Ridgerunner Touge
Disclaimer: I do not own Initial D, and any references made to any other television shows, films, or works of fiction are meant to pay homage and I am in no way making money off this story. It's just a labor of love.
Prologue
Mt. Akagi, 12:00 a.m.
"Aniki, what's the matter?" Keisuke Takahashi asked his older brother, Ryosuke, who seemed deep in thought as they stood near the guardrails in the lot of Mt. Akagi.
"Hm? What?" The elder Takahashi looked over at his brother.
"Are you alright? You don't look too well."
"Well, looks can be deceiving, Keisuke. I'm not sick or anything, so don't worry about it."
Keisuke raised his brow. "I didn't mean health wise, I meant in terms of spirits. You look…well, like I said, deep in thought."
Ryosuke blinked. He had forgotten that brothers often picked up on each other's emotions faster than others could.
"Well, what's bothering you?" Keisuke asked him.
"The competition." Ryosuke sighed softly.
"What about it?"
"It's been getting pretty stale lately. I mean, we've defeated pretty much every reputable team out here, and there's virtually no one left save for amateurs."
"Yeah, I've noticed that too." Keisuke agreed. It was all true about the competition being stale lately. Project D had managed to defeat even the most skilled teams in vicious battles and their reputation was growing. There would only be a matter of time before Ryosuke would retire from street racing to study medicine full-time.
"It's kind of disheartening when I think about it. Almost like we've reached the end of our rope. I mean, where do we go from here, brother? The only ones left are snot nose punks who can barely drift half a corner and we don't waste our time on them."
"Maybe there's more competition out there than we think; we just aren't looking."
"There's some good news in that. We don't have to look; someone may have already found it for us."
This caught Keisuke's attention. "What do you mean? How?"
"Do you remember Sung?"
"Sung?" Keisuke blinked a few times before the name finally rose from memory. "You mean Han Sung? Our Han Sung?"
Ryosuke nodded. "That's the one. I met up with him a week ago."
"What?!" Keisuke's eyes popped out and his jaw dropped. "You saw him a week ago and didn't tell me?!"
"It wasn't the right time then. Now, it is. Just calm down and I'll tell you everything."
Keisuke obliged, relaxed and listened to his older brother's story.
"Last Thursday, I was analyzing some read-outs when I got an instant message from someone with the screen name 'Drift Sifu.'
"Sounds like a screen name he would use." Keisuke didn't repress a grin. 'Drift Sifu' was in fact Sung's nickname.
"Yeah. Well anyway, the message pops up on the screen and reads out 'Ry, quit looking at car porn and meet me at Akagi pronto.' At first, I thought that…"
Ryosuke's sentence was cut off by Keisuke's chuckle. "He always had to have a funny spin with words."
Ryosuke himself was only slightly amused. "Maybe so, but can I continue?"
"Sorry, Aniki."
"Thank you. Anyway, I thought that message was just some joker trying to bluff me with a phony challenge on our home turf. But, just as I began typing down a rebuttal, I noticed how casual the sentence read out; this person was talking like he knew me somehow. So, instead of telling him to piss off, I asked 'Who are you?' The response was 'Come on, Ry-boy, don't tell me you forgot your dear Sifu! Shut the damn computer off and meet me already!' Then he logged off. After that brief conversation was over, I grabbed my keys, jumped into the FC and hauled ass over here as fast as I could. Then, I got a little surprise."
"What kind?"
"Well, when I arrived at the bottom, I remembered the guy didn't say exactly where on Akagi to meet him. I assumed he meant the starting lot here, so I made my way uphill. Then, I noticed a car following me. It kept some distance and didn't look like it was trying to challenge me, but when I accelerated, it caught up with me. When we hit the first hairpin, I saw the car, a Veilside RX-7, in my rearview mirror. I couldn't shake him because every time I drifted a corner, he parallel-drifted with me. Every time I hit the gas, he hit it and caught up to me. Finally, we reached the starting lot and I parked. He comes sliding right beside me, two inches away from contact. The window rolls down, and guess who sticks his head out?"
"Our old friend, Sung?"
"That's right. He wore sunglasses even though it was night, and he had a big grin on his face. I jumped out of the car to meet him because I got so amped. And you know how much it takes to get me amped up. We greeted and shared a hug and he commented on how much I've grown since he last saw me. I asked how he was and if he had just came back to Gunma. He told me three weeks before then he had arrived after a contact of his called to say his trouble with the local Yakuza had been settled. Expensively, but settled. All he said of that trouble was a deal he had with that clan went bad, and he got blamed for it. That made him take an impromptu vacation. One of his stops was America to check to out the race scene. Turns out he might have found us some new challengers."
"Really?" Keisuke's interest was peaked by now. "What kind?"
"Well, he didn't say much except they were two different teams that ran with a lot of power and torque under their hoods, and he befriended them both. Nice guys he said for the most part. Full of pride, but just some 'good ol' boys' as he put it. They don't run touges races like us, but some they called 'ridge running'. Similar to rallying. He talked to one of the leaders and asked if they wanted some serious competition since they had the same problem as us. He told Sung that he would talk it over with the rest of the guys and the other team first, and then get back to him. Well, fast forward a few weeks later, and here was Sung with an offer of a lifetime, and I didn't refuse. After all, this could be what we've been looking for; the chance to lay down the ultimate legacy of Project D."
Keisuke was really excited now. The chance to show Project D's skills against foreign racers was too tempting to resist. If they won, they would become living legends.
"So, when are they coming?"
"As soon as Sung gives us the word that they're in."
The two brothers walked back to and sat on the hoods of their respective cars: Ryosuke on the white FC, and Keisuke on the yellow FD. The crew was too busy analyzing Takumi's performance to notice the conversation between the Rotary Brothers.
"Takumi is heading back up," Hiroshi Fumihiro announced. "Shouldn't take him much longer."
"How'd he do tonight?" Ryosuke asked.
"Perfect, as usual." Hiroshi replied as he smiled, feeling grateful they had Takumi on their side.
"Good. After he gets back, have Keisuke make another run."
"Gotcha, boss."
Soon after, Takumi Fujiwara pulled up in his legendary AE86 and parked next to the van. He shut off the engine, got out, and looked at the Takahashis.
"So," he began, "How did I do tonight?"
Fumihiro looked at Ryosuke for a moment. Ryosuke nodded to him and shifted back to Takumi.
"You did fine tonight."
"Really?" Takumi downplayed his pride at Ryosuke's compliment to avoid sounding like an excitable little kid. It didn't really take much effort since Takumi always had a naturally sleepy tone.
"Yes, really," Ryosuke told him, adding, "But, that's no reason to slack off. Let Keisuke make another uphill run while you take a break. Then, you make another downhill run. The second you slack off, is when you lose sight of your goal."
"Why another run?" Takumi asked himself. Even though their practice sessions were usually long, he had noticed Ryosuke had been drilling them a little bit more than usual lately.
In the end he shrugged it off, thinking it was just to keep their skills sharp.
"Alright."
Keisuke opened the door to his FD and hopped in. As soon as the engine started, the car roared away from the lot. As Keisuke attempted to break his last uphill record, Takumi just couldn't help but look at Ryosuke and feel that something big was going to happen in Gunma sometime soon…
North Carolina, 12:00 a.m.
Monroe Woods were usually quiet around midnight. The only sounds to be heard would be trees whisping, crickets chirping, owls hooting, some possum rustling in the leaves and the occasional howl of a coyote. All peaceful sounds really; nothing that would wake any of the living up, or the dead. There were a few things that ran around these woods at night that were capable of waking the dead. But, they weren't humans or even animals.
They were machines; BIG machines that ate up the road and left it behind like a carnivore eating the meat of its prey and leaving the carcass.
Suddenly, dual beams of light jumped on, illuminating the dirt road ahead. The critters and trees peaceful sounds were interrupted by loud roars that would scare an army of lions into submission.
Power sliding from the first corner after the 'Slow down; Curve Ahead' sign was a red-orange 1969 Dodge Charger R/T, packing a 440 V-8 under the hood. Following close by came a blood red 1969 Ford Boss 302 Mustang. Although more engines were sounded, no other cars passed the corner until four seconds later.
After that time had passed, a pitch-black 1968 Pontiac GTO with a 400 V-8 took the corner aggressively, brushing by inches away from the guardrail that lined it. Following close behind came the remaining cars: A lime-green 1970 Plymouth Roadrunner with a 6-pack 440 under it's black hood, an eggshell-white 1970 Dodge Challenger with a 426-Hemi, and a 1976 midnight blue Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am with a 455.
The Charger and the Mustang lead the pack down several long corners and straight roads, both of the drivers enjoying the sound of loud engines and gravel being kicked up from their tires. The GTO sped furiously after them on the straights, but had to slow down around the corners to avoid crashing due to his aggressiveness. The other cars behind let him up a few meters ahead for safety, knowing the driver's recklessness too well. Normally, the drivers would rub (or lightly bump) each other's cars just for the fun of it like when they raced sometimes. Tonight, no one had rubbed another due to the importance of the upcoming meeting. Everyone just focused on getting to the spot.
Turning left at a fork in the road, and following a long straight stretch was a length of ditch with two dirt mounds surrounding both sides. Normal cars couldn't make it the only way through the barrier, which really wasn't through it, but over it: Jumping it.
It wasn't too long or too high of a jump; just big enough so ordinary stock cars or cop cars couldn't make it. Each of the cars heading toward that particular jump had braced their chassis and frames, and used the best shocks around to keep their cars from getting damaged.
As the jump mound neared, the driver of the Charger honked his horn, which rang out the first 12 notes of the Dixie anthem, to make the Mustang driver behind him honk his horn and relay the warning to the GTO, and so on. The car promptly shot up the mound and gracefully jumped over the ditch with the driver letting a loud 'yeehaw' rebel yell in mid-air. A second later it landed on the other side and kicked up dirt as it went along.
The Boss Mustang took its turn to jump, and although not as graceful as the Charger, seemed to float evenly before landing on the other side. Looking at his rearview mirror, the Mustang driver saw how monstrous the GTO seemed, pouncing in the air and lunging right behind him at his tailpipe as it honked.
Up ahead, he saw the Charger head into a patch of spacious round land, then executing a 180 turn and sliding rear first up to a rusted guardrail in the middle of the land. He smirked and pulled his handbrake, executing the same turn and sliding to the right beside him, honking his horn.
Seconds later, the GTO slid right beside the Boss, centimeters away. If the driver had less skill, he would have crashed. Luckily, he had some sense in him and just recklessness. The Roadrunner and the Challenger took their places beside the Charger while the Firebird took it's own beside the GTO.
The drivers of the Charger and the Mustang turned to their own teams and signaled for them to shut their engines off. Then, each driver rolled their windows down and got out through them.
From the Charger stepped out Brian Jennings, a young Southern blond man of 22, while Tyrone Gibson, an African-American man of the same age stepped out from the Mustang. Both walked over to each other, dapped hands and hugged like brothers for a moment before separating. The other drivers came out of their own cars and sat either in the window spaces or on the hoods.
"S'up, Mopar boy?" Tyrone greeted him.
"Nuthin' much, Ford man," Bo replied. "Mustang Sally break down on ya' yet?"
"Hell no. She may be named "the Boss", but I call the shots. An' she's been running even better with the way I've been tuning her."
"'Tuning her' huh?" Bo smirked playfully. "Is that what you're calling it nowadays, Ty? I didn't think you took that 'off-ramp.'" Bo and Tyrone shared a chuckle on that little remark, the others joined in with laughter.
"Ohhhhh, snap. Naw, not THAT way. Don't get my relationship between my car and myself get you confused between what you and," he thumbed at the Charger, "General Lee got goin' on between ya'll with that Southern comfort." He was of course referring to the famous Charger used in 'The Dukes of Hazzard', a famous television show that Brian and his jet-black haired cousin Liam, driver of the Challenger, were quite fond of.
Everyone around broke out laughing again except for Jack Gavin, the brown-haired bad boy driver of the GTO. He said nothing, but kept sneering at the friendly conversation between the two leaders, hating the idea of an alliance between their two racing teams.
Tyrone, Jack, and Quentin Reese were members of the racing team, F/GM RidgeRollers; FGM standing for 'Ford and General Motors." Those were the brands of muscle cars each member drove. For their logo, the Fs and GMs were joined by a lightning bolt instead of a simple slash. Each member kept stickers of their team name on their doors.
As for Brian, Liam and Jason "Critter" Jones, they drove for the Mopar Moonrunners, taking their name from their use of Mopar (Chrysler brand) vehicles exclusively for racing, and running moonshine. Full moons stood in for the o's in 'Mopar' and 'moon', with another moon, eclipsed, standing in between both words of their logo. The members kept their team stickers on their rear fenders.
After the laughter died down, Brian asked Tyrone, "So, what're we meeting out here for, Ty? Somethin' about you wanting to form an alliance?"
"Yeah, somethin' like that."
"What for?"
"Well, you know how we're always racing against each other, some of our guys beating some of yours and vice versa, until ultimately no team wins?"
"Tying up? Yeah, what about it?"
"Well, what say instead of trying to beat each other, we join each other? Like that old saying 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.'"
"Sounds kinda faggot to me," Jack muttered. Tyrone turned around and retorted, "Not that way, closet case."
Jack narrowed his eyes, "Who you callin' a closet case!"
"Man, what the hell's your problem?"
"What's my problem? Where do I start? First off, we're Ford and GM guys. We don't roll with Mopar mothers, we roll against 'em. You know that, I know that, the whole team knows that." Jack tried to reason.
"So?" Tyrone pressed him further.
"So?! We don't roll with enemies! That's so!"
Brian, Liam and Critter grew shades of red anger on their cheeks, but kept their faces as stony as possible to keep the situation leveled. Normally, Jack's words were like a match to a powder keg; a fight would have exploded out. But, since a valuable alliance was at stake, the Moonrunners kept their cool.
"Ex-enemies," Liam said, trying to cool the heat down. "Ya'll got our respect after all the runs we made against each other. As far as we're concerned, ya'll are right as rain by us."
Quentin nudged Jack very lightly in the arm with his elbow. "Yeah, come on man. They ain't all bad. They even helped us out when the law was around our asses. 'Sides, what Ty got planned might be fun."
Critter nodded in agreement, sitting near the shaker on the hood of his Roadrunner. "Yeah, c'mon fella's, let's hear the whole thing out."
When Jack saw how he outnumbered he was when it came to opinion, he felt grateful to not be in politics. He muttered, "Whatever," and crossed his arms to save some face. "I'm listenin'," he told them, not admitting that he didn't like it.
Critter couldn't let it down as he jumped onto the hood, twirling his baseball cap in the air. "How 'bout it already? I'm all hopped up for some real fun! Yahoo!" He was easily excitable when it came to the prospect of fun.
"A'ight, a'ight." Tyrone turned back to Brian. "Now, ya'll remember our homeboy Sung, right?" They all nodded. "Well, he's noticed that we've been having a problem finding other teams to race. He called me a couple of weeks after he left, and told me of another team who might give us a run for our money."
"Really? What team would that be?"
"None of ya'll know them, because they're not based around here. Hell, they ain't even based in this country."
"Just where are they located then?" Liam asked.
"Japan. And that's where we're all headed."
"WHAT?!" All members from each team, save for Liam, cried out at once. "JAPAN?!"
"Damn! Ya'll ain't gotta shout so damn loud!"
"Well, how the hell are we supposed to race in Japan? We ain't got enough money to take our cars down there!" Quentin said.
"Sung told me he'd take care of that. All we have to do is agree to go down there."
"What's the damn point anyway?" Jack asked. "If they're from Japan, they're probably just another bunch of rice burners with fart cannon exhausts who couldn't tell a distributor cap from a God damned hubcap. They'll just blow their shitty little engines before we got off the starting line!"
Ty was getting irritated with Jack's machismo and pride. "They're not ricers. Sung gave me his word that these guys know how to run their turf. I don't think he would lie about that if it wasn't worth it.
Brian blinked. The thought of going to another country was a little scary, and costly. He didn't know how much of the trip Sung was going to cover. They would still need money for themselves, their cars, their lodgings, and their food.
Despite the obvious obstacles, the thought of racing against foreign cars and showing how dominating American Muscle cars still were after all this time was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
Brian smiled and spoke up. "Well, I'm all for it." Everyone turned to look at him. "Think about it. I mean, this could be our big chance to show what we're really made of. If we take this guys all the way to victory lane, who knows what heights we could reach? We could probably hit the pro circuit and make names for ourselves. I don't know about the rest of ya'll, but I think it would be fun too." His words seemed to strike a chord with everyone there that night. Up to then, no one out of their home state had ever heard of their reputations as the best ridge racers around. Why pass up the chance to make themselves world-renown?
Liam and Critter looked at each other for a moment. Liam nodded to Critter reassuringly, who in turn shrugged his shoulders and smiled. They both turned to Brian. "We're with ya, cousin." Liam said confidently. Ty turned to face his own team, who agreed to it as well.
"A'ight," Ty announced, "it's all settled then. Fellas, we're going to Japan!" With that, everyone there let out a group rebel yell louder than any big block engine could ever rev.
Two worlds of racing were about to meet on one big starting line…
To be continued…
Author's notes: Yup, I couldn't resist. I had to do an Initial D story with southern muscle car rivals. Since this is my first attempt at a car story, I'd appreciate any help I can get to keep this fanfic as real as possible. However, keep in mind that I will not listen to advice like "Get rid of the muscle cars." I have a plan that I'm hoping will pass for plausible, but ya'll will just have to find out when that chapter comes up.
See ya'll next time!