"Takumi Fujiwara, what the hell are you doing?" The man in the suit barely dared to breathe in Zheng Fan's presence, but he always maintained absolute authority over his subordinates.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Mr. Yagyu. I'll fix it right away." The young driver did not dare talk back or offer an explanation. This was all part of Fusang's distinctive social atmosphere: those of lower standing had to admit their mistakes unconditionally.
The car's sideways skid had left even Zheng Fan feeling a little uncomfortable. Only when he saw the driver's forehead covered in sweat did he realize just how much pressure Sora Takenouchi's aura put on ordinary people. Since Sora Takenouchi had caused the problem, it would hardly be fair to let someone else suffer for it. And so Zheng Fan actually spoke up on the young driver's behalf. If anyone who knew him had heard about this, it would have been enormous news.
With Zheng Fan speaking up, the suited man could not object. He could only give the young driver a fierce glare to assert his authority. The driver shot Zheng Fan a grateful look, then went back to tinkering with the car.
A long while passed, but the car still showed no sign of moving. The road Zheng Fan and the others were on had four lanes, two in each direction, but the Volkswagen limousine sitting sideways occupied a full three lanes. At first, it had not been much of a problem. By now, however, the cars backed up in both directions stretched beyond sight.
"Takumi Fujiwara, what exactly are you doing?" Yagyu asked through gritted teeth.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Yagyu. There seems to be something wrong with the engine. I still can't start the car." The young driver bowed deeply, trying to extinguish Yagyu's anger.