Chapter 4 – Smoke from the Capital
The mountain was quiet again. Too quiet.
Bunta Fujiwara stood outside the gas station, staring out at the moonlit road like it might whisper back. A faint wind rolled across the lot, stirring the scent of gasoline and pine. Behind him, the garage lights buzzed low, and inside, Yuichi was pacing like a man waiting for a bomb to go off.
"Yo, Bunta," he called, holding a crumpled flyer in one hand. "You hear anything about this?"
Bunta didn't turn. Just kept his eyes on the pass.
Yuichi stepped out, pushing the paper into his hand. "They're calling themselves Team Shōgun. Some tuning crew from Tokyo. They're 'scouting rural passes for weak links' or whatever. Cocky pricks already wiped someone at Myogi."
Bunta finally glanced at the paper, then flicked it back without a word.
Yuichi stared at him. "You're not even gonna say anything?"
Bunta lit a cigarette.
"I said enough last week."
---
Two nights later – Akina Summit
The sound came before the car — a low, howling exhaust note, fine-tuned, high-strung, and arrogant. When the Celica XX rolled into the lot, heads turned.
It was gloss-black, lowered to the ground, flared fenders, gold-lipped rims. A roaring 2.8-liter inline-six tucked beneath the hood, turbocharged and itching for violence. The Tokyo driver revved once before cutting the engine.
He stepped out like he owned the mountain — black trench coat, silver chains, and a look in his eyes that said "I've seen cities you'll never survive in."
Yuichi leaned over to Bunta, who hadn't moved from his usual wall-lean.
"That must be him. Renji Akimoto. Supposed to be ex-midfield for a pro circuit team. Got kicked for 'attitude.' Real piece of work."
Renji scanned the crowd.
"This the famous Akina?" he said aloud. "Damn. I've seen parking garages with more bite."
The tension thickened. No one responded.
Then Bunta stepped forward, cigarette hanging from his lips.
Renji's eyes landed on him. "You Fujiwara?"
Bunta said nothing.
"You don't talk?"
Still nothing.
Renji smirked. "Let's see if you can at least drive."
---
The Setup
There was no handshake. No banter. Just two machines lining up at the summit — one snarling with horsepower, the other purring with quiet menace.
Yuichi stood nearby, arms crossed, brows furrowed.
He'd seen Bunta race before. Seen him demolish. But something about tonight felt different.
Not the car. Not even the opponent.
Just the silence.
Like the mountain itself was watching.
---
The Launch
3… 2… 1—
GO.
The Celica roared off the line, tires screeching, rear squatting hard. The Fairlady followed with no drama — just clean launch, clean throttle, and a line so surgical it looked pre-drawn.
Renji pushed hard, throwing the Celica into each corner with aggressive flicks, tires crying for mercy.
He was fast. No doubt about it.
But he was fighting the road.
---
Mid-Sector
Bunta was a shadow behind him. No headlights in his mirrors, no tire squeal to taunt him.
Renji started to sweat.
"What the hell… where is he?"
Then he saw it.
Just a flicker.
A shape in the gutter line.
The Fairlady dipped a tire into the inside edge, sucked itself around the corner like it was glued to the mountain, and disappeared again.
Renji gritted his teeth.
"No way… he's using the f***ing terrain?!"
---
Final Run
The curves tightened. The power advantage faded.
Renji's Celica grunted, snarled, but couldn't hold the same rhythm.
Bunta's S30?
It didn't fight the mountain — it danced with it.
Drifted through the final S-curve, kissed the apex like a ghost, and slid across the finish line three full seconds ahead.
Renji crossed, face pale, hands shaking.
He didn't speak. Just sat in the car for a long time, staring at the wheel.
---
Back at the station — hours later
Yuichi sat beside Bunta on the shop steps.
"I know I joke a lot," he said. "But you're different, man."
Bunta didn't look up.
"You don't win like normal people."
Bunta exhaled a long stream of smoke.
"Because I don't race like normal people."
Yuichi looked at him, voice quiet now. "You're gonna leave this place one day, aren't you?"
Bunta didn't answer right away.
Finally:
"I'll leave when the road runs out."
---
Elsewhere — Irohazaka Ridge
A lone car sat under the trees. An MR2.
Ken Kogashiwa leaned against it, eyes locked on the sky. His hair was swept back, face older, harder. A man who'd seen everything — and still didn't trust a damn thing.
Behind him, another figure stood half-hidden in shadow.
"He beat Renji," Ken muttered. "Didn't even push the car hard."
The other man lit a cigarette. "So what now?"
Ken's gaze didn't waver.
"Now I watch."