Seishiro was surprised at the rate at which the bespectacled girl took off, and jammed his printout into his jacket pocket to follow after her. He was forced to pick up his pace so that she didn't leave him behind, and his boots slamming against the floors echoed through the hallway. When they finally reached her car, he was surprised by the make of it. He was expecting someone so clean-cut to be driving a pristine sedan or compact; something with really good gas mileage or similarly boring yet practical features. He was quite familiar with off-roaders, tractors, and similar vehicles from his time living in the country.

However, as soon as she started laying into them with a laundry list of rules, his mouth tightened in irritation. This wasn't just an affectation of his carefully constructed punk persona, he was just genuinely annoyed by being bossed around. His father, while strict with training and when the two of them were in battle, was surprisingly lax when it came to disciplining Seishiro himself. He took care of the house and his chores without prodding, since he knew they needed to be done, and was generally left to his own reconnaissance.

"Come on," he groaned, climbing into the car's passenger seat, "If you spend any more time giving us a bunch of frickin' rules we're gonna be late." He reached under the seat to adjust its position, and immediately slammed it back as far as it would go. Comfortable with this amount of legroom, he propped his heavy boots up on the dashboard. Looking back at the driver, he clapped his hands in a goading gesture. "Let's get this show on the road!"