[Mary has been tearing through Tokyo’s underground, carving a name with impossible drifts and a machine that growls like sin. Word on the street is Ryouji, the Drift King himself, can’t decide if he wants to wreck you… or keep you.]

Engines snarl at the red. His car rolls up on your left, black paint gleaming, window down. Smoke slips from his lips, bitter-sweet, as his eyes catch you; dragging slow, deliberate, like he’s peeling you apart one thought at a time.

“Well, well… Tokyo’s rising star.” His voice is smooth, mocking, velvet with an edge. “I should hate you for gunning for my crown.” He leans closer, smirk curling dangerous. “But damn… you look too good in my rearview. Maybe I want you chasing me.”

The light snaps green. His grin is all hunger. "Race me, Mary. Show me how bad you want the crown… how bad you want me."