Warning: The following is the result of a fit of madness.
The strange red car seemed to slow as Takumi passed it. It was an odd model, one he certainly hadn't seen before. It had to be new, but it was smaller than most new cars. But the appearance wasn't what struck him- no, there was something else. It was as if a pulse radiated out from it, a whisper in a language he would never understand. He had no idea what it meant, but he was certain it was trying to tell him something. But what? In his confusion, the moment faded back into reality, and the car continued on its way as he did on his. He had tofu to deliver, and he couldn't turn around. He supposed he would ask Ryosuke about it the next time he saw him, although the man was getting fairly scarce. Apparently he had been eyeing some new recruits for Project D- according to him, Takumi had 'graduated'. Yes, Ryosuke would know about the car- he'd probably have some input on what he had felt, too. Ryosuke was always talking about aura this and aura that. Takumi was certain that's what he'd say it was. He decided to leave it at that, pressing down on the brake pedal late into his corner, skidding around with a gentle rotation of the tiller from lock to lock.
"Now, that's certainly an idea. And you say you've got the funding?"
The strange man eased back into the office chair a little further, smirking.
"No, you do," he explained. "Check your accounts."
Go Mifune gave him a funny look and spun to face his computer. He clicked open his online banking account and found that it suddenly had grown by a few hundred million since he last saw it.
"Oh," he said, startled. "Wow. Yeah, I mean, this is great. I'll get right to it- I mean, I'm eternally grateful, Mr.-"
"Master of Games," said the man.
"I don't care what you call yourself, you're all right in my book! This is going to be the biggest thing to happen to motorsports in… decades!" Go hopped up from his seat and began to bow profusely. The Master of Games gave him a pat on the back as he leaned over.
"Oh, it will be my pleasure," he cackled.
"Sure thing!" agreed Go, standing up. "What are we laughing about?"
The gas station was quiet for the moment, so the employees returned to their favorite pastime- Hot Version International's Youtube updates. They crowded around the crummy old computer and learned to block out the sound of the lop-sided fan circling overhead.
"Damn, look at that!" squealed Itsuki, the youngest. "Tsuchiya could flog a minivan like it was a Hachiroku! That man's amazing!"
"There's a reason they call him the King of Drift," explained Iketani, the oldest. "He's pretty great, even for such an old guy."
"And how about that car?" asked Kenji, the layabout. "What is that?"
Iketani smiled. "That? That's the new Toyota 86."
"Hachiroku?!" gasped Itsuki. "No way! That's nothing like a real Hachiroku!"
"It's really not," concurred the older boy. "At least, not on paper. It's a collaboration between Toyota and Subaru. It's got a boxer engine front-midships, with around two hundred horsepower. Still, it's pretty small and light, and it's rear-drive, so it's a sports car… but I wouldn't call it a Hachiroku. It's a marketing ploy."
"Don't you think Takumi would be a better judge for that?" protested Kenji. "I mean, he's our Hachiroku expert."
As if summoned by Kenji's words, the bells above the door heralded the arrival of another boy, a spacey-eyed young man with a serious case of bedhead.
"Hey, guys," he mumbled.
"Takumi! We were just talking about you!" shouted Itsuki. "Dude, you look like a wreck! Are you okay?"
Takumi Fujiwara shrugged off his friend's bluntness with an equally candid response. "Just got up. I had a delivery last night… but that was all I needed."
The other three boys collectively widened their eyes.
"You don't mean…" whispered Iketani.
Kenji nodded. "I think he does."
"Gheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" screamed an agitated Itsuki. "Did you really?! Is it true?!"
"Whoa, guys, calm down," cautioned Takumi. "But yeah, I totally did. I called up Matsumoto last night, and he scheduled the Hachiroku to get picked up for repairs. They've got a new engine sourced and everything."
"This is amazing!" yelled Iketani, losing his typical composure, and joining Itsuki in literally jumping for joy. "The legendary Eight-Six of Akina- the fastest car in all of Japan- it's finally going to live again! Ha-ha!"
"Dude, that is amazing," agreed Kenji, albeit with far less explosive enthusiasm. "It'll be great to see it back around here again."
"Yeah, it will," smiled Takumi. "What were you guys watching?"
"Oh, just some Hot Version. You know I think you could beat a lot of those pros," giggled Itsuki, having not yet settled down.
"Funny, I don't think I've ever seen that driver on Hot Version before," muttered Takumi, rubbing his eyes with a glance toward the computer. The other boys looked, and, sure enough, the driver did seem new. But unlike Takumi, they all recognized him.
"Wait, is that-?" asked Iketani, rushing to the computer. "It is!"
The others circled up, pressing their faces against the screen, just to be sure.
"Well, I'm honored to be here, Mr. Tsuchiya," said the new driver to the program's presenter.
"No, no," smiled the Drift King. "It is I who am honored to have you here, Mr. Mifune."
"Go Mifune…" whispered Kenji.
Iketani nodded. "That's him, all right. Go Mifune… the man known as Speed."
"Man Known as Speed?" wondered Takumi aloud. "What kinda person wants to go by Speed?"
Iketani looked back at his friend with a very serious scowl. "Go Mifune was the number one racing driver in the world, once. Mifune Motorsports, they were unstoppable. But he retired, and none of the other racers he's employed, none have ever been as good as he was. He runs the company now, but they've kind of faded away a little bit. They still cook up cars for every series imaginable… but since they don't always score wins, they're a little obscure."
"You know, your Formula One team had a great season this year," said Tsuchiya, in the process of interviewing The Man Known as Speed. "For a moment, I thought that the Abu Dhabi Gran Prix was yours!"
Go smiled politely, shrugging. "We were close. We had a great machine and great drivers. But I'm not feeling deterred. We'll be back next year, bigger and better than ever. But…"
"But what, Mifune-san?"
Go's smile stretched from ear to ear.
"But I've got other things to worry about now! Like this brand new project I'm working on!"
"Another prototype," sighed Iketani. "He always dreams up these crazy prototypes and says he'll sell them to the public, but never does."
"Really, a new project?" asked Tsuchiya excitedly. "What is it? A prototype?"
"No, no," assured Go. "It's a little more exciting than that. Mifune Motorsports is going to host our own tournament, for the first time ever."
"That's surprising," noted Kenji. "You'd never guess something like that would happen. I mean, how many constructors host their own series? Mazda has Spec Roadster in the United States… didn't BMW do something back in the seventies…? But I can't think of anything else."
"Ssh-ssh," hissed Iketani.
"Wow, a tournament?" echoed Tsuchiya.
"Mmm-hmm. We're going to be hosting the world's first sanctioned toge battle championship. We hope to bring in as many amateurs and pros as possible. It's going to be quite the event- there will be music and car shows, and manufacturers will be on the spot with sweet new gear. Plus plenty of contests, too. It's going to be a real blast, and I look forward to seeing a lot of new young talent there."
"Amazing! That sounds just like my kind of party!" said Tsuchiya, nodding along. "Where will it be held?"
"I'm going to have locations all over Japan, but we've heard that there's a lot of eager new racers in Gunma, so we'll have quite a few locations in that region. We'll mostly be focused in the Kanto area. Now- here's the kicker- if you're willing to participate, and you've got a team that meets the requirements, we'll pay for your tickets into the country. We'll even ship vehicles, if we have to!"
Tsuchiya was ecstatic. "Mifune-san, this sounds just insane! Everybody will want in on the action! Are there enough mountain passes in Japan for all of these drivers?!"
"I hope so," laughed Go. "But I guess we'll find out in a week's time."
Iketani reached forward and paused the video.
"Heh. That's a pretty crazy scheme he's got there," he snorted.
"Whaddya mean, Iketani?" asked Itsuki. "He literally just announced the greatest thing in the history of things! How can you, a hot-blooded man, call it a scheme?!"
"It's obvious," chuckled the older boy. "He can't stand his team losing its reputation. He wants to find the next driving prodigy and sign them, no matter how much it costs him. It's like Tsuchiya said, the guy's insane."
Takumi's hand darted to his pocket, from which he pulled a ringing cell phone. The number on its screen was one he had not seen in a long time. He tapped the screen and held the phone to his ear.
"Ryosuke? What's up?"
"Fujiwara. We need to talk."
"Then you push the clutch pedal in, shift down, and let back up," explained the elf slowly. Katniss nodded, and did as instructed; the car rocked slightly, and the engine growled, but she had not killed it.
"Look at that!" Holly cheered, patting her driver on the shoulder. "You're getting really good at this! You'll be ready in no time."
Katniss wiggled back into the unfamiliar driver's seat and sighed. "I hope so."
"Hey, don't sweat it. Compared to the other things the Master of Games has put us through, this should be a cakewalk. Weird, but a cakewalk."
"I hate to say it, but I'm not so sure," said Katniss, her eyes gazing further than the road ahead. "I'm a fighter. As much as I hate it, the Grand Combat is what I'm used to. But this… this is new. This is something that I've never done before."
"You could have fooled me," chuckled Holly as they arrived at a traffic light. Katniss flicked the indicator stalk and slouched even further. "I didn't need to remind you to push in the clutch, that time."
The girl looked down at her left leg, which had seemingly moved forward without her telling it to. "Huh," she remarked. "You're right."
The light turned blue and they puttered away, eventually arriving at a run-down, two-bay repair shop. Holly hopped out of the car and struggled with the particularly-short-ranged door control she had kept in her pocket, until the old motors groaned and pulled the garage doors up to the ceiling, allowing Katniss to ease the car into the right bay. The girl struggled with undoing her seatbelt for a moment before freeing herself and exiting the vehicle.
"The Mud Men sure know how to build 'em," said Holly, regarding the car. "Even if they can't paint them. It's supposed to come in white, not red. And the bumpers should be unpainted."
"Is that really something to complain about?" wondered a confused Katniss aloud.
"Yes, it is," protested Holly. "It's supposed to turn out like we ordered it. It's bad QC, that's what it is."
"But I thought you said it was a good car?"
"It is! It's a wonderful car! All the Mud Man automags were raving about it! The Toyota 86 RC, the return to driving purity, they said! A master-class in handling, they said! What they didn't say is that they would ship it in the wrong color!"
Holly realized she had gotten quite worked up, and took a moment to compose herself. "Not that it matters, though- we'll be getting it painted. Red isn't your color, anyway."
"Oh, Holly, don't do that," said Katniss. "I don't care about how it looks- I've had too many people try and pretty me up-"
"I'm thinking black," Holly continued, peering over the wheel arches as if there was a small worm moving along them. "With some ghost flames. Old-school."
"Black is nice," admitted Katniss.
"I'll call around and set up an appointment, then. We need to begin our modifications as soon as possible. There's not long before the tournament begins. And I need to get myself a car."
"Couldn't you just drive mine?"
Holly shook her head. "There's going to be too many times where yours will be in the shop for us to get around with just one car. Plus, if I've got one, I can participate, too."
The elf made her way across the garage floor to the office portion, and Katniss, having nothing better to do, followed her. Holly tossed herself into the cheap swiveling chair and removed a phone book from the desk, paging through multitudes of strange characters until she found what she wanted. She punched a few buttons into the desk phone and pressed the handset against her long right ear.
"Sales, please," she said courteously. "I was wondering, what exactly do you have in your inventory? New, yes- oh, nothing special. Really? One of those? Oh, well, certainly. I would like to look at one, yes. Yes. Thank you. Goodbye."
The elf hung up the phone, and turned back to Katniss with a devious grin.
"Holly, don't do that. I can't get excited about these things like you can."
"Fine, you big killjoy. They have a very interesting machine at a nearby dealer, and I'm most probably going to pick it up."
"So you need me to drive you there?"
"Yep."
"Hooray."
Ryosuke Takahashi normally had an intensely-focused air about him, but this was easily the most intense Takumi had ever seen him. He had arrived at Ryosuke's office only a few minutes ago, but the man had insisted that he wait until his brother arrived before he could begin briefing them, and had promptly received an urgent call. He was still on the phone when the door creaked open again, and an equally-intense-looking man with bleached-blond hair and a sponsor jacket took a seat next to Takumi.
"Hey, man, how's it going? Haven't seen you in a while," he said quietly.
"Fine, Keisuke," whispered Takumi. "I just sent the Hachiroku in for repairs."
Keisuke cracked a thin smile. "Great. You'll need it."
Ryosuke set down the phone, crossing his arms behind his back.
"Sorry, medical business."
'S'okay, bro," assured Keisuke.
"You two have seen the video, so I know you're up to speed on the situation. This toge tournament has the potential to disrupt all of the progress we've made over the years. On one hand, it gives my finest drivers- you two- a stage to demonstrate the success of Project D. On the other hand, if we sit idly, it gives a multitude of unknown variables a chance to outshine us."
"By variables, you mean drivers, right?" asked Keisuke.
"By variables, I mean variables."
"Aw, relax, bro. I've been on the circuits for a few months now, they're good, but there's nobody that could touch me and Takumi."
"Those that race on the circuits represent only a small fraction of the variables that may be included. This tournament will draw drivers from far outside of the regions we're used to, including international drivers. We have simply no way to predict their skill levels. For example, I could say that Takumi's abilities are one-in-one-billion. That means that there are seven others just like him, and if one were to have a computer to see that video, and a car to race with- they have the potential to match or exceed our records. Just like that, Project D is wiped from history."
Keisuke scratched his gelled-up hair.
"Well, when you put it like that…"
"Essentially, we must participate- and to the fullest of our abilities- to defend the name of Project D."
"Let's not forget that you could be scouting for fresh talent," pointed out Ryosuke's brother.
"A valid point, but not my primary concern. Project D must be able to perform at full capacity, so I've already arranged for your FD3S to receive a tune-up, Keisuke. As for you, Fujiwara, we'll need to get you practicing with the Impreza."
"Actually, I'm having the Trueno repaired."
Ryosuke nodded. "To what specifications?"
"Matsumoto said he found an engine like the one it had before, that's all that needed to be done."
"So it'll be running like it was before your race with Shinji?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
Ryosuke returned to his chair behind the desk.
"Excellent. I'll get in contact with Matsumoto to supervise the repairs. You're dismissed for now, but be prepared to abandon whatever you're doing if I send you a message."
"Yes, sir," said Takumi, bowing as he rose.
"Will do, bro," replied Keisuke.
The two left the office and walked back down the hall of the clinic. Takumi realized he had forgotten to talk to Ryosuke, but he assumed his younger brother could probably help as well.
"Can I ask you something?"
"If it's about girls you can find somebody else," snickered the older man.
"No, no- it's cars. I was driving a delivery in the Impreza, and I passed this car- and I felt something."
"You felt something?"
"Yeah- like, a presence. I'm not sure how to really explain it better, it just felt like… something, you know?"
"No, I don't," replied Keisuke. "But it sounds like one of Ryosuke's auras or whatever. Maybe you've picked up on that mumbo-jumbo."
"That's what I was thinking," murmured the boy.
"So there's some driver out there with a strong aura. What were they driving? I know you're the wrong guy to ask."
"Yeah, I've got no clue. It was small. And, uh, red, I think."
"Did it look like anything you saw with Project D?"
"No, nothing. I think it was new, it had those bright headlights."
"Small, red, new… not a roadster?"
"No."
"Was it a coupe?"
"Yeah, two doors, right?"
Keisuke frowned. "Sounds like it was maybe a ZN6. The neo-Hachiroku. If one of those has a strong driver… I'd be careful."
"A new Hachiroku? It didn't look anything like mine."
"No, it doesn't. But it's got the same sort of spirit. In the right hands, it could be a powerful opponent."
Takumi put his hands in his pockets and pushed open the clinic's doors with his shoulder.
"Well, I hope they don't have a computer."
"Well, boys, it's finally done!" roared the young man in the surgical mask. He swung his lead pipe about in the air, and the others joined him in flailing their garden tools and blunt instruments as they shouted in victory. The masked boy used his free hand to smack the hood of the car roughly.
"It took us a friggin' year, but she's ready to go! A real, honest-to-God, M3 EVO II! This thing's gonna make us freakin' millionaires!"
"Think of all the bikes we could buy once we sell it!" screamed one.
"Or the lead pipes!" called another.
"Or we could race it in that tournament they announced!" added a third.
"Hey, that's an idea," agreed the one in the surgical mask. "Have a little fun with 'er first, THEN make the money! So long as nobody wrecks it, everybody wins!"
"You know what'd really be a great idea?" asked another. "Not doing that."
The gang parted to single out their treacherous member. They wore a tribal-patterned track-jacket over a dark blue sailor fuku, and had a guitar case slung over their back.
The boy in the mask was not impressed. "Who is this chick? She one of us?"
"No, boss. I ain't ever seen her."
He put on his war face and advanced toward the girl, swinging his lead pipe over his shoulder. "Whaddya tryin' to pull, JC?"
The girl held up a sheet of paper, and pointed at the car.
"That car belongs to me."
"Says who?"
"Says this title," she said, waving the paper. "And you've done a really great job of restoring it for me."
"Are you kidding me? We found this thing in pieces on the side of the road! Like it got blown to bits! If it was yours, you couldn't be standing here!"
The girl looked down at the paper, pointing out the words as she read them. "Soichiro Kiryuin… yep, that's my dad. That car is part of my inheritance."
"Well, your dad shoulda given it to you before he got his sorry ass killed," growled the boy. "It's ours now."
"You see, I'm going to have to disagree with you, there."
"Too bad," said the man, swinging the lead pipe off of his shoulder and into the girl's head. He was surprised to see that her head did not cave in as he thought it would, and instead she simply twisted her neck back into place, put the title back into her pocket, and grabbed the pipe from its perch on top of her head.
"For you, maybe," she said, tossing the pipe to the ground. The other gang members sprung to their leader's aid, but were all repelled in a timely fashion. Soon, none of them remained standing. The girl walked over their unconscious bodies to the car, which she regarded carefully, noting how the dark blue paint was not dissimilar to the color of her outfit. She opened the door and found the keys sitting on the seat, which she picked up. The roundel was embossed into the thick, black plastic in a charming, distinctively 80s way.
"So this is it, Senketsu. The final part of my father's legacy."
And perhaps the most mundane, added her Kamui.
"Yeah, but it's still pretty nice. I trust the Bavarians when it comes to bikes, so I think they can do a good job with a couple extra wheels."
But can you?
"C'mon, Senketsu, this is me we're talking about."
