Disclaimer: I don't own Initial D, Shigeno-sensei and the Kodansha Publishing Company do.

Dreaming of Akina


Tokyo - Summer of 1971

A kind looking, middle aged man dressed in a crumpled linen suit sat inside a rather old dark brown Datsun 1200 with a lanky eighteen year old boy who had just finished parking the car somewhere near Shibuya, in central Tokyo.

'So,' the man said, 'all I need to do is to keep the clutch depressed, pull the handbrake and, as soon as I lose the traction, release the clutch and press the accelerator?'

'Exactly,' the boy replied, trying not to sound patronising, 'this will make the car go into a counter-steer, allowing you to drift it through a corner.'

'Ah, I see,' the man replied, nodding twice; then, as in an afterthought, he glanced at the boy and said, 'Fujiwara-kun, you do know that this kind of manoeuvre is not to be used under normal traffic conditions.'

'Of course not,' Bunta Fujiwara replied using his most responsible sounding tone of voice, the one he knew would make any adult trust his word. Of course, this nice driving instructor was no different.

'Alright,' the man said smiling happily, 'Fujiwara-kun, I'd say we're done here.'

'Great,' Bunta said grinning back at the man, 'does this mean that I've passed?'

'Of course you have,' the man chuckled then, taking something out of the inside pocket of his jacket, he handed it to Bunta and said, 'here, don't forget to get it exchanged with the actual driving license as soon as you can.'

'Sure,' Bunta said taking the narrow slip of paper from him, 'thanks a lot.'

'You're welcome,' the man replied, 'Fujiwara-kun, you really are a very talented driver.'

'Thanks,' Bunta repeated.

Then the two of them climbed out of the car and, while the man walked back towards a dark grey four storey building, Bunta made his way out of the driving license office's car park and into one of the very busy roads this particular area of Tokyo was so famous for.

He carefully placed the paper slip inside his wallet and then pulled out his bus pass, hoping that, after today, he'd never have to use it ever again for, there were very few things Bunta Fujiwara hated more than using any means of public transportation.

Finally, after waiting for over fifteen minutes, the bus arrived to the stop Bunta climbed on it and, making his way to his usual seat at the back of it, he sat down and started thinking of all the things he'd do now that he was able to drive cars legally.

Life was great! Bunta thought smiling to himself having heaps of fun imagining the kind of faces his classmates would make when he'd tell them that he no longer had to ask his father to sit with him in the car in order to drive it.

His father.

The man who'd taught him to drive in the first place: he'd be so proud that his only son had managed to pass his driving test the first time round! Not that it wasn't expected, there was no way that he, Bunta Fujiwara, could possibly fail to get his driving permit. No way on earth.

Glaring at the bus driver, Bunta wished that the stupid man would floor the accelerator pedal so that he could get home a lot sooner because he simply couldn't wait to ask his father for the keys of the Fujiwara's most valuable possession: a beautiful, shiny white 1968 Toyota 2000GT.

His father had managed to get it second-hand for a very reasonable price after its idiot of an owner had crashed it. It had then taken every single one of his father's skills as a mechanic, and quite a lot of money, in order to get the car back on the road but, in the end, it had all been worth it: the car was fabulous and Bunta couldn't wait to take it out for a spin on his own.

The teenager had big plans for that car: first, he would fine-tune it, then he'd remove the factory installed speed limiter which kept the car under one hundred and eighty kilometres an hour, then he'd change the suspensions, setting them up to suit his driving style and, after that, he'd go to one of the areas of the city's outskirts where he knew the best street racing teams gathered.

Then he'd beat every single one of their records and he'd become a street racing legend.

'Yes,' Bunta muttered to himself as he tightened his fists in anticipation.

At long last, and after what it had seemed an even longer period of time than usual, Bunta finally got off at the stop near his parents' house and from there, he started running the short distance which separated the bus stop from the quiet street where he had lived all of his life.

There, outside his house and obviously waiting for him, he saw the old plump lady who was the Fujiwara's neighbour and who'd looked after Bunta ever since he'd been a baby.

'Nori-chan? What are you doing in here?' he asked her cheerfully.

'Bunta…' Nori-chan said quickly wiping a couple of tears off her round and lined face.

'What's happened?' Bunta asked now sounding a lot more urgent.

'We better go inside,' Nori-chan suggested pointing at the front door of the house the Fujiwara called home. Bunta didn't hesitate: he pulled the keys out of the front pocket of his trousers, unlocking the door as fast as he could. He then stepped into the house, kicked off his shoes and padded to the small living room. He noticed that no one was home and that was very odd.

'What's happened?' Bunta asked Nori-chan, while the two of them took a seat; Bunta on his usual armchair, the old lady on the edge of the nearby sofa, 'where are my parents?'

'Bunta,' Nori-chan started, 'you're going to need to be strong,' she continued, her eyes refusing to look at him, 'there's been an accident and…'

'Nori-chan…' Bunta interrupted her but for some reason he couldn't quite put into words the question he had formed in his brain. It wasn't necessary really, he already knew the answer to it.

'Sweetheart,' Nori-chan continued then, she moved towards him and cupping Bunta's face with her very small and wrinkled hand, she added 'they were crossing a road on their way back from the office and, well, a bus driver lost control of his vehicle.'

'And?' Bunta forced himself to ask.

'I'm so sorry sweetie,' Nori-chan's voice broke mid-sentence, 'your parents got run over by the bus and there was nothing the doctors could do to save them.'

To be continued…