Chapter Text
“I don’t regret anything. Not one bit.”
Shez announced this as he stepped through the sliding door.
Arval sighed, following behind. “I guess I wouldn’t, either. If I were in your shoes. Also, don’t wear your shoes in here.”
Shez pulled off his shoes, and placed them in the cubby beside the door. “Yeah. They were like, ‘jail, or Japan?’ What am I gonna say? Jail?”
“I would’ve put you in jail,” Arval scoffed.
Shez snickered. He shucked off his school jacket. “But I’ve been such a good boy.”
His host didn’t find it that funny. Arval squinted.
“I know you were racing last night.”
Fuck. Okay, here’s what happened:
The first day of school went poorly. Back in Long Beach, he stuck out for breaking the rules, but that was when he knew the rules. So now he’s breaking rules in an uncool manner, and that wasn’t gonna fly. Not to mention all the cuties he had embarrassed himself in front of when he failed to name the district of Tokyo he lived in. What the hell is a district?
So, Shez ate lunch alone in the cafeteria, or he did for at least five minutes. A girl with bright red hair plopped down in the seat beside him, with a mischievous glint in her eye. Shez has been on the receiving end of many different glares, and he knew this one well. He sighed, and didn’t even look her way.
In the best Japanese he could muster, he stuttered, “If you’re going to try and sell me something, forget it.”
The girl scoffed. She replied in English, “No, that’s the other chick with red hair. I’m the one you’re gonna want to be around.”
She extended a hand. “I’m Monica.”
After a quick once-over, Shez accepted the handshake, and responded. “You’re alright, Mon. But I’m still trying to make good impressions, here. Not looking for a chick, not yet.”
“I heard about your whole homeroom debacle. You’re already past making a ‘good impression,’” Monica said. “I’m here to help you make a bad one.”
Shez raised a curious eyebrow. Monica reached down, and into his pocket, fishing out the contents. Shez’s car keys jangled before his eyes.
Ugh. The keys to his girl. His sweet, sweet BMW E30. He didn’t expect it to hurt, but it did.
With another exasperated sigh, Shez shut her down. “Forgot I still had those. That car is in California, sweetheart. America.”
Monica maintained the smirk on her face. “I’m not interested in what you drive. I’m interested in drivers.”
She stood from the table, and was strutting off before Shez could even process what she’d just said. “Meet me at the train station at midnight, if you’re interested.”
And that’s when Shez decided that he no longer gave a shit about his first day of school. Monica was a girl with a plan, and while he didn’t know what this plan was, he was glad to be in it. It was probably taxi driving. Or deliveries. It didn’t even matter. He was glad for a chance to be back in a car, hell, to be near a car.
Even though a car was the very thing that got Shez shipped across the globe.
Well, whatever. With his expectations as low as they were, Shez was delightfully surprised to see Monica standing on the train platform that night, decked out in a stunning mess of an outfit: her cropped tank top was as high as her jeans were low, and every inch of fabric was decked out in bright ribbons.
Shez laughed, amused. “I like your… whatever this is you have going on.”
Monica rolled her eyes. “And you’re still wearing your uniform,” she complained, as she tugged him into the crowded train car.
They were nose-to-nose, and Shez couldn’t have breathed if he wanted to. Monica squinted, studying his face. Her mascara was a little smudged.
“I can make it work,” she muttered to herself. “You probably dirty up nice. But you’d better be worth the work.”
“I still don’t know what’s going on,” Shez swallowed. He raised his chin to the bright lights above to avoid her gaze.
It was a bad idea, because Monica laughed lowly, and Shez could feel her breath on his bared neck.
“I like it that way,” she said. “It’s much more exciting, don’t you think?”
“No. I don’t think,” Shez replied, and the train doors burst open, and he was falling backward through the dispersing crowd. Monica dragged him through and between the gaps with ease. The sea parted at the top of the stairs, just in time for Shez to stare at the mesmerizing city he’d just stepped into.
Before moving here, Shez had thought Tokyo to be just another big city, like San Francisco or Manhattan, despite never having been to either. Now, as he stared straight up and failed to spot the top of the skyscrapers around him, he knew he’d been wrong to assume so: no district in Tokyo could be boxed under a single name, and Shibuya was well more than proof.
Monica continued to yank him along, giving Shez no time to stare at the bright billboards and stunning passerby. He came to when he realized he was being dragged diagonally through a massive four-way intersection, and was no less stunned when he realized everyone else was doing the exact same.
“Here we are,” Monica said brightly. They had come to stop in front of a parking garage, the entrance shut behind a metal grate. A young man, clad in simple jeans and a hoodie, leaned against the wall.
He nodded up at Monica. “Where’s your ride?”
Monica propped her elbow on Shez’s shoulder. “I’m here on business, today,” she replied.
When the guy looked him up and down, Shez resisted the urge to flinch. He had no reason to be this nervous. It’s not like he was being lead blind like a sacrificial sheep into the unknown. Except he was.
Shez reminded himself to stop caring. He cleared his throat. “Name’s Shez,” he grunted.
“Don’t care,” the guy said, his back already turned. With a swift pull, he propped the gate on his shoulders. “Go on in. Don’t let him do any stupid shit. DQ’s here.”
At that, Monica visibly vibrated with what could be anything from excitement to terror. She zoomed right into the garage without a backward glance, confident Shez would follow. And, of course, he did. He followed her across the deserted lot, all the way up the ramp, and to the second floor.
That’s when Shez sealed his fate.
Parking garages are made for one thing: cars. But never, not ever, had Shez seen this many cars in his life. Not only that, but these were cars that he couldn’t have come up with in his wildest dreams. With sloping curves, and a chassis that nearly kissed the floor, each candy-colored whip was delicious to behold, and Shez was fucking salivating.
The floor was packed with people, as fine as could be, but Shez paid them no mind. He floated to the nearest masterpiece, a lagoon blue Nissan, with a sturdy frame, and an absolutely prodigious spoiler. It was almost comical that he found a Nissan sexy, but he didn’t come across very many back home, and this thing was sexy.
That is, until Shez saw what was beneath the hood. There, where he’d been expecting the strong heart of a V8 engine, was instead a little red box.
“What the fuuuuck…” He muttered.
As he stared in disbelief, a voice piped up from behind him. “You alright, there?”
Shez paid no attention to him. His eyes darted from hood to hood, and he found no comfort.
Only after he’d appraised each one, did Shez wheel around and face the person who’d snuck up behind him. He shouted, “Not one V8? How do you expect to move? How do yo—”
His mouth snapped shut. Shez’s brain had finally allowed himself enough function beyond ‘car’ to process the person in front of him. And, well, he was quite a guy. Tall, and blonde, with a face befitting a prince. With an amused grin, the dude picked the conversation up from where Shez had shot it dead.
“You must not be from around here,” he chuckled. He pursed his lips, pensive. “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen you before…”
Despite not having mentioned a single thing, Shez cleared his throat. “I’m Shez. I just moved here from the United States.”
“I’m Dimitri,” said Dimitri, extending a hand. Shez gave it a limp shake, having never shaken a hand before. “No wonder you were expecting a different engine. Why, you must have no idea what some of these cars are!” Dimitri continued.
Before Shez could reply, the crowd behind the two erupted into shrieks. While everyone, including Shez, turned their heads toward the noise, Dimitri looked the other way. His expression had gone cold.
“Seems she’s here, tonight,” he sighed. “Go ahead. You should still take a look, being a newcomer.”
With only the slightest hint of a second thought, Shez backed away from Dimitri, and into the fray.
Shez tried his best to peer over the sea of people in front of him, but was swept back with each attempt. He was about to give up, when an all-too-familiar arm made its way over his shoulders. For the very first time, Shez was relieved to find Monica.
She shot him a blinding grin. “Don’t worry, pal! I’ll get you in!”
Considering Monica wasn’t tall in the slightest, Shez was doubtful. He was quickly proven wrong. Wherever Monica stepped, the crowd parted, as if she were brandishing a gun; she clearly had some clout in this baffling world, and Shez was grateful to be on her side.
When the two of them arrived at the center of the maelstrom, Shez quite literally fell to his knees. There, in front of him, was an immaculate, cherry red Subaru Impreza 22B. As if that hadn’t been enough, lounging on the hood were the three hottest chicks he’d ever seen.
The girl on the left had long waves that had been color-treated so much that they’d turned orange, a shocking shade against her deeply tanned skin. Her glossy lips and leopard print camisole were the same shade of peachy pink.
She was arguing with the girl sitting on the opposite end of the hood, and it was clear to see why; it’s as if the two had been handpicked from opposite ends of the galaxy. This girl had a head full of pitch black curls, adorned by blood red bows. Her skirt was so enormous that it spilled over the side of the car, exposing layer after layer of the bolstering petticoats beneath. Underneath it all, Shez could spot a pair of dainty black Mary Janes.
“You got to be in the passenger seat last week, Helena!” Spat the tanned girl.
Helena only smirked. “I can’t imagine that Her Majesty would want you as her copilot, Ferdie.”
Ferdie’s jaw dropped. She turned her attention to the girl who sat between them, with an arm thrown over each of their shoulders.
“DQ! Tell me that’s not true!”
Shez perked up. There’s that name again: DQ. And, finally, here’s that person in the flesh. A pale, platinum blonde young woman, clad in a perfectly tailored red patent leather jumpsuit. The same red as the car she sat upon, just as striking.
Because he’d been so busy staring, Shez failed to notice that DQ’s piercing gaze was trained onto him.
“What’s this?” She asked, and the crowd fell silent. At that, Monica all but genuflected beside the wheel of the car.
“Y-your…your DQ-ness, I have, uh,” she stammered. “I have a new trainee.”
Shez forced himself to meet her stare, and it was quite terrifying. It was as if she could see straight through him, despite having nothing to be ashamed of.
“This is a white boy,” she stated in Japanese, with a dismissive wave.
Shez frowned; he had no idea what she’d just called him, but she called him something. “You got a problem with me?”
Monica leapt up, and slapped her hand over his mouth. “No problem! None at all!”
She whispered harshly in Shez’s ear, “I told you not to talk!”
“No, you didn’t!” Shez whispered back.
Their charades were amusing to the three girls. With an elegant dismount, DQ walked right up to Shez.
“Would you like to be a problem?” She murmured.
Although she’d switched to English, Shez could recognize a challenge in any tongue. He took one long look at her ride, before returning to her smug face.
“I think I would,” Shez replied.
“Madame DQ, you—please, you’re making a mistake,” Monica blubbered, inserting herself into the middle of the two.
DQ did not move her eyes from Shez. “Are you suggesting I make mistakes?”
Monica balked. “No! No, certainly not! It’s just—Shez doesn’t have any training! He drives on the wrong side of the road! He doesn’t even have a car!”
“He has a car.”
An unknown voice called out from the crowd. The onlookers parted to reveal the source: a fellow student, clearly, judging from his disheveled uniform shirt. He had unruly brown curls, and bright emerald eyes. The most important thing about him, however, was the bright yellow car key dangling from his outstretched hand.
DQ’s smile warmed immediately upon seeing this guy.
“See? He has a car, Monica,” she repeated. “I don’t see why we can’t race. After all, you brought him here, right? Isn’t that what we do?”
Monica had gone paper white, and was completely speechless. Her eyes darted from Shez, to DQ, to the dangling keys. Although she said nothing, Shez knew what she was thinking: don’t take those keys.
But Shez found himself agreeing with DQ. Why was he here? He still didn’t know. But, here he stood, being offered an answer in the form of his greatest joy. If that’s what they do here, then he wanted to be a part of it. If that’s what they do, then he wanted to prove himself by any means necessary.
Shez walked over, and took the keys from the boy’s hand.
The crowd erupted. Monica dragged her hands down her face, fully smudging her mascara. All eyes were on Shez, all but those of DQ, who had turned to her car.
“Then let’s race,” she said. Her long hair whipped as she disappeared into the driver’s seat.
“Then let’s race,” Shez said.