The Legend's Offspring

The front doorbell rang, piercing through the early morning silence. Hisashi groaned as she reluctantly dragged herself out of bed, glancing at the clock. 6:40 AM. Too early for anything good, she thought.

Still clad in her usual sleepwear—an oversized T-shirt that just barely skimmed the top of her short leggings, her unrestrained hair tumbling over her shoulders—she shuffled to the door. Comfortably disheveled and half-awake, she didn't think twice about opening it.

When she did, her eyes landed on Hen Akoto, standing at her doorstep with an almost comical look of determination. He held two buckets brimming with cleaning supplies, his posture screaming purpose. For a moment, they locked eyes, both caught off guard.

Hen's gaze flickered involuntarily, taking in her attire—a revelation that jolted him more than the early hour. His grip faltered, and one of the buckets slipped from his hand, sending bottles of cleaner clattering noisily onto the pavement. The noise snapped them both out of their stupor.

Hisashi's cheeks flared a bright red as realization dawned. She barely managed to stammer, "I—uh—sorry!" before slamming the door shut with a resounding thud. Leaning against it, she pressed her palms to her burning face, mortified by what had just transpired.

Through the door, her muffled voice rang out in sheer embarrassment, "I'll get changed! Just—just wait!"

Outside, Hen stood frozen, a flurry of thoughts racing through his mind. His face burned as he quickly crouched to gather the fallen bottles, muttering under his breath, "Great start, Niko. Just great."

By the time Hisashi came out dressed in better attire, Hen Akoto was sitting at the front steps of the house, buckets beside him. He turned as she stepped out and smiled. "Came to help." he said gesturing at the supplies.

Hisashi sat beside him, now dressed in her usual long leggings and tight long shirt and converse, "It's 7:00am."

"Well I couldnt sleep," Hen Akoto commented, "I got your car involved."

"Its not your fault," she assured him, "Its them."

As they worked through the day, scrubbing away the canned paint and replacing the tires, Hen Akoto showed his expertise by swiftly maneuvering the tire iron to loosen and tighten the screws. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and he periodically wiped it away with a towel draped over his shoulder. Meanwhile, Hisashi attempted to assist, stepping on the tire iron to help loosen the screws. Her earnest but somewhat clumsy efforts added a touch of cuteness to the scene, and Hen couldn't help but find it endearing. He observed her furrowed eyebrows as she focused on the task at hand, the beads of sweat stressing her determination as the sun set, casting a warm glow over their work.

As they wrapped up their tasks for the day, Hisashi, feeling exhausted from her futile attempts, stepped back with a huff, her voice tinged with frustration. "Dont say a word." She fanned her loose shirt to cool down her overheated body.

By evening, they had made significant progress, and Hen Akoto reclined on the steps of the entrance, seeking refuge from the sun's rays. As he gazed up at the roof, he couldn't help but notice Hisashi's long legs coming into view. She had been working tirelessly throughout the day, clad in leggings and a loose rose gold t-shirt. From his vantage point, he could glimpse her sports bra peeking out from beneath her shirt.

"Eyes here," she teased, interrupting his unintentional staring as she approached with two glasses of iced tea. Surprised, Hen Akoto blushed and quickly sat up, meeting her gaze.

As Hisashi handed over the glass with a warmth smile, "Thanks again," her fingers delicately brushed against Hen Akoto's, a brief yet intimate moment that sent a tingle down his spine. The softness of her touch lingered, leaving an indelible impression on Hen Akoto.

Accepting the glass with a grateful nod, Hen Akoto noticed the way Hisashi's eyes sparkled in the soft sunlight filtering through the trees. Her smile seemed to light up the whole scene, casting a comforting aura over the quiet ambiance.

As they settled down, the aftermath of their task spread out before them. The S13, once marred by vandalism, now stood as a testament to their hard work and determination. Hisashi's gaze drifted over the car, a mixture of pride and relief evident in her eyes.

"Your Ex?"

When Hen Akoto broached the topic of her ex, Hisashi's demeanor shifted slightly, a hint of apprehension coloring her expression. "Unfortunately," she replied tensely, her voice betraying the underlying emotions.

"Did you know he—" Hen trailed off, his curiosity piqued by the mention of Hisashi's ex.

Hisashi placed her glass on the table beside her, turning to face Hen Akoto. Her voice was steady but carried an undercurrent of reflection. "We were together since I was 13. Miroku always showed his interest in cars, but never like this. Sure, he was proud to be dating a Tsuchiya—"

Hen Akoto nearly choked on his iced tea, spitting it out with an audible sputter. "What?!" he exclaimed, his wide eyes locking onto hers in disbelief.

"What?" Hisashi asked, startled by his reaction.

Hen leaned forward, his tone filled with urgency. "Tsuchiya? As in Tsuchiya?"

"Yes…" she replied, drawing the word out, confused by the sheer astonishment on his face.

Hen set his glass down, his hands trembling slightly as he processed her words. "You're not joking, right?"

"I'm Jung Tsuchiya," she clarified, her brows furrowing.

Hen let out a nervous laugh, pacing back and forth in front of her. "Holy shit, Hisashi. Kumoku is a…" He trailed off, his voice almost reverent.

"Tsuchiya," she finished, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Hen stopped in his tracks, running his hands through his hair. "Damn, Hisashi, you can't just drop that bomb on me like this!" He exhaled sharply, a mix of disbelief and excitement. "This explains everything! Miroku's ego, your natural talent—it all makes sense now."

"What's going on?" Hisashi asked, her tone now tinged with worry at his animated reaction.

Hen fixed her with an intense gaze. "How much do you know about drifting?"

"I know how to execute it," she replied matter-of-factly.

Hen shook his head. "No, I mean the history of it. Does the name Keiichi Tsuchiya mean anything to you?"

Hisashi thought for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, Uncle Kei signed my dad."

Hen's jaw practically hit the floor. "Uncle Kei?" he stammered, his voice cracking. "Damn, Hisashi, you're twisting my heart into knots here!"

He burst into laughter, his energy now a mix of exhilaration and awe. "This… this makes so much sense. Your lineage, your instincts, your skill—you're a Tsuchiya. You're practically drifting royalty."

"Royalty?" Hisashi echoed, her tone incredulous.

Hen grinned, unable to contain himself. "Your family is the reason drifting exists as we know it today! If Keiichi hadn't pushed the limits of racing, experimenting with new techniques, the very fundamentals of what we do wouldn't exist."

"Really?" Hisashi asked, genuinely surprised. "I always thought it was just a street sport."

Hen's voice took on a reverent tone. "It started that way, sure, but it's evolved into something far more sophisticated. Your family laid the groundwork for that."

"Okay, okay," Hisashi teased, holding up a hand to stop him. "Dial down the fanboy."

Hen laughed, shaking his head. "You just keep surprising me."

Her grin turned sly, her tone playful. "How does it feel to be kissing a legend?"

Hen chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I have to admit, it's a huge turn-on." He stepped closer, his expression softening as he gazed at her.

Hisashi bit her lip, her gaze never wavering from his. "I don't want this to change—"

Before she could finish, Hen's lips met hers in an intense, passionate kiss. The sweetness of the iced tea they'd shared lingered on their mouths, blending into the electricity crackling between them. Hisashi felt a shiver race down her spine as their kiss deepened, his hands gently cupping her face while hers clung to his shirt, grounding herself in the moment.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths mingling in the charged silence, Hisashi's heart raced. She gazed into Hen's eyes, her emotions swirling like a storm. For a moment, the world faded away, leaving only the two of them wrapped in the warmth of their connection.

Hen's hand lingered on her cheek, his voice low and filled with sincerity. "You're more than a legacy, Hisashi. You're you. That's what matters to me."

Her lips curved into a small smile, the weight of his words settling in her chest. "And you're just full of surprises," she whispered, leaning in to steal another kiss.

__________________

The soft clinking of silverware and the murmur of hushed conversations wrapped the intimate corner of the restaurant in a bubble of quiet sophistication. The space was elegant but unpretentious, a careful blend of contemporary charm and timeless warmth, with soft lighting that cast a golden hue over the evening. The faint notes of a piano drifted through the air, underscoring the subtle tension at the table where Xiangua and Yuri sat.

The invitation had come unexpectedly, though perhaps not surprisingly. Yuri Kurosawa was nothing if not persistent, his name a constant echo in her life ever since they had exchanged numbers. A phone call here, a message there—each interaction like a string pulling her closer, unraveling the careful walls she had built. She tried to resist it at first, dismissing him as another fleeting presence, just another impossibly handsome face in a glossy magazine or television screen. But Yuri had a knack for becoming unavoidable. He was everywhere. A chance glance at a billboard, a commercial on TV, his name in casual conversations—no matter where she looked, Yuri had already quietly placed himself in her orbit.

Now here they were, across a small table for two, the chemistry between them palpable. Xiangua sat composed, outwardly calm as always, though her heart drummed a quiet, nervous rhythm beneath her carefully poised exterior. She dissected her meal with the same care she gave most things in life—measured, deliberate. Meanwhile, Yuri watched her with a quiet kind of focus, his wine glass twirling lazily in his fingers.

"Well, Miss Xing," Yuri finally broke the silence, his voice smooth and deep, tinged with that same playful charm he always wielded effortlessly. "What do you seek?"

Xiangua's gaze lifted, her lips curling into a small smile as she reached for her wine. She savored the moment before responding, the glint of mischief in her eyes masking her inner restlessness. "I'm a very open-minded woman, Kurosawa," she said lightly, her tone dancing between teasing and serious.

"And a very capable one," Yuri replied without hesitation, his gaze steady and unrelenting. "But I like to clarify needs. I can see your past relationships… weren't ideal."

Xiangua leaned back in her chair, her fingers brushing a strand of hair behind her ear—an act that was both natural and telling. "Are you considering me relationship material?" she challenged, though her voice betrayed the flicker of uncertainty behind the question.

Yuri leaned in slightly, closing some of the space between them. His smile was softer now, less teasing, replaced by something deeper and more sincere. "I don't want to be like the rest," he said quietly. "I've had my share of bad relationships, especially the ones I didn't get to choose."

He set the wine glass down, his fingers lingering against the rim as if grounding himself before he continued. "I need you to tell me how to treat you. Fast? Slow? Kisses and movies? Hotels and casinos? The American Dream or the Korean drama?"

Xiangua let out a soft laugh, her cheeks faintly flushed from the wine—and maybe something more. "Are you trying to manipulate me?"

Yuri shook his head, a genuine smile gracing his face. "On the contrary, I want you to manipulate me. If I wanted to control things to suit myself, I could've done that by now. But like I said, I don't want to be like the rest. I want to give you what you want."

Xiangua's curiosity piqued as her smile softened. "Why so willing?" she asked quietly, her voice steady but searching.

Yuri's gaze didn't waver. "Because my scope is small, Xiangua," he admitted, his tone honest and steady. "And you've managed to get into it."

A silence settled over them, thick with unspoken possibilities. The vulnerability in his words wasn't lost on her.

"My last relationships were chosen by my mother," Yuri said softly, his voice carrying the weight of his experiences. "I never had the liberty to make my own choices. Studying psychology opened my eyes—to patterns, to how fragile relationships can be when they don't have the basics." He paused, his gaze softening as his hand reached out to brush Xiangua's fingers gently, the gesture warm and reassuring. "You're a gentle spirit, Xiangua, and I like that."

Xiangua felt her pulse quicken at the tenderness in his touch, the sincerity in his voice weaving through the carefully guarded spaces of her heart. "I wish to be the guy—the Rowoon—for you," he added with a boyish grin.

Xiangua blushed, the mention of her secret phone wallpaper catching her off guard. "You cheeky bastard," she said, trying to play off her embarrassment with a laugh. "You do know how to hit the spot."

"Well," Yuri replied, his smile growing wider, his confidence unmistakable, "I can hit all the spots you want, if you let me."

Xiangua gasped in mock outrage, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Do you really think you can handle me, Yuri?"

His grin softened, but his gaze remained intense, unwavering. "I think I can," he murmured, his tone steady and certain. "And God help me if I need to."

For a brief moment, neither of them said anything, their hands still lightly touching on the table, their gazes locked. The world outside the restaurant seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them surrounded by the faint glow of candlelight and the quiet hum of possibility.

And for the first time in a long while, Xiangua let herself imagine what it would feel like to let someone in—to let him in.