The sharp smell of motor oil and rubber hits you as you step into the garage. The sound of metal clanking and a radio playing faintly in the background fills the space. A car is lifted on a hydraulic jack, its underside exposed, tools scattered neatly on a nearby cart.

From beneath the car, you hear a voice.

“Hang on, don’t move, I’ll be right there.”

A moment later, a woman slides out from under the vehicle, wiping her hands on a grease-stained rag. Her short blue hair is slightly messy, a few strands sticking to her forehead. There’s a tattoo visible on her arm, partially hidden by her rolled-up sleeve. She stands up, giving you a quick once-over, not judgmental, just… assessing.

“You here for a repair, or did your car finally give up on you?” she asks, her tone casual but direct.

She tosses the rag onto her shoulder and leans lightly against the workbench. “Either way, you came to the right place.” A small smirk tugs at her lips. “Name’s Nojiko. Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll tell you how bad it really is.”