INITIAL D: FRONT RUNNERS
Disclaimer: the same as always
A/N: And we're back yet again! The end of the semester + the end of "Dreaming of Akina" have persuaded me to get myself back in gear. This is also the end of the prologue chapters, as this and DK: 2nd Stage will come back together and the end of this chapter and truly be parallel stories. Yay! Anyway, what with there being only 1 week left in the semester, hopefully Christmas break will give me some time to get the next chapter written a little faster.
ACT ZERO, PART THREE:
April 02, 1999; Edogawa Ward, Tokyo:
Bzzzzt-bzzzzt-bzzzzt
Akima Blaise rolled over onto her stomach, covering her head with the fringe of her comforter as her cell phone vibrated itself along the edge of the table beside her.
Bzzzzt-bzzzzt-bzzzzt
She pushed herself deeper into her futon, trying to make the phone go away through sheer force of will. Unfortunately for Akima, as she did this the phone reached the corner of the table and vibrated itself over the edge, dropping onto her right arm with a muffled thump.
Finally giving up, she tossed off her comforter and picked up the phone.
"Nanda?" She mumbled, too tired to really care about politeness.
"Yo, Blaze-chan, genki?"
Akima rolled her eyes as she recognized the voice on the phone.
"Toshi, what exactly do you want?"
Her former team member's voice returned, "I don't talk to you for weeks and this is how you greet me? Whatever is happening to society?"
Akima was preparing a sharp retort when Toshi moved on.
"Anyway, Kei, Tarou and I are currently up in Tochigi; figured while we were in Honshu we'd see if you wanted to come out and tear up some of the local touge drivers with us."
"What, tonight?"
"Yeah, why not. We'll be running Irohazaka if you feel like coming. Oh, and you'll probably want to bring a jacket. It's like being back in Hokkaido out here…"
"Oh, come on Kenji, I know touge's not really your thing, but it's still awesome to watch. Plus it'll be a chance for Afuro-man here to show us what he's got."
Kenji and Darren turned to Gotou at the same time and bearing the same expression. Gotou put his hands up in mock surrender, "Hey, c'mon guys, Wangan can't be the extent of your racing lives."
Kenji rolled his eyes and sighed, "Much as I hate to agree with you Gotou, you do have a point," he looked to Darren, "We need to see you drive. You're some mechanic, I'll give you that, but if you're gonna stay with us, you have to prove you can keep up."
Darren, obviously somewhat concerned, still managed to answer confidently, "Alright then. Where are we headed?"
Gotou smiled, "Irohazaka."
The other two men nodded, then split off; Darren returning to the final repairs on Gotou's S14 and Kenji heading to places untold.
Kenji smoothed the folds of his kimono and hakama, kneeling on the tatami floor of the dojo. He closed his eyes and sat in silence, absently listening to the muted sounds of the city outside the thin walls. Years ago he had committed to memory the times when the dojo was largely empty. He opened his eyes and slowly scanned the dojo; every wall, every tatami mat, every sword stand held memories of the nearly 15 years he had spent training there.
His reverie was suddenly interrupted by the cluttering opening of the shoji door behind him. A young woman stepped into the practice room, making the long walls echo slightly as she closed the door behind her.
Akima stepped slowly into the room; her feet, clad only in tabi, made almost no noise on the woven straw floor mats. She approached the man who sat at the head of the large room. Bowing deeply as he turned to her, she said, "Excuse me, but are you the master here?"
He smiled at her, "No, just one of the assisting instructors. Imagawa-sensei is currently on a trip to Fukuoka, he should be back within the week. However, if you're interested in joining our group, I can help you with that."
She smiled back down at him, bowing again, but slightly shallower this time.
"Thank you, sensei."
The man stood then returned her bow, "My name is Tanaka Kenji."
"Akima Blaise."
"You're not Japanese? Your speech is certainly impressive."
"Thank you, my mother is actually Korean, but her family lived in Japan since before she was born. My father is Irish-American, which is where the last name comes from."
"I see. Well, it's always good to have a new student. Do you have any experience?"
She nodded, "Some. I took several years of kendo and a little kenjutsu while I lived in America, but I think I've probably lost my touch by now."
"To an extent, you never forget these things, but we'll be glad to keep you in shape."
She bowed again, "Thank you. And, sensei, if I may be so bold,"
Kenji arched an eyebrow, "Yes?"
"I'm very curious to see just how far my abilities may have fallen, so if you are willing, I would greatly value a match."
Kenji grinned, "Of course," he pointed to a rack of shinai, "get your weapon."
Akima turned and walked toward the series of wooden stands and bamboo swords.
Kenji reached down for the long bag of green cloth, loosening the drawstring at the mouth. He drew out his own shinai, running his hand over the numerous small gouges and scraped in the bamboo, each a reminder of some duel.
Retrieving the practice weapon, Kenji returned to the center of the room and watched with surprise as the young woman hefted a katana-length shinai in her right hand and picked up a bamboo approximation of a wakizashi in a reversed grip with her left.
"You didn't tell me you'd studied nitojutsu. Impressive."
Akima smirked and lunged forward, catching Kenji somewhat off-guard. He stepped back a few paces, pulling his katana up into a double-handed guard stance, two feet in front of his torso and parallel with his spine.
Akima pushed forward yet again but, just as the blade in her right hand was about to connect with Kenji's defense, the shoji door behind them slid open. Both combatants turned, surprised by the sudden intrusion into their little world. Akima sighed in frustration and rolled her eyes.
"Toshi, how did you find me?"
Toshi grinned and shrugged, "You left your mobile turned on. All of us still have that coordinated GPS we bought last year."
Akima's shoulders slumped; she'd forgotten about that. Oh well, at least there was still a race tonight. She turned back to Kenji.
"Sumimasen, it looks like we'll have to postpone this match."
Kenji merely smiled and bowed lightly in response. I, too, have things to do tonight.
8 hours later, the summit of Irohazaka touge's downhill:
Kenji pulled into a secluded parking space off to the side of the small service station. He wasn't here to race, so why bother drawing unnecessary attention? He scanned over the rest of the cars assembled across the rest of the small parking lot and the open paved lot beyond. A few S13s, Gotou's ever-more-miserable looking S14, Darren's techno-styled NSX, a pair of Honda Integras and a CR-X, and – now this was interesting - a Nissan Pulsar. That would be one to watch out for. Finally, on the end of a long line of cars, was the deep red SW20 MR2 from that night in Yokohama.
Well, at least it appeared that tonight wouldn't be boring.
Gotou caught sight of Kenji's approach to the larger group of drivers and waved him over. Kenji walked over to stand beside the S14, noting the number of new zipties on the front bumper.
"You plan on driving tonight, Kenji?"
He shook his head, "Not if I can avoid it. The R's really not set up for the mountains anyway."
Gotou shrugged, "Fair enough, I guess. Well, at least we can watch Afuro-man show what he can do."
"About that…who do you plan on putting him against?"
"I was thinking that he might be able to take that S13."
Kenji looked back down the line to the yellow Nissan coupe and the driver, who was talking to someone sitting inside the red MR2. Too bad the tint on it was so dark…it would be interesting to know who was behind that machine.
"Alright. We'll see what he's got."
Gotou grinned devilishly and sprinted back toward the assembled drivers, "Line 'em up! NSX and the Silvia!"
Darren slid into his Mugen racing bucket seat and pulled the shoulder straps of the Takata harness over his shoulders, clasping the ends into the wheel-lock at his waist. He reached down to his left, flipping up a trio of toggle switches that controlled the fuel pump, battery, and ignition circuits. Slightly above the three switches, he used his thumb to hold in a large red button. The Honda V6 coughed several times then roared up, quickly descending into a bass burble – the sound of a full race engine, only slightly restricted by the street legal exhaust.
He looked to his right, where the young man with the amusing faux-leather jacket was starting his Silvia. Darren had looked the car over before the race started – Project Mu big brake kit, CA18 with a standalone ECU, plus who knows what else he hadn't been able to see. While his race-prepped C32 V6 definitely had the edge on power, he knew power was not necessarily an equalizer on the touge, especially not on Irohazaka, where ability to take a hairpin turn became much more essential. In that respect, the carbon fiber spoiler he had would help him much more that his stock NSX body would him. No, this was not going to be easy.
But then, it never is, is it?
Darren pulled his NSX forward until a wave of Gotou's hand signaled him to stop. He slowly built the revs to just below 4,000, watching as Gotou raised both arms and started counting off fingers. Suddenly, both hands dropped and Darren let out on the clutch, launching the car forward. From what he knew of this course, there would be a decent straightaway with a single kink in the middle.
I should be able to build a decent lead through here…
He floored the accelerator, watching the LED lit green needle in the dash-mounted tachometer rise past 9,000 RPM before going to second gear. He kept the throttle wide open and shifted up into third as he entered the gentle right-then-left weave in the road. By virtue of sheer power, the S13 had begun to fall behind as the two cars neared the end of the long straight.
Akima leaned up against a tree trunk a few feet back from the guard rail around the first real corner – an almost unbelievably tight right hander. Once she saw that the American in the NSX had been put against Tarou, she had run down here to the first corner. This was where it was all going to happen. Tarou was one of the best downhillers she'd ever seen and his car was set up to perfectly match his driving style. The NSX was incredibly well set up – she had simply had to get some photos when she first saw it – but it appeared that the American's skills weren't quite on par with his car.
She looked back to the course as the two cars barreled down on the corner, the NSX taking a traditional line on the outside, while Tarou's S13 broke inside and suddenly spun sideways. Akima smiled. Few people had Tarou's skill with a handbrake. The NSX braked hard, the front end diving toward the pavement and Tarou slid the S13 sideways at such an angle that the car was very nearly backwards, it looked like. The NSX driver flinched as the rear of Tarou's Nissan came with centimeters of his fender.
However, while Tarou skidded the car through the corner, front bumper nearly grazing the inside guard rail, the NSX driver jerked the wheel to the left instinctively before he spun it frantically back to the right. It was, however, too late. The left fender contacted the guardrail and bounced off as the car's brakes locked up.
The rear of the NSX spun sideways, the snapped back in line as the driver over-corrected slightly. The air was filled with popping backfires as the engine bounced off the rev-limiter, then began its correct climb up the revs as the driver grabbed second.
Darren swore as he shifted up into second. I can't believe I reacted like that…
He roared down the narrow road. The next sections were at least mostly straight and it looked like he would indeed have to take advantage of any straight road he could get. He pushed the gear knob up into third as the S13's rear lights slowly grew in front of him. But, just as soon as he started catching up, the S13's brake lights flashed once, then twice as the car began to rotate, seemingly moving without friction across the tarmac and clipping a nearly perfect apex to the left corner.
Darren again took a fairly standard racing line, braking hard along the outside then diving into the inside before hitting the power again. Fortunately, this time, he was able to hold the car in check and exit the corner without losing too much ground. Through the next section, Darren was again able to get back up on the rear bumper of the Nissan, but next would be the first real challenge: a sweeping right hand turn which turned into a hard left, which then turned into a severe hairpin right. It was nearly impossible to get a good line.
Darren smiled as he saw the Nissan attack the corner. The other driver braked quickly, sliding the car from the first right into the hard left. There was no way he could get back in time – he was going to have to brake.
Or not. The car suddenly spun nearly 180 degrees and slid around to the right, rear tires smoking themselves away and the rear bumper leaving a thin stripe of bright yellow on the outside guard rail.
Fine then, two can play at that.
Darren braked and held the car steady through the first right and left; then he grabbed the hand brake and hauled hard on it. The rear wheels locked and began to spin. Darren spun the wheel into the direction of the rotation and feathered the gas. However, the rear refused to stop sliding.
He reached back down and pulled the hand brake again, spinning the car a full 180 degrees as he went "both feet in", holding down the brake and clutch. The car eventually slid to a stop, parallel to the guard rail and a few inches away. Darren let his breath out and looked down over the precipice to where he could see the Nissan flit through the next set of hairpins.
Kenji shook his head and chuckled upon hearing what had happened to the American. It appeared it was true that auto enthusiasts were either born with gasoline or oil in their veins. Darren appeared to be one of the latter; and excellent mechanic, to be sure, but not much of a racer.
I wonder if we should even keep him around…
Several yards beyond, Gotou's S14 coughed into life and rolled off to a new parking space, clearing the way for Darren's return. Kenji noticed that one of the Silvia's tail lights was now held together with clear tape.
No, he'll definitely be staying…
Kenji looked over to his side as the empty space adjacent him was filled by Gotou's Nissan.
"So Kenji," Gotou said, exiting the car, "Sure you don't feel like running tonight? Bet you could take the Pulsar over there."
Kenji snorted a quick laugh, "No thanks, Gotou. If she feels like coming out to Tokyo, I won't back down, but not here and not now."
Gotou shrugged, "Your loss, then."
"Actually, no; if I don't race, I can't lose."
"You know what I- whatever. You're no fun, Kenji, you know that?"
Laughing, Kenji replied, "Maybe so, but at least my car's still in one piece."
Gotou dismissed him with a wave and walked off.
Across the lot from the two old friends, Akima was trying to keep a low profile and failing.
"C'mon, Blaze, these locals aren't putting up a fight at all. You know you want to."
Akima rolled her eyes, "Fine, Tarou, fine. Let's get this done."
Tarou burst into a giddy smile and took off toward his S13.
Oh well, Akima thought, at least a new pass should be something interesting.
She edged her MR2 up to the rudimentary starting line, letting out the clutch just enough to hold the car in place on the slight incline. Tarou's S13 pulled up alongside, engine revs spiking and falling as he hit the throttle. Akima shook her head, Tarou may have been the best downhiller on their team, but he was also way too much of a showoff. Drifters tended to get that way if you didn't put them in their place often enough.
Which is why I'm here.
Akima slowly built up the revs, letting the tachometer needle settle at 3,500 RPM. When the starter dropped his hand, she dumped the clutch and the two-seater tore forward, its twin turbos easily outpacing the single turbo Nissan off the line.
Diving into the first corner – the fresh skid marks from Darren's NSX still prevalent – she stomped hard on the brakes and spun the wheel hard right, letting the rear wheels slip just enough to keep the Toyota from understeering. In her rear view mirror she watched as Tarou did exactly as he had done the first lap, exactly as Akima knew he would. Much as he was an annoyance, the man really did have an uncanny mastery of the handbrake.
That was, however, largely the extent of his ability. As Akima blitzed the long straight leading to the next hairpin, the Silvia again began to diminish in her mirrors – it simply didn't have the power to keep up.
Back at the summit, Kenji was listening with what he considered a surprising amount of interest to the radio reports coming in from corner stations. He was quite shocked to find that the MR2 was actually driven by the girl who had suddenly appeared at the dojo earlier. If her driving skill was any indication, it seemed like it might actually be a challenge to beat her.
The radio crackled to life again and Kenji returned it his full attention. Apparently the cars had just passed the end of the straight sections and were entering the series of switchbacks with the MR2 still in the lead. Kenji swore he could hear an echo of engines just before the radio clicked off again.
Akima smiled at her ever-increasing lead. Tarou's driving style was definitely well suited to Irohazaka, but it also ate through tires at a rather disturbing rate. Akima was extremely glad about her decision to upgrade to a fresh set of Bridgestone Potenzas as soon as she had arrived in Tokyo. She had no problems with grip, unlike the ever more distant Nissan.
Tarou, Tarou, Tarou…you brought this on yourself.
Laughing briefly at just how much fun this was turning out to be after all, Akima exited a sharp left corner and floored the accelerator, twin backfires coming from the exhaust as the little Toyota jumped forward.
Several minutes later Akima returned to the rest of the racers at the top of the mountain, victorious yet again. Tarou killed the Silvia's engine as he parked next to her.
"I really thought I had you that time," he said.
Akima raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry, what? As I recall, I had the lead from the start. By the way, it's definitely time for a new set of rubber.
Tarou rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "Yeah, yeah. Well, I'll get you next time."
"Don't get your hopes up," Akima said, not quite loudly enough to be heard.
April 04, 1999:
Kenji cradled the ceramic cup in his left palm, balancing the rim with his right thumb and index finger. He took a long pull of the hot tea, letting the warmth radiate out as he tried to press deeper under his kotatsu. He idly thumbed through the various channels on the television; finally settling on an old BBC re-broadcast from a handful of years ago featuring an interview with Keiichi Tsuchiya. Several minutes later, though, the show had the sheer gall to say that there were "major problems" with the styling of the R32 GT-R, a simply unforgivable offense in Kenji's mind. Plus the host had serious hair issues.
About the time that Kenji decided there was nothing worth watching on any station, the phone rang. Cursing whoever was forcing him to leave the heated cover, he willed himself out from under the kotatsu and strode across his small apartment to see who it was.
"This is Kenji."
"Hey, Kenji! It's Gotou!"
Kenji rolled his eyes "Gotou, what do you want now?"
"Hey, what's with the tone, my friend? I've got news that will legitimately interest you, here."
"Oh really?"
"Yes. You remember my brother-in-law's cousin's son, down in Nagasaki?"
No, Gotou, of course I don't, "Yeah, sure."
"Well he recently started running with a team down there, nothing major, but not half-bad."
"Get to the point."
"Right. Last night, he calls me and tells me that his whole team just got beaten into the ground by some group nobody's ever heard of."
"Gotou, last I checked, someone losing is nothing special."
"Of course not, but how often do you hear of a group that drives nothing but old Corollas?"
END