Once a JGTC hero, now an abandoned myth.

If you think abandoned cars are just rusty family wagons, think again. In a quiet, unassuming corner of Japan lies something that almost defies belief: a 1999 Toyota Supra GT500 JGTC race car left to decay outside a modest garage. Yes, a genuine championship-level machine, once howling down Fuji Speedway at nearly 300 km/h, now sits motionless with flat tyres and peeling paint, its once-bright livery reduced to a faded ghost of the past.

For enthusiasts, stumbling upon it is surreal. This isn’t a display in a museum, or a collector’s prize locked away in a climate-controlled garage. It’s out in the open, vulnerable to rain, sun, and rust. And perhaps the strangest part? The family who owns the workshop could have sold it long ago for a small fortune—collectors from across the world have offered staggering amounts. But they refuse. To them, the car isn’t merchandise; it’s part of their story, a fixture of their everyday life.

How did a legend end up here?

The story is almost as strange as the sight itself. After finishing the 1999 JGTC season, the #38 Cerumo FK/Massimo Supra, driven by Yuji Tachikawa and Hironori Takeuchi, was retired due to a sponsorship change. Suddenly, this piece of racing hardware became unwanted. Running such a car privately was too expensive, too complex, and too niche.

So when the team no longer needed it, the small garage managed to acquire it—reportedly for free. They parked it outside as a quirky display piece, never imagining that decades later it would become a magnet for international attention. Since then, it has sat untouched: tyres deflated, panels corroding, its proud GT500 wing still standing tall against time.

Why this Supra mattered on track

To understand why this car’s abandonment is so remarkable, you need to know what it represented. The Mk IV Supra wasn’t just another JDM sports car; it was one of the crown jewels of the GT500 class. Toyota’s engineers broke convention by installing a 2.0-litre turbocharged 3S-GT engine from their rally cars instead of the heavy 2JZ inline-six. That stroke of genius delivered nearly 500 horsepower and 442 lb-ft of torque with a lighter package, making it a formidable rival to Nissan’s Skyline GT-R.

The Supras of the late 1990s, from the Castrol TOM’s icon to the Cerumo FK/Massimo cars, were central to what many call the golden age of Japanese GT racing. They were the poster cars of Gran Turismo, the machines that made global fans dream of Suzuka and Fuji.

A jewel turned to rust

And yet, one of those very cars now stands neglected, its glory days only hinted at by cracked decals and corroded wheels. For most fans, it’s almost unthinkable: how can a racing legend, worth a fortune in the eyes of collectors, be left exposed to the elements outside a small-town shop? But that contradiction is part of its magic.

The owners see it not as a wasted relic but as a constant reminder of an era gone by. It’s their landmark, their piece of history—something that no amount of money could replace. Will it ever be restored? Perhaps. But even in its current state, the Supra tells a richer story than any polished museum exhibit.

Because sometimes, the most fascinating legends aren’t those preserved in perfection, but those left to fade, quietly, into myth.

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