The workshop had grown quiet, almost reverent. The Civic EK9 rested under the amber glow of the hanging bulbs. The scorched racing suit lay draped across its hood like a monument.
Daichi sat on the edge of the workbench, arms resting on his knees. Everyone else stood or sat nearby, watching him. Not as a convenience store manager, but as someone else entirely. Someone older, scarred, and finally ready to open the floodgates. He stared at the floor for a moment, collecting thoughts long buried.
"I wasn't born into this world," he began, voice low and steady. "But I grew up chasing it."
He looked down at his hands for a moment. Then he began. "I grew up in Suzuka. Not the pretty part, not the main street. Just a tight little neighborhood tucked in near the circuit's southern edge. If the wind blew right, I could hear downshifts echo through the trees every time Super Formula tested while eating breakfast. That track was my lullaby and my alarm clock."
He smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. He glanced up briefly, but his eyes seemed to look past the room, into memories long buried.
"My old man was a warehouse worker. My mom worked nights at a hospital. I was the kind of kid who took apart toy cars just to see how the axles worked."
"I was the youngest of three. My brothers didn't care much about racing. They played baseball. Studied like good kids. Me? I skipped cram school to hang over the fence at Degner Curve, holding a stopwatch I bought from a ¥100 store. I didn't even know who I was timing. I just wanted to feel close to it. By the time I was twelve, I was sneaking into the lower paddocks with a push broom pretending I was staff. Didn't care about autographs. I just wanted to be near the machines."
"When I was thirteen, I started volunteering during test days and grassroots events. Track marshalling, cleaning up after practice sessions, sweeping gravel from runoff zones. I skipped school more often than I should've. My parents thought I was slacking off, but I wasn't. I was learning."
He paused, glancing at Haruka. "Everything I know started there."
Rin gave a low whistle. "Not exactly the usual way to get into motorsport."
"No," Daichi said, "but it worked."
Ayaka tilted her head. "And they let a kid do that?"
Daichi smiled faintly. "Back then? If you showed up and didn't get in the way, they figured you were serious. And I was. Obsessively so. I memorized every corner. I'd watch how the engineers adjust the suspension after each run and how the engineers adjusted wing angles with nothing but a wrench and screwdrivers."
Rin leaned back in his seat. "So you were basically born for it."
"Maybe," Daichi said. "But opportunity didn't knock until I met Kunimitsu Takahashi." That name landed heavy in the room. Even the younger ones had heard it. The father of drifting, a godfather of Japanese motorsport.
"And Keiichi Tsuchiya," Daichi added. "Back then, just a rookie still proving himself in touring cars."
Haruka nodded slowly. "You were trained by both of them?"
"Picked up as a student by Kunimitsu, yeah," Daichi said. "Keiichi wasn't my mentor, but he was around. A rising star, fast, hungry, reckless. I learned a lot watching him. He learned from Kunimitsu like I did. For the next four years, I followed them everywhere. Learning under the best. When Keiichi transitioned fully to circuit racing, I was there. When Kunimitsu prepped new drivers for touring cars, I was there. But I wasn't just holding boards anymore. I started tuning suspension, adjusting camber, even welding body panels. They trained me like a junior mechanic first, a driver second."
Ayaka raised a brow. "So when did you start actually racing?"
"Officially? When I got into university. I studied at Nagoya Institute of Technology. Mechanical and Motorsport Engineering. But I didn't just read books. I wrenched on everything I could get my hands on. Swapped gearboxes during lunch breaks, rebuilt diffs in the school lot, lived off cup ramen and busted knuckles."
He chuckled. "But the most important part was what happened off the books."
Takamori tilted his head. "Off the books?"
"I raced," Daichi said simply. "Group N. Mostly grassroots stuff. Okayama, Sugo, some support races during national events. I ran an AE86 N2 spec. Bored out, tuned carb, close-ratio box. It wasn't much, but I loved that car. She taught me how to dance. Even though I didn't have the budget nor the tires. But I made it work. Learned to trail brake late and drive with the rear. Sometimes I finished. Sometimes I spun. But I kept coming back."
Rin grinned. "Sounds like a hell of a start."
"It was. Enough to get noticed. And eventually, to land me a few slots in support races for bigger events." His eyes narrowed as if he were recalling a moment etched in fire.
"One of them was the 1991 Japanese Grand Prix weekend. I was just a kid with grease on his face and a fireproof suit that didn't quite fit. But I'd managed to win my support race on the morning of the Japanese Grand Prix main race. Placed first in class. I was walking back toward the garages with my helmet under my arm when someone stops me and asks in English, 'You're the kid who dove into 130R flat-out?'"
Ayaka blinked. "What?"
Daichi laughed. "That's exactly what I said. Turns out the guy speaking was a German rookie named Michael Schumacher. Just 22 at the time. Sharp eyes. The look of someone who already saw the next ten corners before they happened. He had just moved to Benetton from Jordan. I didn't even recognize him at first."
Haruka leaned forward, eyebrows raised.
"He said he watched my race from the pit monitors. Said it reminded him of karting in Kerpen. He introduced me to his engineer, Simon George Brown."
Hana looked up. "That Simon?"
"Yep," Daichi confirmed. "Simon was working for Benetton back then, still young, full of ideas. Said he liked how I have the bravery to go flat-out on 130R and trail braked into Turn 1 without locking up, even in a stripped-out AE86. We talked for an hour about tires and throttle modulation. It felt like I was speaking to someone who already knew the next ten years of racing before they happened."
"So that's how you two met," Takamori said.
Daichi nodded. "Yep! That's how I met him. He and Michael stuck around after the podium and invited me into the garage. Said they saw something in me. Gave me a number to call and an Email address. He'd send me setup notes from Europe. I'd send him lap times from Fuji or Sugo. We lost contact after a while, but I never forgot that day."
"After that 1991 weekend, I went back to wrenching by day and driving by night. Formula Toyota, Group N, you name it. I kept pushing. And by '95, Toyota started to notice. Small sponsorships. A seat in a regional team. Support in parts, not money, but trust."
He smiled faintly. "That was all I needed."
"In '96, I ran a full season in a privateer AE86 N2, backed by a tuning garage from Osaka. That car taught me how to survive. We were constantly down on power and budget, but we made up for it in pure aggression. That season, I placed second overall in the national points. No wins, just consistency. That's when Kunimitsu called again."
He let the silence return, his eyes trailing across the workshop's beams.
Ayaka raised an eyebrow. "Kunimitsu Takahashi again?"
Daichi nodded. "Still keeping an eye on me. He said he had a conversation with Toyota Racing Development. The gist was, 'This kid won't quit. Let's see what he can do in something faster.'"
Daichi ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly as the last words left his mouth. The group was motionless. Even the quiet mechanical creaks of the workshop had stilled, like the building itself was listening. He stepped toward the racing suit draped on the EK9's hood and tapped it once, lightly, respectfully.
Hana leaned forward and asked. "And that's when you got into JGTC?"
"1997," Daichi confirmed. "By the time I graduated university, Takahashi pulled one last string. Got me a meeting with Toyota. They saw my data. Watched some race footage. A month later, I got the call. Toyota put me in a Celica for the GT300 class. TRD prepped it, but it wasn't a factory works team. Just a semi-supported squad with decent mechanics and enough tires to last the race. It was enough." He paced slowly in front of the Civic, like the floor was a track and his thoughts were apexes.
"My first race was at Twin Ring Motegi. I qualified fourth. Rain started just before the formation lap. I stayed out while others dove in. Took the lead by lap ten. Finished second only because our pit stop was ten seconds longer than it needed to be."
"That whole season I was hunting for inches," Daichi continued. "Not wins. Just consistency. Finished every race. No retirements. By the end of the year, I'd racked up five podiums and a win at Fuji. And then…"
He paused and looked at Haruka. "I got the call. GT500."
Hana pointed gently to the old racing suit. "The one that led to all this?"
He shook his head. "No. That came later. This Supra was a wild animal. Everyone thinks it ran the 2JZ, but that was only in the road cars. The GT500 version? Turbocharged 3S-GT engine. Two-liter, high-strung, and screaming like a banshee at 9000 rpm. Mounted so far back it practically sat in the dashboard."
"Midship layout," Haruka murmured.
"Exactly," Daichi said. "The balance was incredible… but it was twitchy. Unforgiving. It punished overconfidence. Which meant most young drivers couldn't tame it."
"But you did," Ayaka said.
Daichi's voice lowered. "Barely."
He walked slowly past the Civic, as if he were pacing through memories.
"First race of the season was at Sportsland Sugo. Qualified eighth. We had cooling issues. But I climbed the order—picked off car after car. P2 finish. That was the first time the commentators called me The Suzuka Dragon."
Rin scoffed lightly. "Why 'Suzuka' if the race was at Sugo?"
Daichi smirked. "Because the race after that was Suzuka, and I won it. Clean. No drama. Just pace. I knew that track like it was stitched into my DNA. Local crowd went nuts. One of the TV guys said I drove like the track owed me something."
Haruka gave a small nod. "And it stuck."
Daichi's expression softened. "Yeah. And from there, it snowballed. Three wins that season. I fought tooth and nail with the Nismo GT-Rs and the Castrol NSXs. We didn't have their raw power, but our car was nimble, balanced. The 3S-GT let us brake deeper, carry speed through corners."
"Must've been hard, though," Hana said softly.
Daichi gave her a tired smile. "Harder than anything before it. You don't sleep before those races. You dream of tire temps, brake fade, pit strategy. You wake up with tire marbles in your hair."
The group laughed quietly, but Daichi's eyes had drifted far away.
"I stayed in GT500 for three years. We won two titles. First in '99, came down to a photo finish at Motegi. Second in 2000. More dominant. Pole positions, fastest laps, everything. But with every season… something started to nag at me."
He stopped pacing. "I wasn't satisfied anymore. I loved the Supra. God, I loved that car, but I felt like I was solving the same puzzle over and over again. I needed a new challenge. Something rawer."
Ayaka tilted her head. "So what did you do?"
Daichi's eyes met Haruka's. "I walked away."
Everyone fell silent.
"I told Toyota I was stepping down. They didn't believe me at first. I'd just defended my title. But I told them the truth. I wanted to feel the edge again. To find out if I was good without traction control, without bodywork hiding my mistakes."
"And that's when you went to Formula Nippon?" Rin guessed.
Daichi nodded. "2001. Single-seaters. No power steering, no driver aids, barely any telemetry. Just you, the chassis, and raw downforce. That first test day at Fuji, when I turned the wheel and the car bit. I grinned like an idiot."
Takamori leaned forward. "How'd the season go?"
Daichi gave a modest shrug. "Tough at first. I binned it in the opening round at Suzuka. Overcooked the throttle on cold slicks. Embarrassing. But I learned fast. Adapted. By round three, I was on the podium. By round six, I won."
Hana's eyes sparkled. "You won the championship, didn't you?"
"One win. Four podiums. Two fastest laps. I clinched it in the final race at Mine Circuit. I'll never forget that checkered flag waving at dusk."
He looked down at the floor again. "And then… I got a letter."
Rin tilted his head. "From who?"
Daichi walked over to the scorched racing suit and tapped the faded Mercedes-AMG patch on the chest.
"From Stuttgart."