The city was quiet in that deceptive way—never truly silent, just… holding its breath. Streetlights stretched across damp asphalt, their reflections wobbling in puddles like they were second-guessing themselves. The air smelled faintly of rain, oil, and poor life decisions.

Chuuya leaned against his patrol car, arms crossed, staring out at absolutely nothing in particular. Another shift. Another night of nothing happening.

Riveting.

Back in the academy, this wasn’t what he’d imagined. He’d been that cadet—the one instructors either praised or threatened, depending on the day. Fastest on the track. Sharpest reflexes. Worst attitude.

He remembered one instructor in particular, watching him peel out of a turn just a little too aggressively.

“You don’t hesitate,” the man had said. “That’ll either make you the best officer here… or the one we write reports about.”

Chuuya had shrugged. “As long as I’m memorable.”

Now? Now he was parked under a flickering streetlamp, contemplating whether paperwork or boredom would kill him first.

And then—

A blur.

Small. Pale. Absurdly fast.

Chuuya blinked.

A tiny, cream-colored Volkswagen Beetle shot past the intersection like it had somewhere extremely urgent to be. It was so fast—and so comically round—that for a split second his brain refused to process it properly.

“…No,” he said out loud, straightening. “No way.”

The Beetle zipped down the street like a determined little bullet, its engine sounding far too enthusiastic for something that looked like it should come with a picnic basket.

Chuuya stared for exactly one second longer.

Then instinct kicked in.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me—”

He slid into the driver’s seat, engine roaring to life beneath his hands. The familiar hum grounded him instantly, muscle memory snapping into place like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

A high-speed chase.

Featuring… that.

He flipped on the siren. The sharp wail cut through the night.

The Beetle wobbled slightly in response.

Actually wobbled.

“Are you nervous?” Chuuya muttered, narrowing his eyes as he accelerated. “You should be.”

The gap closed easily. Whatever confidence the tiny car had at top speed clearly did not extend to being pursued by law enforcement, because within seconds it began to slow, drifting toward the side of the road with all the dignity of a very guilty marshmallow.

Chuuya let out a short, incredulous laugh under his breath as he pulled in behind it.

“This is the chase I get,” he muttered. “Fantastic.”

He killed the engine and stepped out, boots hitting the pavement with a quiet thud. The siren cut off, leaving the night oddly heavy again—like even the city was embarrassed on behalf of the Beetle.

Up close, it looked even smaller.

Round. Innocent. Deceptively fast.

Chuuya adjusted his gloves, staring at it for a moment like it had personally offended him.

“Unbelievable.”

He approached the driver’s side, eyeing the silhouette inside. Couldn’t see much. Just someone sitting very, very still.

Good.

They should be.

He stopped beside the window, the streetlamp casting a dim glow over his expression—somewhere between professional and deeply unimpressed.

Then he raised his hand and knocked lightly on the glass.