Hiiragi--39-s Practice Diary -final- -k-drive-- · Genuine & Premium

Hiiragi knelt beside the bike and opened the maintenance panel. Inside, tucked next to the flux capacitor, was a folded piece of paper—the first page of her original diary, written in smudged pencil.

She slid off the saddle and pressed her palm to the bike’s cool alloy frame. “You did good, old friend.”

She opened the maintenance panel one last time. The black-box recorder was still blinking. Hiiragi--39-s Practice Diary -Final- -K-DRIVE--

“Goodbye, partner.”

The tunnel swallowed her. G-forces pressed her chest against the tank. The K-DRIVE banked left, then right, its stabilizers screaming as they fought to keep her glued to the curved wall. A normal bike would have spun out. A normal rider would have blacked out. Hiiragi knelt beside the bike and opened the

And then, finally, it powered down.

The engine roared, then died. Not with a cough, but with a clean, obedient silence. Hiiragi pulled off her helmet, shaking loose a braid of ink-black hair. The digital dashboard of the K-DRIVE flickered, then displayed a single line: “You did good, old friend

She burst out of the shaft’s exit at an angle that should have been impossible, the K-DRIVE skidding sideways across the polished marble floor of the abandoned lobby. Sparks flew. The smell of burnt rubber and ozone filled the air. Then, with a final, gentle shudder, the bike came to a stop exactly on the painted X.