Kota crossed the last stretch of asphalt with deliberate steps, gravel crunching softly under his Jordans. The McLaren sat low and predatory, its pearl-white paint catching the weak January sun like liquid metal. Up close, the car looked even more obscene—curves so aggressive they seemed engineered to intimidate, carbon-fiber accents gleaming black against the body, wheels tucked so perfectly they looked bolted in place by some obsessive craftsman. Eight hundred grand minimum, probably north of a million with whatever custom touches Theo had added. In a high-school teachers' lot. The absurdity of it almost made Kota laugh.
He reached the driver's side and rapped his knuckles twice against the tinted window—sharp, impatient.
Inside, Theo jolted like he'd been electrocuted.
The principal's head snapped up from the rearview mirror where he'd been fussing with a stray lock of hair. His eyes went wide behind thin wire-frame glasses; mouth dropped open in a perfect little O of panic. For a split second he looked like a deer caught in headlights—then the window whirred down halfway, revealing Theo's flushed face and the soft cashmere sweater that hugged his narrow shoulders.
"Oh—oh no, no, no, you're not—you're not supposed to—listen, young man, this is highly inappropriate, you cannot be out here right now, classes have started, I've already marked attendance for first period and if you think you can just sneak around the back lot and—and tap on my window like some delinquent, I will write you up so fast your parents will—wait, no, not parents, I mean your guardian, or whoever, but the point is you need to march straight back inside this instant, young man, because loitering in the faculty parking area is grounds for immediate detention and possibly a call to—"
Theo's voice climbed higher with every word, hands fluttering uselessly in front of him as if conducting an invisible orchestra of excuses. His cheeks burned scarlet; he kept glancing toward the school building like he expected security to materialize any second.
Kota just stood there, arms crossed, letting the rant wash over him.
Theo's tirade hit a wall mid-sentence.
"—and furthermore I will not tolerate—"
He finally focused. Really focused.
The words died in his throat.
Those wide blue eyes locked onto Kota's face, recognition slamming home like a dropped weight. Theo's mouth snapped shut. The flush on his cheeks somehow deepened from embarrassed pink to mortified crimson. He blinked once, twice, then let out a tiny, strangled sound that was half whimper, half laugh.
"K-Kota?"
Kota's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.
"Morning, Principal Hawthorne."
Theo made another small noise—something between a squeak and a groan—and slapped a hand over his own mouth as if to physically contain the embarrassment still leaking out. "I—I thought you were… one of the sophomores. They've been… sneaking vapes back here lately and I—oh god, I just lectured you like you were fourteen."
Kota didn't answer right away. He simply walked around the front of the car—taking his time, letting Theo stew in the silence—and pulled open the passenger door.
The hinge was butter-smooth; the door opened with a soft, expensive thunk.
He slid inside.
And froze.
The interior hit him like stepping into another dimension.
The seat cradled him instantly—plush, heated leather that warmed against his back and thighs within seconds, molding to his body like it had been custom-sculpted for him. His dad's Ford F-150 had a bench seat that felt like a thin slab of foam glued over sheet metal; city buses were worse, hard plastic benches that rattled your spine on every pothole. This? This was luxury so obscene it almost felt obscene. The dashboard stretched out in front of him like the cockpit of a fighter jet: matte-black carbon trim, dual curved screens instead of gauges, a constellation of buttons and toggles that definitely weren't just for radio presets and climate control. A faint new-car scent lingered—leather, subtle cedar, something metallic and clean.
Theo was still staring at him, mortified, one hand hovering near the window controls as if debating whether to roll it back up and hide.
Kota let out a low whistle.
"Damn."
Theo swallowed. "You… you like it?"
"Like it?" Kota ran a hand along the armrest, feeling the stitching so precise it might as well have been machined by robots. "This thing costs more than our apartment building."
Theo gave a nervous little laugh. "It's… an indulgence. I bought it after the Vanishing. Needed something to… feel in control again, I suppose."
Kota glanced sideways. Theo's fingers were trembling faintly on the wheel.
Before Kota could respond, Theo cleared his throat and spoke—louder, toward the dashboard.
"Gerald, reroute to home number three. Privacy mode."
A smooth, cultured male voice answered immediately from hidden speakers.
"Rerouting to residence three, Theodore. Estimated travel time: twenty-seven minutes under current traffic conditions. Privacy mode engaged. Cabin sealed."
Kota's head snapped toward Theo.
"Who the fuck is Gerald?"
Theo blinked at him, genuinely surprised. "Gerald? He's… the AI assistant."
Kota stared.
Theo blinked again, slower this time, like he was trying to process Kota's confusion. "You… you don't know what an AI is?"
Kota leaned back in the seat, arms crossed. "The fuck's an AI?"
Theo opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then—very slowly, very carefully, like he was explaining colors to someone born blind—he spoke.
"An… artificial intelligence. A computer program that can think and talk and help with tasks. Like… a robot assistant, but without the metal body. It lives in the car's systems."
Kota narrowed his eyes. Pieces clicked, but not all of them.
"Ohhh. So like a butler?"
Theo's face lit up with relief. "Yes! Exactly. A butler. But with metal—well, silicon, technically. And code."
Kota nodded slowly, still half-lost. "Okay. So… this Gerald guy is your butler-bot."
"Precisely." Theo smiled, small and shy. "He's actually an older model. From 2026. They called it G.E.R.A.L.D.—General Expansion, Rerouting & Active Logistical Director. One of the last truly bespoke automotive AIs before the big manufacturers standardized everything post-Vanishing. I kept him because… well, he's polite. And he never judges."
Kota stared at the dashboard like it might sprout arms and wave.
"Uh… hi, Gerald."
A beat of silence.
Then the same smooth voice replied, calm and unflappable.
"Good morning, sir. Welcome aboard. May I adjust the seat temperature or lumbar support for your comfort?"
Kota's eyebrows shot up.
Theo burst out laughing—bright, delighted, the sound bubbling up and breaking the last of his earlier panic.
"Oh my god," Theo said, covering his mouth again. "You just said 'hi' to the car like it's a person meeting you for the first time. That's adorable."
Kota's face heated instantly.
"I didn't—"
"You did." Theo's eyes sparkled behind his glasses. "You were so serious about it, too. Like a little kid being introduced to a fancy new toy and trying to be polite. It's cute. Really cute."
Kota scowled, crossing his arms tighter, cheeks burning. "Shut up."
Theo only grinned wider, reaching over to pat Kota's knee—light, teasing.
"Don't be embarrassed, Daddy. It's endearing."
Kota glared at him, but the flush refused to fade. He sank lower in the heated seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how plush it felt, how perfectly it cradled him, how Theo was still watching him with that soft, amused affection.
Gerald's voice cut in again, perfectly timed.
"Apologies for the interruption, sirs. We are now en route. Traffic remains light. Would either of you care for ambient lighting or a music selection?"
Theo glanced sideways at Kota, eyes dancing.
"See? Polite butler."
Kota muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "fancy rich bullshit," but he couldn't quite hide the tiny, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His face stayed hot, though—flustered, caught off-guard, and annoyingly aware that Theo had just teased him into blushing like some nervous teenager.
Theo leaned back, still grinning, and let the car glide out of the lot.
Kota stared straight ahead, arms crossed, trying—and failing—to look unaffected.
He was definitely flustered.