"The Portuguese Hachiroku is ready to take on circuit racing thanks to Chico Racing. Built from scratch with the help of Kraft, the car has the 3S-GTE engine inside like its own JGTC GT300 counterpart, and is mostly used since 1996."
Something I made for 86 Day, the Chico Racing Toyota Sprinter Trueno (AE86). I named the team as a tribute to Chico (my bird), who passed away in July 31st.
On nights his father runs deliveries, he prepares the tofu. Somewhere between his day job, sleeping, and driving, he is processing soy beans. Not for the first time, not with enthusiasm, but with less complaint than he had when he was younger.
What he doesn't say--
Business has been better ever since he's started racing. The kind of better that requires two bodies, but not a help wanted sign. The kind that improves the craft now that success is both tangible and profitable. From catering to hotels to restaurants to the gas station down the street. Apparently, car-touted brand deals are a tale as old as time.
What he doesn't say is--
Living in a tofu shop doesn't inherently mean you smell like soybeans, it just means you're arm deep in the water, more involved than ever before. He doesn't know why. He can say no. His father wouldn't mind-- but something is wrong with him. He has a cracked moral code. This is what pays for gas and bills and tires, this is how he got to Project D.
And he can't say--
I made this, as he lifts the crate of bottled soy milk. As he passes it around, lets other people partake. I did this, goes unsaid, because the tofu shop isn't supposed to be a lifestyle. It's just a fun detail. A unique origin story. There's nothing to defend, to get sentimental of.
It's just that he asks Ryosuke about promoting the shop on that website of his. An address and an image, if you want. He's learned more and more about business and economics since getting more involved and the hunted look in his father's eyes has meaning now.
"I don't see why not," Ryosuke says, like he doesn't run the entire show. "I'll do that as soon as I can. Tell me, is this something your father requested?"
Takumi grins, a bared teeth grimace. "My father wouldn't do that, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it. He's not above already using Project D to bring in customers."
"Is that so," Ryosuke says, like it's something to recalculate.
But Takumi leaves before he figures out what. There's still practice, after all.
But he does say:
"Fujiwara Tofu, how may I help you?"
"Fujiwara! How are you doing?"
It takes him a moment to place the voice. Behind him, the bell on the door rings. Another customer, this one with a child.
"I'm alright. A little busy, Fumihiro. What's up?"
He doesn't mean to be curt, but he's keeping an eye on the storefront, offering a shy smile to the toddler as they stare past the display to squint at him with curious suspicion.
"Right, I'll be quick. Keisuke's on his way to the shop. I just thought you'd want a heads up. Am I right?"
Takumi is above vocalizing whatever emotion he's feeling in the moment. He can't tell if he's mad or surprised or disgruntled, or maybe just plain surprised, because he's never actually interacted with the Project outside of racing.
"That's-- yeah, very helpful. Thank you, Fumihiro. I need to let you go."
It feels a little rude, but the pressure of people hovering at the register makes him anxious. He hangs up with a click and hurries out, tightening his apron, smile falling back into place because tofu employee Takumi is happier than normal Takumi.
He wonders when Keisuke is going to arrive. Where he's going to park. Customers come and go, purchasing both lunch and food for later, enough so that in the next lull he's having to actually cook, which is stressful enough on its own.
And, secretly, he's trying to outperform his dad, because maybe if he can't outrun the Impreza on the road, he can do it here.
He's entirely unaffected by events in his life, obviously.
The door chimes. Takumi looks up and feels his face do something funny. Fumihiro had mentioned Keisuke-- but not the entire Project D service van. In vain, he searches for his father's car, then dashes that hope.
He does not want his dad meeting them, no way.
"Welcome," Takumi says tonelessly.
Wasn't he cooking? He checks on the little cubes of tofu. Burnt undersides greet him.
"I didn't think this place was real," he hears Kenta say, in vague awe. "Damn. It's kind of--"
"It's nice," Keisuke says loudly, like he's lying. "What are you making, Fujiwara?"
"Lunch, apparently."
Takumi flips the burnt tofu over. If he gets this side right, then he can just eat it himself, right? In the corner of his eye, he sees Kenta staring into the lone refrigerator. Tomiguchi and Matsumoto file in a moment later, which eases his nerves, somehow.
"...Your lunch looks a little scorched," Keisuke says. "Anyway. Aniki wanted to ask about promotional material. You care if we do that?"
What. Hurriedly, Takumi scrapes his food onto a spare plate. As he turns around, a small mound of items have been placed on the register. Rotely, he starts going through them, frowning.
"Promotional material?"
Because Takumi had asked about advertising the shop a little bit...
"You know. He wants to put something on the website for it. Pictures and stuff. That's why we're here."
Really, they shouldn't be able to rack up a bill this impressive. Takumi wordlessly continues to check them out.
"Yeah. We're gonna bring the FD here next week, too. Think of it as a collab," Matsumoto says with a smile.
"Sure, that sounds... fun," he says at length.
He forgot that by asking Ryosuke anything, he's going to receive the world. If his dad doesn't kill him, whatever these guys have in store will.
