Alioth
patreon
I just want to quietly draw manga Chapter 168 & 169
🕑 Added 2025-06-07 17:38:29 +0000 UTCChapter 168
After the three of them got into the taxi, the car drove straight to Airi's apartment.
“This is where you live?” Haruki glanced out the window, taking in the upscale neighborhood and the building’s high-end design.
For the first time, he realized—this childish, spoiled girl was actually loaded. The kind of rich where you skip twenty years of struggle just by existing.
“Yep! Want to come up? If you’ve got nothing on tomorrow, just stay over! My living room, my room, the guest rooms—they all have PCs. I spent a fortune setting them up. They’re way better than net café rigs. Come on, let’s keep grinding!” Airi said excitedly.
“I’m good. You should head in,” Haruki said, shaking his head.
“You really just invite people to your place like this? You barely know me. Aren’t you worried I might be sketchy?”
“But you’re not,” she replied without hesitation.
“Suit yourself. See you next week, then!” she said, clearly disappointed.
Haruki sighed. Great—now he was stuck playing the responsible one.
“Let’s go,” he told the driver.
“Later, Airi!” Ryuko waved from the backseat as they pulled away.
Once they were back in the taxi, Ryuko glanced over at Haruki.
“Hey… so, Airi’s a manga artist too?”
She’d gathered that much from their conversation earlier.
“Yeah. We’re both in the same magazine—Shroud Line. She’s the current top-ranked series.”
“And you?”
“I’m second,” Haruki said with a shrug.
“So you’re rivals now?”
It took Ryuko a second to piece it together, but the implications were obvious.
“Kinda,” he said. “I care about getting to the top. But she… she’s the type who doesn’t care much either way. As long as she finishes the work, she’s fine with whatever happens.”
He paused, then added, “Her editor, Haruka, once told me that if Airi had a job that paid better than manga, she probably wouldn’t even be doing this. She only draws because it beats doing anything else. Her ‘normal’ update schedule used to be monthly—or even yearly.”
It wasn’t often Haruki spoke that much, but for some reason, he didn’t mind now.
Ryuko nodded quietly, and the conversation faded. It was late, and both of them were too tired.
Eventually, the taxi dropped them off at their respective places.
Time passed quickly.
Outside of one afternoon a week reserved for training and the occasional break, Haruki spent every day on a strict two-location loop: drawing manga at home, then heading to the animation studio to oversee production and give feedback.
Every minute of his day was accounted for.
Under this rhythm, everything moved forward steadily.
Soon, chapter nine of Initial D was officially published.
And unlike earlier releases, this one exploded.
In the weeks following the end of Ashes of tomorrow, sales of Shroud Line had taken a hit. But after Initial D began serialization, not only did it draw in Ashes of tomorrow fans, it also attracted a whole new crowd—racing manga enthusiasts.
Now, sales of Shroud Line were almost back to their peak.
And with each cliffhanger, Initial D had become the kind of series readers couldn’t stop thinking about. Bookstores saw long queues forming in the early hours of release day, just for that week’s issue.
The chapter picked up right where the last left off: Fujiwara Takumi’s AE86 still tailing Takahashi Keisuke’s FD, both cars barreling down Mt. Akina’s final stretch. The last five consecutive hairpin turns were approaching.
Fans had waited a full week for this moment.
Once again, the familiar rush of downhill racing hit like a wave—those beautifully drawn corners bordered on artwork, and the intensity practically jumped off the page. Haruki’s linework had leveled up again, fusing with the pacing to create a gripping, high-speed thrill even in static panels.
Keisuke, in the lead, looked increasingly tense. No matter how he pushed the FD, the 86 stayed glued to his bumper.
By contrast, Takumi’s expression was calm—focused, but composed.
In the manga’s paneling, the tension built as the cars closed in on the five hairpins. Neither one could pull away. The battle was reaching its climax.
And readers knew: the final twist had to come from something Takumi had hinted at earlier—his trump card for these exact turns.
Because let’s face it—there’s no way Takumi could overtake an FD in pure performance without something.
If he did it just by “driving skill,” it’d be too convenient. Too protagonist-y.
On the mountaintop, Ryosuke Takahashi monitored everything. He ordered his teammates to report on the five-hairpin segment in real time.
“There! Keisuke’s FD, Takumi’s 86—approaching now!”
The moment that line hit, readers across the country perked up.
This was it.
What card was Takumi hiding for the five hairpins?
Then, in a gorgeous full-page spread, the two cars were shown drifting into a tight corner—an image that practically vibrated with energy.
The onlookers—Nakamura, Ryosuke, the Akina locals—all tensed as the walkie-talkies fed them the scene.
Then came the moment.
Keisuke slowed for the sharp turn… and Takumi dove in from the inside line to accelerate and overtake.
Wait, what?
Even Keisuke was stunned.
Is he crazy?
That same reaction hit readers too.
Back in chapter one, Takumi had won against Keisuke with a surprise maneuver—partly thanks to Keisuke’s unfamiliarity with Akina.
But this time was different.
The manga made it clear: at Takumi’s current speed, no amount of skill could explain the cornering. The tires simply didn’t have enough grip.
Was the creator really going to give Takumi a “main character cheat” here?
Some readers frowned.
Up to now, the manga had stuck to realism—no magical power-ups, no impossible tricks. That’s what made it so appealing.
What fans wanted to see was Takumi winning with skills that, while extraordinary, still felt grounded. Not some shounen-style “power burst.”
Chapter 169
In the manga, the AE86 accelerated hard—then accelerated again.
It charged into the final corner at a terrifying speed.
It looked like suicide.
What are you doing?! Are you trying to die?
Readers held their breath.
But then—something strange happened.
The AE86 dove into the inside lane at full speed… and somehow, it didn’t drift wide. It held tight against the curve, as if centrifugal force didn’t apply to it.
In the next instant, it swept past Keisuke Takahashi’s FD from the inside.
It was an impossible overtake—clean, precise, and fast.
The 86, with far less horsepower, had just taken the lead coming out of the corner.
In the manga, Ryosuke Takahashi watched from above. As the five hairpins played out, his eyes widened slightly.
Then he smiled.
Not a big grin—just the kind of subtle, knowing smile that carried weight. A rare show of admiration.
It wasn’t just the characters in the manga who were stunned.
Readers were stunned too.
Takumi’s 86 had taken those sharp corners at speeds over 150 kilometers per hour—something that defied common sense. The tire grip alone shouldn’t have allowed it.
Was that even possible?
Some readers were skeptical.
Was this the moment where Takumi got a typical “main character boost”?
But then Nakazato appeared on the page, arms crossed, wearing a calm, confident expression.
He’d seen it.
He understood what Fujiwara Takumi had just done.
Among the onlookers, someone murmured in awe,
“Only Nakazato can take down Akina’s downhill expert.”
With that, Nakazato turned his Nissan Skyline GT-R around and left the mountain.
Still, readers remained on edge.
What did Takumi actually do?
Without Nakazato’s quiet commentary, it would’ve looked like Takumi just broke physics with protagonist plot armor.
But the way Nakazato reacted—and the way spectators inside the manga described the corner—hinted that this wasn’t nonsense.
There was an explanation.
“They’re approaching the finish now! I can hear the engines—almost there!”
At the final curve, members of the Akagi REDSUNS radioed in updates over the walkie-talkie.
Then came a page flip.
A wide, clean panel showed the AE86 in front—its ordinary frame catching the light as it tore down the last stretch of road.
Keisuke’s FD followed behind, but the gap had been set at the corners.
Now, even with the FD’s superior specs, there was no time left to catch up.
The 86 crossed the finish line first.
No fanfare. No celebration.
Just a fading shot of the car as it disappeared down the slope, heading quietly toward the Fujiwara Tofu Shop.
Everyone watching along the mountain already knew the result.
“That was insane. Seriously insane. I’m losing it,” said Iketani—his words echoing what every reader was feeling.
It had been two months of weekly build-up. Cliffhanger after cliffhanger. But now—finally—Mizushiro had delivered the payoff.
We still didn’t know how Takumi did it.
But he won.
That was enough… for now.
“What about the uphill?”
“Doesn’t matter. If you lose downhill, winning the uphill doesn’t mean anything.”
“The undefeated Akagi REDSUNS just lost… to Akina’s 86.”
Ryosuke Takahashi stood calmly as his team buzzed around him.
The race had ended, but the story was far from over.
The manga subtly planted seeds for what’s next.
New rivals.
New challenges.
Nakazato from the NightKids. Ryosuke Takahashi from REDSUNS.
Anticipation surged again.
This was good manga.
Initial D might not have the biggest rankings yet, but in terms of pure reader engagement?
It was climbing fast.
Every page fired up the imagination. Fans joked about quitting their jobs to open tofu shops at the base of a mountain.
The technique Takumi used was still a mystery, but the rest of the chapter had it all—pacing, tension, payoff.
Takumi, after returning home, had only a brief exchange with his dad.
“Full tank of gas. Like we agreed.”
“Yeah. You won, didn’t you?” Bunta said, glancing up from his newspaper. “But I already knew how this one would end.”
The manga cut away.
Then circled back.
Back to the moment Takumi passed Keisuke.
Was this the reveal?
Readers sat up.
Some had been reading in bed—now they jumped up, threw their pillows in the air, ran in circles, and came back to keep reading.
What did Takumi actually do at those five hairpins?!
Mizushiro had to explain it.
If the explanation held up, this chapter would become legendary.
Then, Ryosuke asked Keisuke a single question.
“Did you hear a strange sound?”
He had.
Ryosuke smiled.
“Let me tell you why you lost.”
He led his brother to the edge of the road, to a specific corner.
A drainage ditch ran along the inside.
Readers blinked.
Wait. The drain?
“He dropped his inside tires into the gutter to stabilize the turn and counteract the centrifugal force.”
“It’s simple. Ridiculous, even. But it worked.”
“This isn’t something you do on a whim. He’s done it before. Practiced it. If you try that without preparation, you’ll spin out or crash.”
Ryosuke understood the trick.
Fans, however, were floored.
What kind of technique is that?
Is this even possible?
But the more they thought about it, the more it kind of made sense.
It’s nonsense… but also genius.
“Cancel next week’s expedition.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve beaten that 86.”
“I’ll be the one to take him down,” Keisuke said.
And with Ryosuke’s calm declaration of war… Chapter 9 ended.
Fans exhaled, some slumping back in their chairs.
Finally, a satisfying payoff.
Mizushiro had explained it—cleanly, clearly. Not only had he resolved the race in a grounded way, he also introduced two compelling rivals: Nakazato and Ryosuke.
“Damn. Using the gutter to corner? That’s insane.”
“I thought he’d just win through ‘main character magic’—but this actually makes sense!”
“It’s wild. It sounds kinda realistic at first, but the more you think about it... what kind of person comes up with this?!”
“Nah, this is legit. Rally drivers use similar tricks. Mizushiro probably did his homework.”
“Seriously? That happens in real racing?”
“Honestly, I’m just relieved he didn’t cliffhanger us this week. Maybe Mizushiro finally took our feedback seriously.”
“Don’t be too optimistic! You never know—this could just be the calm before a massive new cliffhanger arc.”
“Still, this chapter was so good. I had goosebumps reading it. My palms were sweaty the whole time.”
Following chapter 9’s release, Mizushiro’s online following exploded again.
The manga’s weekly poll ranking surged.
And while it was still trailing Dream World, the gap was closing fast.
Back when chapter 8 ended on a frustrating cliffhanger, Mizushiro had received hundreds of complaint letters.
This time?
He got fan mail—actual letters of thanks. Dozens came in from across Tokyo the same day.
The cliffhanger people feared never came. In fact, most of the other racing-themed manga that started around the same time… were quietly fading.
By now, everyone even remotely interested in racing manga had their eyes on Initial D.
Because once Initial D hit the scene?
Everything else looked second-rate.
---
The next day, Haruka visited Haruki’s apartment. Along with sharing the good news that both Natsume’s Book of Friends and Initial D were seeing rising popularity, she also brought official word from Echo Shroud Publishing:
The standalone volume release for Natsume’s Book of Friends had been greenlit.
As long as Haruki gave his approval, the contract would be signed, and preparations would begin immediately.
Comments
Atru
Great ending to the race! Tftc
