Kakha’s Mercedes ends up with its front wheels hanging over a 300-meter drop. He climbs out, shaking, his gold chain tangled in the seatbelt.

The bet: Down the Zeda Bari. Winner takes the loser’s car. Kakha’s Mercedes has 300 horsepower. Giorgi’s Zhiguli has 80—and a cracked rearview mirror.

His grandfather, , a former Soviet rally mechanic, sits in the passenger seat with a glass of strong coffee and a single rule: "თუ ჭიქიდან ერთი წვეთი დაღვრი, ფეხით წახვალ მთაზე" ("If you spill one drop from the glass, you will walk up the mountain on foot").

His grandfather, waiting at the finish line with a horn of chacha , raises the drink. "ხომ გითხარი? სწრაფი ქართველი არ კვდება. ის ცეკვავს." ("Did I tell you? A fast Georgian does not die. He dances.")

And the old men in the village smile.

Nikolozi, now blind in one eye but not in spirit, whispers to Giorgi: "სულის გარეშე მანქანა ლითონია. კახას აქვს ფული, მაგრამ არა ქართული გული." ("A car without a soul is just metal. Kakha has money, but no Georgian heart.")

(The End)