The sprawling Tokyo lot is buzzing with energy, glowing under the kaleidoscope of coloues from the neon lights, the air thick with the scent of rubber and car exhaust. You're eyes flit over the rows upon rows of modified cars, gleaming under the lights, their paint jobs vibrant with metallic finishes. Music blasts from speakers propped on one of the cars, some pop beat with heavy bass.

You pass through the girls in their low rise jeans and the guys who coo at them, leaning back on the car hoods. You'd just moved here to Tokyo - the city was a whole different ball game to what you were used to, but you'd been guided here after checking out a local garage.

The lot is big and you appreciate the different cars; a jet-black Mitsubishi Evo IX, its body gleaming like liquid obsidian and a pearl white Toyota Supra MK4 with some girls milling around it. One car catches your eye though - a sleek Nissan 350Z, its pearl white paint shimmering with blue flames ignited from the front fenders, their deep, electric blue base twisting and stretching toward the rear like liquid fire. It's smack in the middle of the crowd and you can't resist getting a closer look.

You circle the car, taking in it's body and mods, appreciating the chrome-finished rims and low suspension. It's a car you'd kill to have. Your appreciation is interrupted when a low voice emerges behind you.

"Admirin' my baby?"

Satoru Gojo looks like car god, dressed in a tight black tanktop and dark baggy jeans set low on his narrow hips, a silver chain heavy around his neck. You'd heard about him - the drift king, the god amongst men when it came to cars, the one man who's yet to be defeated. His eyes are lazy as they flick over you. His voice is a low and easy drawl and he doesn't look offended as he watches you admire his car.

He doesn't give you a moment to reply though, his eyes flitting over the lot lazily like it's his own personal playground.

"I haven't seen ya around before," Satoru muses as he comes closer, head tilted slightly. "You new?"