Chapter 3— Same Heart on Parallel Tracks
The CNN studio lights set up in the grand lobby of the Miami hotel were blinding, casting harsh white glares against the dark, tropical night. Cameras flashed in a relentless, silent rhythm, capturing the pinnacle of motorsport glory.
On the plush, semi-circle couch sat the top three finishers of the season. To the left was Louis Hamilton, the British runner-up, still buzzing with adrenaline and holding a half-empty champagne flute. To the right sat Silva Garcia, the Spanish third-place winner, grinning broadly for the cameras.
But sitting dead center, commanding the entire room without saying a single word, was the champion: Takahashi Keisuke.
He wore his black Team Nissan jacket, his jet-black hair falling slightly over his forehead. While Louis and Silva laughed and bantered with the production crew, Keisuke was completely still. His piercing black eyes stared straight ahead, dark and entirely unreadable. Underneath the glass table, his freshly bandaged hand rested on his knee, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the edge of the gauze.
"We are live tonight with the podium conquerors of the Miami Grand Prix!" the veteran sports anchor announced to the cameras, his voice booming through the lobby. "But undoubtedly, the man of the hour is our newly crowned F1 World Champion, Takahashi Keisuke."
Louis leaned over, giving Keisuke a friendly clap on the shoulder. "He drove like a madman out there today. Completely untouchable."
The interviewer smiled warmly, leaning forward toward the center. "So, Mr. Keisuke, how does it feel? You've conquered the absolute summit of motorsport."
Keisuke blinked, the loud voices of his rivals pulling him out of a deep trance. He looked at the camera, offering a small, measured smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Not much different from before, honestly," Keisuke replied, his deep voice cutting through the noise. "But... I feel like I finally completed the dream of the Japanese racing community. An F1 Championship trophy will finally be coming home to Japan."
"That is incredibly honorable, and historic, for sure," the interviewer said. "So, what is the next step for Takahashi Keisuke? Defending the title next season alongside these two gentlemen?"
Louis and Silva both turned to look at Keisuke, expecting the usual competitive banter. Instead, Keisuke went dead quiet.
For a second, the bustling noise of the lobby faded. He stared at the interviewer.
"Actually," Keisuke said, his voice slow and deliberate, "I am going to retire from Formula One."
The silence that followed was deafening. Miller choked on his champagne, coughing into his fist. Silva's jaw practically dropped. A ripple of genuine shock went through the CNN camera crew.
The interviewer's professional smile faltered. "Retire? You're at the absolute peak of your career!"
"I'm taking a break for a year or two," Keisuke continued calmly, entirely ignoring the shocked stares of his fellow racers. "I need to return to Tokyo to take over my family's business. It's time to settle down."
"That... that is a massive shock to the motorsport world," the interviewer stammered, recovering quickly to chase the headline. "It's a pity we won't see you on the F1 podium next year. Will you step away from racing entirely?"
"No," Keisuke replied, his dark gaze drifting slightly as he pictured the winding mountain passes of his youth. "You'll still see me on the circuit. Drifting racing. The Professional circuit and underground drifting where I started so no I'm not leaving."
"Well, that is good news for the community," the interviewer said, leaning in closer. "But you mentioned settling down, Mr. Keisuke. That's a phrase we don't often hear from you. Are there wedding bells in your near future?"
Keisuke's heart gave a strange, hollow thump. He thought of the phone call with Shinosuke. He thought of the military doctor Kaori was supposed to marry. Then, looking directly into the lens of the camera, he lied to the world to manifest his own reality.
"Yes," Keisuke smiled. This time, the expression carried a dangerous, quiet intensity. "I will be getting married soon. To my girlfriend back in Japan."
Louis let out a loud whistle. "Didn't know you had it in you, mate! Congratulations."
The interviewer beamed, sensing ratings gold. "Oh! Congratulations for this, because we will certainly be hoping to see her someday."
"I'll make sure you get a private interview with both of us when the time comes," Keisuke said smoothly.
"What kind of woman is she?" the interviewer asked softly, the cameras zooming in close on Keisuke's face, blurring out the other two racers beside him. "What kind of woman manages to make our champion racer's heart race?"
"She..."
Keisuke's voice trailed off. The bright studio lights dissolved. The presence of the other drivers beside him vanished entirely from his awareness. His mind violently detached from the Miami lobby, diving straight into the past.
He remembered a girl who was innocent, soft-hearted, yet possessed an unbreakable, stubborn will. A girl with thick glasses who had taught a violent, angry boy that a peaceful world actually existed.
He sat there, surrounded by cameras, fame, and his greatest rivals, completely lost in the memory of Miazora Kaori.
On other side in Tokyo Central Hospital —
The atmosphere inside Kaori's office was the exact opposite of the blinding, chaotic Miami lobby. It was quiet, sterile, and heavy with unspoken words.
Tadashi Nakamura stared at Kaori, his usual playful and theatrical demeanor completely vanishing into genuine, quiet curiosity. He leaned forward on the visitor's chair, resting his elbows on the table, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper.
"So, Kaori..." Tadashi asked, tilting his head. "What kind of man was he? What kind of guy actually manages to make our hospital's very own 'workaholic nerd' fell?"
Hinata, sitting beside Kaori, didn't scold Tadashi this time. Instead, she just looked at Kaori, her hand resting gently on her younger friend's shoulder in silent support.
Kaori closed her eyes.
For a second, the harsh, antiseptic smell of the hospital completely faded away. In its place, her senses were violently flooded with the scent of burnt rubber, high-octane fuel, and expensive, musky cologne. She could feel the bone-rattling vibration of a sports car's passenger seat. She could feel the heavy, comforting warmth of a leather jacket being draped over her shivering shoulders in the dead of the Tokyo night.
She remembered a boy who wasn't afraid of death. A wild, reckless boy who had taken a quiet, obedient girl bound by far too many rules, and showed her that it was perfectly okay to scream, to run, and to finally want something entirely for herself.
"He..." Kaori started, her voice trembling in the quiet room.
At that exact moment, halfway across the world, the CNN camera zoomed past the second and third-place winners, focusing tightly on Keisuke's face. The interviewer leaned in, waiting breathless for his answer.
"She..." Keisuke began, his dark, usually sharp eyes softening into something the world had never seen from him before.
The words fell from their lips at the exact same time, separated by oceans and time zones, yet inextricably connected by a single, invisible thread.
Kaori kept her eyes closed. The memory of a strong hand pulling her over a brick wall flooded her mind.
"He was the only person who made me break every single rule I had," she whispered to the empty office.
Thousands of miles away, ignoring the stunned silence of his racing rivals, Keisuke spoke to a lens that broadcast to millions.
"She was the only person who made me want to slow down."
Their voices overlapped in the silence of the universe, forming a perfect, tragic harmony.
"He taught me that I could be wild," Kaori told Tadashi and Hinata, opening her eyes as her eyes hold the longing and emotions.
On the screen, Keisuke looked directly into the camera lens, staring straight through the glass as if he could see her sitting in that Tokyo hospital room.
"And she taught me," Keisuke said, his voice dropping to that familiar, husky register that made Kaori's heart ache, "that winning means absolutely nothing... if you have no one to celebrate it with."
Two entirely different worlds. Two completely different rooms.
One shared heartbeat.
In Tokyo, Tadashi and Hinata stared at Kaori, stunned into absolute silence by the raw, devastating emotion breaking through her usually composed voice.
In Miami, the veteran interviewer and the world's top racers stared at Keisuke, captivated and entirely disarmed by the profound depth of his confession.
Sometimes, people are completely unaware of how much another person has changed their very DNA. Takahashi Keisuke and Miazora Kaori had rewritten each other so deeply that now, at every twist and turn of their separate lives, they were subconsciously just searching for one another.
They were like two cars drifting blindly on a dark mountain pass, racing desperately toward the exact same finish line like a parallel line that has yet to cross.
The silence that followed Keisuke's confession stretched for a long, heavy moment. In the high-stakes, adrenaline-fueled world of Formula One, vulnerability was rarely shown on camera. Yet, here was the undisputed world champion, laying his heart bare for millions to see.
Louis, sitting to his left, respectfully lowered his champagne flute. Silva simply nodded, the competitive bravado entirely gone from his face.
The CNN interviewer cleared his throat. Genuinely moved, he quickly tried to pull himself back to his professional anchor persona.
"That is... incredibly profound, Mr. Keisuke," the interviewer said softly, his voice echoing in the quiet lobby. "Your future wife is a very lucky woman to have a champion so devoted to her."
Keisuke didn't correct him. He just offered a faint, fleeting smile. She doesn't even know she's my fiancée yet, he thought, the dark irony settling heavily in his chest.
"Before we wrap up this historic broadcast," the interviewer continued, looking directly at the teleprompter before turning back to Keisuke. "Do you have any final words for your fans worldwide? And especially for those in Japan, who are undoubtedly waking up to this massive news?"
Keisuke looked straight down the barrel of the main camera. His black eyes were sharp, calculating, and filled with a reckless determination.
"Thank you for the support," Keisuke said, his voice smooth and commanding. "To the underground racers in Tokyo... keep the mountain passes warm for me." He paused, letting the silence build for a fraction of a second. "I'm coming home."
The cameras flashed one final time as the broadcast faded to black.
Across the ocean — Tokyo Central Hospital
The heavy, melancholic silence in Kaori's office hung in the air for a long moment after her confession.
Tadashi Nakamura opened his mouth, drawing in a deep breath. Given his track record, whatever was about to come out of his mouth was undoubtedly going to ruin the profound emotional weight of the moment.
Before he could even form a syllable, Hinata stood up abruptly. She slapped her hands together with a sharp, authoritative clap.
"Alright! Lunchtime is officially over," Hinata declared loudly, shattering the tension. She grabbed Tadashi by the back of his pristine white lab coat. "We need to get back to our shifts. Let's go, Tadashi-san."
"Wait, I—" Tadashi scrambled, trying to plant his feet. "I wasn't done! I have follow-up questions!"
"No, you don't," Hinata said firmly, hauling him toward the door with surprising strength. "I have patients waiting, and you do too. Leave her alone to rest her neck."
"Hinata-san, please, just one more—!"
The heavy wooden door clicked shut, cutting off his whining and leaving Kaori alone in the quiet sanctuary of her office. She let out a shaky breath, leaning back in her chair and staring out at the Tokyo skyline.
Out in the brightly lit hospital corridor, Tadashi was still complaining as he adjusted his rumpled collar.
"You are incredibly cruel, Hinata," he grumbled, matching her brisk pace down the hallway. "I wanted to ask more! We were right on the verge of a massive breakthrough. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get our resident workaholic book-nerd to talk about her feelings outside of the medical field?"
Hinata shot him a glaring side-eye. "Are you stupid, Tadashi? Can't you see?"
"See what?"
Hinata sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "She is still completely hung up on him. Did you not hear her voice? She looked like her heart was breaking all over again just saying his name."
Tadashi dropped his theatrical whining, his expression turning surprisingly serious. "I can tell. That's exactly why I'm so curious. She's moving on with someone else now. She's engaged to Dr. Kamado Kodo, but it's obvious the past is still just sitting there in the corner of her mind, refusing to leave."
"And poking at it isn't going to help her," Hinata scolded. "You're just hungry for hospital gossip."
Tadashi smirked, nudging her shoulder. "Oh, come on. Don't act all high and mighty. I know you are too."
Hinata opened her mouth to deny it, but before she could, they approached the central nurses' station. A group of nurses had gathered around the wall-mounted television, keeping the volume low but clearly completely absorbed in whatever was broadcasting.
"—retire from F1 racing and going to take a break for a year or two to take over my family business and settle down." The deep, husky voice echoing from the speakers made Tadashi freeze in his tracks.
He slowly turned his head toward the screen. The broadcast banner at the bottom read: LIVE EXCLUSIVE: MIAMI GRAND PRIX CHAMPIONS OF SEASON.
On the screen sat a man radiating an intimidating, dark aura. He had sharp, striking features, jet-black hair that fell slightly over his forehead, and piercing black eyes that looked as though they could cut glass. He looked absolutely nothing like the kind of man who would ever step foot in their quiet Tokyo hospital.
Tadashi pointed a shaking finger at the screen. "Wait... is that...?"
"So, Mr. Keisuke, you mentioned settling down," the interviewer on the TV pressed eagerly. "Are you getting married soon?"
The man with the black hair and black eyes offered a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Yes. I will be getting married soon with my girlfriend in Japan."
Tadashi's jaw hit the floor. He looked at the television, then at the closed door of Kaori's office down the hall, and then back at the television.
"Hinata..." Tadashi whispered, his eyes wide as saucers. "His name... is that the exact same guy Kaori just told us about?"
Hinata stared at the screen, her clipboard slipping slightly in her grasp as she looked at Takahashi Keisuke's cold, handsome face.
"Oh my god," she breathed out. "He's coming back to Japan."
The nurses gathered around the station let out a collective, swooning sigh at the television screen, completely oblivious to the earth-shattering revelation happening right behind them.
Tadashi's eyes were glued to the screen as the black-haired champion smoothly declared his upcoming marriage.
"Wait, did he just say girlfriend?" Tadashi whispered, his eyes widening further. He looked over at Hinata. "Wow. Kaori definitely needs to know that he moved on. She's sitting in there looking like a tragic heroine, and this guy is already engaged!"
Hinata subconsciously rested a protective hand over her swollen, six-month pregnant belly and let out a heavy, exasperated sigh. "Yeah, absolutely not. You are going to keep your mouth completely shut, Tadashi-san."
"But—"
"No 'buts'," Hinata interrupted, her tone leaving zero room for argument. "It is practically impossible that he would ever come to this specific hospital, let alone for the two of them to actually meet again. They belong to two completely different spheres now, and they are both getting married to other people very soon. Bringing it up will only pour salt on an open wound."
Tadashi deflated slightly, his shoulders dropping. He glanced back at the television screen, watching Keisuke's sharp, intense gaze pierce through the camera lens.
"True," Tadashi admitted quietly. "But... looking at him, I totally get why she fell for him back then."
Hinata adjusted her grip on her medical clipboard, her eyes softening just a fraction as she looked at the screen. "Me too. He's incredibly hot. He has that dark, intense aura—the exact type of man practically anyone would fall for."
"Yeah, well," Tadashi muttered, adjusting his glasses. "He also looks like pure trouble."
"Which is exactly why Kaori is better off with her nice, safe military doctor, Kamado-san," Hinata said firmly, turning on her heel. "Now, get to your ward. I have a prenatal vitamin to take and patients to see."
As Hinata waddled away down the corridor, Tadashi turned in the opposite direction toward the surgical wing. But his mind was spinning entirely too fast to focus on his upcoming rounds.
As soon as he turned the corner, he pulled his smartphone from his lab coat pocket. His thumbs flew across the screen, pulling up a search engine.
He typed in the name. Takahashi Keisuke. Hundreds of articles, images, and fan pages instantly flooded his screen. He scrolled past the glossy photos of Keisuke in his Team Nissan racing suit, his dark hair messy from a helmet, his black eyes staring coldly at the press.
"Takahashi Keisuke..." Tadashi muttered to himself, his brow furrowing as he walked down the brightly lit hall. "Driving for Nissan... but wait."
He stopped walking. A thought had just struck him, hitting him like a physical blow.
Takahashi. It was a common enough surname, but in the corporate world of Japan, there was only one Takahashi that truly mattered. The Takahashi Group—a massive, multi-billion dollar conglomerate with hands in real estate, technology, and automotive manufacturing. Kaori had explicitly said his family was wealthy. Loaded.
"Is it just a coincidence?" Tadashi whispered to the empty hallway, his eyes scanning the screen. "Because if it isn't... damn, Kaori. You were way too lucky."
He clicked on a few video clips, watching a black race car drift violently around a mountain pass, the engine screaming. He scanned the Wikipedia page and the tabloids, but he couldn't find a single explicit mention connecting the F1 racer to the corporate empire. The racer's background was frustratingly well-hidden.
Tadashi locked his phone screen and slipped the device back into his pocket, a thoughtful smirk playing on his lips.
"Well," Tadashi muttered, continuing his walk down the hall. "We'll know soon enough if he finally steps out into the public eye as the heir."
To be continued —