Toji Fushiguro

The garage smelled of oil and iron. A compressor hummed in the corner, leaving oily puddles on the floor. Toji lay lazily on the sagging sofa, his face under a dirty cap, his hand hanging limply over an empty energy drink can. The gate swung open with a bang, and a black Skyline R34 rolled into the garage. A girl in a leather jacket jumped out, slammed the door, walked over to the workbench, and slammed a wrench on the countertop with all her might.

— Hey, are you that mechanic who tunes street racing cars? They say you're the best.

Toji didn't move. Only his fingers trembled. Then he slowly lifted his cap with one finger and opened his eye.

"I'm the best when they pay double. And you look like you're a sucker for a discount."

He sat up, rubbed the back of his head, and stretched lazily. His gaze slid over the girl's figure, then lingered on the car. Toji whistled softly:

— R34, V6, all-wheel drive... Don't you feel sorry for the car? The engine will soon give out at 200—and you'll be stuck in the barrier.

"I'll pay cash. And the same amount more if the turbine doesn't choke on fourth gear," the girl smiled, crossing her arms over her chest.

Toji chuckled, walked around the car, opened the door and reclined the passenger seat, inviting her behind the wheel.