Back in her hotel suite Faith takes stock of the days’ events. Her team had performed badly. The drivers are young and hot-blooded, eager to prove themselves. They need to learn to get a grip. This is her biggest problem. She has hired them; now she has to tell them how to behave themselves.

  On the other hand, the team manager meeting had gone quite well. She had been provocative on purpose, and it might have backfired, but that Japanese man had helped her out. Her grandfather had always spoken with the highest respect of Daijiro Mori. One must not cross him, he had said. Mori would hold a grudge forever. He is a powerful man. That he had come to her support could only mean that he, too, saw the PR problem she had mentioned. She had not exaggerated – the unnecessary deaths beside the race track were not a good thing. They were facing enough trouble with their fuel-burning recreational activity as it was. So maybe Mori had just acted on the same impulse. It had felt like that. It had felt good. She should try to keep him on her side.

  She reaches for the hotel stationary and starts scribbling a short message of thanks for him. Too long. Too wordy. He had not made many words today. Better keep it short and simple. She writes a few lines down and compares them. “Thank you for today” is the most simple one. It is also boring. “You’re my hero” is much better. Let him make of it what he likes. He resides in the same hotel, a few storeys above her suite. She folds the paper and carries it to the front desk herself.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Daijiro Mori picks up his messages when he passes through the lobby. Nobody who might be watching him would guess that he feels very tired. Unusually tired. He will not let it show. In fact, he finds it hard to admit it to himself. Not even when he is alone in his suite he lets out a sigh. He walks straight to the desk and reads his messages.

  Most of them go straight into the bin. Invitations he does not want to accept; he never does. Requests for interviews. Greetings from people who want to be remembered by him – as if he ever forgets anybody. And a handwritten note on hotel stationary. There is no signature. He turns the leaf over. It just says, “You’re my hero.” He knows immediately who wrote it. The Claymore woman is staying on the fifth floor.

  Daijiro Mori looks up and at his reflection in the window. So this is what a hero looks like. Without smiling he folds the paper and puts it in his pocket.