Japan Inside: Kazuki Ohashi – The Art of Breaking the Rules

Few cars ignite the imagination quite like the Ferrari Testarossa. Its aggressive silhouette, angular lines, and iconic side air intakes are the very essence of the bold supercar aesthetic of the 1980s. For many enthusiasts, the priority is clear: preserve it in as close to factory condition as possible. Kazuki Ohashi, however, chose an entirely different path — guided by his own sensibility, creative freedom, and a willingness to defy automotive convention.

In a small workshop, tucked away in the Japanese countryside — far from the glow of Tokyo's neon lights and the urban bustle — Kazuki is carrying out his own quiet revolution. Among fellow enthusiasts, he has earned a reputation as a craftsman who isn't afraid to push the boundaries of what a classic car can be.

His 1989 Testarossa retains its original 4.9-litre flat-12 engine and five-speed manual gearbox. Rather than aggressive modifications, the car stands out primarily through its lowered air suspension and perfectly fitted Autostrada Modena wheels — 18 inches up front, 19 at the rear. These wide, refurbished rims fill the subtly widened arches (+20 mm), giving the car a commanding yet understated presence.

The body remains virtually untouched. The only subtle accent is at the rear, where a bumper from the later 512 TR has been used — lending a gently refreshed line. The whole car needs no additional spoilers, splitters, or visual extras. Kazuki's project is a fusion of factory elegance with a balanced, contemporary reinterpretation.

This is not a car built for show — it is a deliberate statement of style and coherence.

When photos of Kazuki's Testarossa began circulating online, they quickly set automotive forums ablaze. Some admired the surgical precision of the execution and the refreshed character of an iconic model; others — mostly purist traditionalists — accused him of betraying the car's original spirit. But above the wave of commentary, one clear truth stood out: this was no superficial modification. It was a personal reinterpretation. Profound and entirely authentic.

Kazuki never chased applause. Step by step, he built his own style — considered, consistent, and free from fleeting trends. Every choice, from the wheel offset to the body lines, was driven by intuition and personal vision, not the pursuit of likes.

Kazuki's workshop, Madlane, is hidden among the rural landscapes of Japan. A visit feels more like meeting an artist than stepping into a garage. It is a space where everything carries meaning: automotive relics, pop-culture references, vintage elements from the 1970s and '80s, and even details drawn from streetwear — all coexisting in surprisingly harmonious fashion.

Madlane is more than a workshop. It is the physical manifestation of Kazuki's philosophy. Together with his team, he has created an environment where every project is born with obsessive attention to detail and total commitment to the vision. Regardless of the marque — be it Porsche, Honda, or Lamborghini — the results share a common signature: radical, yet cohesive style.

Kazuki admits that his approach to building cars was shaped by the American custom scene and the European attitude to style. On one hand, he was drawn to the freedom of modification; on the other, to the pursuit of elegance and purity of form.

Before turning to exotic marques, he worked on a Honda Civic — a car that became his first exercise in aesthetics, proportion, and coherence.

What sets his Testarossa apart is not merely its altered appearance, but above all its harmony. It draws the eye not through spectacle, but through precision.

Kazuki's Testarossa was not dramatically rebuilt — its lines remain close to the original, yet the end result is something entirely new.

It is a car that commands attention not through loudness, but through the tension of its proportions. It sits low, wide, and assured — as though the form itself speaks more than any styling exercise ever could.

I saw it in Poland, at one of the events. Among many remarkable cars, it was this particular example that drew attention through its composure and quiet confidence. It did not shout. It simply was. Effortless, unapologetic. Like someone who pretends nothing, because they know exactly who they are.

Original? Without question. Bold? Undeniably.

During our conversation, I asked Kazuki about his beginnings, his inspirations, and the path that brought him to where he stands today — not only as a creator of projects, but as a man with a distinct style and clear convictions.

Here is an excerpt from our conversation.

Let's start at the beginning. Where did your passion for cars come from? Were you interested in them as a child, or did something awaken that interest later on?

My passion for cars started when I was 11 years old. Before that, I wasn't particularly interested in cars, and I didn't grow up in an environment where they were a part of everyday life. One day, I was at a friend's house, and he was playing a car video game. I watched him play. In his home, there was a 1958 Chevrolet Impala and a JDM sports compact. Since I visited often, over time I began to notice how special those cars were. I became interested and started playing the games myself — and that's how my love for cars was born.

In middle school, I became interested in radio-controlled models — I assembled and modified them myself. They were like toys straight out of the video games. Over time, as I delved deeper into modifications, I started focusing on making the models look stylish — paying attention to the paint, the wheels, and other details.

When I got my driving licence, I bought a Honda Civic — it was affordable at the time. However, I was fascinated by the elegance and prestige of European cars, so I wanted to bring those qualities into my own project. Back then, fitting European wheels to Japanese cars was rare. So I began looking into Wörthersee culture, doing research — and ultimately, that Honda became my first car to make the cover of a Japanese car magazine.

When my father achieved business success, he bought a Testarossa. While he was away on an extended trip, I modified the car — lowering the suspension and hand-reshaping the bodywork. At the time, I didn't have the means to buy or develop an air suspension system for a Ferrari, so I modified a Honda suspension and fitted it to the Testarossa.

That Testarossa became my calling card. It was later rebuilt once more and brought to perfection.

I never attended an automotive school or learned techniques from anyone. My passion and a pure love for cars allowed me to develop my skills as a builder.

Today, I am the owner of Madlane and operate as an entrepreneur and businessman. Madlane is a company I founded on my own. My path is completely different from the one my father took, who is now retired. People often say I was always wealthy, but I built everything myself. And I am proud of that.

That's a truly moving origin story. The fact that a brief experience — seeing remarkable cars at a friend's house and watching him play a video game — could evolve into a lifelong passion and become a craft is extraordinary.

You mentioned that you discovered European style and Wörthersee culture fairly early on. What was the Japanese car scene like during all of this, particularly in the 1990s and 2000s, when you were growing up? Were there any cars you saw on the streets, features in magazines, or local tuners who shaped your perception of car culture at the time?

Of course, I was influenced by Japanese car culture. Not far from my home, there's a well-known drifting circuit — Bihoku Highland Circuit, about a 15-minute drive away. When I started getting into cars, D1 Grand Prix was hugely popular, so I saw a lot of street cars set up for drifting. At the time, regulations weren't as strict as they are today — Japanese drift cars were everywhere. It essentially became normal for me.

And that's exactly why I began longing for something new, for a different kind of culture.

In retrospect, growing up in a place where that scene was part of everyday life makes me realise I was living in a truly unique environment.

Absolutely, I understand that perfectly. Drift culture really did have a massive impact — even in Europe. The legend of the Drift King, Initial D, the whole D1 scene — all of it shaped an entire generation of car enthusiasts.

Your projects are always clean and refined — never excessive, yet full of character. What draws you to that particular creative direction? And I'm also curious: how do you know when a project is truly "finished"? What inspires you most?

I always want to create something new. I don't like replicating what already exists. That's exactly why every car built at Madlane is one of a kind. But it also has to suit the surroundings of the city where it will be driven. Because it's the owner who will see and experience it every day — the car has to be part of their everyday world.

I don't have a set standard that defines a project as "finished" — and, in truth, it's not really for me to decide. Perhaps the closest thing to that is the moment when the owner feels the car is neither overdone nor too restrained — that it's simply "just right."

I'm particularly sensitive to colour. I'm often inspired by the everyday — logos, interiors, utilitarian objects.

Your work on building cars shows an incredible attention to detail. Whether you're creating a suspension from scratch or designing wheels — every project is meticulously crafted.

As a builder: how important is the hands-on, craft-based approach and precision to you?

Many builders believe that the more work you put into a project, the better the result. But my approach is different. It takes real sensitivity to achieve maximum impact with a minimum number of changes. It's not about what you use — it's about how you use it. I focus on making the entire character of the car feel unified.

Each of us chases our own definition of "cool" — and there's no single answer to what that is, because everyone's taste is different. That's why I build cars with a specific mood in mind.

For example, I can create a custom car that even someone with no interest in cars would walk past without a second glance — because it looks so natural. And yet it has BBS wheels, a completely redesigned interior, and a lowered suspension. But nothing is imposing. And that's what I call "mood."

I don't like cars that look as though someone forcefully "built" them. And the truth is, I've put more work into them than anyone else. I get my hands dirty to create something that looks effortless — something that feels as though it came into being on its own.

Your philosophy of a balanced, natural approach to building cars is clearly present across all your projects — and it truly sets you apart.

Among them, the 935 ML holds a special place — a bold vision and a tribute to a legendary race car. It's a project that goes beyond the boundaries of traditional custom building. It carries a powerful message and a strong identity.

What does this car mean to you personally? And what were the greatest challenges — creative or technical — that you had to overcome to bring it to life?

This project pushed me to the limit of my capabilities. The build took nearly five years, because it all began with studying Porsche's history. I invested a great deal of time, energy, and money into reaching the people who truly shaped that legacy. That investment paid off many times over.

Passion has a power that draws people's eyes — even when no one knows the story behind it.

During the build, I did many things for the first time. But the greatest challenge was learning how to express something of my own while maintaining respect for someone else's culture. I started from zero — and I had to travel a long road before others understood that my approach was genuine. Ultimately, however, the mood of the finished car and the level of dedication behind it made it all worthwhile.

It's clear that this project was not just an engineering challenge, but something deeply personal. And speaking of personal experiences — you visited Poland in 2019, and you'll be here again in 2025. What impression did the local car culture make on you back then? And this time around — what encounters or experiences are you most looking forward to?

Ultrace was, without exaggeration, a life-changing experience for me. Bringing a car from Japan to a country with a completely different language and culture meant stepping into unknown territory. I'm sure that for many people around me, it might have seemed strange. But for someone who comes from a scene as small as mine, appearing at such a large, international event was a turning point. I gained an enormous amount of experience and inspiration — and today, I truly believe that Madlane is recognised around the world.

I'm really excited to be coming back this year. I don't know how people will react to the version of me that has become even more uncompromising over time — but I hope they'll appreciate it. And that they'll take an interest in the projects I'm creating now — even bolder and more personal than before. The longer you look at them, the deeper they draw you into my world.

Looking at the cars I build is like looking at my life. See you in Poland!

One of the next chapters in Kazuki's body of work was the 935ML project — a car that made it clear his ambitions reach far beyond aesthetics or traditional customs. This time, it wasn't just about style, but about genuine performance engineering.

The 935ML is a machine inspired by motorsport history, yet one that transcends its original framework. Here, it wasn't only form that mattered, but technical perfection — and a readiness to compete on track.

This is no tribute wrapped in fibreglass. It is a transformation built with performance in mind — driven by technical ambition, precision craftsmanship, and an uncompromising approach to building things differently.

The genesis of the 935ML traces back to a pivotal moment in Austria, where Kazuki first encountered an original Porsche 935 J. The encounter left a deep impression — not only because of the car's legendary appearance, but above all because of its purity of purpose.

Kazuki did not return with the intention of copying. Instead, he began shaping his own vision: a reinterpretation grounded in the principles of race engineering, filtered through his own sense of form.

After returning to Japan, the project began to take tangible shape. A Porsche 964 Carrera was chosen as the base — selected for its proportions and adaptive potential. This was never meant to be a replica. It was to be a platform capable of bearing the full weight of the concept — both mechanically and visually.

One of the turning points was acquiring an original rear deck lid from a 935 K4 — sourced through a contact in the United States. It wasn't just a part. It was the spark that elevated the project from concept to reality.

The bodywork was created through a combination of traditional metalworking techniques and modern modelling. Kazuki drew on scale models, 3D data, and unique components from suppliers such as DP Motorsport and Kremer Racing. The front end is a blend of several elements, precisely merged to achieve the right proportions. The rear, sills, and roofline were hand-formed to evoke the muscular profile of the 935 K4 — without compromising the 964's structure.

While the 935ML makes a tremendous visual impression, the true heart of the project lies in its engineering. Beneath the bodywork sits a race-grade architecture: a reinforced tubular front frame, a pneumatic lift system, Lexan windows, and a full roll cage — all subordinated to track-focused functionality.

At its core is an air-cooled 3.8-litre flat-six with twin turbochargers, producing between 500 and 800 horsepower depending on boost settings. The package is supported by an aluminium intake manifold, an Inconel exhaust system, and a top-mounted fan — a mechanical homage to the original 935, executed with modern precision.

The gearbox is a Holinger sequential unit from a 997 RSR, mounted in reverse — to lower the centre of gravity and improve balance. The suspension geometry has been thoroughly reworked. Modelled on cantilever-type systems from RUF, it delivers lightning-fast response under load.

The 935ML is also a collection of details where form meets function. The massive rear wing — borrowed and adapted from a Lamborghini Diablo GTR — may sound unconventional, but it integrates perfectly into the car's silhouette. The 18-inch BBS wheels are original racing units, restored in Japan and fitted with Yokohama slick tyres.

The interior stays true to the analogue soul of the 911, enhanced with track-focused additions: a gauge cluster from DP Motorsport, a MoTeC M1 management system, a racing pedal box, a fire suppression system, and dual anti-roll bar adjusters. Kazuki's characteristic self-awareness is evident even in the boost pressure mode switch, where the options read simply: Alive, or Dead — a subtle nod to the car's dual nature.

Although the 935ML has appeared at prestigious events such as the Tokyo Auto Salon and Karrera x Daikanyama Garage, it was never built to shine under spotlights. Kazuki has repeatedly emphasised that he plans to put the car through real competition — with further upgrades already underway. Among them: lightweight carbon-fibre components and precise tuning for time-attack events.

For him, the 935ML is not a completed project, but a living platform — a machine in constant evolution. Created to prove its worth on track, not merely on display.

The 935ML stands out not because it imitates history — but because it redefines it. Kazuki did not recreate a racing icon. He reinterpreted it on his own terms — merging modern engineering with heritage and vision.

This project is not just about style. It is a manifesto of innovation, proof that something meaningful can be created by drawing from the past while building toward the future.

Kazuki Ohashi and his 935ML represent a rare fusion of artistry and engineering. It is a vehicle that pays tribute not through imitation — but through transformation. Built with contemporary tools, guided by the spirit of the past, ready for a future full of challenges.

For Kazuki, this is not the final word. It is the next step on a path defined by vision, precision, and an unrelenting drive to push beyond the limits.