The New Blood - A story based off of a GT4 Spec-II playthrough.

[Suzumiya]

It’s been a while since this sub-forum has been active, hasn’t it? I had this idea to create a story based off of a playthrough for a while, and as you can probably see (please don’t) through my post history I’ve definitely tried to make a story within the Gran Turismo games a few times during my younger years. I didn’t have the ability nor motivation to execute them well however, so they were always dead ends. Thank goodness for that, they were absolutely terrible. Can you tell I was a teenager at that point?

Ever since the Spec-II mod by TheAdmiester was teased however the idea came back to me. It would be the perfect opportunity to try again with my improved writing skill and actually adapt it to a playthrough and not some weird whatever I think works best thing I did before. It also helps with the Creative Writing class I’m taking if I do this on the side, so why not? I hope everyone enjoys this documented playthrough with a creative twist to it. I won’t be taking it too seriously, but it’s still practice! As always, please let me know how you are finding this. I won’t be using too many images to supplement the story, but if the wall of text is quite overwhelming I can maybe shift the balance a bit more.

So let’s pretend it’s 2005-2009 or whatever and throw it back to writing ‘fanfics’ without a care in the world, right? Only fitting for something like the Spec-II mod.

Shout out to my inspirations when I was young @Anathema @DK @RCKakashi14 @Skython @VTiRoj Y'ALL THE REALEST!!!!!!!!!!

---

Smiling to myself, I happily sit next to my one true love. The only thing in this world that I can truly appreciate and spend time with and never get tired of. Listens so well... amazing to listen to as well. Always has space in their schedule for me. Reliable. Well, sometimes. Maaaaybe a bit expensive. A great partner does have its downsides sometimes.

Who am I in a relationship with? Well, actually, it’s not a boy, or a girl, or any actual human. It’s a beautiful Honda CR-X that I found via a classified listing a year ago. I call her Cassie, actually. She’s a real charmer isn’t she? Maybe not the curviest or the most voluptuous gal out there, but her imperfections make her who she is. Oh, and that sound she makes. I just don’t understand why the neighbors hate it when she sings – I think they just don’t get what it means to be in love. When I rev that four banger it just makes my heart flutter. It really doesn’t get any better than this…



Actually, what was I doing while spending time with this hottie? Ah, right! I found something pretty cool in my parents’ garage. It’s a photo album filled with pictures of when my dad was a racecar driver. Pretty awesome, yeah? Here’s this photo when he was just getting started.



Oh yeah. He looks badass in that Honda. See, why do the best people always drive a Honda? A really beautiful looking early 80s Civic being ripped around Trial Mountain back in his heyday. You can see his eyes through his clear visor helmet aiming towards the next apex at breakneck speeds. Ricardo Villanueva, just a kid from the city looking to make a name for himself in the racing circuit - and make a name for himself he definitely did! He blazed through the ranks like no one else did and soon found himself landing a pro contract with some pretty big teams. He even got a call to race at Le Mans; the big one! That day never came, however. Unfortunately he suffered a pretty bad accident that paralyzed him from the waist down during the run up to the summer classic. I only really was able to see video footage of the accident that went down in Japan at Fuji a couple of years ago when I told him I wanted to be a racer like him. I’ve never seen a car go up that high in the air before…

People described it as a flash of purple and white that lifted upwards into the sky after some aggressive racing with his biggest rival at the time: Jason Baldridge. Complete opposite of my dad actually. His own father Nigel Baldridge was a big name in the GP circuit in the 60s, and so he had some pretty big shoes to fill when he got into the big time himself. Must have weighed pretty heavily on him.

Anyways, from what I saw on that VHS tape I could imagine how surreal it was to witness from the stands. You’d think that it would head straight for your seating area in the stands, but by some miracle it stayed in the vicinity of the race track, crash landing onto the hard pavement and then being hit square on the drivers’ side by another competitor who had no chance of avoiding the crash at all. Freak accident, as they say.

I'm not sure what he was trying to get across to me by showing me that, but it didn’t scare me off one bit. I don’t think he was trying to scare me off of racing at all, actually; of course it can be quite dangerous! But maybe he just didn’t want me feeling like I was invincible. It happens a lot from what I can see. One moment you think nothing can stop you. Then something does.

“Maya!” I hear bellowing behind me. I quickly shut the photo album and stuff it away wherever I thought I found it.

“Yeah, dad?”

“You got lil’ Cammie ready? I want you to be sure everything’s prepped for your first race tomorrow.”

He wheels himself in with a stern look on his face. Despite not even racing himself he still takes it as seriously as he did 16 years ago.

“Oh, she’s perfect,” I say as I pick myself off of the ground, resting my arm on top of the roof, “did the final few checks until I set off for the ‘Ring tomorrow. But dad, it really isn’t much. It’s just a club race.”

“There’s your first mistake as a racer, Maya.” He wags a finger at me, shaking his head. “No matter what; you gotta treat every race like it’s the biggest of your life. In fact, this might actually be the biggest race of your life and you don’t know it yet. Think about it.”

“Hmmm…” I mumble a bit under my breath, tilting my head.

“You’re either gonna love it or hate it. Hate it? No big deal, go about life as usual. Love it? Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Well, there’s no reason why I think I would hate it!”

With that same stern look on his face, he looks me deep in the eye.

“Then from this point on, Maya, your life changes.”

He then wheels himself to where I hid that photo album.

“Mmmh… you’ve been looking at this, huh?” He glances at me, cocking up an eyebrow. I stay quiet, feeling my cheeks get somewhat warm. “Just know that these pictures don’t tell the whole story. Did you see that picture of my blue Civic?”

“Yeah,” I excitedly let out, “you looked so cool!”

“I looked the exact opposite of cool when I flipped that thing over the next lap.”

He laughs, finally letting that serious look fade away.

“Just promise me one thing, Maya. Win or lose, just have some fun out there alright?”

I nod, crossing my arms. He smiles in response, giving a warm comforting look.

“Alright. Rest up. Be safe on your trip to the track tomorrow. I’ll be here waiting to hear how you did, okay?”

–

Oh man, what exactly did my dad sign me up for today? I know it’s called the Sunday Cup, but this seems a bit too amateur! Walking around the garage I can’t help but wonder if people got the memo that this was a race. Did he really not have a lot of confidence in my racing ability? There’s a damn Vitz in here with tons of bumper stickers dotted along the rear of it. Was it that guy’s mom’s car? Well, actually… I shouldn’t say that. Dad helped me go half and half on this CR-X, so it’s basically his car too. Oh well. Either way, that whole cool moment yesterday just falls flat on its face now.

“Drivers, to your cars!”

I quickly rush back to my garage stall, putting on my helmet and gloves and getting into Cassie to fire her into life. I got so excited that I pulled out of the garage before I was even told to do so. Oops. Soon after we park along the starting grid as our race is prepared to get underway. The weather is just perfect, with the sun shining a light on the beautiful landscape surrounding the race track. If I didn’t know better I’d think it would be a golf course or a resort more than a place where cars race… absolutely stunning. No wonder dad loved this place when he got his start.

All of us got a lesson on the rolling start procedure and how it would go down. For some reason after they decided the starting order out of a random drawing from a hat… weird. I guess my luck sucks because I’m starting dead last out of everyone. Even that stupid Vitz. So as I pull off the line slowly to begin that formation lap I start thinking about how to make my first move… that Eagle Talon ahead might have some speed, so it’ll have to be deep into the braking zone that I attack. That stupid Vitz will have no chance on the straight sections. If I can get past those two guys, then I’ll for sure have a shot to step on the podium.



Right as I’m in the middle of planning my genius plot, the green flag drops. It’s finally time!

Not even after we cross the start finish the Eagle driver is way out of line. Maybe he thinks the Vitz is gonna hold him up too? Coming into turn one he completely blows his braking point, going out wide to the outside and already giving me a chance to get past him. Now that stupid Vitz is ahead of me… what does that say? “I Brake For Goth Girls”?

Oh crap, he’s braking! Swerving to the left I just barely get close to scraping off the numerous bumper stickers off of his rear as I get alongside him. Completely spooked by my move he slams on the anchors hard, leaving the Talon behind to spin out of control in reaction. All in just a couple of corners the dangers of racing are already revealed to me.



Having to put that behind me now I work on the blue Honda ahead of me, not unlike the car I saw in the photo just last evening. I make a challenge around the outside, hearing as the marbles begin to smack the insides of the wheel wells. Somehow managing to keep the grip underneath me I pass them for 3rd. A great result already, but I know I can do more.

A green Golf GTi is the next car, the only one between me and the leading 106. It takes a couple of corners to get the move done as I sit behind them waiting for my time to strike, but once the chance opens up I immediately dive into the inside and brake at the last possible moment to take silver honors. Now it’s time for the leader.

Now that I’m up to the leader, I’m sure he’s going to give me a tough fight, isn’t he?! He was the most professional looking one out there, and from what I could gather he had a pretty good track record at this circuit. I’m betting on him defending the inside as much as he can, but I already made the outside work that one time. I’m certain I can do it again. Up on his rear bumper, I make a signal that I’m going for his inside, preparing to brake hard and –

Oh.

He’s just… going to give it to me.
What?

I cross the line to take the checkered. He’s barely a speck in my rear view.

That kind of deflates the mood from my first ever win.

After the podium ceremony with a not so enthusiastic announcer, I received a sheet with the results.

1 - M. Villanueva - 1990 CR-X SiR - Leader
2 - D. Anderson - 2003 106 S16 - +5.500
3 - M. Sandoval - 2001 Golf GTi - +9.145
4 - H. Nguyen - 1983 CR-X 1.5i - +12.345
5 - T. Washington - 2000 Vitz RS 1.5 +14.174
6 - J. Park - 1997 Talon Esi +14.751

So that Talon driver never got around that Vitz weirdo? Huh. Staring at my name at the top of the results I notice someone approaching from the corner of my eye. It’s the same person I saw driving 106 earlier. He reaches out for a handshake.

“Great drive,” he says with a smile, “you really handled yourself well out there.”

I reciprocate, firmly grasping it and putting on a shaky smile.

“Thanks,” I mutter softly, “but uhm…”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you slow down and just give that to me? I thought you’d fight it.”

His pale cheeks turn rosy as his pupils dart away. What, does he think that by giving that win to me he can gain my appreciation or something?

“Actually, I don’t own my car. It’s a rental. If I scratch it the Autumn Ring guys are gonna bill me out the ass for it. I just kept getting lucky with the random drawing and no one else could ever catch me. You were the first one that did. I thought you were gonna door bang me.”

Is there anyone in a 50 mile vicnity that is serious about this?

 

[Suzumiya]

Another week sails past me as I anticipate the next race. It was again, the Sunday Cup, but this time it promises to be more than what the last race was worth. Grand Valley Speedway is the spot this time, and what a spot it is. Situated just outside of Sacramento it sits just by the foot of the city, wrapping around the rolling hills of Northern California like a snake. I heard the layout was actually inspired by a county road not too far away from here, and even if you didn’t know that beforehand it definitely reminded one of such. Winding high speed undulating bends as far as the eye could see, waiting to bite you at every point just in case you get a bit too greedy.

Thankfully, in contrast to the cliff sides of the coast side roads it takes cues from, there’s at least some run off and tire walls that’ll save you from hurting yourself too bad. Unfortunately my dad never got to race here before he had his accident, but I think he would have loved this place given how it really rewards you for skating right on the edge of control, giving danger the middle finger whilst you fly around some of the most hair raising corners this side of the country.

The race this weekend doesn’t utilize the full layout, just the east layout that is more geared towards amateur and touring car events; it’s still such a thrilling circuit nevertheless. My first few laps on it in morning practice were just unforgettable. Cassie handled every crest and compression like a champ and we topped the timing charts together. That guy in the 106 though was pretty close behind and he really seemed like he was pushing a lot more than before when I saw him. I wonder what’s gotten into him.

We’re sharing the track with another series, the Clubman League. They’re doing their qualifying session now as a few cars blow by us on the pit lane. I lean against the pit divider wall, watching as another car whizzes by and moves my hair by sheer force of the wind. One car in particular catches my attention - a BMW 320i. Not just any 3 series though, it’s a full on racing car. You can tell it’s a complete factory effort with all the BMW branding across it and the trailer that transported it here, along with the numerous mechanics surrounding the race ready compact sedan all dressed up in BMW branded coveralls.

Right as I’m about to turn around and head back towards my assigned garage stall I spot someone familiar approaching me. His blonde shaggy hair and lanky build calls out to me, then I remember.

“You’re that Peugeot guy from last week,” I state, noticing as he reaches out for the same handshake he offered the last time.

“Hey, uhm, actually,” he mutters, stumbling upon his words, “I never got your name… I’m Daniel, but you can just call me Danny. What about you?”

“Maya. I hope you don’t just fall over and give me the win this time.”

He chuckles as I take his hand, giving a firm shake once more as he then looks me in the eye. On second look he seems to be in his late 20s to early 30s. He has pale skin and green pupils that compliment the color palette of the circuit's fauna.

“Oh, this time will be different.”

I tilt my head, asking, “What makes you say that?”

“The guys who own Autumn Ring let me buy the car off of them, finally, after I’ve been renting that same one for months now. I scooped up enough money to give them an offer, but they only had one condition if I wanted it that bad.”

I tilt my head forward, pressing for a response.

“I don’t come back to the track ever again.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah,” he says, sighing out as he scratches the back of his head, “apparently I’ve been bad for business. Scaring the newcomers off by just beating the ever living snot outta’ them over and over again. To be honest I get where they’re coming from.”

Genuinely, Danny did seem like a competent racer. He was capable enough to get close to me on the timing sheet earlier after all.

“So maybe you’ll actually put up a fight this time,” I ask, placing a hand on my hip. He scoffs, looking more determined than ever before.

“Oh, I’m not just some hot lap hero,” he says as there’s a glimmer of light in his smile, his white teeth glistening in the sun, “I know how to hold my own come race day as well.”

“We’ll see how that holds up. Good luck, Danny.”

“Good luck to ya’ too, Maya. I’ll see you at the random grid drawing.”

Oh god. That again.

…

“This thing’s rigged, I swear to God it’s rigged!”

I slam on my steering wheel through my driving gloves as I sit on the grid waiting for the signal to get ready. Once again I’m behind the same set of drivers, in the same order no less!

“I can’t wait to get out of this clown show…”

I attempt to calm myself by pacing my breathing, but I cannot help but feel as if the innards of my body are about to overheat in this furnace of anger. How is it that not only I’m starting last yet again, but Danny from earlier is sitting pretty in first just like before? Is this a coincidence? Divine interference? Some weird magic trick they pull to ensure it’s perfectly rigged? They even showed us mixing up all the numbers in the hat… whatever the case is, I gotta channel that anger into my driving. Push ol’ Cassie to her limit, I’m sure she can take it.

Track marshals wave green flags as they walk along the sides of the starting grid, giving the cue for us to prepare ourselves for the countdown. I pull down the straps, tighten my harness and make sure that I’m snugly fit into the cradle of the aftermarket racing seat. My heart begins to pound, its rhythm vibrating through my body like the beat of a war drum. A small bullet of sweat travels down my forehead as the heat of the interior begins to intensify. No matter if this were the Monaco Grand Prix or just the Sunday Cup, race starts always scramble the nerves.



Five lights. Four lights. Three lights. Two lights.

One light.

Green!

I dump the clutch, jumping on the right most pedal as I hear the front tires screeching for traction. Immediately every competitor attempted to file their way to the right hand side of the track, preparing for the first high speed left hander to place themselves on the outside entering turn two to get a perfect entry into what was a right hand hairpin that bent itself the other direction. Immediately the power of Cassie and her VTEC engine allowed me to dispose of a trio of opponents, effectively gaining three spots before I even began to think about setting myself up for the next corner.

I then think about getting alongside Danny before we both enter turn two, but I’m not close enough to challenge him for that position just yet. I file right behind him, compromising my entry to make sure I get a good exit so that I can have the advantage coming out.

But he has changed ever since that race at Autumn Ring. The passive cruiser who let me by for the win now transformed into an aggressive competitor, attempting to break up my momentum by letting his compact Peugeot coast just a bit longer in the middle of the apex, just so that he could be that much safer on corner exit. His rather impressive racing technique was already on display for me to see.



Coming up into the second sector of the track he’s defending that second place for all its worth. After losing the lead right from the start he wasn’t looking to fall down towards another place on the grid. He nailed every corner to perfection, keeping his speed up ensuring I wouldn’t have the space nor momentum to make a move on the inside. He had more knowledge on this circuit than he was willing to let through; he never had to make a defensive juke to the inside of a braking zone due to executing every section perfectly.

There had to be a way around, some part of the circuit that could allow me to really brake deep and catch him by surprise. He owned that car now, no harm in risking a few scratches, right?

And so approaching the penultimate corner of the circuit he gave me a golden opportunity. He decided to stay to the left hand side of the track, seemingly forgetting about his defensive approach and presenting an opening wrapped up in a bow.

Too easy.

Braking hard, I dive to the inside pushing the tire’s rubber to the absolute limit. I turn to the right, trying to get the car rotated for the next corner.

I turn to the right, trying to get the car rotated for the next corner.

I turn to the right.

I turn to the right.



The edge of the track approaches so fast. The sand trap stares upon me as it greets me with open arms. Come, it says. Come and see how much of a fool you are.

I jump over the outside curb as Cassie and I are rocked by the uneven surface of the run off, bucking me around in my seat as I immediately flat foot the gas pedal to get myself out of this trap. The front tires scramble for as much traction as it can, kicking up particles from underneath and pelting the underbody with a shower of sand. I see the two leading cars pull away whilst I wrestle my way out of the grasp of the scenery, Danny in that 106 is most likely brimming with a smug satisfaction as he can battle the lead Golf uncontested.

Coercing the car towards the circuit, the driving wheels immediately screech as they touch the tarmac once more, pushing the car forwards as I undoubtedly leave a hazard in the form of dirt behind my car for the others to navigate through. Looking at my rear view I can see the white Vitz becoming caught out by the change in condition, sliding off into the grass and smacking the wall square on with his left side. Serves him right for having so many stupid bumper stickers.

A whole straight away lies ahead of me. I let Cassie stretch her legs, getting all 160 plus horses on the tarmac. I go through the gears as those two cars become large in my gaze once more. 150. 160. 170. 180 kilometers per hour right as I let off to get around the first slight bend, sticking to the left hand side to then slam on the brakes and trail to get the rear end angled just perfect enough to navigate around the right hand hairpin. I’ve caught him yet again. And this time I’m not messing around.

The move comes as early as the exit of the hairpin that I kiss and wave goodbye to that dinky Peugeot, not even giving the man a second thought as I get to work on the leader’s green Golf GTi. Following closely behind I think about a move right as we re-enter the main circuit, but that downhill right hander is just too risky of a place to do it; we’d both wind up not finishing the race if I went through with it. I abruptly back out, losing just a bit of time. Twisting around the next few corners they then completely blow their entry coming into the tunnel. Game, set, match. I pull up alongside and take the lead with both hands.



The penultimate corner rears its ugly head yet again, but this time I’m wiser to it. I make sure to get on the brake nice and early then pitch my car to the right to perfectly utilize all the available space to the outside to get as much speed through that final corner. Six opponents defeated.

The checkered flag waves. I cross the line as a wave of excitement crashes through me. This time I’ve earned it and this time I can really celebrate it!

As a stark contrast to Autumn Ring, this track’s PA guy is far more enthusiastic with his presentation, giving a remarked emphasis on certain words as he bellows into the microphone. He then presents me with another plaque much like the first I’ve received at the ‘Ring. First Place - Sunday Cup, Maya Villanueva. I lift it up in the air as if it were a holy scripture, presenting it for my followers to read. Unfortunately for me, there isn’t anyone but a couple of photographers and organization personnel overlooking the podium. Everyone else is paying attention to the run up to the Clubman League race.

Returning to my garage stall to pack up for the day I hear a voice calling my name.

“Maya! Maya! Wait up!”

I turn around and it’s Daniel once more. He’s carrying his own plaque denoting a third place, smiling though as if he had won the whole thing. He pats my shoulder, then raises his arm slightly to signal for yet another handshake – this time a much more casual one. Our palms slap together as he pulls me in, wrapping his arm around my back in an act of friendliness and respect.

“That was damn good; really damn good. I didn’t know you had that kind of speed in you.”

I wrap my free arm around him as well, then step back and chuckle as I look to the ground.

“Thanks, though you had me really in a twist there earlier.”

“It’s a classic. You took the bait and I got you hook, line and sinker. I’m just glad when I fish that the fish I catch don’t fight back when I’ve already got ‘em in the bucket.”

“I’m a one of a kind fish, I guess,” I respond, attempting to be as slick as the rubber laid down, “from now on you gotta have a whole tackle box to keep me under control.”

“You fish too?”

“Nah.”

“A cryin’ shame.”

We both walk back making our way towards the garages until he comes up with the idea to go and watch the Clubman League event from the pitwall. I follow as the last few cars line up to the starting grid with their engines revving in a frenzy. They too had a standing start, but this time with a lot more tire screeching as the cold slick tires struggled to get a hold of the surface as they processed hundreds of immediate horsepower. With the dust settled, he nudges me to pay attention to the big screen.

“Look at that BMW in front. Drives like a man possessed, but isn’t a man… you get what I mean though, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

It was apparently Maki Hattori behind the wheel, an up and coming star from Japan that got the call from BMW to drive their cars on a worldwide scale. She impressed the organization by beating their full fat factory team in a privateer S2000 back home, so they immediately got to work finding out who that young girl in the yellow and blue Honda was and the rest, as they say, is history.

“I don’t get it. She’s got the pace and the consistency. Super young too, barely even 20 yet she drives like she’s been behind the wheel for centuries.”

There’s a tone of awe in Daniel’s voice, and I can’t help but feel the same way too. The way she glides through some of those turns keeps me glued to that screen. A beautiful display of technique and skill all coming together to put together a blistering lap time. I can’t help but wonder how she’s like and how she could possibly look.

“Hey, if the both of us keep putting in the work we can both probably land a ride with the big boys too.”

“Ah… y-yeah, but not here.”

“Yup. Which is why I’m gonna let you know that next month they got a race going down in the MidWest at Midfield. FF Challenge, heard of it?”

I nod.

“My dad used to race in that series way back in the 80s actually. That’s where he got his own start.”

Daniel then stares at me like a deer in the headlights for a few silent moments. He even begins to back away a couple of inches and it’s really beginning to unsettle me.

“Wait, your dad… wait, no way. Are you Rick’s kid?!”

“Uh…” I trail off, looking the other way.

“Dude, I used to be a huge fan of your pops when I was a kid! No wonder you got that special something about you! Now I feel like crap for letting you by me a week ago! Hey, I’ll help you get there actually. They gotta see the return of the Villanueva name to the scene!”

I shake my head, looking down at my racing shoes in disapproval.

“Just get me in touch with your old man. He knows my dad; I think he’ll be happy to let you travel with us.”

---

This one took a tad bit longer to write and then make revisions to. I'm still trying to find the tone I want to set for this story, but I hope regardless of where I take it, it'll be a fun read. This was done in the second race of the Sunday Cup, but I embellished the events a slight bit by intentionally going off. Regardless of anything this was actually a load of fun to write and I'm really enjoying the rhythm I got going through brainstorming sessions and writing first drafts and "idea bits" aka just maybe dialogue to get myself prepped to think about the next chapter.

If you're wondering why there is no Special Stage Route 5 event (the Sunday Cup is comprised of three events in the Spec-II mod, Autumn Ring Mini, Grand Valley Speedway East and Special Stage Route 5) it's because I thought that it would really be a detriment to the pacing of the story. Making a story for every race I do in this playthrough would take forever and with the amount of detail I want to go into describing these plus some other non-racing chapters and moments I personally think it would be an absolute drag. I am open to thoughts about this though. For now, however, I can still include the results of the races that I haven't written about with certain conditions. Usually I won't keep track of every event I do, just the ones that I think are somewhat related to the main storyline; race events within the championship that I are a key part of the main story that I don't write about for example. Also because I just want to play the mod for myself. I deserve to have a bit of fun yeah?

That being said, here's the results from Special Stage Route 5.



And the prize car... Honda City Turbo!
The credits amount is around 12k after the rest of the series.

I don't have the hard results from the Grand Valley East race; I do apologize for that. I have the results already documented for the next races in the main story however along with the others.

Please look forward to the next chapter!

 

[Suzumiya]

Got the third chapter underway for the FF Challenge race at Midfield, have a second draft finished. Will look through it and read it again tomorrow to see if it's to my liking and do a few changes and if there's nothing big that I don't like I'll probably have another chapter in Maya's journey tomorrow. I was really sick throughout the past week as well as other commitments (did I mention qualifying for the Global Esports Games?), so I haven't been able to get any writing done since last Saturday when I did my final draft of that chapter.

On my end I've already done the races up to the Clubman League, so those chapters have already been planned.

I'm not sure how many people actually read this, but for those who do, is there any interest for rally and/or JGTC being represented after the Clubman League chapter, whenever that is?

 

[Suzumiya]

I find my father sitting at the porch, gazing off into space. He’s here every evening after dinner, and I can only wonder what goes through his head during the final hour of sunlight; assuming that there’s anything actually going on anyways. He’ll greet people passing by, sometimes he’ll keep an eye on the neighborhood, or maybe sometimes, he’s just sleeping with his eyes open.

I let out a quiet “hey dad” as he feigned a gentle nod upwards, his chin acting as a raised palm saying hello back. As I take a seat an unsightly lime green Civic drives by, blaring music whilst it rattles its own windows in an awful assault of sound. That kind of stuff is in vogue nowadays, but I never caught onto it personally. I have to admit that the idea of playing Playstation in the back seat though is pretty cool.

“I heard you did pretty good last weekend,” my dad says once that bass rattle no longer takes up the audible space in the vicinity, “you beat Bryce’s kid too apparently. He’s pretty good at road racing himself.”

“You know Daniel?”

“Yeah. His dad called me last night talking about the race at Grand Valley talking about how much watching you drive reminded him of the ol’ Ricky, like that man always says. I just said that ain’t me, that’s Maya. I’m not no shapeshifter or whatever.”

He laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for a beer bottle next to his resting feet. He drinks a small amount, then lets his carrying arm hang it off the side of his wheelchair armrest.

“And he says that his son really wants you to go with him back to the Midwest for the big FF Challenge thing.”

I shuffle around in my seat. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“Hm,” he mumbles, turning his focus towards me, “kinda far though, don’t you think? Not worried about that?”

“I guess not,” I shrug, “always wanted to see Midfield for myself, especially since there might be a few talent scouts roaming around.”

He mumbles something indiscernible before a neighbor passes by, greeting my dad with a friendly shout.

“Yooo, Ricky!”

“Eyy, what’s up ‘Lo,” he says, spreading out both arms wide open with his beer bottle still in his right hand, “you finally gonna pay me that money you owe me from that bet last Sunday?”

“Nah man, sorry, I’ll get to you next week!”

“What?”

“Sorry! You know how it is. Bills. Gas. House payment. I’ll get it to you soon man. Promise!”

“Pfah. Whatever. See you next Sunday, ‘Lo.”

Dismissing him with a waft of his hand, he sighs with such a visible look of regret in his face, shaking his head as he covers his face with his free hand.

“That Emilio never pays, never holds his end. Said he’d pay the bet last time too.”

“So why do you still bet on football games with him?”

“‘Cause. I dunno.”

I can’t help but laugh at his unwavering trust. Emilio is probably hundreds of dollars in debt to my dad, but regardless he simply lets him go about his day, waiting every week for his eventual payday. He shrugs, almost as if he accepts his fate. If anything, his trust being so forgiving is admirable.

He takes a few more moments to think of what to say next as he lets his mind lay idle. The sun starts to set, lowering enough to sit behind the power lines.

“Alright,” he finally responds, turning towards me as we make eye contact, “it’s about time you move up from the beginner stuff anyways.”

“Thanks, dad,” I say as I get up feeling a wave of excitement rush through my body, “I’ll get to work on Cassie then.”

“But hey, listen. Don’t get in over your head over there. Harder competition than last time. This won’t be a fun thing like before. Lotsa small-time teams looking to scam some young talent too. Careful with that.”

“Gotcha.”

Right before I make a break for the garage, he stops me with a resounding “hey”, prompting me to turn around almost reflexively.

“If you meet a man named Paul. Paul Matsumoto. From Honda… you take whatever that man says seriously. Real smart and professional man who helped me big time. He’s a saint. Listen to whatever he has to say and take that chance without thinking twice. Real deal, not like the chump that scammed that pendejo Bryce back in ‘83.”

...

Road trips never get any better, even if there’s a big race at the end. Los Angeles traffic sucked, the desert surrounding Las Vegas was a small bit of hell making its way onto Earth, the Rockies’ winding roads never ended, and neither did the flat nothingness of the so-called ‘Great’ Plains. Danny was alright with me taking naps as much as I wanted in the passenger seat of his pick up whilst he towed Cassie right behind, covered carefully by a tarp to protect her from all the elements. I told him that I could take over for him at some point, but he kept reassuring me that he lived for these road trips, and that he had multiple burned CDs of country hits to listen to to keep him company.

He’d also prod me for questions when I was awake, attempting to break the ice since we were gonna be stuck together for quite a while anyways.

“So how’s life with the man himself being your father, huh?”

“I dunno,” I respond, shrugging whilst my eyelids struggle to support themselves, nothing interesting to keep my brain busy but grass and crops, “just like any other kid growing up in LA.”

“Not when your dad is the Ricky Ricardo, y’know?”

“He hasn’t raced in years, Danny. He doesn’t want to either, even if he could. He’d rather just chill at home.”

“Gotta be more to him than that,” he insists, “can’t believe a guy who lived on the edge as much as he did back then would become a homebody.”

“Yeah, well…” I trail off, twirling a stand of hair around my finger, “that’s just my dad for you.”

“Never would have taken him for that kind of guy.”

“I guess he’s already proven everything to himself. No point risking your life again when you’re satisfied.”

“You make it sound like he’s in his 70s. For crying out loud, he’s barely into his mid 40s.”

I resign myself to sleep as Danny turns the music back up. I’m not sure if it’s being stuck with him or not but I’m starting to not mind this type of stuff as much. Maybe it’s the slower beats that help me feel sleepy.

I’m shaken awake hours later, fluttering my eyes as a sign reading “Welcome to Midfield” reveals itself to me. A line of cars and trailers flooded through the multiple lanes of booths onto the bridge over the front straight towards the paddock area. Coming to a stop at one of the designated work areas we hop out as we begin to unload Cassie off the trailer. The sun already displayed its strength, giving a foreboding warmth to the morning.

“My old man will be here in a half hour, or so he says. He ain’t raced on pavement for a while but I’m sure he can give you a few pointers here and there from back in his road racin’ days.”

The races are six car heats each, grouped together by random from the entry list. It turns out that we got here ten minutes too late to register for the free practice session, so I was going to have to improvise on the spot. Not very ideal when the most sleep I’ve had over the course of the past few days turned out to be five hours.

“Awright,” Danny’s dad says after finally arriving, two hours late, “turn one yer gonna mash on that brake hard just when you get under that bridge you came here from, then the second turn is easy; just group one and two together like it’s one big hairpin, but be careful not to get too far out when you’re in the middle of one and two, yeah?”

I nod, doing my best to decipher his words through that country drawl he has. I find myself squinting a bit, as if my brain believes that’ll absorb the information better.

“Then that kink; that’s a real scary part of the track if yer not too familiar with it. Don’t worry though, if yer car’s handlin’ real nice you can lift off the gas and let ‘er coast through. If you got the wheels underneath ya’ you can get some ground on the guy ahead of ya’. Most drivers here tap the brake, but a real pro knows you can push it a bit more.”

He places his hand in front of him, moving them around trying his best to depict a car overtaking another through flowing bends. He reminds me of a mime on the pier.

“The uphill on that cross over and into the tunnel is pretty straight forward, I think ya got that if you just even do one lap on this track. But then after that long hair pin ya’ gotta listen close, cause I lost two cars in this part.”

“It’s true,” Danny says as he nudges me, “he even wrecked his favorite Camaro there during a track meet.

“Quiet, Dan. Once you get to that first left turn on the downhill you’ll wanna feather that brake pedal. Don’t mash it, ‘cause your car’s gonna spin ‘round with those rear tires barely touchin’ the ground at all. But then, you’re gonna wanna get woahed down enough so that when you get to that super sharp left that you’re able to get yourself real good and stopped after the 100 board. Get that car pitched into the apex and yer golden. Real short and quick track, but it’ll bite ya’ if you’re not careful.”

Making his exit just as quickly as he made his entrance, he stops once he’s alongside me, patting me on the shoulder and turning to face me. His green irises lock into my gaze, visibly showing decades of age and experience.

“You’ll be fine. Yer dad used to love this place, you will too I reckon.”

He continues on his merry way forward to the annoyance of his son.

“Hey, pops! Where you goin’?”

“Goin’ to get me a damn hot dog. Haven’t eaten all day.”

“Pops!”

Danny shakes his head as he then laughs in a mix of frustration and bewilderment.

“Man, he said he’d help us set the car up, but he always insists on having food before he does any work. Too bad he don’t realize the race is in 20 minutes.”

“Hah, so that’s why dad says he isn’t so smart? I thought he sounded trustworthy until that happened.”

“He’s right about everything else, just don’t expect him to help you with any hard labor.”

Laughing, we try our best to eye up the alignment and finish up our work to get our car through to tech. The stern inspector dressed in Gran Turismo Association decorated apparel pokes and prods at Cassie, letting us go with an oddly disappointed look.

“Good luck today, folks.”

Sometimes I wonder if these guys really do hope they find something illegal, even if it’s by the smallest margin of error.

As we get Cass to the starting grid the sun begins to beat down on us. The Wisconsin weather isn’t as much as the Midwest as I expected; rather it’s a lot more like an early September summer day back home in LA. The high was predicted to be in the upper ranges of the 80s, but the humidity! It’s so sticky and disgusting. Zipping up my racing suit I could already feel the moisture build up inside, looking up to the sky as I ask, can a cloud show up and maybe help us out here? Nothing but blue, unfortunately.

“Let’s hope Cassie can handle the heat, Maya,” Danny says as he fist bumps me, “you’re going to have to really push her to the limit against these guys.”

“Nothing like the bumper sticker guy?”

“Nothin’ like him.”

As I look towards the rest of the grid the quality is indeed far greater than what I’ve experienced. Entry level as these are for sports cars, they’re as well prepared as they come. Roll cages, racing seats, alloy wheels, even some competitors having spare sets being put on to ensure the best grip. The tires I have on Cassie are still the same set from Grand Valley a few weeks ago.

“That 206 really worries me.”

I stare at it, the French hot hatch sitting lower than what seems to be stock. It’s a really good looking car, I’ll admit, but nothing beats Cassie in my eyes.

“Oh, him. Reese Henderson, from Chicago.”

Both of us watch as a dark skinned man in a baseball cap and white racing overalls walks around the French hot hatch, painted in a patriotic French blue that shines brightly in the Wisconsin sunlight. He’s really committed to making sure everything’s in line it seems, checking every corner and making sure his car’s in tip top shape. It almost makes me want to do the same, just to look like I know what I’m doing.

“A front wheel driving phenom. Surprised no pro teams picked him up yet, but I think he’s just happy running his own tuning shop keeping it a hobby. Can’t blame him, but if you can beat him today I’m sure you’ll turn some heads. One of the most underrated drivers in America, I reckon; a real gem of the Midwest.”

The track announcer orders personnel off the grid; Danny fistbumps me, wishing me luck as I zip up my fire suit all the way and slip on my helmet. Entering the car, the heat trapped in its interior makes it a furnace, suffocating me. I scramble to reach over the center console and the empty space in the passenger side to crank open the window, opening it just a bit to at least get some air in here. I’m practically already melting in here.

It’s now one minute until the green. I take a sharp breath in, doing my best to let it out slowly but it quickly devolves nervous pants. I can’t stand the wait. Seconds feel like whole hours at this point! I just need to keep myself together.

Thirty seconds. The engines begin to rev. I can feel their heat building up from here. I’m getting dizzy from this heat. I can’t stand it any longer. This race needs to start before I faint. Ten seconds. I really hope my brain can have enough air to not shut down and cause a huge turn one crash. I can’t embarrass myself here. I could never live it down.

Five seconds. The first red light comes on. The second. The third. My heart is jumping out of my chest. The fourth. My grip is enough to create blisters even through gloves. The fifth. I rev the engine.

Green!

I dump the clutch. The front wheels spin endlessly, the used tread struggling to put down the power. Immediately the rest of the grid begins to pull away. I modulate the throttle in a frenzied attempt to find even the smallest amount of forward driving force. Finally they find the grip, pulling me forwards much quicker as I immediately find myself with a gap to make up.

Slower speeds into the first corner allow me to brake deeper into the corner. Immediately the Primera and Punto ahead wrestled for position, doorbanging through the first two corners. Already a golden opportunity arises. I take it with both hands, swiping the position away from the Punto forced off to the outside.

The kink comes up next. It’s a right and left just like what Danny’s dad said. It looks tough, but not too far fetched that a lift would be enough. The Primera who came out on top after that battle uses the brakes to slow down. I lift off the gas only instead, easily finding my way through and screaming through the corners as the used tires try their best to hold the surface. The forces throughout the corner push on my body, throwing me about as I toy with the limit. Exiting the corner the Primera is far back in the mirror, whilst the Prelude just ahead presents itself front and center ready for me to attack.

I spot Reese’s blue Peugeot at the head of the pack, with an FTO sticking as best as it can around the corners. I immediately go for the dive at the entry of the hairpin on the Prelude third in line, thinking that he left a clear pass opportunity open for me to take.

Turns out I fell right for yet another trick. I drift off wide at the exit, just about staying on the track as the black Prelude prevails on corner exit. Looking ahead, the most treacherous section of the circuit reveals itself to me. The downhill at sector 3. I immediately feel the force of gravity acting upon Cassie, her wheels picking up speed as the left hander approaches after such a sudden drop in the track.

Where do I get on the brake? How much? My eyes scramble looking for a reference point. Here? There? Anywhere will have to do. I lightly tap on the middle pedal as I feel the rear get the lightest it's ever been, my hands quickly sawing at the wheel balancing the car through the right hander as I outbrake the Prelude in the process. An even bigger drop that almost looks like a half pipe comes up. Where is it? The 100 board… oh! There it is! I slam the brake pedal, feeling the car rotate to the left without any input. If Cassie wants to go there, then I will. I quickly shift my focus to the left. Using the rotation to my advantage I clip the apex and then get on the accelerator as soon as possible. I can just get alongside the second place FTO coming out of the tunnel, but another uphill part of the track reveals the power deficit I have as they break away from my grasp.

What a lap. What a track. God, I feel alive.

Turn one is a lot trickier at speed – I nearly throw it all away in the middle of the corner as I clip the dirt. That doesn’t help my progress on getting back at the FTO, but I could make it up in the next corner.

Just a lift is enough to get me through the kink while the FTO has to get on the brakes to have a chance to make it. It’s all coming to me so naturally. I feel like I’m one with the road.

The Peugeot ahead moves so elegantly, its low height allowing it flow through the bends, barely swaying and rocking with its racing suspension supporting the weight with such a stiff setup. Out of the hairpin and beginning the downhill I must be brave in order to have a chance. I don’t have a choice, especially with the disadvantages I have on hand.

I tap on the brakes just enough to get slowed down enough. The rear of the car lifts up, the slip angle at the rear perfectly carrying me through the corner at high speed. On the bleeding edge of the limit I gently graze the throttle to keep the neutral balance. The gap reduces as a result, I’m just on his rear bumper. The closing rate must have spooked him, because he completely misses the apex at the bottom of the hill. This is my only shot now at the win. The uphill will destroy me if I’m not pinpoint perfect.

I snatch the inside as the Peugeot takes a wide erroneous line, putting on the power after the turn and shooting out of the corner like a cannon, my focus then shifting between the mirror and what lays ahead of me. The power of the Peugeot slashes the advantage. I hope and pray I somehow stay ahead. I have to use all the power at my disposal to keep this win. Right into the red line. I hear Cassie screaming in agony. Just a bit more. It won’t be long. I promise.

The track levels out. He’s taking up all the space in my rear view mirror. I snake around to shake the slipstream. I’m almost there. I look to my left, a bit of blue approaches my view. The line feels like it keeps moving. My hope begins to dissipate.

I resign myself to looking ahead. All I hope is that it was enough.

I slow down for the cooldown lap as I take the checkered. My vision is blurry. My body is aching. I’m drenched in my own sweat. The engine shudders as it feigns its own exhaustion. Heat’s gotten to the both of us.

Pulling into the pits I flip up my visor approaching my pit stall, shutting off the ailing engine once I come to a stop. Slumping back into my bucket seat I finally released those harnesses that choked me for air, catching my breath. The door swings open as I see a pair of arms from a ball of shaggy blonde hair reach at me to violently shake me around

“What a race, Maya, what a damn race!”

I hold him out at arms length to try and gather myself up, feeling my brain turn into soup and my vision warp as I attempt to focus my gaze towards this creature. Danny’s face appears through the hair as another man enters the picture alongside him, the same dark skinned man from earlier on the grid.

“Awesome racing. I enjoyed every minute of that.”

He offers me a handshake. I simply stare at his outstretched hand in confusion.

“Y-yeah, good win…”

“Hah! Come on. I know it was close. You got me there at the end though.”

He helps me up from my seat as I try and get a steady balance, both men then realizing that I needed just a bit more support to make sure I don’t topple over and bash my head against the pavement.

“Up, up, up,” Reese says beckoning me as if I were a toddler, “and, there you go. Alright. I’ll see you at the podium. Lemme know if you’re sticking around for longer. Let’s get some drinks.”

I can’t believe it. I watch as he makes his exit as I once again feel my body getting weak, using the car as support. Leaning on the roof with both my elbows supporting my weight, I attempt to piece together the events that had just taken place. Perhaps memory is failing me, because I look at the timing board and it’s clear. I’m the winner, if only by about a tenth.

“I swear he was ahead. This is rigged.”

Danny laughs as he pats me on the back, the sharp pain traveling across my body.

“Nah, nothing about a riggin’. Had dad and I sweatin’ bullets down here, but you pulled it off. Come on, go get your trophy. We’ll celebrate over at our place after. Tell Reese he’s invited.”

I could only celebrate half heartedly as I weakly held my first place trophy in the air, the damn heat still not letting up. As I nearly stumble down the podium steps an organizer hands me a water bottle, to which I immediately swipe from his grasp and chug down. As the ceremony comes to a conclusion I take a few moments to sit from the top step of the podium, holding my forehead as it throbs in an aching pain. A shadow in the shape of a man comes up from over me, prompting me to turn my head up and attempt to make out the wide silhouette half shaded by the sun.

“Watching you drive took me back two decades.”

The man subsequently kneels down to get to my eye level, his features revealing itself to me as I take note of his auburn eyes, his mouth curved into a convincing yet almost practiced smile. A clean shaven chin and jaw. He seemed to have an Asian look to him. Honda Performance Development branded polo over his torso with orange tinted sunglasses hanging off the button collar. Black slacks covering his legs. As professional as they come, but somehow mixing in a bit of casual attitude that had been seemingly perfected over years of experience with relations.

“Congrats on the win, Maya. Almost like your own dad did here decades ago. Got that same spark to your technique he did so many years back.”

“Thanks,” I weakly respond, “but I like to think I got my own style too.”

“And that’s what really made you stand out to me today. Second generation Villanueva with a bright future ahead of her, I see.”

He reaches into his pocket, handing over a business card. Taking it, I instantly recognize the name printed on it.

“Paul Matsumoto. Team principal for Honda Racing worldwide. Thought I’d take a look for myself when I saw we were sharing the same weekend with a Villanueva.”

“My dad told me about you.”

He keeps that smile as he offers to help me up. Taking his hand he exhibits a firm grasp, yanking me up from the podium and propping me up on my two aching feet.

“Yep. Hired your dad back in the day when he was getting stuff done in a Civic on the West Coast. Both of us, young guns looking for someone to trust and lean on. I remember him rolling at Trial Mountain back then, people telling me how crazy I was for thinking he’d be our ace driver.”

He lets out a casual laugh, brushing off some dust from the knees of his slacks.

“That man went far though. Unfortunately wound up with another team at the end of his career, but I couldn’t blame him. I can’t help but feel like I could have steered him away from having that accident at Fuji, but life has a funny way of handling things.”

His professionalism gave way to his now friendly attitude. Here he was talking to me as if I’ve known him since I was a baby, like an uncle coming over for Christmas.

“Enough about him though. This is, like you said, about you. And you, throughout my years of being in this business now, stood out to me like no one else.”

I shake my head, trying to take his compliments in a cool and confident manner.

“No, I nearly threw it away a few times.”

“That’s just part of having the raw talent; learning how to rein it in.”

He then looks left, then right, then back towards me. His face transforms from a friendly smile to a serious neutral expression, the business negotiating type.

“If you’re willing, we have an officially sanctioned one-make race taking place in Oregon at Deep Forest. It’s invite-only with some other really good talent lined up. Bring a Civic. Do your best there and we’ll figure out what lies ahead of you.”

He immediately takes his exit, blending into the sea of bodies occupying the pit lane. I hear Danny calling for me behind, his footsteps rapidly pounding the black top as I turn to see him smiling through that shaggy mess of hair.

“Maya! Come on! Let’s celebrate! Got three thousand to cover for food and beer or what?!”

“I’m nineteen, how’s that fair?”

“You ain’t gotta tell no one!”

---

Another chapter done. This was a bit tricky to write at first since I was recently recovering from COVID and had to catch up with professional sim racing duties as well as get some class assignments and personal issues sorted, but once I got into my third draft I found my footing and instantly knew how I wanted to write this. It turned out to be just as long, if not even longer than the last chapter. Sorry!

The initial idea I had was to have Maya lose this race, but I turned out having a rather close finish with the leading 206. As my car only has around 165 hp it actually did really struggle with the uphill parts of the course. Everything else though was a breeze, thanks to the 1-way LSD upgrade. I still stuck with the road tires as opposed to upgrading the car to Sports compounds because I found it was enough to get around corners quickly enough. These tires really help the game come alive as well, I believe.

I'm debating on whether or not to follow my initial idea of showcasing my progress or not, because it turns out the more I write this the more it's becoming its own thing, only using my progression though the Spec-II mod as a way of giving me a guideline on where to go with the setting. Perhaps if people really wanted I could give the official starting grid and timing results and I do have copies of it saved on my PC, but I personally think it messes with the tone of the piece so far.

Next chapter I will be attempting to further build on Maya as a person, as well as introduce the true first rival she'll have. I'm really looking forward to writing it, and I hope you are looking forward to reading it as well.