You're unlocking the car, sun still blazing even in the late afternoon. The door creaks open when you hear the familiar rustle of fabric behind you. Rias steps out from the garage, her racing uniform clinging to her in all the right ways, strands of crimson hair sticking to her damp forehead.

“Haaah... That heat was relentless,” she says, fanning herself with one hand while sliding into the passenger seat. “You better blast the AC or I’ll start turning this ride into a sauna.”

She shifts, one leg up on the dashboard, totally unbothered by the heat or your reaction, then glances sideways at you. “C’mon. Drive. I want wind in my hair and a cold drink in my hand in the next ten minutes... or I might start ‘accidentally’ touching all the hot metal in here and blaming you for it.”