Initial D Fan Fiction ❯ Final Battle! FC3S vs FD3S vs AE86 vs GC8V ❯ Final Battle! ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

“This will be your most dangerous opponent, and most likely the most difficult you will ever encounter,” Ryosuke said quietly, looking at Keisuke and Fujiwara with eyes that held an unknown emotion. “Bring it on, Bro,” Keisuke replied instantly, always aggressive and ready to fight. Takumi looked to his feet, the feeling of worthlessness almost overwhelming him. Keisuke had developed incredible hillclimb and downhill skills, while he had remained stagnant, a prodigy of the downhill only. His last battle with Godhand had ended in victory only because of a fluke. Had the old man kept his cool for a few more meters he would have won the race. The idea of an opponent even more potent made him shiver. “What makes him so dangerous?” Takumi asked. “The opponent you will be racing against has incredible knowledge and a cunning ability to exploit your tiniest weaknesses. He has watched your progress, Fujiwara, from the moment you raced against Keisuke. Brother, he has stalked you and marked your development since the moment I took you on the downhill in my FC. He knows the modifications performed to both your vehicles, and the physical limits the FD and the 86 can reach,” Ryosuke said with a faint gleam of a smile. “Who is this guy?” Keisuke asked in amazement. “Me,” Ryosuke replied. Fumihiro, standing a few paces away, sucked in his breath, as did the twin aces of Project D.
“You?” Keisuke shouted. “How can I race against you?” “You can and you will, or you are not fit to remain in Project D,” Ryosuke replied harshly. Fujiwara stepped backward in surprise, unable to believe he would have to race against Takahashi Ryosuke once more. The tension between the brothers was raging high in a silent battle of wills before Ryosuke turned to Fumihiro and began barking orders. “Fujiwara and Keisuke are to coordinate their actions without assistance. Any car settings or modifications that they desire, they must do so on their own. Any and all planning and strategy is to be without assistance. Keisuke, Fujiwara, you are allowed one night of practice on the course as is our custom. You may choose the course. Keisuke, because of your abilities at hillclimb and the downhill, our race will feature both. We will race in the leader-chaser style. If you can overtake me when I am leading, you win. If I can place a large distance between us while leading, you lose. Fujiwara,” he said, turning on a wide-eyed Takumi, “the 86 is worthless in a hillclimb against my FC, even with your skills. I will not ask you to compete in such an uneven manner. Our race will thus take longer, but it will follow the same format. Any questions?”
The two aces of Project D stood still for a few moments as they digested what had been said. Fumihiro and the others were still in their initial state of surprise. Kenta was busy picking up the lug nuts he had dropped. “Brother...” Keisuke said finally, quietly, almost ashamed to say it, “if we race, I will not hold back. I do not want to defeat you, but if it comes to it, I will. I want you to know this.” Ryosuke chuckled and put a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. “You talk as if you've already beaten me. Keisuke, if you truly intend to race in the pro circuit, there will be times when your competitor for first place will be an old friend. If you cannot overcome this final challenge, you will be worthless for whatever team that hires you. Fujiwara, you battle constantly with the honor of racing. You cheat yourself of victories. Your race with Godhand resulted in triumph because of your endurance, not because an old man got sick and gave you a chance to recover. Until you can desire the win with all your mind, you will hold back when you race and second-guess yourself. Now, you have until tomorrow afternoon to select a course. I will not see or speak to you until then. Goodbye.” Ryosuke stepped into his FC and rocketed away, the White Comet of Akagi and Project D's most formidable opponent. “Is this for real?” Kenta asked. Fumihiro shook his head, unable to believe it himself. “I was curious when I noticed the absence of the FC, but I didn't put any of the clues together until just now. If you think of it, it makes sense. I don't know how Keisuke and Fujiwara will take it though,” he replied.
“Keisuke-” Takumi began, but he was cut off by the angry Takahashi. “I don't understand why my brother feels like he must do this, but if he must then I will follow his orders and do my best to defeat him. Fujiwara, I don't want to hear anything right now except which course we should race on.” Takumi thought quickly, his mind racing through the options available to him. “Well... no. Keisuke, as unfair as it is, I would have my best chance at winning on the downhill of Akina. Will that give you a fair chance against Ryosuke?” “I can win wherever I drive. Akina will be no different. Shall we practice now?” Keisuke asked, heading toward his FD. Takumi nodded and walked toward his 86. “Are you forgetting something?” Fumihiro asked. “What?” said Keisuke. “Us. You heard Ryosuke. The two of you are in charge. If you wish to use the resources of Project D, you need to manage those resources. Where are we headed?” “Akina,” Takumi said. “An interesting choice,” Fumihiro replied. “We will follow you there.”
*
“Taking charge of the team, huh?” Keisuke asked, his eyebrows furrowed. Takumi blushed, then shook his head to clear it. “He asked, I told him. You are better equipped to lead this team than I am. I just wanted to return to practice. I want to be competitive on the hillclimb against Ryosuke, whatever the cost.” “Convenient. I want you to show me the gutter run for Akina,” Keisuke replied. “Won't it damage your chassis?” “As you said, whatever the cost. It sounds perverse to follow my brother's orders by defeating him, but I must prove my worth to Project D and my skills as a racer. If I cannot defeat him...” “On our first run we can run against each other. When we reach the bottom, leave the FD there, and we will return to the summit in my 86. Then we can run downhill in the 86, uphill in the FD, and reverse it,” Takumi said. Keisuke nodded and climbed into his car. He rolled down the window and raised his hand into the air, counting down with his fingers. With a clenched fist, he rocketed the FD off from the start. Takumi followed, sending his 86 forward at perilous speeds.
As they plummeted down the mountain pass, Fujiwara felt his breath disappear from his lips. Keisuke was almost impossible to catch, no matter how hard he pushed the 86. It was with relief that they entered the five hairpins and, using the gutters, he was able to eliminate the gap and remain on the FD's bumper until the end. “I almost lost you,” Keisuke said with a laugh. Takumi shook his head and turned the 86 around. “Shall we go?”
*
Ryosuke gently closed the hood of his FC, polishing the gleaming white paint with the sleeve of his shirt as he looked at the car in admiration. “You and I have had a long history together, haven't we?” he asked quietly, his eyes tracing the curves of the RX-7 that had helped him build his legend. The moment of reflection quickly passed and his eyes hardened, analyzing every square centimeter of the car for weaknesses. “The upgrades were necessary. I am ashamed to say that I let you fall into disrepair, my FC. Project D has given me a substantial amount of data that I have been able to use for your modifications. I felt more than a twinge of sorrow at replacing your 13BT rotary with a 13B REW, but it was necessary to achieve my goals.” Ryosuke glanced at the receipts carefully lined up on the table, waiting to be filed. Lightweight rotors, upgraded turbochargers, a larger intercooler, fuel system upgrades, an entire list of alterations to every component designed to increase strength, reliability, and power.
“Keisuke will be surprised,” he chuckled, checking over the new coilovers one more time before opening the garage door. Sliding into the lightened and substantially braced FC, he put his key in the ignition and turned. The rotary fired up instantly, whirring with incredible power. For a moment he reconsidered installing a 20B three rotor, then shook his head. The 13B REW was light and strong, and currently making 455 PS at the wheels. More than enough to battle Keisuke, and overkill against Fujiwara. Ryosuke's eyes landed on the boost control knob hidden in the dash and smiled. He eased the FC into gear and took off, the tires chirping under the immense power being fed to them.
“I must apologize to Kyouichi after winning this race,” Ryosuke said to himself. “Running a fully prepared FC3S against street-tuned cars is a dirty trick. But, I cannot deny that my defeat at the hands of Fujiwara rankled under the surface. I must triumph. I have spent almost an entire year forging these two into the most formidable racers to turn a wheel in anger upon the streets. If I can defeat them, then I can rest and turn my attention to the medical field. The torch will be passed. The White Comet of Akagi may disappear, but two rising stars will take my place. Japan will fear the Takahashi name,” Ryosuke growled, burying the accelerator. The FC's new motor screamed with power, hurling the car forward with a vicious burst of might.
*
“Do not hold back,” Ryosuke said, staring at Keisuke, probing him and his dedication. Conflict raged on Keisuke's face as powerful emotions fought within him, but finally he growled his assent. “I will run you into the ground,” he heard himself say, unable to believe he could form such words against his older brother, the man responsible for saving him from a life of crime and violence. Ryosuke chuckled and turned away. “Keisuke!” Takumi whispered urgently, motioning him over. “Look!” Keisuke looked at Ryosuke as Fujiwara was and felt his breath catch in his throat. “His aura,” Takumi said. Keisuke could feel it, could almost truly see it. Energy flowed and crackled around Ryosuke like lightning arcing off a Tesla coil, lightning that struck the FC until their auras combined, a powerful pulsing glow that hurt Keisuke's eyes.
“Racers to the line!” Fumihiro shouted. Keisuke's FD rolled up next to the raging FC and idled quietly. “Go! Yon! San! Ni! Ichi! GO!” The FC screamed away from the line, devouring the road and leaving the FD choking in the dust. Takumi, Fumihiro, and the others stared in shock at the tremendous lead the FC had already gained. “I won't let you win that easily brother,” Keisuke growled, diving into the first turn at incredible speed. The white FC was rapidly disappearing from sight, causing a feeling of desperation to enter Keisuke's mind. The FD was accelerating as fast as it could, yet he could barely reach his brother in the curves, and on the straights the old rotary coupe pulled away as if his own FD were in neutral. “What's going on?!” he shouted, pumping the accelerator to maintain control. With incredible luck the FC came back into view, at first a distant gleam but soon a tangible presence, until he could finally draw up to the FC's rear bumper. “What trick are you playing on me?” Keisuke asked silently.
*
“What round is this?” Kenta asked. “Twenty-first,” Fumihiro replied. “Look!” Takumi shouted. The FC, streaked with dirt and bits of vegetation came howling up the hill, tires protesting. The FD was right behind, its engine coughing on the fumes left in its once-full gas tank. The two cars stopped at the same time, and their doors opened in unison. “Tires, gas,” Ryosuke ordered Fumihiro. Keisuke nodded to his mechanic who did the same. As the two cars were being refreshed, their engines ticking from the heat and their coilovers creaking from overuse, the two Takahashi brothers approached Takumi. Keisuke grabbed a water bottle and guzzled its contents, wiping his face with a moist towel, but Ryosuke merely sipped from his bottle and his face was as fresh as it had been before climbing into the car. “This is amazing,” Keisuke gasped to Fujiwara. Ryosuke took another sip from his bottle and chuckled. “I could say the same,” Ryosuke said. “You're being stubborn. And weak,” he added, his voice turning hard. “I gave you three chances to pass me, yet you took none of them. When will you learn your lesson, Keisuke?” “I saw no chances,” Keisuke lied. “Fool,” Ryosuke spat out, turning back to tend to his FC. “Fumihiro! Is the car ready?” Ryosuke demanded. “Yes, Ryosuke,” he replied. “Keisuke!” The younger Takahashi brother looked at Takumi with something like desperation. “I've tried to pass him, but I can't. He says he's given me three chances but I haven't seen one. After all these races I feel like I'm still in the passenger seat in his FC rushing downhill, fearing for my life. Watch out, Takumi.” He returned to his car, stretched, and climbed inside. Kenta called off the count, and the two disappeared, Keisuke's FD in the lead and Ryosuke's FC chasing.
*
“What round?” “42nd,” came the reply. Ryosuke leapt from his car and shook his fist at Keisuke. “You're not trying hard enough!” he shouted, his voice rising into anger. “Don't tell me I'm not trying hard enough, idiot! I've almost wrecked my car twice now on the last run, trying to pass you with these worthless tires. Don't tell me I'm not trying. You're too good! I can't win!” Keisuke screamed, beating his fists on the FD's roof. “You can win if you stop acting like a crying baby with a soiled diaper and drive like a Takahashi!” Ryosuke roared, grabbing Keisuke's shirt in his hands and shaking his brother. “Get your hands off me,” Keisuke snapped, stepping back with anger in his eyes and contorting his face. “Stop acting like a child and race me!” Ryosuke commanded. With a quick check of the FC's tires and gas, he hopped in and started up the engine. Keisuke bent down with pressure guage in hand, checked his tires, breathed deeply and then sat down inside the FD. His hands shook as he grabbed the steering wheel. “I have to end this,” he said. The FD's engine was perpetually on the verge of overheating. He had chewed up three sets of tires, and eighty liters of gasoline. The FD's oil level had been dropping as well, an ominous warning of things to come. A quart of oil was a mere band aid for the situation. For the FD's sake, for his own sake, for the pride of the Takahashi name, it had to end soon. Takumi started them off, and away they went with a roar, Ryosuke and his hellish FC chasing.
The first few corners were a blur, passing by at 120 kilometers per hour or better. As the slope grew steeper and the curves tighter, the two cars closed the gap and Keisuke began searching for a chance to make a break. Fujiwara's gutter hook and weight shifting would help him get some distance on the FC, if he could only manage it without ripping apart his car. Suddenly the FC disappeared from his mirrors. The scream of Ryosuke's rotary remained, but the car itself had disappeared. Was he in a blind spot? Keisuke angled his mirrors, twisting his head as best he could, but he couldn't see a thing. A sudden scream to his left startled Keisuke, the FD wagging its tail from his indecision. The FC had suddenly appeared at his side, its headlights popping up and pouring out light. Ryosuke had been driving with his lights off, and now the FC was in front of him. If he couldn't retake the lead, it would be over.
He had to break Ryosuke's concentration. But how? The FC screamed sideways through another hairpin, Ryosuke expertly dropping his inside tires into the gutter to allow him another 20 KPH in exit speed. Keisuke watched, guaging his moment. The FC was going through a tight left-hander at full speed, the front left tire almost lifting from the ground. Keisuke brought his FD up and nudged the FC in the quarter panel, just enough to knock the car sideways a little and break Ryosuke's concentration.
“What?!” Keisuke shouted. Ryosuke had used his nudge to correct his corner entry and blaze through at a speed 25 KPH faster than Keisuke and his FD. At the next corner Keisuke tried the gutter hook, but Ryosuke was one step ahead of him. “How can I defeat you?!” Keisuke tried every trick at his disposal, but it was hopeless. The FC maintained a fifteen meter gap right up to the finish line, enough to declare victory. Ryosuke opened the door of the FC and stepped out, turning to look at Keisuke. Ryosuke looked at Keisuke and sighed. “An enjoyable battle. Lamentable that you failed in overtaking me. Fujiwara, you're next.” As Takumi went to check his precious 86, Ryosuke held out his hand to Keisuke. “You did well, Keisuke.” “I failed, brother,” he replied in a dejected tone of voice, his head hung low. “No, you succeeded beyond my expectations. You were able to take charge of a crew of workers, prepare your car, understand the settings necessary to win, and formulate a strategy. You were willing to use the nudge against your own brother, and you drew things out for forty-two runs. You will be a valuable asset to any professional racing team. It is now time for me to teach Fujiwara his lesson. Rest, brother. Fumihiro has a tow vehicle for your FD.” “Let me count you off,” Keisuke said.
The battle-worn FC pulled up to the line, Ryosuke confident and alive with victory, Takumi and his 86 ready to battle. Keisuke stepped out between the two and held up his hand. “Go! Yon! San! Ni! Ichi! GO!”
The FC launched off the line hard, but nowhere near as hard as it had with Keisuke. Ryosuke had lowered the boost as far down as he dared in order to keep the FC's power in check without damaging the engine. The 13B REW was standing up to the abuse well, and with low boost was pushing 300PS to the rear wheels. With the body lightened as much as he dared, Ryosuke had dropped the weight of the FC within forty kilograms of the AE86, removing his anxiety over tire wear. With the substantial bracing of the body, the suspension was able to perform perfectly with the settings he had chosen. Ryosuke shifted into third gear, smiled at the flame that belched from the FC's exhaust pipe, and buried the accelerator.
“Careful,” Takumi said to himself, pulling his bumper back from the fire spitting out of the FC's exhaust with every shift. The initial gap wasn't as bad as Fujiwara had feared. “He must have reduced the output of his engine in order to conserve his tires and make this a fair match,” Takumi said, watching the FC in front of him with searching eyes. The body motion of the RX-7 was stiffer, rolling less. “New coilovers?” he wondered, pushing the 86 hard. He glanced at the tachometer and pursed his lips. It had taken a substantial amount of convincing to get Shuichi to raise the limiter on the 86's engine to 12,500 RPMs, and the warning still rang in his ears.
“If you rev the engine past 11,000 RPMs, you're living on borrowed time. First you'll hear tapping from the valvetrain, and then knocking from the engine. You'll notice reduced power as the piston rings begin to degrade from the heat, and then it will be over. You'll have to stop driving or risk ruining the engine completely. Let me tell you this Takumi... This engine isn't something Project D can find. Whoever got this engine has connections that even Ryosuke lacks. If you destroy it, that will be it for the 86.”
The gentle slopes became steeper, the corners sharper, and the FC's rear bumper grew closer. Takumi glanced down at his tachometer and hissed. The engine was running at 11,800 RPMs... he had lost a minute of engine life without knowing it. The FC was still the same distance away, with no change in Ryosuke's driving style. He had failed in pressuring his opponent. The five hairpins swept past at incredible speed, but the FC led the way through the gutters, exiting faster than the 86 was capable of. It was only through extreme cornering that Takumi remained close enough behind for a second round.
*
“Ryosuke,” Fumihiro said as he watched the FC's tires being changed for the fourth time that night, “I have a question for you.” “Of course,” Ryosuke replied, wiping his face. “Throughout our battles, you have always chided Keisuke whenever he has shown emotion. You've told him time and again to keep his cool. Yet you shouted at him and even went so far as to physically assault him. Now you're tormenting Fujiwara, lap after lap, round after round. What is the purpose of this, Ryosuke?”
“The purpose,” he chuckled, “is two-fold. You have wondered at the meaning of the D, have you not? Well, Fumihiro, the D stands for Domination. As you know, we race on our opponent's home course, defeat him, and then set a track time that they can't beat. For the past year Keisuke and Fujiwara have been learning and developing their skills. I have refined their natural talents by setting them against opponents they can learn from. Godhand and Godfoot are the most obvious, but everyone, even the dishonest Evo team that spilled oil on the track, has taught them something. That means that in all of Japan, these two drivers have won against all their opponents. There is no one else racing on the street right now that has the skill that these two possess. Except for myself.”
“You are modest, Ryosuke,” Fumihiro chuckled. “I thought so too. The second part explains this better. As you know, I am following my parents wishes and entering the medical field in three weeks time. I cannot risk myself once I enter the profession, or I will dishonor my father and let down my patients. I cannot tell you how many times I wished that I was racing on our expeditions, rather than Keisuke and Fujiwara. This is my proxy. Our two driving aces have defeated all that stood in their way. If I defeat them, then I have, by logical extension, defeated all of their opponents.” “I don't understand the need to shout at Keisuke, or why you must defeat our two aces,” Fumihiro replied.
“Perhaps I am lacking in eloquence. Keisuke would never drive with his full abilities against me, for fear of injuring me. His time in the gang has affected his thinking. He labors under the idea that I am frail and in need of protection. In order to trick him into battling me with his full capabilities, I needed to overload his emotions until his anger took control. I could defeat him with one hand at the level he would usually drive at, but by goading him through behavior I have never exhibited before, I forced him into driving at a level he has never reached before. You saw his relief when he let go of the FD's steering wheel, didn't you? His hands were shaking violently since the twentieth lap. He gave his all, and it took everything I had to defeat him. Were I driving the FC before I modified it, I would have been defeated.”
“Why defeating our aces?” Fumihiro pushed. “The idea is not to defeat our aces. The goal is to push them to use their abilities to the fullest, without holding back, regardless of who they race. Keisuke worried me when Kyoko appeared on the scene. I truly questioned his devotion, but he didn't waver. He has the dedication necessary. It is Fujiwara that worries me the most. He is preoccupied with the idea of honor. There is no honor among street racers, Fumihiro. That is why I have altered my FC so much. It is provoking Fujiwara into action. He has raised the rev limit on his car, risking engine blow in order to defeat me. Winning a race provides an emotional refreshment to the driver and encourages him to race harder next time. Otherwise he risks burnout. Fujiwara has denied himself the feeling of victory numerous times, and it has showed in his dedication.” The two men stood quietly, listening to Takumi's explanations to his mechanic.
“His piston rings are close to failure,” Ryosuke finally said with eyes closed. Fumihiro shook his head in sorrow. “An incredible engine being destroyed for what?” he asked. “The 86 is a limited platform, and Fujiwara has taken it to incredible heights. His skills are beginning to overrun the strength of the car. If the 86 is destroyed, it will provide him with the motive to step up to a new platform, which will carry his name even higher. If the engine blows, it blows,” Ryosuke said, returning to his FC.
“It won't be much longer,” Matsumoto said as he shut the hood. “Two quarts of oil burned, exhaust gas temperatures rising, and cylinder pressures are beginning to fall. Finish this race, Fujiwara, or the 86 will finish it for you.” “Forgive me, my 86,” Takumi said as he rested his hand on the car's burning-hot hood.
“San! Ni! Ichi! GO!” The 86 took off in the lead, the FC tailing close behind. The first easy slopes went by quickly, as they had so many times before. Takumi felt the engine's sluggish acceleration and fought back the anger. Ryosuke must fall. With practiced skill the 86 hooked its tires into the gutter, the g-forces pulling against the car so hard the body began to creak and moan from the stress. Takumi could feel the coilovers flexing under the stress and hoped they would last for a few more moments. With a rubbery snap, the 86 popped out of the gutter too soon. Ryosuke's FC thundered past immediately, forging into the lead. The 86 wobbled slightly, but Takumi floored the accelerator and shut off his lights. The blind attack would have to work. It couldn't fail. “What?!” Fujiwara shouted. Ryosuke had turned off his own lights. In the past Takumi had driven by the light of the leading car's lights. Denied this, he fell back on his memory of Akina, his home course for half a decade.
Iketani, Kenji, and Itsuki watched in amazement as the two cars streaked past, visible only by their brake lights and the meager light provided by the few lamps along the way. “Iketani-senpai, I told you this would be worth leaving work early,” Itsuki said in amazement, watching the two cars drift through the corner mere inches from each other. “I would never have believed it if I hadn't seen it,” Iketani replied. The FC and the 86 remained bumper to bumper down to the bottom of the mountain. At the turnaround point, Ryosuke glanced at the 86's rear bumper. It was coated in soot and burnt oil. The engine was about to blow, and yet Takumi kept pushing the car.
Fujiwara sighed to himself as he drove up Mt. Akina again. The 86's engine had lost almost all its potency, and lagged horribly. It barely revved past eight thousand RPMs, even at full throttle. His plan to triumph over Ryosuke had failed, and he was paying with the 86's heart.
*
“It's done for. Stop now and I can rebuild it. Drive it for one more minute and it will be destroyed,” Matsumoto said, shutting the hood and blowing on his fingers to cool them. Fujiwara felt the tears of frustration welling up and shook them away. He would not blow the engine again. He had failed Ryosuke. “Fujiwara. Your hachi-roku is damaged and no longer competitive. What is your decision?” Ryosuke asked, pressuring his young ace. Takumi looked from Ryosuke to the 86, then at the cell phone hanging on Fumihiro's belt. “You would allow me to finish racing in another car, wouldn't you?” Takumi asked Ryosuke. The elder Takahashi brother narrowed his eyes slightly, calculating the odds. They were favorable for his desired outcome. “Yes. Fumihiro, give him your phone. Fujiwara, make it quick. We will give you your privacy.”
“Who do you think he's calling?” Keisuke asked, a cold towel wrapped around his neck. Fumihiro cocked his head to the side and thought out loud. “If he called Wataru, it would make sense. He would still have the AE86 platform that he's familiar with, and a supercharger for added power.” “I think he might be calling Joushima,” Kenta said. “Godhand?” Keisuke asked, turning to look at him. Kenta shrugged his shoulders. “Who do you think he's calling, brother?” Keisuke asked. Ryosuke glanced at Fujiwara's tense posture as he waited for the phone to pick up on the other line. “If it is who I hope it is, this night will end far better than I ever could have simulated,” Ryosuke said with a predatory grin. He glanced at the FC and silently thanked the car for having performed so well. If his simulation was correct, the battles up to this point would have been the easiest of practice rounds.
*
The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Fujiwara grunted sleepily, setting down his cigarette and reaching for the phone. “Fujiwara Tofu Shop,” he muttered. “Dad, I'm at Mt. Akina. The 86's engine is about to blow. I need a car to finish this battle. May I... Will you...?” Bunta scratched his nose and thought. Another kid's game. But if the 86's engine was about to be trashed, it was a serious game. “So you're going to trash my Impreza?” Bunta asked. “No!” Takumi shouted, frustrated. “I don't know what to do. I have to win. The 86 is hurt and needs to be repaired. I can't lose because of this. If I'm going to lose, it needs to be because I lack the skill, or the talent.” “Professional racers deal with malfunctioning hardware all the time. Are you telling me that you can't adjust your driving style to compensate?” Bunta asked, fumbling in his pockets for his lighter. “Please. I know I've called you a shitty old man, but I need your help.” “You need my car, not my help,” Bunta replied. There was a long moment of silence on the line as Takumi waited, his breathing rapid and shallow. Finally Bunta sighed and searched for his keys. “Fine. I'll bring the Impreza. But Takumi, if your opponent defeats you... I'd like to redeem the Impreza's name.”
*
Takumi folded the phone shut and handed it back to Fumihiro. “Do you have a car, or do you forfeit?” Ryosuke asked. “I have a car. My father is bringing his Impreza. Is that acceptable?” Takumi asked. Ryosuke nodded and began to walk back to his FC when he suddenly stopped and turned around. “I have been eager to meet your father, Takumi.” Fujiwara looked at Ryosuke in surprise, as did Keisuke and the others. “I thought that Takumi's father owned a tofu shop,” Kenta said to an equally confused Fumihiro. “Ryosuke must have a reason. Have you ever known him to operate without a reason, even if we didn't understand it? Fujiwara's father holds something important for Ryosuke.”
“So you wonder why I wish to meet Fujiwara's father?” Ryosuke asked with a smile. Fumihiro jumped slightly, surprised that the elder Takahashi had snuck up on him. “Yes, I do. Fujiwara holds impressive talents himself, but I don't understand why you wish to meet his father.” “Think about it for a moment, Fumihiro. Fujiwara Takumi learned his skills somewhere, did he not? Who could his learning come from but his father? His knowledge is above that of another man his age, so we can rule out his friends teaching him. He has no relatives to have taught him. He has six years of driving experience, but has been legally allowed to drive for only one. His father is the only one who could have taught him these skills he possess, and that leads me to believe he is the one I have been searching for.”
“Searching for? What do you mean, brother?” Keisuke asked. “There are those from the last generation who have reached an incredible level of skill. They are past their prime for professional competition, but they have more than enough potency to be deadly on the street. You are familiar with two of the three. Godhand and Godfoot. They found each other and know of each other's existence. But there is a third, one who disappeared years ago, with just as much prowess if not more. I have searched for him with Project D, hoping that one of our expeditions would touch on his home course. As time went on I began to notice what was right underneath my nose.”
“Under your nose?” Fumihiro asked, glancing over at Takumi who was wiping the dirt from his hachi-roku. “Precisely. I couldn't see the god himself, but I saw his offspring and his teachings,” Ryosuke said. “Then that means-” Keisuke gasped. Ryosuke nodded. “Fujiwara Takumi is the son of Fujiwara Bunta, the lost god, Godsight. It is my attention to defeat his son and draw him into combat. I will not win against him, but I want to know how close I can come. It is my last wish before I retire from street racing.”
*
“Yo, Yuichi,” Bunta drawled. Yuichi leaned out of his door and looked at the Impreza sitting next to the closest pump. “What?” “Fifteen liters of high octane,” Bunta said, stepping out of the car and lifting open the hood. “There's something brewing on the mountain tonight, Bunta. I was about to go and see for myself when you showed up. All of my help have disappeared for the evening,” Yuichi said as he gased up the Impreza. “Takumi is racing up there. He's damaged the 86's engine, and asked me to bring him the Impreza to finish the race,” Bunta said, watching Yuichi's reaction. “What?!” he cried, almost losing his grip on the pump nozzle. “I'll find out more when I get up there. Tell me, Yuichi, do you have any chalk?” “Chalk? What do you need that for?” “Never mind. Where's your air compressor? I need to adjust the tires,” Bunt said, pulling a pressure guage from his pocket.
“I don't think I've ever seen you this excited, or this talkative,” Yuichi commented as he checked the oil and coolant level of the Impreza. “You'll laugh at me for this, Yuichi, but I told Takumi if he was defeated, I would restore honor to the Impreza's name. I wasn't serious until you started filling up the tank.” Bunta made a few small adjustments, then stood up and dusted his hands off. “Bunta, let me close the store. You can give me a ride up. If you're going to play children's games, I want to watch.” “I'm not promising anything, Yuichi. I'm rusty. But I'd like to flex my muscles a bit.”
*
“Nakazato! Nakazato!” Shingo cried, looking through the diner. Nakazato looked up from his table, Sayuki turning around in her chair to glare at the ill-timed intrusion. “Nakazato, Sayuki, Ryosuke has challenged the double aces of Project D to a final battle. Keisuke's FD has been defeated and almost destroyed, and Takumi's hachi-roku suffered engine damage. Another car is being brought in for Fujiwara, and the battle will continue. The battle is at Akina. We can't miss it!” “Let's go,” Nakazato said, throwing money down on the table and grabbing the keys to his R32. Sayuki stood up and followed, digging into her purse for her cell phone. “Mako-chan, there's an incredible battle on Akina,” she said, running to get into Takeshi's R32 before he left.
At the foot of Mt. Akina a gathering had formed of every car known to Japan. Takeshi climbed up the hill, counting those crowding the galleries and recognizing many of the cars he passed. Kyouichi Sudo and his Evos were ahead of him, with Todo Juku's students following close behind. “Good luck finding a place to stand,” Sayuki commented, chuckling to herself. “As long as I can see the cars pass by, then I'll be satisfied,” Nakazato replied. “Look, there's Shingo. He saved us a space. Shingo!” Sayuki hooted, waving her hand out the window at him. Takeshi Nakazato placed his black R32 carefully next to the red EG6, careful not to scrape its fresh coat of paint.
*
“Where could he be? That shitty old man,” Takumi cursed, looking at the growing crowds. Ryosuke was leaning against his FC's front fender, a bored look on his face as he waited. There had been a period of intense activity that ended a few minutes before as Ryosuke had altered a number of settings under the hood of his car, as well as some minor suspension tweaking and a new set of tires and brake pads, but Ryosuke and the Project D mechanics had made quick work of it. “Fujiwara, how much longer?” Keisuke asked impatiently. “I'm sorry,” Takumi replied. “I guess he isn't-” “Look!” Kenta shouted, pointing down the road. A set of headlights had appeared, growing closer with every second. Finally the blue Impreza rolled to a stop, and Fujiwara Bunta stepped out. Takumi felt his breath disappear as he noticed his father's sandals had been replaced by slim-soled driving shoes. Bunta had been serious.
“Waiting until the last moment. I shouldn't have been surprised, Takumi. You've done it to me before,” Ryosuke said before approaching Bunta and bowing deeply. “An honor to meet you. I thank you for allowing your son to borrow your car for our race. I hope that you may honor me with a match when I have finished with Takumi,” Ryosuke said politely. Bunta's eyebrow arched slightly. “Forward of you. If you defeat him in the first four rounds, I may consider it.” Ryosuke stared at Takumi with an indescribable look in his eyes, a look that made Fujiwara shiver. “Are you ready to race?” Fumihiro asked. Takumi nodded, as did Ryosuke. “Racers to your cars!”
The galleries pressed forward, dying to see the beginning of the most incredible race to occur on Mt. Akina. “San! Ni! Ichi! GO!” Fumihiro cried. The Subaru, with its all wheel drive, took off at full speed with the smallest chirping of its tires. Ryosuke's FC screamed ahead, chasing after the Impreza. The corners passed even faster now, Takumi manipulating the all wheel drive to its full potential. Ryosuke watched in amazement as the Subaru began to forge ahead, widening the gap between the two cars. “Perhaps I was wrong to disengage the secondary turbine,” he said to himself. “It was my thought that if I engaged only the smaller primary turbine I would have faster throttle response with less lag, at the price of ultimate horsepower. Have I miscalculated the power needed to defeat Fujiwara's Impreza? I won't let my mistake keep me from battling against Godsight. I must close the gap.” Ryosuke wound the 13B REW higher and higher up the rev band, until the rotary motor was spinning at 10,000 RPMs, risking catastrophic destruction.
Takumi knew what he would see in his mirror before he looked. The pressure that had been fading had redoubled until it pounded against his neck and head hard enough to blur his vision. Ryosuke was so close behind his headlights couldn't be seen in the mirror. The Impreza, as impressive as it had been in the first half of the course, had failed to open the gap up farther. The hachi-roku had survived for forty laps before the engine had given up and drifting had become difficult. The Impreza was strong and fresh, but there was no advantage to be had over the battle-weary FC. Takumi wondered to himself in amazement how Ryosuke could manage racing close to one hundred rounds and still drift the FC with such surgical precision.
*
“Fumihiro, look at this!” Matsumoto said, approaching with a twisted hunk of steel in his hands. “What is it?” Fumihiro asked. Keisuke took the bar from Matsumoto's hands and held it in his own, turning it over in amazement. “This is the 86's front swaybar. What happened to it?” he asked. “Takumi hooked the gutter on one of his runs and went through fast enough to overload the suspension and rip the swaybar free. Keisuke, how could he have managed to drift the hachi-roku without a front swaybar? The car would have oversteered uncontrollably.” “You know as well as I do that luck favors Takumi,” Keisuke said finally. “His skill is incredible for him to drift a car with uncontrollable oversteer. I fear for my brother's safety now that Takumi is racing a mechanically superior car.”
“You talk too much,” Bunta said from the far side of the gathering. Yuichi chuckled slightly at that. “Besides, the Impreza isn't prepared as the RX-7 is,” he continued, speaking to Yuichi. The members of Project D stopped speaking and eavesdropped as politely as they could. “No?” Yuichi asked.
“No,” Bunta replied. “The FC has had its motor swapped and upgraded, the chassis has been lightened and stiffened, the suspension has been completely worked over... When the FC came out it was more of a Grand Tourer than a sports car like the original SA22C. Soft, luxurious. The FD was lighter than the FC when it came out, because it was focused once more on becoming an ultimate handling machine. Short of the AP1 S2000, the FD is one of the best handling machines made. This driver in the blue shirt with the white pants has taken a difficult platform and repurposed it. There is as much original FC in that car as there is original motor in the Trueno. This should be an interesting challenge for me.” “You mean that Takumi will be defeated?” Yuichi asked, incredulous.
“Of course. The Impreza has had some minor tuning, but nothing on that level. Takumi with all his skill will be defeated on this run, whether he wants to or not. When he returns, Yuichi, he will look a year younger from the relief of the chase being over. I look forward to getting rid of some of my rust with this driver.” Kenta looked to Keisuke in shock. The other members of Project D stood waiting, uncomfortably. The predicted downfall of their second ace had been made so carelessly, and yet it was completely convincing. Bunta looked down the road with a wistful expression on his face. “I hope Takumi enjoys himself,” he said.
*
“This isn't good,” Takumi said, trying to shake the sweat out of his eyes. The Impreza was running flat out taking the line he had discovered delivering tofu, a line the 86 couldn't take, and yet the FC was still glued to his rear bumper no matter what he did. No amount of tricks or contortions would shake Ryosuke from his position mere centimeters behind Takumi. “Exit-oriented gutter hook,” Fujiwara said as he tried to concentrate, dropping the tires perfectly, pulling them free at the exact moment required. The FC followed suit as if the two were bolted together. “Weight shift cornering,” Takumi announced, turning the Impreza so hard the front outside tire lifted from the ground. Still the FC pursued. “Dare I try one-handed steer and the infinite line?”
Ryosuke's eyebrow arched upward at the change in the Impreza's movements. “One-handed steer,” he said to himself. Still, the Subaru wasn't drawing away. Fujiwara had tried every trick at his disposal save for the blind attack and he had failed to gain any distance. When the Impreza's lights disappeared, Ryosuke chuckled to himself. Fujiwara had finally failed. He had survived for so many laps in the 86, yet with the Impreza he still hadn't managed to win, only stall the inevitable. Ryosuke devoured the gap between the two cars with ease, and with a gentle nudge, pushed the Subaru out of the way and rode through the gutter to overtake Takumi.
Takumi looked at the overtaking FC with anger in his eyes. His hachi-roku had fallen in combat against the White Comet, and he had been passed by a man who had raced sixty rounds more than he had. It shouldn't have been possible. “I can't believe I've been passed on the downhill of Akina,” Takumi said to himself. The aura surrounding the FC was almost painful to look at, yet he focused as best he could, searching for a weakness. The five hairpins were coming up, the great equalizer. The FC dove into the first hairpin, brake rotors glowing a brilliant red as it dropped speed. Takumi drifted the Impreza, tires screaming, trying to overtake Ryosuke. The second hairpin, and Fujiwara managed to push the Impreza's nose as far as the rear of the FC's door. At the entrance to the third hairpin Takumi dropped his wheels into the gutter and sling shotted around, drawing even with Ryosuke for a few breathless seconds before the FC executed a flawless inertia drift into the fifth and final hairpin.
Takumi pressed the accelerator all the way to the floor and used his left foot on the brake to rotate the Impreza while keeping the boost pressure up. With incredible skill he launched the car toward the tiniest of gaps between the FC and the guard rail, hoping to pressure Ryosuke into flinching enough for him to forge through. “He's not budging,” Takumi said as the front bumper of the Impreza tapped the rear bumper of the FC. Fujiwara used Keisuke's nudge technique, but Ryosuke merely used it to alter the FC's line and dive into the next corner even faster. The gap was beginning to grow, at first only on the straights but soon in the corners as well. “Turn!” Takumi cried, diving deep into one of the last remaining corners. Although he pulled even with the FC's rear wheel he couldn't pass. As soon as the cars hit the straight he floored the pedal, letting the boost carry the car forward at tremendous speeds. The last trick he could use was extreme late braking, but it would be dangerous in the Impreza. With the 86 it was instinct, but the Impreza was still unfamiliar to attempt such a wild attack.
The corner entrance appeared, the FC ahead by ten meters. Ryosuke tapped his brakes and feathered the throttle, drifting through the corner in perfect harmony with his car. Takumi felt the urge to brake rising in his mind but ignored it, pushing the Impreza deeper than he ever had before. At the last possible moment he slammed on the brakes, the ABS engaging violently to haul the car down from speed. Muscling the wheel he screamed through the corner in a perfect four wheel drift, but it was too slow. The FC had already hit the last straight and was diving toward the finish line. Takumi mashed the pedal down as far as it would go, winding the engine out to redline as he banged through the gears, but it was no use. His extreme late braking had resulted in a trace of understeer, not enough to be noticed by any of the hundreds of observers crowding the galleries, but more than enough for the FC to forge ahead and win. With a deep shaky sigh of relief Takumi passed over the finish line and let off the pedal.
*
“Fujiwara has been defeated! Ryosuke has set a new course record!” the radios screamed. Itsuki began to tear up, unable to believe that Takumi had been defeated while driving the Impreza. Iketani shook his head in sorrow, and noticed to his amazement Mako standing nearby. “Mako-chan,” he whispered.
At the top of the mountain Keisuke gave a bittersweet smile. His brother had won, defeating the two aces of Project D, but Fujiwara had fallen in battle on the first lap in a mechanically superior car. That Ryosuke had so much ability left in him after a hundred rounds was incredible. The mere fact that the FC's apex seals hadn't blown was a miracle in itself. “Now comes the event everyone has been waiting to see,” Fumihiro said. “Ryosuke, king of the street, against Fujiwara Bunta, Godsight.” The Impreza and FC appeared quickly, setting themselves into position for the next run. Takumi opened the door of the Impreza and stepped out, relief plainly evident on his face, but also frustration for having lost.
“Don't worry about it,” Bunta said as Takumi handed over the keys. “You did your best.” “I know. Thank you,” Takumi replied. He had lost, and it hadn't been because of an animal jumping out onto the street, or an old man losing his stomach. He had raced with everything he had against Ryosuke and the elder Takahashi had simply driven faster. It was better than victory.
“Fujiwara Bunta, is there anything I may offer for your use?” Ryosuke asked, bowing deeply. Bunta looked from Ryosuke to the fully loaded Project D vans and considered the possibilities. The FC was on stands, receiving yet another set of fresh tires, as well as an oil change and more gasoline in preparation for the final battle. “A set of tires and some chalk,” he replied. “Fumihiro-” Ryosuke said before staggering slightly. He steadied himself against the FC and finished his sentence. “Fumihiro, assist Fujiwara Bunta in everything he requires. His car is to be prepared to his specifications. Fujiwara, I apologize, but dawn is rapidly approaching and we run the risk of civilians becoming entangled in our race course. May I suggest a battle of instant death?” “Instant death?” Bunta asked curiously. “Street racer slang. We start at the same time instead of leader-chaser. Whoever crosses the finish line first is the winner. As I said a moment ago the sun will be rising soon, and I would be lying if I didn't admit I am growing weary. I have raced one hundred and one rounds this evening, Fujiwara, against my brother and against your son. I say this not as an excuse in case I lose, but as an apology for not assisting you in perfecting the settings on your car. If you will excuse me for a few moments?” Ryosuke asked, motioning toward one of the vans. Bunta nodded and turned to face Takumi and Matsumoto.
“Brother, are you alright?” Keisuke asked, wrapping a cool towel around Ryosuke's neck and offering a cold bottle of water. Ryosuke took both gratefully, draining the bottle quickly. “As I told Fujiwara Bunta, I am weary, tired, but not dead. If I can just rest a bit longer I'll have enough energy to battle against Godsight without embarassing myself or the Takahashi name.” “Why battle him?” Keisuke asked. “Idiot,” Ryosuke said fondly. “Even now my imagination races ahead of me. Logically thinking I know I stand a poor chance against Godsight, but I have to prove my abilities. Think of it, Keisuke. Takahashi Ryosuke, defeated once, retires triumphant over the god of Gods, a man that would make Godhand and Godfoot tremble. Nothing after that would matter. I could lay the FC to rest for the rest of my life and never regret a thing.” Ryosuke picked up another bottle and drank slowly, relishing each gulp. He mopped his forehead with the towel and looked sadly at his sweat-soaked shirt.
“Why is he called Godsight?” Keisuke asked, offering his brother half of a sandwich. “Why is Godhand called Godhand? It is the ability that he has perfected to a level that no one can match. You have heard of Takumi saying he could 'just see' where to place his car in order to win? When he raced against Kyouichi, he snatched victory from Sudo simply by being able to see he could accelerate and have enough room to corner before the bridge narrowed. I say simply, but it isn't that easy. Takumi has his ability on an instinctual level. He knows it, and knows how to use it, but he doesn't know what it is or how he can progress with it. You've been surprised at my ability to tell the extent of modifications a car has received simply by looking at it, haven't you?” “Yes,” Keisuke admitted.
“I am the second step. More advanced than Takumi, but still far below Godsight. Godhand and his infinite lines could be considered the third step. Fujiwara can look at a car and know how it has been modified, how those alterations have affected the fabric of the car, what limits the car can attain, the weaknesses inherent in those modifications, and how to exploit it. He can foretell the outcome of races simply by knowing the cars and one driver's abilities. His knowledge of the course is formidable. I would not be surprised if he raced without turning on his lights. I wish to learn from this man, Keisuke. I am stuck at this level. You have asked me why I turned down all those professional offers. This is why. I am stuck at my current level, unable to attain anything higher. I had not encountered anyone higher in abilities than myself for a long period of time. When father presumed I wished to work at the hospital, I accepted. As a send off to my street racing legacy I decided to start Project D, to set the Takahashi mark upon Japan. It wasn't until our encounter with the Todo Juku school that I began contemplating challenging you and Fujiwara as your graduation ceremony. Racing against Godsight will be a happy tragedy. If I win or lose, it is entirely possible I will break past this level I have been stagnating at.” Ryosuke sighed, set down the empty sandwich wrapper and wiped his face again.
“Forgive me brother, but I would kill to be stuck at your level,” Keisuke said with a grin. “Had I not come to pick you up, you may very well have,” Ryosuke replied, closing his eyes for a moment to rest them. There were dark circles under his eyes that told of his exhaustion, and the rhythm of his breathing became slower and more even. Keisuke stepped away, letting his brother sleep in peace for a few minutes before the start of the race.
“Fumihiro, my brother is resting in the second van. Do not wake him. How are the preparations for his FC?” Keisuke asked. “Looking at the checklist Ryosuke gave me, we've made incredible progress. He asked to have the sequential turbos reactivated, a new set of tires, an oil change, new plugs and wires, new air filter, new fuel filter, new brake pads, rotors, and fluid, and a thorough cleaning inside and out. We've also checked the alignment and measured his coilovers for any degradation, bled the brakes, as well as tightened some of the braces that have worked loose from the stress. Keisuke, look at this,” Fumihiro said, bringing the younger Takahashi to the rear of the FC and pointing out a thin line in the rear window. “A stress crack. Even with all the chassis bracing, Ryosuke has managed to stress the body enough to put a hairline fracture in the rear glass. I'm checking to make sure the body hasn't been warped.” “Good job, Fumihiro. My brother will be proud of your dedication,” Keisuke said honestly.
“There's no need for all this fuss,” Bunta said, rocking back on his heels as Matsumoto clambered out from under the Impreza. “No fuss,” Matsumoto replied. “I'm rusty. I'm just here to regain the honor Takumi lost. There's no need to adjust anything.” “You're not lying there,” Matsumoto said, looking from Bunta to Takumi and back again. “This car has fully adjustable coilovers on all four corners, brake upgrades, chassis stiffening braces, a full turboback exhaust system, and I don't know what else. If I touched any settings, it would be like drawing a mustache on the Mona Lisa.”
“I just need tires,” Bunta said. “Pick your grip. Ryosuke has been running the RE-01Rs, but he's switching to A0-48s for this last round. We have both in your size.” “A0-48s. Be careful of which wheels you place them on,” Bunta added. Matsumoto stopped in his tracks and looked back at the older man. “Are they rigged?” he asked cautiously. “The front wheels are wider than the rears. Use the same tire size for all four wheels, but remember that the wider wheels go up front and the skinnier wheels in the back.” As Matsumoto disappeared to do his work, Takumi looked at his father.
“Why the difference?” he asked. “All wheel drive cars will naturally understeer,” Bunta said, reaching into his pocket for his missing pack of cigarettes. He pulled out his lighter instead and played with it as he spoke. “You experienced this at the last corner on the downhill, and it's why you lost. You should have asked for better grip tires. The wider wheels up front forbid the tire from deforming as much, which gives it a wider contact patch. The skinnier rear wheel results in a narrower contact patch, and less traction. With less traction in the rear, the natural understeering tendencies of the all wheel drive car are dialed out to the point where the car becomes neutral, or even oversteers. The Impreza is set for the tiniest amount of understeer, to allow full throttle on corner exit.”
*
“What's taking so long?” Nakazato asked, looking at his watch. Takumi and the Impreza had been easily defeated by the FC, but there were rumors running up and down the mountain that a mysterious Godsight would race Takahashi Ryosuke for the crown, using the same Impreza. “Ryosuke fell asleep and they're having trouble waking him,” Sayuki said, hanging up on Mako. “It's almost dawn,” Shingo said, looking away from the road for a few moments to survey the sky as it grew lighter. “Nakazato, when this is over, take me back to the diner for breakfast,” Sayuki said in her playful way. “Mako-chan and one of her friends, an S13 driver, will have breakfast with us.” “It might be lunch if they don't wake Ryosuke soon,” Nakazato grumbled. “Stop being annoying,” Shingo said. “They will leave the line soon enough.”
*
“Ryosuke? Ryosuke? Wake up, Ryosuke,” Fumihiro was saying, tapping him on the shoulder repeatedly. Ryosuke woke with a start, towel still draped around his neck. “I'm sorry, Fumihiro. Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I'm fine now. Is the Impreza ready for battle?” he asked. “It has been before it climbed the mountain. Matsumoto tells me there is roughly one and a half million yen in modifications on that car. Takumi was unable to drive it to its limits because it has been tuned for Fujiwara's abilities. He said you should be allowed to rest a bit longer if you wanted to, since he's only going to race you once.” “How considerate,” Ryosuke replied with a twisted smile on his face. He struggled to his feet and swayed there for a few moments, still slowly waking up.
“Hey, Bunta,” Yuichi said as he looked at the Impreza, “are you going to... you know?” “I haven't decided yet,” Bunta replied. “When I surpassed the level of my opponents, I tried to even things up by limiting my field of vision, but I still overwhelmed them. Depending on the talent of our sleeping beauty, I may relax my eyelids a bit. If the 86 were in decent enough condition I would have driven that instead. Ah well, Yuichi. We'll see,” he said with a devilish smile.
“Are you sure you wish to race tonight?” Bunta asked Ryosuke. “Since I'm only doing this once, if you think you would get more value out of racing another night... There will be no rematches.” “No, I'm fine. I just needed a short rest. Are you prepared?” “Are you?” Bunta replied. Ryosuke chuckled. “Are you always this difficult?” he asked before turning to Fumihiro. “Give us a course check to make sure everything is set. As Fujiwara Bunta here reminds me, there will be only one battle between us, no rematches. Everything must go off perfectly.”
“Ryosuke,” said a voice from the side. It was Kyouichi. “What?” Ryosuke asked calmly, rubbing his eyes to clear them. “You can use my Evo III if you want. It's all wheel drive, like your opponent, and the misfiring system should help you in the downhill.” “I'm truly surprised, Kyouichi, but it's unnecessary,” Ryosuke said, unable to believe he was awake. It had to be a dream.
*
“Fujiwara, were you aware of your father's greatness?” Keisuke asked. Takumi shook his head. “No, just that he can be a shitty old man, he can be reckless, and that he doesn't like tofu,” he replied. “Our father can be a little too self-absorbed sometimes, Takumi. Working at the hospital is important work. He has saved countless lives. But his life spilled over into ours. I retreated into a gang, Ryosuke into his FC. My brother has wished time and again that he could have raced with everyone that Project D has challenged, but he has had no time with medical exams, classes, and actual work. That's why he sleeps for so long in the van. He's tricked himself into believing that he wants to be a doctor, but I know that isn't the truth. When we spoke a few moments ago, he told me that he's been trapped at this level for so long that he gave up hope of ever becoming greater than he was. That's why he accepted our father's offer. In racing with your father, I fear Godsight may awaken the monster within Ryosuke. Once conscious of his desire, I do not know how he will react.”
Keisuke sat down on the ground, his back against the wheel of Takumi's hachi-roku. Fujiwara joined him, easing himself down gently. “So you think that after your brother races against my father, he won't want to work in the hospital?” Takumi asked. Keisuke nodded and took a long drink from his water bottle. “If that happens, everything will be changed. I don't know how our father will react. He was less than pleased with Ryosuke's racing, but he won't deny that it offers a substantial salary. Then again if my brother does decide to race, he's turned down so many professional teams that I don't know if any of them would still be interested. They may think him headstrong and not worth the trouble.” The two defeated aces sat quietly for a while, Keisuke playing with his bottle and Takumi drawing lines in the dirt.
“When Ryosuke chased me for the first time in the Impreza, I couldn't believe it,” Takumi said finally. “He'd been racing for a hundred rounds. The FC was tired, as was he. Yet he defeated me in one round, Keisuke. I had a fresh car with more power and more traction and he passed me as easily as I passed Kenta in our rain battle. As a racer he would have no equal. As a doctor...” “You don't have to tell me, Fujiwara. If my brother turns professional, you and I will have to hope he races in a different series. But I am disappointed in one thing,” he added, looking at Takumi. “What's that?” “I had wanted to challenge you as well,” Keisuke said, chuckling. “A rematch? How do you think it would have ended?” “I'm not Godsight, or Ryosuke, but I think it would have been an interesting battle. With the 86 you could have defeated me on the downhill, but even with the Impreza it would have been a draw on the uphill. I would have gotten too angry.” “Why angry?” Takumi asked.
“Jealousy. My brother spent more time focusing on you and your abilities than he did on me. I could step back and realize that it might mean that I was more developed in my racing abilities than you were, but like a child I simply believed that you were his favorite ace. His decision to use your hachi-roku against the Todo demonstration car brought it to a head.” “I'll never understand Ryosuke, or my father,” Takumi sighed. “I won't understand us if we spend any more time talking when we could be watching the race. I hear them counting down now,” Keisuke said, giving Takumi a hand up before running to the starting line.
*
“Racers to your cars!” Fumihiro announced. Ryosuke walked over to the FC and slid inside, buckling up his harness and sliding his key into the ignition. The powerful 13B REW rotary turned three times before catching, then began to idle smoothly. Bunta sat down in the Impreza and started it up, and the two cars sat there at the starting line, engines warming up to racing temperatures. “The battle layout for this race is sudden death! Both cars will start at the same time. Whichever car finishes first, wins. There are no rematches and no excuses. Ryosuke, are you ready to drive?” Fumihiro asked, looking at him. Ryosuke nodded calmly, and Fumihiro pointed to Bunta. After the nod, Fumihiro raised his hand up in the air.
“San! Ni! Ichi! GO!” he shouted, instantly picking up his radio and announcing the start. The Subaru accelerated like a demon, lunging forward with all four wheels screaming. The FC roared ahead at first, then the Subaru reeled it back in and they raced down the first straight neck and neck. “This is the first corner! The Impreza is... oh my god!” “What?” Keisuke demanded, ripping the radio from Fumihiro's hand. “The Impreza is driving with its lights off!” came the reply. “Like father like son?” Fumihiro asked, smiling at Takumi.
*
“Just as expected,” Ryosuke said to himself, smiling as the Impreza's lights disappeared moments before the entry into the turn. With a predatory grin he accelerated to within half a meter of the Impreza's rear bumper and turned off his own lights, aggressively taking the inside line. The FC's inner wheels rumbled over the gutter and onto the dirt as he forced his way past at the apex of the turn, fully depressing the accelerator pedal and rocketing ahead of the Impreza to take the lead. Bunta was momentarily startled, enough to open his eyes for a few seconds and peer at his opponent. “Hmm. Lucky,” he grumbled, shifting into third.
“The Impreza has been passed!” screamed the radios. Takumi and Yuichi both stepped back in shock. The incredible Bunta passed on the very first corner? The two cars continued their incredible plummet downhill, the second corner fast approaching.
Ryosuke dove into the corner fast, kicking the rear end of the FC out and initiating his well-practiced drift. Bunta and the Impreza followed centimeters behind, then took the outside line and edged past the FC at full throttle in a perfect four-wheel drift. Ryosuke held back the urge to shout in surprise as he watched the Impreza drifting past, perfectly placed with only a millimeter to spare on either side. “The Impreza has executed a flawless four-wheel drift and passed Ryosuke! The Subaru must be a ghost, he passed where there was no room for another car,” the second corner cried. There was a short straightaway where the two cars accelerated fearlessly, neck and neck, before braking for the next corner. Bunta, in the lead, drifted the Impreza through the corner, crushing Ryosuke's best line of attack and forcing him to use an inferior line to keep up. After the easy right there was a hard left turn, and both cars accelerated at full force, knowing the exact point to initiate drift.
Bunta hit the brakes for exactly the precise amount of time required with his left foot while balancing the car's rotation with his right. The Impreza screamed through the corner, the rear bumper so close to the guard rail that a sheet of paper couldn't pass between the two. Ryosuke whistled in silent admiration and threw the FC hard into the corner, using the weight shifting technique to set himself up properly for the corner exit. The two cars blasted through at maximum speed, their tires screaming at the limits of adhesion.
“This is the fourth corner! The Impreza and the FC are accelerating side by side. Their time is incredible! If they keep this rate up, they'll shatter the old record!” “By how much?” Fumihiro asked, amazed. “Twenty seconds, if not better,” was the answer.
“Whether I lose or not, this is an incredible experience to chase Godsight down the mountain of his home course,” Ryosuke said, shaking the sweat from his eyes. The FC was running hard, turbochargers blowing at full boost, rotary spinning at nine thousand revolutions per minute. Even with the enlarged radiator and the upgraded fans, the temperature guage's needle began to climb. “Am I truly pressing myself this hard?” he asked, shifting into fourth gear. The speedometer needle swung past 150 KPH, higher than he had ever attained on any unofficial course. The Impreza was opening up the gap, diving downward at 160 KPH or better. “For the first time since my legacy began I'm afraid to press harder on the accelerator,” Ryosuke said, amazed at himself. With a shaky breath he pushed downward, forcing the FC to reach higher and higher speeds to catch up to Bunta and his Impreza. The speedometer swung past 217 KPH and kept going until there were no longer any numbers for it to point to, pointing straight down and bobbing violently. Even the fuel guage was moving as the tank was being drained at incredible speed.
Bunta glanced in his rear view mirror and felt his eyes widen in surprise. The FC was centimeters behind him, driving at a speed no rear wheel drive vehicle could safely reach on such dangerous terrain. “Impressive. Reckless.”
Bunta downshifted, sending a belch of flame out the Impreza's tailpipe and kicking the car sideways to sweep through the turn. With the smallest amount of countersteer he flew through the wide left-hander, raising the front left tire with the weight shift as he cornered, keeping it clear of the grass and loose gravel that gathered at the side of the road. Ryosuke's eyes bulged as he saw the technique performed at such a high level. The FC screamed in pain as he downshifted, sending the needle swinging into the 10,000 RPM range as flames shot from the exhaust. With all of his concentration and brake rotors that glowed so brilliantly red they outshone his brake lights he drifted through the corner, taking up the entire course to do so. With the flick of his wrist the FC straightened up and rushed down the short straight, catching up to the Impreza and pulling even with its front fender.
For a moment Ryosuke glanced at Bunta, shaking the sweat out of his blurred eyes and trying to focus them on Godsight's face. Bunta was patting his shirt pockets, looking for a pack of cigarettes in an absent-minded manner. Ryosuke swore to himself and pushed the FC harder, slowly overtaking the Impreza. Bunta forced the Impreza to accelerate faster as the two cars shot toward the next corner, and they entered the curve side by side together, the FC on the inside and the Impreza on the outside. Ryosuke pumped the accelerator to keep the RX-7 from understeering, but it still slid toward the outside from the extreme speed. Bunta held the Impreza steady, watching out of the corner of his eye as the FC slid closer and closer as they passed through the curve.
Bunta flicked his wrist and sent the Impreza closer to the FC, then turned the other way, sending the Impreza into an inertial drift that aimed it for the next corner. He stomped down on the throttle and Ryosuke watched in despair as he had been passed again. “I'm going to lose. I'm scared to go faster. I can't defeat him,” Ryosuke said, every muscle in his body aching to let off the gas and end the match. Suddenly he felt the fear and desperation melt away, as if something inside him had snapped. The worries and self-doubt that had plagued him for the past four corners had disappeared, replaced by some unknown emotion that flooded through his body, racing through his heart and out to his hands and feet, stabilizing his shaking fingers and clearing his blurred vision.
“All this time I've been afraid of losing control and damaging the car and myself. I haven't thrown myself into the race because I've worried about injuring myself and losing my place as doctor at the clinic. My fear holds me back in the corners when I could be overtaking. No more. I still have over half the course to go. I will defeat Godsight!” Ryosuke shouted, shifting into fourth gear and rocketing forward, speedometer needle buried. “Hmm,” said Bunta as he glanced in the mirror. “Something's changed. Maybe I'll get to shake off some rust like I had hoped.”
*
“This is the sixth corner. Something passed through here but I can't tell what it was.” Keisuke looked at the radio in surprise. “What do you mean, you couldn't tell?” he asked. “It was blue and white, a blur. It can't be the Impreza and the FC. If it was they've shaved thirty seconds off of the section time.” “You mean the course record, right?” Fumihiro asked. “No, I mean the section time! They made it from one section to the other thirty seconds faster than anyone else has before!” the voice on the radio said. “Incredible,” Yuichi whispered. The galleries murmured in surprise, almost afraid of how it would end. No car could travel so fast without risking everything. Ryosuke had one hundred runs under his belt and was exhausted. It had taken five minutes to wake him from his involuntary sleep. There was no way he could keep up the pace without losing control of the FC.
“I fear for my brother,” Keisuke finally said, voicing the concerns that ran through everyone's mind. “I can't believe it,” Takumi replied. “They're shattering my record like it's nothing. Keisuke, maybe Ryosuke's monster has awoken.” The two shared a significant look. Once the monster was awake, what would be the results of its terrible rampage?
*
“This is incredible,” Nakazato said, stepping back and placing a hand on a tree to stabilize himself. “The Impreza entered so fast I thought it was going to slide off the road and down the mountain,” Sayuki murmured. “Takahashi Ryosuke's FC has never been faster,” Shingo replied. “Could you believe how close they were? I thought the door handles were touching when they came through the turn. The fact that Ryosuke's rear wheel drive FC could manage to generate as much traction as the all wheel drive Subaru was incredible. Who was the man driving the Impreza? His skills are enough to make Ryosuke cringe!” Nakazato shook his head, amazed at what he had seen. Even if it had been the barely visible blur of two cars drifting side by side with their lights off, it was a defining moment in his life.
Kyouichi Sudo could do nothing but smile. “That stubborn Takahashi,” he said with a smirk. “Loyal to the rotor until he dies. Seiji, did you happen to notice who was driving the Impreza?” “No Kyouichi. They were moving too fast. I have heard that it's a man known as Godsight. He's supposed to have incredible vision that allows him to see what a car can do before even the driver knows what he will do.” “Takumi possesses that skill to a degree. I wonder if he would know the driver,” Kyouichi said to himself. It would be difficult reaching Fujiwara with the flood of traffic trying to get down the hill to see the results of the battle. Streams of people were clambering down the side of the mountain as fast as they could in a frantic attempt to be within eyesight of the finish line. “It will have to wait.”
*
The FC was starting to hurt. It was only a matter of time before something happened, even with all of Ryosuke's careful preparations. The temperature guage had dropped during the 217 KPH kamikaze run down one of the earlier straights, but it was quickly returning to its previous high level. Once it hit the red, the apex seals would begin to fall apart and he would lose compression until the engine simply refused to run anymore. Ryosuke felt the living vibrations of his FC and carefully calculated his options. He could play it safe and reduce the boost level and hope to force a draw with Godsight, or he could leave the boost alone, pray that the apex seals held out until the end, and try to pass Bunta at the last possible second when no counterattack was possible. As he watched the Impreza scream sideways through another impossibly tight corner, crushing his fastest line through, Ryosuke grinned and reached for the boost control knob on the dash. “Option three,” he said, cranking it to the right. “Overboost.”
The FC's adjustable wastegates clamped down and began building pressure, drowning the engine with air and fuel. The two rotors spun faster and faster, the intense pressure of combustion threatening the integrity of the 3mm apex seals. If they blew, the FC would suffer the same fate as Takumi's hachi-roku. “I'll have to finish this quickly. The mind will triumph over sight,” he said, his eyes burning with intense focus as he analyzed the Impreza for anything approaching a weakness. There had to be something, some flaw, a chink in the armor.
Bunta glanced in his mirror with an arched eyebrow. He had felt the intensity of Ryosuke's stare and it excited him. “Finally, a true opponent,” he said, tightening his grip on the wheel. “Kogashiwa Ken was my last true rival. I thought I had reached a stage where I could no longer be pressured by anyone. This young man beside me in the FC is incredible to have such skill at an early age. He must be Takahashi Ryosuke, Takumi's idol. He would do well on the professional circuit. I could introduce him to the right team. But first I have to crush him,” he said with an evil grin. For the first time that evening Bunta fully opened his eyes and took in everything that could be seen.
“Oh no,” Ryosuke murmured. The Impreza's driving had changed completely. While it had been dangerous, reckless, even suicidal before it was now a beautiful harmony of movement, a rhythm so pure that it brought tears to his eyes as he fully understood the skill of the driver. The Impreza pulled away effortlessly, millimeters at first and then meters, the distance tripling in mere seconds. “Forgive me father, if I ruin myself for your hospital,” Ryosuke said before pushing the FC even harder. The two cars had devoured Akina's dangerous curves faster than any other had before, and the Five Hairpins were rapidly looming. Everything would be decided in those five curves and the long sweeper afterward.
The first hairpin corner appeared. The Impreza nailed on the brakes and screamed sideways through the corner, hooking the front inside wheel and clawing through at incredible speed. Ryosuke followed, dropping both wheels into the gutter deep, going to full throttle before he reached the apex of the turn. The FC shot out of the gutter, the inside wheels lifting off the ground from the incredible g-forces acting on the car. The Impreza ducked in and took the next hairpin, riding the gutter again. Ryosuke dropped the FC on all four wheels again just long enough to hook the gutter and rear up on the other two, balancing steering and throttle perfectly. “Two-wheeled drift!” the corner chief shouted into the radio. Bunta glanced in his mirror and smiled broadly. “Such skill!” “I'll catch you yet!” Ryosuke shouted. The third and fourth hairpins were treated in the same manner, the FC almost tipping over completely. At the fifth hairpin Bunta dropped his wheels in the gutter and nailed the throttle, his tires desperately fighting for traction as the FC came flying out of the turn riding his bumper. Carrying incredible momentum, the FC passed the Impreza and took the lead. With the RX-7 settled on all four wheels again Ryosuke glanced down at his guages, shook his head at the temperature guage fractions of a millimeter from the red, and pushed the throttle down as far as it could go. All he had to do was block Bunta from passing him in the sweeper and match acceleration on the final straight. The two cars raced ahead, Ryosuke's FC in the lead and the Impreza riding his bumper, their gearshifts matching perfectly. The sweeper loomed large and Ryosuke dived in as deep as he dared, carrying as much speed as he could into the turn. The Impreza cut in early, bouncing the inside wheels off of the curb to sharpen its line without hitting the brakes. “My chance,” Bunta said, reaching out with the front fender of the Impreza to nudge Ryosuke out of the way and pass. With the lightest of touches he tapped the FC's rear quarter and forged ahead. Ryosuke countersteered and floored the throttle, using the nudge to correct his line. The FC, at first two car lengths behind, was soon drawing level with the Impreza thanks to its higher exit speed. Bunta glanced over at Ryosuke with an annoyed look on his face.
“It's a battle of power now,” Ryosuke said. The FC was churning out close to 500PS to the wheels with the overboost engaged. If the apex seals could hold out for a few more seconds he would have his victory. The two cars thundered down the straight. Second gear. Third gear. Fourth gear. Fifth. There was one final turn, a small right hander, and then the finish line. The Impreza weight-shifted around the corner, reducing the amount of course it needed to travel, while the FC drifted wide because of its fatigued tires. Bunta forged ahead, centimeter by precious centimeter. The enraged FC stopped Bunta's slow crawl forward and began reeling the Impreza back in millimeter by millimeter. Ryosuke felt the engine begin to lose its power as the apex seals blew. Would the momentum be enough? If he slowed to make the turn after the finish line he would be finished.
The two cars streaked toward the finish line. Bunta backed off the throttle a fraction of a centimeter, enough for the Impreza to cross the line and make the turn, but Ryosuke never lifted. The FC thundered over the line a centimeter ahead of the Impreza and crashed into the guard rail. Onlookers screamed and ran as the white FC ground its fender, door, and quarter panel into nothing against the rail, sparks flying everywhere. A muffled boom exploded from under the hood, announcing the catastrophic destruction of the 13B REW. Trailing oil, coolant, and sparks, the FC slowed to a halt, its brake rotors glowing red with so much heat their pads had liquefied.
*
“The FC crashed! The FC has crashed!” the radios screamed from the bottom of the mountain up to the top. Keisuke's eyes widened and his skin turned white with fear. Takumi staggered, unable to believe that Ryosuke had lost control. “Is he hurt?!” Keisuke screamed. “Is my brother hurt?!” “He's bleeding from the face and he has numerous cuts from the broken glass, but he's alive and he's conscious, although his ego could use a sizable reduction,” Ryosuke said softly into the radio held next to his mouth. Working together a group of spectators heaved open the twisted, mangled remains of the FC's door and helped him out. Ryosuke winced as he put weight on his left foot. A sprain, most likely. It wasn't nearly as painful as his arm.
Bunta walked over, looked at the FC, and then at Ryosuke, who shrugged in reply. “I would call it a draw,” he said with a smile. “You passed the finish line ahead of me,” Bunta replied. “But I destroyed my FC,” Ryosuke answered. “Whoever crosses the finish line first is the winner. Don't cheat yourself of a victory.” “Thank you for honoring me with this battle,” Ryosuke said, bowing deeply even though it hurt him to move. “You may honor me with a rematch when you are healed, if you choose. No suicidal winning tactics though,” Bunta said as he took one of Ryosuke's arms and draped it over his shoulder. He helped the young man over to his Impreza and sat him down in the passenger seat. A bottle of water and a towel materialized from the crowd, and Ryosuke began to set himself to rights.
Keisuke rushed up and instantly dropped down in front of his brother. “Are you alright?” he asked, his eyes taking in the copious amount of blood that had fallen from the cut in Ryosuke's forehead and the odd way he was holding his arm. “Cut, scratched, bloody, with a sprained foot and possibly a broken arm. I destroyed my FC. See?” Ryosuke said, feeling his mind beginning to slip into shock. Keisuke glanced at the mangled remains of the car and whistled. “That you're alive is a miracle, brother. Brother?” he said frantically as Ryosuke turned white and slumped back in the seat. “Sorry, Keisuke. I'll be fine. I just need to go to the hospital to have this arm set,” Ryosuke said. Working together with Fumihiro and Bunta, Keisuke lifted Ryosuke into one of Project D's vans.
“So who won?” Takumi asked his father. Bunta thought for a moment of inventing a story about lifting off the throttle too much and giving Ryosuke a chance to overtake him, but stopped out of respect. “He did. He's been a good teacher to you. Between the two of us I think we'll make you a good driver eventually,” Bunta said, ruffling Takumi's hair.
* “Sir, you'll want to come down into the emergency ward and take a look at our new patient,” the intern said. Director Takahashi sighed, set down his paperwork and followed.
“Street racer, crashed his car, broken arm, sprained ankle, minor cuts and abrasions to face, neck, and chest,” the nurse said swiftly. The doctor looked down at his patient and felt his eyes widen as he recognized the son of the hospital's director. “Ryosuke!” he said. “Hello,” Ryosuke answered. “What were you doing?” “Waiting for painkillers,” he replied. “I set a record on Mt. Akina that will never be broken as long as cars have wheels. I have reached the summit of street racing. There is nothing left for me on the streets.” He hissed in pain as the doctor and nurse worked together to set his arm. As the nurse wrapped up his arm and began dabbing at the numerous cuts he had sustained, his father entered the room, knelt down and looked at him.
“I will always be thankful to you for bringing Keisuke back to us, but I would hate to lose you because of this kind of activity. If you must race, why don't you race professionally?” “I've thought about it,” Ryosuke replied, his words beginning to slur from the painkillers coursing through his body. “...don't think Keisuke would like it...” he muttered. “...time for an FD...I know just the one...” he mumbled before finally falling asleep.