There are three things in the world that I value more than any other: my brother, my car, and my pride. I drive a Mazda RX-FD3S. It's a good car, one of the best. I got it when I was eighteen- the same age as when Aniki learnt to drive. My car is yellow, which most people think is tasteless, but I don't care. Yellow is one of my favorite colors and /I/ like it, so why should I care what others think? Aniki says that it's a good color for a car, anyway. Easy to spot at night. And- as he usually is- he's right. I train a lot in the dark at night and very early in the mornings, so my choice of color has probably saved me from collisions a few times. Most of the time I don't think about the color, though. My car is my car, and I think I would recognise it even painted black. That's part of my pride as a hashiriya. I'm a good street racer, and I take racing seriously. I hate losing, but even more than that I hate people who rely on things other than their own ability to win. That's wrong; that's cheating, and that usually ends with me beating the person's pride into the dust while everybody looks on. I hate people who cheat. This is something that has never changed, and probably never will, because I'm just born that way. Aniki probably thinks that I should tone down, but he hasn't said anything about it. On anything else, I usually listen to him. I love my brother. He's cool, a genius, and he's the fastest racer I know. The best. And he's always been that way. When we were young, he used to take care of me instead of Dad and Mom, since they were always busy. Through the years I've probably caused him a lot of trouble, but he's never been angry with me for all the time I've cost him. He's never angry when I disturb him as he works, either. But aniki is also more than all that to me. He is my brother, and I would easily kill anyone who hurt him in any way. It's something I can't explain, and for anyone else, I would never get this mushy. Only for aniki. Keisuke paused, putting down his pen to survey the rows of somewhat messy writing that marred the white surface of his notebook. It felt somewhat embarrassing to put his thoughts on paper, even though the only person who would ever read them was himself. He hoped.