Chapter Three: The Phantom 86 of Akina
The two weeks leading up to the tournament went by about as fast as every day did, with only small breaks in-between to help Mike tune his car. Eric tried talking Mike out of driving the 3000 GT, but he would have none of it, claiming that no one could drive a 3000 GT like he did. Eric could only sigh, fine-tuning his car, knowing that once he hit his first turn at too high a speed, that would be it, the car would spin and that'd be all she wrote. But, he kept working on it anyway, part of him hoping that maybe, just maybe, Mike could really work the GT and win.
On the way up, Mike and Eric talked non-stop about cars. What kind of cars might be there, what kind of car has the best shot at winning, who might show up, all sorts of theoretical questions, none of which could be answered solidly until Mike decided to change the subject.
"Y'know, you never did tell me what happened two years ago. All I know was that you disappeared for five weeks, came back minus your RX-7 and had a bad back."
Eric turned his head to Mike, slightly surprised at his bluntness.
"I don't really want to get into it, man."
"C'mon, you've kept me in the dark for two years! I won't let it leave this car, I swear."
Eric sighed, shifting in his seat, as if his back knew what they were talking about.
"I went to Japan-"
"You went to Japan?"
"You gonna let me finish?"
"Yeah, sorry."
"I went to Japan because I got a challenge in the mail from the Takahashi Brothers."
Mike nearly went off the road at this point.
"THE Takahashi Brothers? The Kings of the Rotary Engine?"
"Yeah, THE Takahashi Brothers. To make a long story short, I raced Ryosuke Takahashi, and just when I started getting the upper hand, somewhere around two-thirds of the way through the race, something happened going into a turn. I lost traction, clipped the guardrail, clipped the mountainside and flipped. The RX-7 was wrecked; I woke up two weeks later in the hospital with bone bruises on my lower spine. It took me two more weeks to get out, realize that the car had been sold at a bargain price to some guy and catch a cab to the airport to take the first flight home."
Mike was quiet for a while before he spoke again.
"Damn man, I'm sorry. I can't blame you for not wanting to race, a crash like that'd screw with anyone's head."
"It was partly the crash's fault that I don't race anymore, but the main thing is that, somewhere, somehow, I screwed up. Somehow I miscalculated my tire grip or something, and it caused me to crash. I lost my edge, and I won't take the risk of screwing up worse down the line."
Mike slowed down as they turned into the parking lot meeting place.
"You ever think that maybe it wasn't your fault?"
Eric didn't answer him as he got out of the car, looking around at the sheer amount of people that had showed, easily 100 or more.
"I still can't believe the cops haven't noticed the sudden influx of high-performance cars," Eric said, slowly taking in the various makes and models.
"They won't, we made sure of it."
Both Eric and Mike turned around at the sound of the voice behind them, Mike opening his mouth while stepping in front of Eric, about to speak.
"So, you're the one who organized the tournament," Mike said, leaning against his machine.
The blonde-haired man smirked, running a hand through his locks before he answered.
"Yes and no. This whole thing was my brother's idea; I just helped him with it."
Mike was about to speak again when Eric stepped out from behind him.
"Ran out of challengers over in Japan, Keisuke Takahashi?"
Keisuke stepped back a half-step, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of his brother's ex-rival.
"Eric, I didn't expect to see you here, I thought that your crash was enough to make you run from street racing for the rest of your life."
"Yeah, well, you're only half-right Keisuke; I don't race anymore, I'm just a mechanic."
Keisuke raised his brow and cocked his head towards Mike, "your latest job, then?"
Mike stepped forward, waving his hands in front of him.
"Hold it, hold it, hold it. You're telling me that this is THE Keisuke Takahashi?"
Eric nodded slowly, "Yeah, this is THE Keisuke Takahashi. Where's Ryosuke?"
Keisuke thumbed the air behind him, "He's making last minute preparations, cordoning off the road, making sure the police don't bother us."
Eric nodded, "Start time?"
Keisuke rolled up the sleeve to his hoodie, glancing down at his watch, "Two hours."
Eric turned to Mike, "C'mon, man, I want to change the air pressure of your tires on the GT before the start, you'll need all the grip you can get."
Mike nodded, opening the trunk and getting his tire pressure gauge out, along with a small, battery-operated air compressor.
"Eric!"
Eric looked up at Keisuke, who had stopped halfway back to his yellow RX-7.
"At least you lost to the best of them."
Eric said nothing as he slid down next to the front right tire, taking off the cap to the air hole.
"Smug little bastard, isn't he," Mike commented as me moved to check the tires air pressure.
"He's got every right to be. Keisuke, Ryosuke, the entire Red Suns team. They're all smug, but they have the skill to back it up," Eric let out some air of the tire, then checked it with the gauge, "add about an extra .2 PSI."
Mike flicked on the compressor, attaching the nozzle to the tires, then taking it off and shutting the machine down.
"I'm just surprised they're here in America. I mean damn, how much cash can they have to come over here, transport their cars, pay the cops off and STILL offer a $10,000 cash prize?"
Eric just shrugged, "I'm not surprised they're here. Their dad owns a hospital in Takahara, and they're both going for their medical degree. They've got the cash, and they probably just ran out of challenges in Japan. With the money they have, it's the next logical step as far as competition goes. Although….."
Mike sat back, quirking an eyebrow at Eric.
"Although what?"
Eric rested his head against the car, furrowing his brow as he tried to remember.
"I'd been hearing rumors lately all over the internet. Something like a month ago or so I caught wind of it, something about Ryosuke Takahashi losing."
Mike started at this, gasping audibly.
"There's no way it can be true, absolutely no way. Ryosuke Takahashi does NOT lose."
"Easy Mike," Eric said, "I know. I wrote it off at first as garbage, but this thing just refused to die until finally, I found out the make and model of the car that supposed beat the White Comet of Akagi."
"Yeah? What was it?"
Eric smirked, "A Trueno AE86."
Mike blinked twice before he burst out laughing.
"Right! An old, busted up 86 beat Ryosuke's FC? Whoever started the rumor had to have been crazed!"
"Don't be so sure. We've both heard crazier things before that were true; and besides, an 86 might not be much, but with the right tuning, a good chunk of change, and the right driver, it can be a damaging force as far as togue goes. They're calling this thing the Phantom 86 of Akina."
Mike had gone silent about halfway through Eric's explanation, focusing on the car that had just pulled into the parking lot.
"Hey Eric, did they describe the car in more detail?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Did it have flip-up headlights?"
"Yeah."
"White and black in color?"
"Uh, yeah."
"With Japanese kanji on the driver's side?"
"Yeah, damn man, I thought you didn't know anything about this? Why are you asking, anyways?"
"Because it just pulled in."
