Warning: This story contains mature themes, including references to criminal activity, underground racing, and intense emotional conflicts. Reader discretion is advised.

Iwaizumi lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his mind replaying Tooru’s question from earlier: “Is this the life you really want?” The words lingered in his thoughts, refusing to fade. He blinked slowly, the silence of the room heavy against his chest. The faint hum of the night outside did little to drown out the memories that surged unbidden.

He couldn’t help but think back to the life he had before all this—before the underground racing, before his world became a blur of speed, adrenaline, and shadows. There had been a time when he had a future laid out for him. A time when he had dreams that didn’t involve constantly looking over his shoulder, wondering if today would be the day his past caught up with him.

Back then, he’d been a different person—one who lived a quiet life, focused on simple goals: a steady job, good friends, a sense of normalcy that felt like a distant dream now. But everything changed the moment his past found him, like a predator lurking in the shadows. He was forced to make choices he never thought he’d have to. Choices that led him down this path, one that was both thrilling and terrifying. The thrill of the race had been easy to fall into, the danger an intoxicating rush, but with it came the cost of losing himself along the way.

Iwaizumi exhaled sharply, turning his head to the side as he stared at the wall, feeling the weight of his decisions settle deep within him. Is this really the life he wanted? The question hung in the air, unanswered. He had made peace with his choices a long time ago, convincing himself that there was no going back. But now, hearing Tooru’s voice in his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder—was there more to life than this? Could he still be the person he was before everything changed, or had he gone too far to find his way back?

The thoughts spun around in his mind, refusing to settle, and Iwaizumi closed his eyes, trying to push them away. He didn’t have the answers, and maybe that was what scared him the most.

Iwaizumi’s thoughts darkened as the memories took a sharper, heavier turn. Maybe this isn’t the life I wanted. He thought, the words drifting through his mind like a fleeting, unattainable truth. But as much as he’d wished for something different, he couldn’t bring himself to fully blame his parents for the life he ended up with. The resentment he once carried had slowly withered into a bitter acceptance over the years.

His mother—a gambler, always chasing a fleeting high from the cards, the dice, whatever she could place her hopes on. She wasn’t a bad person, he thought, but she was trapped in her own demons, and in turn, she’d trapped him in a cycle of uncertainty. And his father… He could still remember how his father would come home reeking of alcohol, slurring his words, his temper unpredictable, a man whose own failures seemed to spill into Iwaizumi’s life like a constant shadow. And then there were the drugs, the addiction that gnawed at his father until it ate him whole. In the end, it was the drugs that took him from Iwaizumi—pulled him away long before he could even begin to understand what it meant to have a father.

He let out a long breath, the ache in his chest unbearable as his mind continued to spiral. His parents were gone now. Both of them. They had left him with nothing but their mistakes and the wreckage of a life they couldn’t manage. And all he had left were the scars of their choices, his own decisions shaped by the absence of guidance.

But there was one person who had stepped in, who had offered him a lifeline when everything else had been falling apart. His aunt. The one who had made sure he stayed in school, the one who had given him a chance, even when the rest of the world seemed to have abandoned him. She had been his protector, his savior, and she had tried to raise him better than what he’d known. Iwaizumi could never forget that. He owed her everything. But even she hadn’t been able to hold on forever. She had passed away too, just when he needed her the most.

He turned his gaze back to the ceiling, trying to push down the anger, the hurt, the confusion. I didn’t ask for this life, he thought bitterly, but somehow, it had become his. There were days when he wondered if he could’ve done things differently, made different choices. But as much as he wanted to believe he could’ve, there were too many things outside his control.

And here he was. Alone, in this cold, concrete world of underground races, filled with adrenaline and danger. Maybe it wasn’t the life he would’ve chosen for himself, but it was the one he’d been left with, the one he was forced to live. And maybe—just maybe—he had learned to accept it. But that didn’t stop the questions from lingering, the dreams of a life he would never know, always there, just out of reach.

Iwaizumi’s mind drifted even further back, to when he was just a kid—wide-eyed, full of dreams and possibilities, with no inkling of where life would take him. I had so many dreams back then, he thought, a sad chuckle escaping his lips. When he was young, he had imagined himself becoming something important, something that could make his parents proud, something that didn’t involve the shadows or the chaos of the life he now led. Maybe he thought he’d be a coach, someone who could guide kids to avoid the mistakes he had seen firsthand. Or maybe, just maybe, he had wanted to be someone who could help people, be the person who fixed the broken parts of the world around him.

But here he was now—an underground drag racer. A pawn in a dangerous game, with a syndicate hot on his heels, and tangled up in a web of smuggling rings and drug deals. How the hell had it all come to this? He stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it all. How did I end up here?

It didn’t make sense. As a kid, he never imagined a future like this—living in constant danger, constantly running from his past. He had been naïve, sure, but he hadn’t been foolish enough to think he’d be dragged into the underworld of crime and violence. This wasn’t the life he had planned for himself, not the future he’d dreamed about when he was staring out of his bedroom window, wondering what it would be like to actually live without fear, without the weight of a family history he couldn’t escape.

Yet, here he was, tied to people he never would’ve chosen—smugglers, dealers, and all the dangerous faces that ran in his circle. He’d never asked for this, never wanted to be connected to them, but somewhere along the way, things had changed. The races had given him a purpose, a way out of the stagnant life he had been trapped in. They’d given him money, power—maybe even respect, in a way. But with it had come a constant, gnawing anxiety, knowing there were people after him, people who would stop at nothing to drag him down.

Iwaizumi frowned, the weight of his choices pressing down on him as the full reality of his life hit him like a punch to the gut. He had connections to people he didn’t even want to know. He had been sucked into their world, and now, he was stuck. Not just in the racing scene, but in the criminal underworld that he was barely keeping at bay. He didn’t even know where to draw the line anymore.

It was a life he never thought he’d have, never thought he’d be capable of living. Yet here he was—caught in a storm, fighting to stay afloat, fighting to make it out before everything came crashing down. How the hell did I get here? The question echoed in his mind, unanswered.

The memories blurred together, like snapshots of a life that felt as if it belonged to someone else. Iwaizumi tried to piece it all together—how he ended up here, how his path had led him into the heart of this dangerous world. It had been a slow burn at first. The world of underground racing wasn’t something you just walked into, after all. It was a place that had to be earned, a place that would chew you up and spit you out if you didn’t have the guts to survive.

It started small—just a kid looking for something more than the dead-end streets he’d known. He’d never meant to get caught up in the races, but once he had, it was like a drug he couldn’t quit. At first, it was just to make a bit of money on the side, something to escape the suffocating weight of his life. But it didn’t take long before he realized the stakes were much higher than he’d ever anticipated. He hadn’t been prepared for the faces he’d meet in that world—the smugglers, the dealers, the men and women who made their living in the shadows, who ruled the tracks with an iron fist.

Then came Hanamaki, Matsukawa, Suna, and Kiyoomi. He’d met them on the tracks, of course. At first, it was just business. Hanamaki with his devil-may-care attitude, Matsukawa with his sharp edge and even sharper mind, Suna with his laid-back demeanor hiding the fierce competitor within. Kiyoomi, always the wildcard, always the one who didn’t care about the rules but somehow always seemed to come out on top. They were all part of the same world, but their connections ran deeper than just the races. They had their own ties to the underworld, their own reasons for being involved, and they didn’t hesitate to make their loyalty clear to each other.

For Iwaizumi, it was a matter of survival. In a world where trust was a currency few could afford, he found himself drawn to them, first out of necessity, then out of camaraderie. It wasn’t long before they started to look out for each other, in their own ways. Hanamaki taught him how to read the people around him, to gauge who was a threat and who could be trusted. Matsukawa showed him how to survive in the toughest spots, the shortcuts that got him ahead of the pack, both on and off the track. Suna, ever the strategist, helped him see the bigger picture—the moves that needed to be made to stay ahead of the game. And Kiyoomi? He was the one who made sure they never played by anyone’s rules but their own.

The shop. It had been Iwaizumi’s dream, a small slice of normalcy in a world that offered him very little. He built it from the ground up, using the money he earned from racing, from winning, and from a few favors from people who owed him. It wasn’t much at first—just a small, cluttered garage with a few tools and broken-down cars waiting for a second chance. But it became his sanctuary, his escape from the chaos that ruled his life. Slowly, it turned into something more—a place where he could fix up cars, make a name for himself outside of the races, build something that wasn’t tied to the criminal world. People started coming to him, asking for his help. Word spread about the mechanic who could fix anything, who could make a car run like it had never run before. It wasn’t just a shop anymore; it was a symbol of something he’d created with his own two hands.

But racing was never far behind. Every time he thought he could walk away, the track called to him. And when he did race, it was never just about winning. It was about proving something to himself—about showing the world that he could still do things the right way, that he could beat the system without falling into the same traps that had taken so many others down. But the track was unforgiving. Everyone played dirty, even the ones who seemed like they were in it for the love of the sport. Iwaizumi, however, fought to race with honor. He didn’t cheat. He didn’t take the easy road. Every win he had was earned, every victory the result of sweat, skill, and the sheer will to survive.

He still remembered his first real race, the one where he had truly proved himself. The adrenaline had been suffocating, the noise of the engines and the crowd deafening, but it had been his moment. He’d been up against someone who played dirty, who’d had connections to all the wrong people. But Iwaizumi had won, fair and square, and it was the start of his reputation on the track. From that moment on, it wasn’t just about the money—it was about earning respect, about making sure no one forgot that he was one of the best.

He had built a life here, a dangerous, thrilling life, but it was his. It was the life he had fought for, even if it wasn’t the one he had dreamed of as a kid. And now, as he lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together how it all happened, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late to turn things around. But he knew the answer deep down. No matter how much he wished it, there was no going back to the life he had before. He was a racer now, and in this world, there was only one way forward.

Iwaizumi’s thoughts darkened again, this time turning toward Oikawa Tooru. The man had suddenly appeared in his life, like a force of nature that Iwaizumi couldn’t quite escape. It had started with that stupid random text. He remembered it like it was yesterday, how the message had come through, and how confused he had been at first, wondering why the hell someone like Oikawa—someone from that world, from the industry that Iwaizumi wanted nothing to do with—was suddenly reaching out to him.

What the hell was that text about? He shook his head at the thought, a frown tugging at his lips. It was almost laughable, how everything changed because of one stupid message. But now, looking back, he couldn’t deny the impact it had on him. Oikawa had shown up, demanding Iwaizumi’s attention, whether he liked it or not. That was just the way Oikawa was, wasn’t it? He had a way of pushing into your life with that overconfident, almost arrogant charm. It didn’t matter if you didn’t want him there—he just kept coming, like he had some undeniable right to.

And then there was that damn arranged marriage of his. What a joke, Iwaizumi thought, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Oikawa had never asked for it, but he was stuck with it all the same—caught in the web of a deal made long before he could even think for himself. The more Iwaizumi learned about Oikawa, the more he realized how little control Oikawa had over his own life. The pop star, the one who seemed so in control of everything on the outside, was just as trapped by his circumstances as Iwaizumi had once been by his own. Maybe even more so, given the weight of that damn arranged marriage looming over him.

It bothered Iwaizumi more than it should have. He couldn’t help it. Oikawa’s life—his fame, his forced future—felt like a reminder of everything that had been taken from Iwaizumi, everything that he’d never had the chance to build for himself. But he also couldn’t ignore the way Oikawa seemed so out of place in this world. The world of underground racing. The world where everything was dirty, where everything came with a price. Oikawa didn’t belong here. And that pissed Iwaizumi off more than it should have. Because somehow, despite how much he tried to keep his distance, Oikawa just kept getting under his skin.

Iwaizumi frowned again. He hated it—hated how quickly Oikawa had wormed his way into his thoughts, how easily he’d shattered the walls Iwaizumi had worked so hard to build around himself. And the worst part? The absolute worst part? Oikawa didn’t even seem to know how to stop. He didn’t get that Iwaizumi didn’t want to deal with this mess, didn’t want to be dragged into someone else’s problems. Yet here he was, constantly pulling Iwaizumi in without even trying.

Stupid Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi thought bitterly. He’s like a fucking storm, just rolling in and tearing everything apart.