Chapter Text
The first thing Katsuki noticed was the heat.
The second was the color.
Red.
Not excessive. Not forced.
Just present.
Ferrari existed in shades of red the same way the ocean existed in shades of blue.
Naturally and inevitably.
The shuttle rolled deeper into the grounds, passing buildings that stretched across the property. Engineers moved between departments, test vehicles appeared and disappeared in the distance, and history seemed to sit casually beside innovation.
The entire place felt alive.
Like a city built around speed.
For once, nobody on the bus had much to say.
Even Kaminari would've been speechless.
The gates had barely disappeared behind them before every student started staring out the windows, trying to absorb everything at once.
Trying and failing.
"Oh."
Several heads turned.
Shouto was looking out the window.
"They repainted that building."
Silence.
"What?"
"The engineering building."
More silence.
"You know that building?"
Shouto glanced back, visibly confused "Yes?"
Like that answered anything.
Unfortunately, to her, it did.
The shuttle continued forward while the students collectively questioned everything they thought they knew about her.
Orientation consumed most of the morning.
Schedules, badges, department assignments, rules, presentations.
Normal.
At least as normal as Ferrari could be.
The room buzzed with excitement as students flipped through their program packets, comparing schedules and discussing assignments.
Katsuki barely noticed.
Not because he wasn't interested, because every window seemed to reveal something impossible.
A prototype.
A workshop.
A test vehicle.
A piece of history.
Ferrari wasn't trying to impress anyone.
Somehow, that made it worse.
The tour started after lunch, that was when everyone stopped pretending to be calm.
The collection building appeared, and half the students immediately forgot how to function.
Including Katsuki.
Especially Katsuki.
Rows of cars stretched beneath bright lights.
Championship cars.
Historic cars.
Race-winning cars.
Machines that had shaped motorsport history.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody could.
The room felt more like a museum than a garage, except everything still felt alive.
Like every machine carried a story.
Katsuki found himself standing in front of one particular car for several minutes before he even realized it "You look emotional."
He turned.
Shouto stood nearby, entirely too amused.
"I'm not emotional."
"You've been staring at that car for five minutes."
"I have not."
"You have."
"Stop timing me."
"I wasn't."
The worst part?
She was right.
The tour continued.
Every room somehow became more ridiculous than the last.
At one point, an engineer greeted Shouto by name.
Not formally.
Not professionally.
Just casually.
Like he'd known her forever.
Because he had.
"Shouto!" The man smiled "You've gotten taller."
"That's what everyone keeps saying."
"It keeps being true."
The conversation continued naturally. Effortlessly.
Meanwhile, the students nearby looked ready to collapse, because apparently Shouto knew Ferrari employees the same way normal people knew neighbors.
Which felt deeply unfair.
Lunch somehow made things worse, somebody finally asked the question.
"How often do you come here?"
Shouto actually paused to think about it "Most summers."
Silence.
The entire table stared.
"Most?"
"Since I was little."
Another silence, longer this time.
"Little little?"
"Yes."
The table collectively gave up.
There was simply no way to compete with that.
The afternoon passed quickly after that.
Meetings.
Introductions.
Training schedules.
The first real glimpse of what the summer would actually look like.
Exciting, terrifying and a little overwhelming.
By the time everything wrapped up, the sun had already begun lowering across the Italian sky.
Students gathered outside the main building, waiting for shuttles, checking schedules, and making plans for the evening.
The first day was over.
Somehow.
Katsuki adjusted his bag and glanced around.
Students climbed aboard the hotel shuttle one by one.
Then he noticed something.
Shouto wasn't moving.
She remained exactly where she was, watching the buses load with complete indifference.
"...You're not coming?"
She looked over.
"No."
A pause.
"Why?"
The confusion that crossed her face was immediate.
Genuine. Like the answer should have been obvious.
"I'm going home."
Oh, right.
Home.
Not a hotel.
Not temporary housing.
Not a summer rental.
Home.
The realization settled strangely.
Because until that moment, Italy had felt like a program.
A placement.
A summer opportunity.
But for Shouto, it was also home.
Somewhere beyond Maranello sat an estate she'd spent nearly every summer of her life returning to.
And somehow, that realization felt bigger than Ferrari itself.
A familiar engine echoed across the parking area.
Several people turned, then immediately looked away again.
Because staring was rude.
Even when the car was ridiculous.
A bright red Ferrari rolled to a stop beside the curb.
The driver's window lowered.
Touya leaned out.
Sunglasses.
Zero dignity.
Maximum confidence.
"GET IN LOSER."
Several students choked, Shouto didn't even react.
Apparently this happened often.
"I'm serious." Touya pointed dramatically at the passenger seat "We're getting food!"
That explained absolutely nothing, yet somehow it explained everything.
Shouto sighed, grabbed her bag, and headed toward the car.
Before getting in, she glanced back once.
Toward the students.
Toward the shuttle.
Toward Katsuki.
"See you tomorrow."
Simple.
Easy.
Normal.
Then she disappeared into the passenger seat.
Touya waved dramatically.
Nobody waved back.
The Ferrari accelerated away and vanished within seconds.
"...What just happened?"
Nobody had an answer.
The shuttle doors opened.
Students climbed aboard.
The first day came to an end.
----
As Maranello disappeared beyond the windows, Katsuki found himself looking toward the road where the Ferrari had vanished.
For the first time, he was beginning to understand.
Ferrari wasn't just part of Shouto's life, it was woven into it.
And somehow, that realization made the summer feel even bigger than it had that morning.