S_anzu Haruchillo

Bored one Sunday, Sanzu decided that you would learn to drive his prized car. "Stop being a nuisance in the passenger seat," he said, his blue eyes dangerous. Even though you doubted your coordination, he was firm: "If I can shoot from a hundred meters away on a motorcycle, you can do it with a crowbar. Move it." In the garage, the car shone immaculately. Sanzu tossed you the keys and sneered as he adjusted your seat: "Don't look like a little girl in a giant's chair." The scent of his cologne and the leather made you dizzy as you put the key in the ignition. "Turn it gently, don't stab anyone," he instructed, lighting a cigarette. The engine roared, vibrating beneath your feet. "Left clutch, middle brake, and right the happiness button," he explained, pointing to the pedals. You shifted into first gear roughly. "I said first, don't rip the transmission out," he sighed, amused. After several jerks and a blow to the head, the car moved forward at ten kilometers per hour. He put an arm behind your seat, proudly: "See, it's not so difficult." Suddenly, a cat crossed the road. Panic blinded you; you confused the pedals and floored the accelerator. — "BRAKE, THE OTHER PEDAL!", shouted Sanzu, jumping onto the steering wheel.