Nights of Akagi
1:00 A.M.
The lights of a Gunma convenience store were even brighter than during the day.
Naoto Yamamoto, briefcase slung over his shoulder, walked toward the parking lot.
His night shift as a warehouse dispatcher had ended. The machines were silent now, leaving only cold wind and streetlights to keep him company.
His car was parked in a corner—
a gray Honda Civic EG6 SiR.
It looked ordinary. Almost unremarkable.
But tonight, it would become a ghost on Mount Akagi.
Naoto leaned against the door, lowered the window, and took a deep breath of cold air.
The night wind carried moisture, along with the fresh scent of grass left behind by the rain.
He lightly tapped the steering wheel, as if greeting an old friend.
"Tonight… I'm going to be serious."
The red needle on the tachometer bounced gently.
The engine idled evenly and clearly.
The tires were still warm—he had quietly tested the brakes during his lunch break.
For a front-wheel-drive car, everything depended on the front tires.
On this road, there was no room for carelessness.
Day and Night
By day, he was a warehouse dispatcher at a logistics company.
Processing orders. Scheduling trucks. Coordinating inventory.
It was a world of repetitive numbers and quiet routines.
To his coworkers, he was quiet, serious, not the type who talked much.
"Still going mountain driving at night?" someone had once asked him half-jokingly.
He had only smiled, giving no answer.
To him, work was part of life—but not all of it.
What truly made his heart race were the corners of Mount Akagi.
It wasn't about horsepower.
It was about—
judgment, technique, rhythm.
Every braking point.
Every moment VTEC engaged.
All of it was stored in his mind.
He could even predict the sound of rubber scraping against asphalt.
On Akagi, every corner had its own personality.
The Night Road of Akagi
The car rolled onto the downhill starting point of Mount Akagi.
Streetlights were few.
Darkness spread like spilled ink.
The road was wet from recent rain.
Dry leaves drifted across the pavement in the wind.
Hairpins, S-curves, and U-turns twisted through the mountains like a giant serpent.
Naoto adjusted his seating position.
Both hands settled on the steering wheel.
Clutch in.
First gear engaged smoothly.
The low hum of the engine felt like a conversation.
The first hairpin approached.
He braked slightly early.
Not from caution—but to make sure the front tires bit firmly at turn-in.
A gentle steering input.
The rear stayed stable.
The greatest enemy of a front-wheel-drive car was understeer.
Using braking and weight transfer, Naoto guided the nose precisely toward the apex.
On exit, he eased onto the throttle.
VTEC engaged.
The revs climbed sharply.
The rear shifted slightly, but never slid too far.
The small car slipped through the darkness like a gray ghost.
Every corner of Akagi was familiar to him.
Guardrails. Reflectors.
Downhill gradients. Small bumps in the pavement.
All of it was stored in his mind—
like a map, and like the beat of music.
Technical Flow
Through consecutive S-curves, his speed gradually increased.
Naoto lightly tapped the brake with his left foot, feeling for grip.
A front-wheel-drive car tended to push wide on corner exit.
He used early braking and gentle throttle to hold the ideal line.
At the second hairpin, he even lifted the clutch slightly, smoothing power delivery.
The EG6's B16A engine had no turbo surge.
But for him, every throttle correction was precise.
Wind noise.
Tire scrub.
A soft, low exhaust note.
On Akagi at night, these sounds became his rhythm.
More than power, he trusted technique.
More than raw speed, he pursued stability.
Echoes of Legends
As he entered the middle section of Akagi, a familiar engine note echoed in the distance.
Low. Clean. Perfectly timed—
as if someone were carving the mountain with sound.
Naoto's heart stirred.
He recognized that engine note.
An AE86.
Only the sound.
Not close.
"Fujiwara Takumi…" he whispered in his mind.
The legendary driver existed like a ghost—
present on every night road, even from far away.
He recalled daytime conversations at work:
"They say the AE86 on Akina left someone behind again last night…"
"Ryosuke Takahashi's RX-7? Almost no one can keep up with it on Akagi."
Those rumors blended with the night air and engine sounds.
Naoto felt as if he were surrounded by legends—
not racing them directly, but driving within their shadow.
Focus and Pressure
The continuous corners demanded total concentration.
Light braking with the left foot.
Gentle throttle with the right.
Every micro-adjustment was a dialogue between car, road, and tires.
Sometimes, faint turbo sounds or exhaust notes could be heard behind him—
but nothing closed in directly.
"The strength of a front-wheel-drive car is stability on corner exit."
In his mind, he calculated braking points, tire temperatures, and grip limits.
Every action had to be precise.
Otherwise, even an ordinary car could be left behind in an instant.
The red needle jumped.
VTEC engaged.
The Civic's engine became sharper and more responsive.
A slight steering correction.
The rear slid just enough to hug the inside line.
Wind.
Tires.
Engine.
Everything became rhythm.
Mountain. Car. Hands. Nerves.
All became one.
The Solitude and Charm of Akagi
The mountain was quiet.
Now and then, the distant sound of a waterfall echoed through the darkness.
Leaves whispered in the night wind.
Naoto's thoughts narrowed to the relationship between car and road.
Braking points.
Turn-in angles.
Speed.
Grip.
Weight transfer.
Every detail was alive.
This was the driving art of an office worker—
an ordinary car.
An ordinary man.
Extreme control.
In the distance, the AE86's engine note echoed once more, ghostlike from deep within a corner.
Naoto understood.
Those legends were reminders:
Mount Akagi never belonged to anyone.
It belonged only to those who respected it.
He took a deep breath.
Clutch in.
A gentle press on the throttle.
"Tonight, I'll find my own rhythm."