The hotel was quiet, set above and away from the nearest city. It had a nice mountain view and good food, and boasted a friendly but discreet staff. Because of this, the hotel frequently saw a few celebrities and politicians coming to it to relax. Most of its patrons, however, were residents of nearby Akina. The young man sitting at the bar by himself had lived in Akina since he was born. Some of the staff recognised him as the boy who had delivered tofu to the hotel every morning in all weather until four years ago. He still did, occasionally. Those who knew him generally liked him. In the ten years since he had first started delivering tofu, he had grown up to be a very fine young man- occasionally clueless, but unassuming and helpful. Unlike many of the people of his age who flooded the bar after each street race, he had never been known to pick out a fight. Those were hashiriya, mainly, so it came as a surprise to the staff of the hotel to see him reading a racing magazine that night as he waited. They didn't have long to wait for long before they had discovered who his companion was, as the doors of the bar slid open to admit a tall, refined young man. At 28, Takahashi Ryousuke hadn't changed much from when he was 23. There were perhaps a few more laugh lines, a few more worry streaks, and his hair, once dyed deep chestnut, had returned to its original shade of midnight blue. As he entered the cafe, most of the girls and some of the men sat up, noticing him. When he sought out and headed for the man with the racing magazine, however, they were disappointed. Fujiwara Takumi, twenty three and a professional racer, looked up just as the man he had been waiting for slid smoothly into the seat beside him. "I was beginning to think that you would be late," he said, putting the magazine down.