Robinson ended the call and stood up, brushing past the silence in the room.
He turned to his mother.
"I'm heading out for a bit. Group project with Daryl."
She gave him a long look, clearly still unsettled from their earlier conversation.
"Don't come home too late, Rob. You've got school tomorrow."
Robinson nodded once and stepped out. His motorcycle roared to life and disappeared into the night.
Elsewhere, Daryl was already waiting in a dimly lit room—their makeshift hideout.
Across from him sat a teenage boy with jet-black hair and a torn hoodie. His fingers flew across a laptop keyboard, eyes locked on the screen.
Zashiro.
Half-Japanese, half-trouble.
He barely showed up to class, but everyone knew his brain ran on a different frequency. His dad used to be a legendary street racer in Shinjuku before vanishing. Now, Zashiro lived in New York… and didn't care for rules.
"That Z-split symbol you saw," Zashiro said, dragging a zoomed-in image to the center of the screen.
A stylized Z with a slash through it burned in red and black.
Daryl leaned closer.
"Yeah! That's the tattoo on the guy's neck!"
Zashiro leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles.
"I've seen that before. Back in Tokyo. That's the mark of an old racing syndicate—Zero Divide. They were supposed to be gone. Disbanded. But if this logo's popping up again..."
He squinted at the screen.
"...someone brought them back."
Suddenly, they heard the hum of a motorcycle outside.
Seconds later, the door opened.
Robinson stepped in. His face was sharper, darker than usual.
He walked straight to them.
"Where is he?"
Daryl got up, flustered.
"Gone. He took the car. Said the money was transferred. But it never hit my account. I had Zashiro trace the payment."
Zashiro turned the screen.
"The money trail's not normal. It's encrypted—military-grade levels of encryption. Whoever sent it didn't want to be found. But here's the twist..."
He paused.
"The signal came from a private network. Not public banking. Something closed. Probably connected to a high-level group or agency."
Robinson's eyes narrowed.
"So we didn't just steal from some rich guy… we stole from someone dangerous."
Zashiro smirked.
"Not just dangerous. Organized. As in: 'we-have-people-everywhere' type organized."
Daryl sat down, hands on his head.
"Dude… we're screwed. They're gonna kill us."
Robinson said nothing.
He stared at the glowing symbol on the screen again.
"No... we're not screwed. We fight back. But this time—we play it smart. First, we find out who they are… and why they're after us."
Zashiro leaned back in his chair, fingers still dancing across the keyboard.
He pulled up a file on the screen, then looked at Daryl and Robinson with a serious expression.
"I matched the signal from the surveillance footage, the GPS ping from when the car briefly turned on before it was taken, and the IP used to send the money."
He pointed at the screen—an anonymous name appeared with a strange symbol in the corner.
"The guy who took the car... wasn't the real owner."
"He was just a messenger."
Daryl frowned.
"A messenger? For who?"
Zashiro tapped the screen.
"The actual owner. But he's not some regular dude. He's the current leader of 'Zero Divide.'"
Silence fell over the room.
Robinson stared at the screen.
"So the conclusion is…"
Zashiro continued, his voice low and steady.
"The car was bait. Designed to be stolen. You thought you were beating the system… but really, you walked right into a trap."
Daryl's eyes widened.
"Dude, we were set up? But why?"
Zashiro folded his arms.
"Maybe because you're Paul's son."
He looked directly at Robinson.
"And Paul… he used to be one of them, didn't he?"
Robinson clenched his jaw.
"He never told me anything."
Zashiro gave a crooked smile.
"Maybe now's the time… to find out who your father really is."
Daryl shook his head while sipping canned coffee.
"You should've listened to your dad earlier, Rob. I'm telling you—he probably knows way more than what he let on."
Zashiro, who had been half-distracted, suddenly chimed in with a raised eyebrow.
"Wait—your dad's alive? I thought you were an orphan."
Robinson stood up from his chair, pacing the room.
His fists were clenched, and his voice came out low but firm.
"I can't deal with all this at once, man. The stolen car being a trap, some criminal organization, my dad suddenly showing up... all of it started because of him. And in the middle of all that..."
He paused, staring down at the floor.
"...all I want is one thing: money for my mom's surgery. And I need it soon."
Zashiro looked at him seriously now.
"I get it. But if you keep going down the road you're on—like stealing the wrong car again—this time, your mom won't be the one ending up in the hospital. You will."
Daryl stood up, patting Robinson on the shoulder.
"We'll figure out another way, Rob. Legal or not, we'll find a move that works. You're not alone in this, bro."
Robinson nodded slowly.
His eyes stayed sharp. Focused. But behind that, pain lingered.
Zashiro turned back to his laptop.
"Alright. I'm gonna dig into the data tied to everyone connected to Zero Divide. If we can find a weak link… we might be able to use their own network against them."
Robinson took a deep breath.
"Okay. Let's start there. But one thing—if there's anyone who holds the real answers behind all of this…"
He stared at Zashiro's screen—an old file showing a picture of Paul.
"...it's him."
Robinson stared at Zashiro's laptop screen, eyes sharp.
"We need to go to my dad's base. I'm sure he knows more than he let on yesterday."
Daryl responded, uncertain.
"But… did you forget? There's a big race happening in Brooklyn tonight. All the street racers are showing up. They might be racing there too."
Zashiro nodded while typing rapidly.
"That's the rumor. Biggest underground race of the month. Every racer from the east side's gonna be there. I even heard the Zero Divide crew is showing up."
He paused, then stood up and grabbed his car keys.
"I'm coming with you guys. I'm curious about your dad too."
Moments later, the three of them climbed into Zashiro's car.
It was a black matte Japanese sedan, heavily modified. The engine purred with controlled power, neon blue lights flickering beneath the chassis.
Zashiro smirked as he turned the key.
"Let's just hope I don't get another traffic violation. I'm one drifting ticket away from losing my license."
Daryl muttered while buckling his seatbelt.
"I'm not ready to die tonight."
Robinson, in the front passenger seat, kept his eyes on the road ahead.
"Relax. We're not racing tonight—we're after answers."
The car sped through the New York night. Streetlights streaked across the windshield, and in the distance, the rumble of modified engines echoed from the Brooklyn area.
Out there, the scene was heating up.
And Robinson knew…
Tonight wasn't just about fast cars.
It was about uncovering truths that had been buried for far too long.