Every marque keeps one machine that never ships — the one on the bench, photographed plainly, argued over daily. This is ours. Touch a marker to read the engineering underneath.
The halo ring sits behind the nose aperture, flanked by winglets sized for real load — 9 kg of downforce at highway speed, pressing the front tyre into the road it is trying to leave. The screen's double bubble is shaped around a tucked helmet, not a brochure.
1090 cc at 65 degrees — narrow enough to keep the machine slim, uneven enough to fire with a gallop instead of a whine. The cases are structural: the engine is a stressed member, and the frame simply borrows it.
One ash-grey casting from steering head to tail. Wall thickness follows the stress map — 7 mm at the head, 2.5 mm where it only carries bodywork. What most marques hide inside a fairing, we polish the mould for.
Twin 330 mm floating discs, radial four-piston calipers, and a lever machined with a deliberate 2 mm of dead travel — the detent that tells your fingers the system is armed. Braking is the conversation; the discs are just the vocabulary.
The rear wheel presented as a full disc — the marque's open-wheel signature. The arm's asymmetric box section carries chain pull on one side and the world's stares on the other. Wheel changes take ninety seconds.
The frame borrows the engine.
Cast to the stress map, not the render.
Floating, radial-mount calipers.
One nut. That is the point.