Chapter 38: “The Firefly Circuit”
Scene 1: Race Announcement – “City Eyes, Sky Hearts”
—-: Ren
Ren didn’t mean to zone out during homeroom.
It was just… the gears on the ceiling fan were mesmerizing. Clack-shift-clack, rotating against the glow of morning sun filtered through oil-stained glass. The sound reminded him of flight prep. Or maybe anxiety.
So when Ms. Shiraishi clapped her hands once—sharp enough to crack the air—he jolted and sat straighter.
“You’ve been entered in the Firefly Circuit.”
The room froze.
“Wait—what?” Taiga nearly choked on a gear-shaped candy he’d definitely stolen from the workshop.
Shiraishi tapped a parchment-style scroll onto the board. The paper was glossy, lined with mechanical flourishes and a filigree border that looked like someone tried to make speed elegant.
At the top, in sharp serif font:
FIRE. FURY. FLIGHT.
The Firefly Circuit, 12th Annual Night Showcase
Rin leaned forward, arms crossed. “Thought that was just for league-funded teams.”
Shiraishi didn’t smile. But her eyes glinted. “It is. Which you are.”
Hana blinked. “Wait. We are?”
“You’re flying the Silver Dart,” Shiraishi said. “You’re seeded in the top three. And a local sponsor took interest after your last match went viral.” She looked directly at Mei. “You’re welcome.”
Mei blinked once, then returned to adjusting her datapad brightness like it had offended her.
Jiro raised a hand halfway. “Just so I’m panicking accurately… who exactly watches this?”
Shiraishi turned to the board and listed it off like it was no big deal.
“Local tech guilds. Skyport engineers. Every academy from Kyokuto to Eastern Drift. Half the capital's racing circuits. And the sponsors.”
She tapped the bottom line of the scroll.
“Winning this circuit earns full sponsor coverage through Nationals. Plus upgrade credits for custom builds. Plus scholarship offers.”
Taiga made a sound like a compressed trumpet exploding.
“We’re being streamed?!”
Ren swallowed hard.
This wasn’t just some flashy ring run.
This was visibility. Real eyes. Real consequences. Real recognition.
He felt a chill under his collar, even though the room was warm.
“But it’s just a local showcase, right?” he said. “Not an official league match?”
Shiraishi nodded. “No points. Just pressure.”
Then she added, with the faintest note of mischief:
“And fireworks. They trigger mid-course once you pass the halfway beacon.”
Everyone stared.
Taiga whispered, “I’m gonna cry.”
Jiro leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. “You should. They’re shooting fire above our heads while we fly.”
Saki, of course, had been recording the whole announcement from her desk with a pocket cam.
“This is going in the pre-race hype trailer,” she muttered. “Someone give me a dramatic line—”
“I am the storm that flies beneath the stars!” Taiga shouted.
“Nope, deleting that,” Saki said instantly.
Hana didn’t say anything.
She was already sketching an idea for turbulence-compensating flaps on the edge of her notebook.
Rin cracked her knuckles.
Mei quietly checked wind charts from the last five Firefly Circuits.
And Ren?
He glanced down at his hands.
They weren’t shaking.
Not yet.
But they remembered the curve from last night.
They remembered flying whole.
Scene 2: Pre-Race Banter – “Darts, Blossoms, and Traces”
—-: Rin
Rin hated waiting rooms.
Especially ones this shiny.
The pre-race lounge was all brass trim and polished gears, with soft velvet benches that tried too hard to make everything feel elegant. It smelled like burnished copper and nervous sweat.
The Firefly Circuit didn’t do subtle. The windows above the far wall opened onto the city’s floating lantern grid—thousands of tiny orbs pulsing like soft-glow fireflies in preparation for the opening ceremony. It would be beautiful later.
Right now? Rin could barely hear over the thrum of adrenaline behind her ears.
She cracked her neck and surveyed the room.
Team Iron Blossom lounged on the bench opposite them, resplendent in rose-gold accented flight jackets and matching goggles they absolutely didn’t need indoors. Their pilot, Yui, gave Rin a lazy smirk like she already owned the trophy and had engraved a second one for her cat.
“Didn’t know school teams were letting in cosplayers now,” Yui drawled, tossing her long braid over one shoulder.
Rin didn’t flinch.
“That’s bold coming from a team named after a tea.”
Yui’s second-in-command snorted. “Oh no, the Dart has sass upgrades now.”
Ren tried to step in, awkward as ever. “Hey, no need to—”
But another voice cut through.
“Actually, we’re the ones to watch.”
Team Zephyr Trace.
They had just arrived—three students in matching black and silver academy uniforms, their insignia shaped like a triple swirl of smoke around a dagger-point wing.
Their pilot was tall, sharp-eyed, and wearing a headset already synced to his crystal console. The tactician behind him carried a portable wind dome display like it was her third arm. Their engineer? Silent. Pale. Watching everything.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“I’ve seen the Silver Dart's last run,” the lead pilot said. “Clean lines. Good correction rate. But not built for sprint-surge variability.”
Rin raised an eyebrow. “You study our telemetry?”
“Of course,” he said. “That’s what data is for.”
She hated how calm he was.
Yui yawned. “You’re both missing the point. This circuit isn’t about numbers or corrections. It’s about drama.”
She leaned toward Rin with a grin so polished it might’ve been a weapon.
“Can you pull the crowd’s breath into your sails? Or are you just here to take up airspace?”
Rin opened her mouth—
But Hana beat her to it.
“We’re not here for breath.”
The room turned.
Hana adjusted her goggles slowly, voice quiet—but steady.
“We’re here to show them what it means to fly when everything’s against you.”
Yui blinked.
Zephyr Trace actually paused.
Rin smiled. Not a smirk. Not a taunt.
Just… pride.
Ren’s hand flexed at his side.
“Let’s go,” Rin said, turning without another word.
The Silver Dart crew followed her out of the lounge, boots clinking against the metal floor, hearts pounding in sync with the rising music outside.
They didn’t need to win the banter.
They were going to win the sky.
Scene 3: New Ring Challenge – “Pick the Pulse”
—-: Mei
From her seat in the secondary cockpit, tethered directly to the Dart’s data core, Mei adjusted the sensor gain by 0.02% and didn’t blink.
The Firefly Circuit had upgraded.
That mattered.
Not to the announcers. Not to the sponsors drooling over polished chassis and logo placements.
But to her?
It was everything.
“Dynamic tunnel systems,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Three-ring interference fields. Each checkpoint launches a triad—but only one is tuned to the beacon pulse.”
She tapped through her predictive overlays. Rin would be watching the tunnel for visual cues. Ren would feel the torque shifts. But she had to be the voice that said:
“Left. Now.”
No second chances.
The layout unfolded on her screen, layered in spectral light: Ring Alpha, Ring Beta, Ring Gamma. One would pulse every 2.8 seconds with the primary path signal.
“Patterned chaos,” Mei whispered. “Cruel.”
Hana’s voice buzzed through the internal line.
“I just hope the dampers hold if we hit a false ring.”
“They won’t,” Mei replied. “So don’t.”
On the upper deck of the launch bay, the crowd cheered as the first team took off—Iron Blossom cutting a smooth arc through the grid, sparks flying as their ring pick just missed the primary vector.
Penalty triggered.
2.3 second drift correction.
Crosswind surge added.
Mei absorbed the numbers like breath.
Then it was Zephyr Trace—clean, analytical, ruthless. They nailed the first two rings by sheer brute-force timing. But the third?
Their engine whined.
Too sharp an adjustment. Too confident.
She noted the split-second latency in their correction buffer. Predictable under pressure.
Then—
Silver Dart’s name echoed through the stadium.
Her hands moved before her brain caught up, fingers dancing across the haptic control lace. The cockpit panels flickered to life.
Ren’s voice crackled in.
“Mei. You good?”
“Good’s not the metric,” she said, strapping herself tighter.
“I’m precise.”
The sky opened.
The first ring launched. Alpha to the left. Beta above. Gamma center.
All three shimmered in bronze light—perfectly even.
But only one pulsed on the third frame.
“Alpha. Left,” Mei said.
The Dart dipped sharp—Rin catching the call with sniper focus. They sliced through Alpha with zero lag.
Second ring fired. This time? A mislead. Beta pulsed early, a decoy meant to lure hasty eyes.
Mei narrowed hers.
“Hold… hold… Gamma. Dive low.”
Ren exhaled. “Copy that.”
The ship dropped like it had wings made of thought.
The ring arced around them like an electric crown—and welcomed them through.
Hana whooped from behind. “Flawless pass!”
Mei didn’t smile. But she nodded once.
“Two down.”
More to go.
But if they kept trusting her…
This wouldn’t be a race.
It would be a statement.
Scene 4: Saki Commentary Stream – “SPIRAL DIVE OF DOOM”
—-: Saki
Saki adjusted the volume slider, leaned dramatically into the mic, and dropped her voice to full-throttle stage mode.
“Welcome back, airship addicts and skyborn fanatics! You’re watching the Firefly Circuit, and I’m your host, your chaos gremlin, your truth-teller in goggles—Saki Ichiro!”
The livestream chat exploded. Emojis. Screaming gifs. The frog with goggles again.
She grinned.
“Let’s recap: Team Iron Blossom went full petal-to-the-metal and are now desperately trying to re-align their stabilizers. Zephyr Trace took a mathematical joyride into a ring that tried to eat them. And now?”
The camera feed swung wide—Silver Dart entering the third ring tunnel.
“Now it’s our chaos darlings from Hinode Academy—**SILVER DART—**AND THEY ARE COOKING.”
Behind her, the tech team whispered updates. Atmospheric shifts. Crosswinds at altitude seven. No visual on the storm yet.
Didn’t matter.
“Mei ‘I Can Predict Your Next Move Like a Tarot Card with a PhD’ Minami is calling the shots, and our duo in the cockpit—yes, that’s Captain Charm Ren Lawson and Ice Princess With a Jet Engine for a Heart Rin Aoyama—are in full sync.”
She zoomed in just as the Dart rolled into a downward spiral, tail lights catching firefly flares like ribbon trails.
“OHHHH IT’S THE SPIRAL DIVE OF DOOM—CAN THEY MAKE IT—”
Rin twisted the Dart through the low arc, cutting through a wind pocket so tight the rear stabilizers nearly kissed the curve.
“YES THEY CAN.”
Saki slapped her desk.
“Look at that form! That flow! That unnecessary amount of mutual trauma bonding turned into flight perfection!”
The chat roared.
[user4421]: WHAT IN THE STUDIO GHIBLI HELL WAS THAT DIVE
[FanOfHana]: Mei is the truth and the light
[ToasterPilot]: Saki, please marry me
[Zephyr4Ever]: you’re all delusional, Zephyr’s gonna win
Saki winked at the camera.
“Delusional is believing emotionless strategy beats emotional vengeance-fueled teamwork, Zephyr4Ever. Have you met this crew?”
Her cohost tried to interject with something about fuel ratios.
She muted him.
“Now—coming up on the fourth ring—and wait—wait—IS THAT THE STORM FRONT?!”
The skies on-screen darkened. Lightning skittered along the upper cloud layers like warning cracks in a mirror.
“OHHHH NOOOO. WE GOT WEATHER, FOLKS. REAL SKY STUFF. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”
Her eyes widened with pure, gleeful horror.
“The storm system has rolled in EARLY and the sponsors are SWEATING. I repeat—SWEATING IN UNBRANDED TOWELS.”
The Dart vanished into the thickening cloud bank.
“They’re flying blind.”
The mic went quiet.
Even Saki stopped grinning.
Then, softer—honest:
“Come on, Silver Dart.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Scene 5: Final Stretch – “Whispers Through the Wind”
—-: Mei
Rain slapped the cockpit glass so hard it sounded like small fists. The pressure gauges dipped into orange. The horizon was gone—just gray on gray, turbulence singing through the Dart’s bones like a haunted cello string.
Mei adjusted her neural clamp. Her breath slowed.
“Wind shear incoming. Adjust three degrees to starboard.”
Ren’s voice came back clipped. “Can’t see anything.”
“You don’t need to.”
In the back of her mind, she was counting seconds. Not because anyone told her to—but because it helped her feel the pulse of the storm.
Three seconds of steady pressure.
One half-beat of chaos.
Repeat.
“Rin, ride the left side of the current. Let the draft bend the tail—not break it.”
Rin didn’t answer.
She moved.
The Dart lurched, dipping below a thermal column, the stabilizers groaning as they skimmed the invisible barrier of the wind.
“Left. Down. Pitch five. Now.”
The ship complied.
And the others? Faded.
Zephyr Trace tried to correct against the gusts—math fighting nature.
Iron Blossom surged too hard—pride against pressure.
Only Silver Dart floated—leaned into the noise.
Mei narrowed her eyes.
The next pulse came too early.
“Shift twenty degrees right. Ren—breathe now. You’re locking your wrist.”
“How do you know that—?”
“Because I would.”
Silence.
Then—
“Thanks.”
The ring gate was less than 400 meters ahead. Mei couldn’t see it, but she knew the pattern. The blinking pulse would reset one second later than expected—storm offset.
She murmured into the channel like a prayer:
“Gamma ring. Midline. Trust it.”
She didn’t know if she was talking to them…
Or to herself.
The Dart hit the path exactly.
A clean pass.
One left.
Lightning cracked to their right, and Ren’s voice shook through the channel:
“Do we hold speed or flare the boost?”
Mei stared at the data.
Her heart told her one thing.
Her math told her another.
She did something strange:
She listened to both.
“Hold speed. Ride the storm. Let it carry you.”
Rin didn’t ask for confirmation.
She flew.
And the Dart surged through the last ring just as the clouds began to break—sunlight catching the wings like they’d been dipped in goldleaf.
Fireworks erupted. Late.
The sky screamed color.
And the Dart?
Sailed through it.
Time Differential: 0.6 seconds.
Silver Dart wins.
Mei exhaled so softly the mic didn’t catch it.
But her lips moved.
“We did it.”
And this time?
She smiled.
Just a little.
Scene 6: End Result – “0.6 Seconds”
—-: Ren
Ren barely remembered the landing.
One second, he was gripping the throttle like it might disappear.
The next?
The Dart touched down so smoothly it felt like they were still flying.
The world was a blur of cheers, bells, streamers, and exhaust steam.
Ren’s boots hit the metal runway, knees trembling with leftover adrenaline as the launch bay filled with noise. Real noise.
Applause. Shouting. Firework embers still drifting down like slow confetti.
Jiro sprinted forward from the crowd, nearly tripping over a service cable. “You guys—you guys won by point six seconds!”
Taiga barreled into Rin with a hug that might’ve cracked a rib. “YOU MADE THE SKY YOUR PANCAKE AND ATE IT WHOLE—”
“Don’t touch me,” Rin grunted, but she didn’t push him off.
Saki was already live-streaming. “THE DART DOMINATES THE SKY!” she yelled into her camera, absolutely ignoring the fact that she was standing directly on a safety rail.
Ren looked around—blinking—searching.
And then he saw her.
Mei, stepping down from the secondary bay, datapad still clutched in one hand like a lifeline.
Not beaming.
Not strutting.
Just calm.
But her lips had a tiny upward curve—so faint, it almost didn’t register.
He walked over, breath still unsteady.
“Hey.”
She looked up.
He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words tangled somewhere in the mess of joy and wind and disbelief inside him.
So instead, he held out his fist.
A beat passed.
Mei stared at it.
Then, slowly, gently—
She bumped it.
A perfect sync.
No data.
No command string.
Just trust.
And for the first time since sunrise, the world didn’t feel overwhelming.
It just felt right.
