Chapter Text
Author's Note: Bro ya'll don't know how LONG I've been itching to write an Initial D self insert fic. Anyways, I have the fattest crush on Bunta and Keisuke, but for obvious moral reasons, love interests will NOT include Bunta. (I made that lil manga edit. My bad bro, ahaha...)
Warning: Swearing, most likely cringe
Disclaimer: I don’t own Initial D, all rights go to Shuichi Shigeno.
Beginning...
A new, shiny blue Subaru WRX STi tears down the mountain pass of Akina, its headlights cutting through the darkness like twin blades of light. The roar of the engine echoes off the mountainside, the vibrations rumbling through the car's frame as it surges out of the corner and onto the straightaway. The road ahead is a test of both skill and nerve, each turn demanding absolute precision.
Behind the wheel, a young woman in her late teens tightens her grip, her fingers pressing firmly against the leather of the steering wheel. A thin sheen of sweat clings to her palms, but she ignores it. Her breath comes sharp and measured, eyes flicking to the speedometer as the needle climbs dangerously high. A thrill pulses through her chest, a fusion of excitement and caution.
The first hairpin looms ahead, a vicious curve designed to throw lesser drivers off balance. Her heart pounds, but her hands remain steady. She calculates her approach in a split second—this isn't about flashy drifts or unnecessary slides. This is about control, about domination over the machine beneath her.
As she reaches the entry point, she flicks the wheel with precision, shifting her weight while maintaining her speed. She brakes just enough to transfer weight to the front, then immediately hits the throttle again, using the sheer force of acceleration to keep the rear tires skimming just beyond their limit. The Subaru WRX STi responds instantly, its all-wheel-drive system gripping and releasing in perfect synchronicity, allowing her to carve through the turn with a seamless power slide.
The tires howl in protest, leaving faint streaks of rubber on the asphalt, but she holds firm. Her body moves instinctively, countering the shift in momentum as she modulates the throttle with surgical precision. The wind slams against the car’s exterior, the rhythmic bursts of the exhaust fueling her adrenaline.
Her mind is a blur of calculations, anticipating the next transition, the next adjustment. Her foot eases off the gas slightly, allowing the tires to hook back into full traction as she exits the turn with explosive speed. Confidence surges through her veins, her heart racing in time with the engine. She’s not just driving—she’s commanding the road, bending it to her will.
Powersliding was her preference over drifting. No unnecessary loss of control—just pure, calculated aggression.
"H-holy shit..." she breathes out, inhaling through the nose, out through the mouth in an attempt to keep calm and levelheaded. Her heart thumps heavily in her chest, fueled by adrenaline and anxiety as she makes her way down the mountain pass.
Time seems to blur as she navigates the treacherous curves. The WRX dances along the mountain pass, its blue metallic paint shimmering under the moonlight as it glides through the night. With every flawless maneuver, her initial nerves dissolve into pure adrenaline, her confidence soaring.
As she nears the end of the downhill run, her racing instincts take over. The fear that once gripped her heart is replaced by an insatiable hunger for speed and mastery. She pushes the WRX to its limits, extracting every ounce of power from the engine.
Suddenly, her eyes widen in astonishment as a pair of headlights rapidly approach from behind, flooding her rearview mirror with light. Her heart skips a beat, and she instinctively eases off the throttle. In a blur, the mysterious car rockets past her with breathtaking speed. Her breath catches in her throat, eyes locking onto the black and white silhouette streaking by.
"What the hell?!" she exclaims, her jaw dropping as the moonlight reveals the unmistakable shape of a black and white Panda Trueno. The AE86 vanishes into the distance, its taillights flickering like fireflies against the darkness, leaving her WRX in the dust. The haunting echo of its high-revving engine reverberates through the mountain pass, sending chills down her spine.
"I mean... That thing is a drift machine, but to go that fast?!" She muttered breathlessly to herself, eyes starting to sparkle in admiration. "I gotta talk to that guy!"
Just as she was about to go pedal to the metal, a tiny Subaru Sambar truck plummets from above, landing squarely on the WRX’s roof. The impact is instant and catastrophic, reducing the car to twisted metal and her body to red mush.
She jolts awake with a gasp, heart pounding in her chest. The warmth of her sweat-soaked pajama pants clings uncomfortably to her skin. Disoriented, she presses a hand to her forehead, realizing it was only a dream.
"Damn..." Lana panted, catching her breath. With a grunt, she pushed herself to sit up and leaned against her headboard. "I miss having a car." She frowned, trying to relive the feeling of her hands gripping the wheel, wind rushing her face, and the butterflies she got every time she powerslid. The sensations, although vivid, were quickly melting away after being ripped away from her dream.
She glanced out her window, a few streetlights illuminating the dark streets of her neighborhood. She watched as occasionally a car would drive by, either going home or leaving for work. Her eyes lingered on any car faintly resembling the AE86 from her dream, only to be disappointed when there was no such vehicle.
"Hey..." Lana heard a faint voice call out, barely registering over the fog of her daydream. Images of cars drifted through her mind—the rush of headlights cutting through the dark, the rumble of the engine beneath her, the phantom feeling of the wheel in her hands. She blinked slowly, glazed eyes staring into nothing, craving the sensation of wind in her hair and the freedom of a late-night drive. Pair that with a good sound system and an intense eurobeat CD and you're more than set.
"Hey, are you even listening?" her classmate's sharp voice snapped her out of it, cutting through the haze.
"Huh? Oh... sorry. What did you say?" she asked, tilting her head with a sheepish smile. She hadn’t meant to tune them out, really. It was just hard not to when she was just so enamored by the dream she had.
Her classmate let out an exaggerated sigh and shook their head.
"Forget it." They grumbled, clearly impatient for whatever reason. Lana rose a brow, what was their problem? "Anyway, you’re on cleaning duty Monday. With Fujiwara-san."
"Fujiwara?" she repeated, furrowing her brow slightly. 'Fuji, like the mountain?' she mused to herself.
Being a foreign exchange student in her third year of high school hadn’t exactly been her plan. One minute, her mom was nagging her about her slipping grades, frustrated with how her mental health was affecting her performance. The next, she was being shipped off to Japan to live with her uncle Yuichi. The decision had been sudden and messy. She never really knew what pushed her mom over the edge. Maybe she never would.
She loved her mom—of course she did—but their relationship had always been strained. Her mom was intense, unpredictable, and prone to outbursts. It was a lot. Still, she missed her, especially when she thought about the little things—like the anmitsu bowls her mom used to make in the summer.
Lana barely knew her uncle before moving in with him. They’d spoken on the phone a few times over the years, but she hadn’t expected much. It wasn’t until she arrived that she learned he owned a gas station—and that he’d once been pretty involved in the local racing scene around Gunma. She had no idea, her mom had never mentioned it.
Of course, her mom was never a fan of Lana’s interest in cars. She’d always brushed it off, calling it a phase or a waste of time. But that hadn’t stopped Lana. She kept at it anyway.
The memory still stung. Her mom had been livid when she found out Lana bought her own car—a beat-up 1985 Subaru XT—without asking. She'd screamed at her over the phone, but Lana didn’t care. She’d saved up every penny from her late shifts at the local mall. It was her money, her car.
And then, just like that, it was gone. Sold off a week after she was sent to Japan.
The betrayal still sat heavy in her chest. Her beloved XT, gone. Just like that.
But at least she had this—living with her uncle, soaking up everything she could about cars and racing. She asked him endless questions about the cars that came through the station, pestering him for details about the local touge races she heard whispers of. Sometimes, her constant questioning wore on him—she could see it in the way he’d sigh or give shorter answers—but he never shut her down. If anything, she could tell he appreciated her curiosity. They shared the same obsession, even if he didn’t say it out loud.
Her uncle had once mentioned that it was kind of funny how they shared a passion for cars and racing, while his closest friend with his own son barely talked about them. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
That friend, as it turned out, was Akina’s fastest downhill racer. Apparently, no one had been able to claim that title from him since the late ’80s. Or was it the ’70s? Lana couldn’t remember the exact decade, but the idea of meeting a local legend made her chest buzz with excitement.
She immediately wanted to meet the guy, but her uncle told her she’d have to wait. One day, he promised, he’d introduce her—whenever the man had some free time. Apparently, he owned a tofu shop somewhere uphill in Shibukawa, which kept him busy most days.
“Fujiwara Takumi. Sits a few seats away from you, actually,” her classmate informed her, casually nodding toward a brunette gazing out the window. His cheek rested on his raised fist, elbow propped against the desk, eyes unfocused as he stared into the distance.
‘Oh my GOD. He's super fuckin' cute!’
Lana wondered how the hell she never noticed this hottie in her class. Nevermind, yes she did. She had such a hard time looking at anyone's face, especially when she's surrounded by strangers and her Japanese was rather elementary at times.
“What did you say?” her classmate asked, raising a brow.
Lana’s face instantly flushed, realizing she must’ve spoken aloud. “Oh, uh, sorry. I...misspoke.” she stammered. She scrambled for an excuse. “I was just... telling myself something. So I don’t forget...” She trailed off awkwardly, laughing nervously.
Her classmate gave her a perplexed look but decided not to press the issue. "You really need to talk to your classmates." They shook their head and sighed. “Just make sure you show up on time, alright? Teacher’s going to be checking.”
“Got it,” Lana replied with a forced grin on her face, waving as they returned to their seat.
Now left alone, her eyes drifted back to her soon-to-be cleaning partner. She traced the line of his profile with her gaze, watching the way the faint light from the window caught the tips of his hair.
Sure, it was a little creepy to keep sneaking glances at him. But in her defense, he was probably one of the prettiest boys she’d ever seen.
The idea of approaching him crossed her mind, but since she’d be spending a solid thirty minutes cleaning with him tomorrow, she figured she might as well wait. There’d be plenty of time to talk then.
Her thoughts began to spiral with anticipation, wondering what kind of conversation they’d have. Would he be talkative? Reserved? Did he even like cars? She started mentally rehearsing icebreakers, trying to come up with something clever or funny.
‘Do you know why the chicken crossed the road?’
Her eye twitched. ‘Ugh... seriously? That’s all I’ve got? I should’ve learned more jokes or something...’
"Can I help you or something?" A calm voice tinged with confusion sounded from above her, and Lana immediately looked up to find Fujiwara himself standing above her, brows furrowed in what seemed to be mild annoyance.
'OH NO.'
"Do- Do you know why the road crossed the chicken?" She blurted out of sheer nervous shock, lips trembling as her eyes grew wide.
"Uh..." Fujiwara just looked dumbfounded at her ridiculous response and Lana just wanted to cry.
He scratched his chin, looking off to the side. "That sounds like something Itsuki would say to a cute girl to try to be funny."
She blinked away the tears that had glossed over her eyes. "Um, Itsuki?" Lana questioned, wondering if maybe Itsuki was a character from a Japanese show or a manga she didn't know about.
Fujiwara shrugged, placing his hand in his pocket. "My friend, Itsuki. He's kind of infamous, I guess. For the wrong reasons though, not really for popularity."
Lana stared at him, an embarrassed blush still present on her face as the heat began to cool down from the casual nature of the conversation.
"Popularity? Uh..." Lana mumbled, struggling to understand certain words he said that she didn't recognize.
"Oh, I got it," Takumi suddenly said, placing his fist on the palm of his hand. Lana could almost see a bright light bulb appear over his head as his eyes shined with realization.
"You're the foreign exchange student. Makes sense that you speak kinda weird."
Lana balked at him and frowned dramatically.
"That's rude to say, don't you think? I'm still learning, you don't have to be mean."
Lana was starting to think his cute looks couldn't save his personality.
"Yeah, I guess so. My bad," Takumi rubbed the back of his head almost timidly. "Anyways, I guess you already know we're both on cleaning duty next Monday when class ends. I got work afterwards so I hope we can make it quick."
"Yeah, that's fine," Lana nodded, glancing over at the time. "Uh, this is kinda weird to ask... but is it alright if I spend lunch time with you? I don't talk to anyone else. I think this is the longest conversation I've had with someone here." Her face twinged with a blush, realizing how pathetic she sounds saying all of this.
"That's... kind of sad," Takumi nodded despite his blunt words. "Sure, I don't mind. My friend Itsuki will probably join us though."
"I guess that's fine. Will he mind?"
"Nah, I doubt it. I'm just gonna apologize in advance if he says anything weird. He doesn't talk to girls much."
'He is NOT a good wingman. But I guess it's nice that he's warning me in advance,' Lana snorted to herself before getting up from her seat.
"It's alright. I might not even understand what he says, so it will probably be okay." She smiled at Takumi before pausing.
"I think."
"You can still back out." Takumi had a slightly worried look on his face that made Lana's heart squeeze.
'Ugh, he's too cute.'
"No, it's okay. Things might turn out pretty funny," Lana said with a half-smile, unsure if she was reassuring him or herself.
"I'm being serious."
He was obviously joking.
"Haha, yeah."
She hoped he was joking.
To be continued...