[Novel] Run, Sena. ―GRID:ONE―

This story has a "beginning." The previous work is here↓

Chapter 1: The Place I Was Called To

The phone rang in front of a vending machine behind Fuji Speedway.

With her finger still on the pull tab of a canned coffee, Sena Shingai looked at her smartphone screen. A UK country code. Her heart leaped.

"Hello? Sena Shingai?"

A low, calm man's voice. It was in English.

"...Yes, speaking."

"This is Adam Hughes, team manager at Rodin Motorsport. I'll get straight to the point. We want to invite you to next season's F1 Academy."

The canned coffee slipped from her hand. It clattered on the asphalt, sending up a wisp of white steam.

March in Fuji is still cold. Sena's lips trembled. Don't cry, she told herself. If you cry, your voice will shake. If your voice shakes, this person will think, 'I guess it's still too early for her.'

"I am honored."

Her voice did not tremble.

F1 Academy. An FIA-certified formula series created for female drivers. It travels the world as a support race for the F1 Grand Prix, with eighteen cars lining up on the grid in seven cities: Shanghai, Jeddah, Miami, Montreal, Zandvoort, Singapore, and Las Vegas.

Prema Racing, ART Grand Prix, MP Motorsport, Campos Racing, Hitech... renowned teams run drivers with the support of F1 teams like Alpine, Mercedes, McLaren, Ferrari, and Red Bull. Only those who produce results here can secure a ticket to F3, F2, and the F1 that lies beyond.

As a Japanese woman, no one had yet stood on this grid.

Sena is twenty years old. Her name comes from Ayrton Senna. Throughout her teens, she had always felt the name her father gave her was a heavy burden.

It was in her second year of junior high that she complained to her mother, "Dad has bad taste." Her mother laughed and said, "He wanted you to have a reason to run."

That father died of illness when Sena was sixteen.

That is why Sena runs. As for a reason to run, she has one.

As the contract talks progressed, reality began to show its face one by one.

Seat entry fees. Travel expenses. Living costs throughout the season. Even though F1 Academy claims to reduce costs, it still requires a budget of tens of millions of yen per year. It was not an amount that could be covered by the savings of a single-mother household.

Adam sent me a list of potential sponsors. Sena visited fifteen companies in Japan. Motorsports-related companies, beverage manufacturers, auto parts manufacturers. I remade my presentation materials over and over, wore a suit, and sat in conference rooms.

The response from many companies was polite, and the same.

"Supporting female drivers has no precedent within our company yet."

"The F1 Academy series itself has low recognition in Japan, so it's hard to see the advertising effect."

A representative from one company was more blunt.

"Ms. Shintani, I'll be honest. If you were a male driver, these results would be enough to put you on the table for consideration. But when it comes to a woman, we lack one more piece of evidence to convince our superiors. It's not a problem of your track record, but a problem of the company's internal sentiment. I'm sorry."

It was frustrating. But I also knew it wasn't that person's fault. The wall exists not in individuals, but in the atmosphere.

In the end, a small racing gear manufacturer and a local factory run by my father's former colleague stepped up. The shortfall was raised through crowdfunding.

It took three weeks to reach the target amount, but in the last three days, support poured in all at once. People I didn't even know added messages saying, "I want to see a Japanese girl race on the world stage."

Sena read every single one of them and bowed her head repeatedly in front of the screen.

Chapter 2: Shanghai — The First Wall

April. Shanghai International Circuit.

The moment I stepped into the paddock, the air felt different. Everything was different from the F4 I raced in Fuji. The F1 team logos engraved on the cowls of the machines lined up in the garage. The media cameras. The quiet, sharp eyes of the drivers gathered from all over the world.

The Rodin Motorsport garage was in the middle of the paddock. My teammates were Ella Lloyd from the UK and Chloe Chong from Singapore. Both had been competing since last season and already knew the rhythm of this world.

"Sena, right?"

Ella reached out her hand. She was tall and broad-shouldered. Her handshake was firm.

"You're the first Japanese driver, right? There must be pressure, but everyone is the same at the start. I spun out at the first corner in my debut race last year."

Sena relaxed her shoulders a little thanks to Ella, who said that with a laugh.

Chloe smiled quietly and just said, "If you have any trouble, ask me anything." Having her, an Asian, there became a small comfort in a foreign land.

Before the drivers' briefing, I passed Doriane Pin of Prema Racing in the paddock corridor. She is French. After finishing second in the rankings last season, she is considered the top favorite to win this season.

Pin looked at Sena's face and stopped for just a moment.

"Are you Shingai?"

"Yes."

"I saw the results of the F4 race at Fuji. You're strong in the rain, aren't you?"

Having said only that, Pin walked away. It was a dry exchange that could have been either a social pleasantry or an assessment. But the fact that she had looked me up stung like a small thorn. This person is watching everyone.

Qualifying.

The moment I got out on the track, my body stiffened.

The high-speed section from Turn 1 to Turn 3 in Shanghai. Even though I had driven it many times in FP (Free Practice), the feel of the tires was slipping away from my palms. I couldn't pin down the braking point. Instead of shaving off a few tenths of a second each lap, my times weren't even consistent.

Marco, my engineer, came over the radio.

"Sena, your braking at Turn 6 is ten meters too late. You can push deeper. Trust the tires."

I know. I know it in my head. But my body won't follow. Full braking from 180 km/h. A judgment of just a few meters determines whether you crash into the wall or gain three-tenths of a second.

The result was 15th in qualifying. 15th out of 18 cars.

When I returned to the garage, Ella silently handed me a water bottle. Chloe spread out her data sheet and said, "Turn 6, do you want to see my line?"

I was frustrated. So frustrated that I bit the inside of my lip.

The next day's Race 1. I started fourth thanks to the reverse grid, but I lost two positions on the opening lap and finished 11th. In Race 2, I started from 15th on the grid and could barely move up, finishing 14th.

I was far from the points—the top 10.

After the race, as I was walking through the paddock, I heard a conversation in English near the media area. It sounded like a recording for a British motorsport podcast.

"—What do you think of the new Japanese driver for Rodin?"

"Honestly, I can't tell yet. But there is a view that F1 Academy created a Japanese slot with the Asian market in mind. Whether she was chosen purely for speed, or for marketing."

Well, you can't really tell anything from just the first round. We'll know what you're really capable of after Jeddah.

I didn't mean to listen. But I heard it anyway. My feet stopped.

Marketing hire. Those words froze coldly deep inside my chest.

I returned to the hotel, took a shower, and sat on the bed. When I looked at my smartphone, words like "disappointing" and "I knew they wouldn't make it" were lined up on Japanese social media. On overseas forums, there were comments about a "diversity hire."

Sena turned her smartphone face down and looked at the ceiling.

Don't cry, she told herself.

She cried.

Chapter 3: Jeddah — Desert Night

May. Jeddah Corniche Circuit, Saudi Arabia.

A street circuit along the Red Sea. The high-speed layout, surrounded by concrete walls, means a mistake leads immediately to a crash. It was more aggressive and unforgiving than any circuit Sena had ever raced on.

However, after Shanghai, Sena was trying to change.

She flew to the UK, where the team is based, and spent three days locked in the simulator. She compared data with Marco lap by lap, corner by corner. What was she afraid of regarding braking? Why couldn't she trust the tires? She overlaid her telemetry with that of a fast driver and eliminated the points where the gap was created, one by one.

"It's not a technical issue," Marco said. "Your problem is that you aren't giving yourself permission to be fast."

She didn't understand what he meant.

"You can drive fast. The data proves it. Your simulator times are among the top. But when you get into the real car, you put the brakes on yourself. You haven't given yourself permission to be fast."

That night, in her cramped room at the lodging, Sena thought about her father.

Her father was an amateur kart enthusiast. On weekends, he would take young Sena to the passenger seat—well, karts don't have passenger seats, so to be precise, he took her to the other side of the circuit fence—and show her himself driving. He wasn't fast. But she loved the look on her father's face when he was driving. He wasn't afraid. He wasn't carrying anything on his shoulders. He was just happy to be driving, and he was smiling.

I wanted you to have a reason to drive fast.

Her mother's words came back to her.

—Dad. I was afraid.

Jeddah qualifying.

Turn 1. Braking hard from 250 kilometers per hour. The concrete wall flows past the edge of my vision. It's scary. It's scary. But I press the pedal. The tire grip travels through the steering wheel into both my hands. —I can do this.

The high-speed left turn at Turn 13. I want to lift off the accelerator. But I keep it pinned. The machine hugs the apex as if it were glued to the track.

The radio crackled.

"Sena! P9! You're in ninth!"

Ninth place. I broke into the top 10 for the first time.

When I returned to the garage, Ella was waiting with her arms wide open. Chloe, for once, raised her voice and shouted, "You did it!" Marco gave me a thumbs-up without saying a word.

Race 1. Starting tenth on the reverse grid. I calmly navigated the chaos of the opening lap and finished eighth. My first points.

Race 2. From the ninth grid, I drove with tenacity to finish eighth again. Consecutive points scored.

When I returned to the hotel, a single-line message from my mother had arrived.

"I was watching."

That night, Sena looked out the window at the Jeddah night sky. The desert air was dry, and the stars felt unusually close.

Chapter 4: Miami — The Season of the Chase

June. Miami International Autodrome.

The Florida sun was brutal. The track surface temperature exceeded 50 degrees, and tire management would decide the outcome.

Sena had thoroughly prepared for the heat for this round. The physical training in high-temperature environments she had done back in Japan was paying off here. In the final stages of the race, while other drivers' lap times dropped, Sena's pace remained stable.

Seventh in qualifying. A personal best.

I was invited to the post-race press conference for the first time. The words "marketing slot" from Shanghai were still in the corner of my mind. When the microphone was pointed at me, I chose my words carefully.

"Sena, you are the first Japanese woman to compete in this series. How do you feel about the season so far?"

I answered in English. It wasn't perfect English. My grammar and pronunciation were shaky. But what I wanted to convey was clear.

“In my first race, I realized I had built a wall around myself. It took time to give myself permission to drive fast. But now, that wall is getting a little lower every week.”

Another reporter followed up with a question.

“There are critical opinions about you participating in an all-female series. What do you think about the voices saying, ‘If you’re truly strong, you should be racing in the same category as men’?”

Sena hesitated for a split second. She had anticipated this question. But anticipating it and actually being asked it in front of a microphone were two different things.

“I believe this series is a place to create opportunities. I’m not here because I want to race separately from men. I’m here to build my strength so I can stand on the same grid. Even if the entrance is different, the destination is the same.”

It became an article. 'Sena Shingai: The Wall Is Getting Lower'—that was the headline in a British motorsport media outlet.

At the start of Race 2, she made the most beautiful launch of her life. The timing of the clutch bite, the anti-stall control, the dive into the first corner—everything clicked, and she jumped up to fifth place.

In the final stages, she overtook Chloe Chambers of Campos Racing at the final chicane. She pulled alongside on the outside and challenged her on the brakes. She got half a tire ahead and closed the inside line. The opponent backed off.

Fourth place.

She didn't reach the podium. But fourth place was right behind third.

Chapter 5: Montreal—Broken Wings

July. Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, Canada.

The course, built on an island in the St. Lawrence River, was characterized by long straights and chicanes requiring sudden deceleration. It was a layout where overtaking opportunities were plentiful and close-quarters combat was inevitable. For Sena, it should have been the stage where she could carry over her momentum from Miami.

She qualified eighth. Not bad. She thought the momentum was with her.

Race 1. The opening lap.

Entering Turn 3, the Hitech car in front of her suddenly changed its line. The moment she turned the steering wheel to avoid it, her right rear tire caught the edge of the curb. The car bounced. She lost control, spun half a rotation, and slammed nose-first into the barrier.

The impact shot through the seat and up her spine.

Her vision went white. The next thing she saw was the concrete wall through her cracked visor.

The engine had cut out. She heard Marco’s voice over the radio.

“Sena! Sena, respond!”

...I'm okay. I can move.

My body was fine. My neck hurt a little, but there were no major injuries. The medical check also showed nothing abnormal.

But the car was totaled. The right front suspension was snapped, and there was damage to the monocoque. It was a borderline decision whether I could start in Race 2.

While the mechanics worked desperately on repairs in the garage, Sena sat on a bench in the paddock. The ice pack wrapped around her neck was slowly melting.

Ella sat down next to her.

I hit the wall here last year, too. Montreal is just that kind of course. Don't let it get to you.

If I could just stop letting things get to me because someone told me to, I wouldn't be a racer.

In my head, the moment of the crash replayed over and over. That split second when the barrier was rushing toward me. The feeling of my body shrinking. The terror of losing control.

Ever since Marco told me to 'give myself permission to be fast,' I had been able to push the pedal down little by little. I pushed it in Jeddah. I pushed it in Miami. I thought the walls were getting lower myself.

But a crash just builds those lowered walls back up again.

Race 2. The mechanics managed to get it ready in time. It was in a condition to drive. But the car's balance wasn't perfect. And—neither was Sena's own balance.

Entering Turn 3, I unconsciously hit the brakes early. The place where I had just crashed. Even if my head understood, my body remembered.

Thirteenth place. No points.

With the result in Montreal, my ranking dropped to tenth. The upward momentum I had until Miami stalled all at once.

That night, I opened a video call in my hotel room. The person on the other end was Marco.

Was Turn 3 scary?

...It was scary.

Of course it was. If there were a person who could go full throttle through the same corner the day after hitting a wall, that person would be broken. Being scared is normal. The question is how you deal with that fear.

How should I deal with it?

Marco was silent for a moment, and then he spoke.

Don't try to erase the fear. Keep it, but press the pedal anyway. In Shanghai, you were too scared to press it. In Jeddah, you were scared, but you pressed it. You just need to do that 'scared but pressing' thing one more time. If you could do it once, you can do it twice.

It's easy for you to say, I thought. But I also found myself thinking that if this person says so, then it must be true.

That was the trust we had built up over four months.

Chapter 6: Zandvoort — A Promise in the Rain

September. Zandvoort, Netherlands.

The conditions Sena was best at arrived here. It was raining.

Ever since she started karting in Japan, she had never lost a race in the rain. During her F4 days at Fuji Speedway, she had three wins in three races under wet conditions. For some reason, the sensation of driving on water had felt natural to her since she was young.

Maybe it was her father's influence. He always wanted to go to the kart track on rainy days. He would say happily, 'Rain tests the human, not the machine.'

Two months since the crash in Montreal. Her physical wounds had completely healed. But the memory of Turn 3 still remained somewhere in her body. Carrying that with her, Sena came to Zandvoort. Not to erase the fear, but to press the pedal while still afraid. She repeated Marco's words like a spell.

Saturday at Zandvoort. A damp wind from the North Sea had been blowing since the morning, and rain began to fall just before the start of qualifying.

As the track surface grew wet, many drivers became cautious. Fearing hydroplaning, they braked earlier and reduced their cornering speed.

Sena did not slow down.

She felt the limits of the wet tires with her fingertips. The subtle changes in vibration transmitted through the steering wheel. The split-second 'float' at the moment grip was lost. She drove along that boundary line as if threading a needle.

Marco stood up in front of the monitor.

Second place in qualifying.

The garage erupted. It was the best grid position of the season for Rodin Motorsport as well.

Race 2. The rain had stopped, but the track was still wet. Starting from the second grid, Sena took the lead at Turn 3 on the opening lap.

For the first time, Sena knew the feeling of running in the lead.

There were no machines in front of her. No spray being kicked up. A clear view. She could drive at her own pace, on her own line.

Third lap. Prema Racing's Doriane Pin was closing in from behind. The championship leader. A formidable driver who had fought at the top last season as well. In the mirror, the red cowl was growing larger and larger.

The fifth-lap banked turn. Pin made her move. She dove to the inside and pulled alongside. The moment Sena's line widened at the exit of the corner, Pin surged ahead.

She had been overtaken. It was frustrating. But she didn't break.

She stuck right behind Pin, keeping the pressure on. While setting a new fastest lap, she maintained a gap of less than a second. On the final lap, at the final corner, she pulled alongside once more. However, she fell short by a mere two-tenths of a second.

Second place.

When she stood on the second step of the podium, what caught Sena's eyes was a sea of orange in the grandstands. Amidst the Dutch GP's famous orange cheering squad, a single small Japanese flag was waving.

Who could it be? She didn't know. But her heart warmed.

During the champagne fight, Pin sprayed foam toward Sena and said,

"Next time, make your move sooner. If you wait until the final lap, I'll just run away."

Sena laughed. The champagne foam stung her eyes.

After stepping off the podium, as they walked side-by-side for media duties, Pin spoke suddenly.

"Your driving in the wet was beautiful. Truly beautiful."

Having raced for half a season, she knew Pin wasn't the type to offer empty flattery. Sena simply replied, "Thank you."

Pin paused for a moment, then continued.

"When I first got into a formula car, a karting official in France told me, 'This is as far as girls go. Formula is a man's place.' I was eight. Eight years old."

Sena listened in silence.

"That's why I want to win. In front of the people who tried to stop me back then. There's no other way to prove it besides winning."

Pin's profile was not smiling. It was quiet and rigid.

"You're the same, aren't you? Even if the reasons are different, you were driving like someone who has something they must prove."

Sena felt like she understood this person for the first time. They were rivals on the track. But at the root of why they raced, they were standing on the same ground.

Chapter 7: Singapore — Under the Night Sky

October. Marina Bay Street Circuit.

The Singapore night race was a special event even within F1 Academy. Racing on the illuminated course amidst the heat of the night.

Teammate Chloe Chong had special feelings about this round. For her, being from Singapore, it was her home race.

"I want to show the fans. That even an Asian girl can race here."

As they walked through the paddock, Chloe spoke more than usual. Sena listened in silence. She understood those feelings all too well.

Qualifying. Sena was fifth, Chloe was seventh.

Race 2, final stages. Sena was running in fourth. She saw Chloe's car in her mirrors. She was charging up from sixth.

The gap to the third-place ART Grand Prix car driven by Courtney Crone ahead was one second. If she was going to make a move, it had to be at the next hairpin.

Sena held the brakes deep into the corner and dove to the inside. Her tires screamed. Crone was surprised and yielded the line.

Third place.

Two laps to go. Chloe came charging up from behind Sena. She passed the car in fifth and moved up to fourth.

Teammates in third and fourth. The Rodin Motorsport team radio was filled with joy.

After the finish, Chloe ran over to Sena as she got out of her car.

Chloe's eyes were red as she took off her helmet.

"Thank you. Because you were running ahead, I knew I could do it too."

Sena put her arm around Chloe's shoulder.

The third step of the podium. Looking up, the lights of the buildings blurred into the Singapore night sky. The moon was out above Marina Bay Sands.

I am standing here. I, who came from Asia, am standing here.

Final Chapter: Las Vegas — Beyond the Grid

November. Las Vegas Strip Circuit. The final race.

Throughout the season, Sena had climbed up to seventh in the rankings. The points lost due to the retirement in Montreal weighed heavily. Without that, she might have been a little higher. But "what ifs" are the enemy of a racer. From her current position, what could she grasp in the final race?

The outcome of the championship was almost entirely in the hands of Prema Racing's Pin, and Sena's title contention was not realistic.

However, she had a goal.

To finish the season in the top five. The top five would serve as leverage for negotiations for the following season. It would also lead to a recommendation for F3. The gap to sixth place in the rankings was a mere four points.

Friday night. In her hotel room, Sena had a video call with her mother.

"Are you nervous?"

"It would be a lie if I said I wasn't."

"Then tell a lie. Your father was always like that too. He would say, 'I'm not nervous at all,' while his hands were shaking inside his helmet, and he would laugh about it himself later."

Sena laughed. That was the kind of father he was. He would put on a brave face, but thanks to that, he was someone who could truly become strong.

"Mom."

"Yes?"

"I like the name Sena."

On the other side of the screen, her mother's eyes welled up with tears.

Saturday. Qualifying in Las Vegas.

Formula cars raced through the glittering neon of the Strip. It was a surreal sight. But in Sena's eyes, only the course was visible.

Attack lap. Using the slipstream on the straight, she passed Turn 1 with a perfect line. She set a personal best in Sector 1. She also connected the technical section of Sector 2. Final sector, from the back straight to the final chicane. Every sense in her body was sharpened.

The time was displayed.

Third in qualifying.

A career high.

Ella shouted over the radio, "Sena! Three! Three!"—Ella was the kind of person who would always check her teammate's results first as soon as qualifying ended.

Marco's voice was calm. But it was just a little bit higher than usual.

“You’ve got this, Sena. Tomorrow, we’re going to take it.”

Sunday. Race 2. The final.

Third on the grid. Pin was next to me. Maya Weeg of MP Motorsport was in front.

On the grid before the start, Pin looked toward Sena. I could see her eyes behind the visor. She wasn't smiling. But there was respect.

Pin tapped her right fist lightly against the edge of the cockpit. A small gesture. The meaning was clear: Let’s have a good race.

Sena returned the same gesture.

The lights went out.

The start was even. The clutch slipped slightly, and Pin pulled alongside. Both cars entered the first corner at the same time. Pin took the inside slightly, and Sena dropped to fourth.

Don't panic. It's a long race.

Lap five. The tires warmed up, and the car's balance stabilized. I gradually closed the gap to the car in front. On lap eight, at the end of the back straight, we were side-by-side. A braking duel. This time, Sena won.

Third place reclaimed.

Lap twelve. Weeg, in second, began to lose pace. Her tires must be struggling. One second, eight tenths, five tenths—I was closing in.

Lap fifteen. Entering the final chicane, Sena pulled alongside. Weeg resisted, but Sena took the outside line and surged ahead on the exit.

Second place.

Only Pin was ahead. The gap was 2.3 seconds.

Marco said, “You can see the champion’s back, Sena.”

Five laps to go. Sena gave it everything. Driving to break the fastest lap every single time. 2.3 seconds became 1.8. Then 1.4. Then 1.1.

Final lap. The gap was 0.8 seconds.

Turn 1. Turn 5. The back straight. I entered the slipstream. Right behind Pin’s car, the turbulence shook my machine.

The final chicane. If I'm going to make a move, it has to be here.

Sena dove to the inside. Pin took the blocking line. The two cars were side-by-side. Inches from contact. There was less than ten centimeters between the tires.

At the exit of the chicane, Pin's car was half a length ahead.

Just like that, the checkered flag.

Second place.

Cheers echoed across the Las Vegas straight.

Pin had clinched the championship. It was the expected result. This season, she had been faster and more consistent than anyone else.

As Sena drove the cool-down lap, she was enveloped in a strange sense of fulfillment.

She hadn't won. But she had given it her all. She had left it all on the track. She had nothing left to give.

When she returned to the pits, the entire team staff was lined up in the lane waiting for her. The mechanics. The engineers. Adam, the team manager. Ella. Chloe.

Marco stood there with his arms wide open.

Well done.

At those words, tears overflowed. This time, she didn't hold them back.

The second step of the podium.

After Pin raised her trophy, she turned toward Sena.

I told you at Zandvoort, didn't I? You need to make your move earlier.

I did make my move. At the final chicane.

The final chicane on the final lap, you mean. You're as slow as ever.

Pin laughed. It was a relaxed smile, the first one Sena had ever seen from her.

But—you're the first person this season to catch up to me. If you're racing next year, come back even faster. The stronger the opponent chasing me, the faster I can become.

Looking down, among the neon-lit spectators, there was a small group that appeared to have come from Japan. They were waving the Japanese flag. One of them was holding up a placard with something handwritten on cardboard.

It was too far away to read. But for some reason, I felt like I could see the words.

"Sena, run."

It was something my father would say.

Final season results. Sena Shinya, ranked fifth. As a Japanese woman, she achieved the first full season completion, first points, first podium, and first top-five finish in F1 Academy. Everything was a "first".

At the press conference, the final question was thrown out.

"Sena, what is your goal for next season?"

Sena paused for just a beat in front of the microphone.

"The wall is gone. Now, it's my turn to become that wall."

When she left the press room, Pin was standing in the hallway. She was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. I knew immediately that she had been waiting.

"Nice comment, 'becoming a wall.' Are you talking about me?"

"Maybe that's included."

Pin scoffed. Then, she held out her right hand.

"Doriane Pin. Formally. I didn't introduce myself properly at the start of the season."

Sena took her hand. It was a completely different handshake from when they had passed each other in the Shanghai paddock.

"Sena Shinya. Looking forward to next year."

"I'm not going to say I'm looking forward to it. I won't lose next year."

"That's my line."

The two of them laughed at the same time. Only that laughter echoed through the hallway.

Epilogue: The Garage Lights

December. Fuji Speedway.

Sena was walking alone through the quiet off-season circuit. At Fuji without a race, there was only the sound of the wind.

She stood in front of the vending machine behind the paddock. It was the same spot where she had dropped a canned coffee that day.

Her smartphone rang. A country code from the UK.

"Sena, it's Adam. I have good news."

Sena bought a canned coffee and pulled the tab. This time, she didn't drop it.

"For next season, the Sauber junior program is interested in you. It's about a step up to F3. Do you want to hear the details?"

The cold Fuji wind brushed against her cheeks. She looked up at the sky. In the clear winter sky, a single contrail stretched out straight.

"Of course."

Sena took a sip of the coffee and smiled.

It was the flavor her father liked. Slightly sweet.

"End"