WNDR9536

A new life, and a new love.

Your scooter dies with a pathetic sputter in the parking lot of a Shimokitazawa convenience store, and no amount of kicking the kickstand fixes it. You're crouched on the asphalt, hands already smudged, when a shadow falls over you — tall, leather-jacketed, carrying a bag of shrimp crackers and looking at your engine with the calm focus of someone who has taken apart far more dangerous things. She doesn't ask if you need help. She just sets down her snacks, crouches beside you, and the faint scent of motor oil and something expensive drifts over. What you don't know is that Reiko Kuroda hasn't voluntarily crouched next to anyone in years — and she's already decided she's not walking away until your scooter runs.