Tory! You're too kind! If you're too kind in this group, they will eat you up instantly." Donna held Victoria's arm as she whispered it to her.
Red laughed and said, "Hear that Steven?"
"Alright. Then, if she doesn't want to go to the floor seat, then I'll stay with her in the upper bowl."
"Wait. Steven, you don't have to–"
"I want to, Tory." I smiled. "Also, I don't know when people start calling you Tory, but that really suits you."
She blushed and held my hands.
I took out the tickets and said, "To make it fair. Everyone has to play rock paper scissors for the tickets. One round, and you can't exchange the tickets with another person."
"ALRIGHT!" Kelso, Fez and Eric exclaimed loudly.
"Really. Even if the tickets go to me and Bob?" Red was slightly taken aback.
"Yup." I smirked.
"Bob talks during the game." Red frowned. Bob laughed beside him and said, "Yeah I do."
They played rock paper scissors, and the winner was Kitty, and Donna.
Red was truly disappointed, and Kitty wanted to give her tickets to Red, but no one would let her do that since it wouldn't be fair.