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“Now then, time to put a star in our reasonably-priced car. Or, as the case may be, two; let's welcome to the studio Miss Maria Cadenzavna Eve and Miss Kazanari Tsubasa.” Jeremy Clarkson took a seat in his chair as two young women walked up to a pair of vacant chairs. “Now, Maria here's been in the news for the last few months over something about... ah, right, saving... the world. Now, between you and me I'm quite fond of the world, even if it did give us the Morris Marina, so on behalf of Top Gear let me extend our warmest gratitude to everyone involved.”
The first woman, a tall European with long, pink hair, smiled neatly and reached out to shake Clarkson's hand. “I'll make sure to pass that on to everyone involved.”
“So, next on the agenda for you is a charity event in London; sort of like James Bond shooting a Children In Need special. Why that? Why now?”
Maria's smile remained frozen in place. “I can't discuss the particulars of my work for the United Nations,” she said, as if reciting from a script, “but seeing as I've been rather public I can't really return to undercover work. For now, I'll be pursuing music full-time; this is just another way for me to-” she paused, “serve the people of the world. I'm also glad to be working with Tsubasa again, after how our previous meeting ended.” The Japanese girl to her left nodded, and a brief, awkward silence descended.
After a moment, Clarkson continued, “Tsubasa, as some of you might know, has been a rather successful singer in Japan for the last few years, and recently signed on with one of our English labels. Our sincerest condolences, by the way.”
Tsubasa nodded and bowed her head. “Thank you for having me; I have a friend in Japan who is quite fond of your program. At her request,” Tsubasa cleared her throat and growled “POWER!” in a dubious imitation of Clarkson's accent, to the man's obvious amusement.
Hundreds of miles away, staring at a television, Yukine Chris burst into deep, hacking laughter.
“Well, with that said, who wants to see their laps?” The crowd cheered as Clarkson motioned towards a large screen. “Well, Maria, I know you're probably more familiar with an Aston Martin, but how do you think you did?”
Maria shrugged. “I'm used to having a driver, actually; most of my experience behind the wheel is in VTOL craft, not cars. But I don't think I did too badly.”
“Well, let's see, shall we?” Clarkson started the first tape. “Nice run into the crooner; looking good, looking good. Bit of understeer into the corner here; how're you looking in there?” The tape cut to a nervous-looking Maria, frantically shifting the steering wheel by tiny amounts. “Well, you're through the first corner fine, and now up around the hammerhead...” The car jerks suddenly and the camera's back to Maria, who's clearly pale and staring intently at her steering wheel. “Bit of a slip-up there, but you're back at it fast; up toward the follow-through now, no problem at all. Little bit of a wiggle there on the way into the tyres, mind, but a beautiful pass through the corner. Coming in on the second-to-last corner now, and you keep it in. Very well done.”
The footage cuts back inside the car to a much less nervous-looking Maria. “Looks like you just took a while to get into it, because you're coming in around the Gambon and it's still smooth as silk.” Clarkson stopped the footage and turned to Maria. “So, after a few slip-ups in the beginning, you pull it together for a good finish. Especially given what's coming.” Maria chuckled, louder than she'd thought, and Tsubasa blushed furiously. “Now then, as for your time...” Clarkson slowly drew out a slip of paper. “One-fifty even, right between Ron Howard and a damp Hugh Bonneville.”
Maria smiled and nodded, then slowly rolled her eyes over to watch Tsubasa, who was fidgeting nervously with her sleeves. “Now, before we roll Tsubasa's lap,” Clarkson started, “I have an announcement to make. Alas, it seems that today is our last episode with our present reasonably-priced car.” Clarkson's voice took on a solemn tone. “Yes, it is time to bid a fond farewell to our Vauxhall Astra, for reasons that will soon be apparent. Tsubasa, do you have anything to say before we roll the tape?”
The Japanese girl shook her head, completely stone-faced. Clarkson turned to start a second video; Tsubasa sat within the car, her brow furrowed and eyes staring daggers at the road in front of her, as the car leaps into motion. “And you're off like a bullet; right into the first corner, no problem at all keeping it in. Down through, around the Chicago clean as a whistle. Down towards the hammerhead and is that? Yes it is! Down through the Hammerhead in a perfect drift, and in no time flat we're heading for the follow-through. An absolutely dominant performance behind the wheel.”
The camera cut again to Tsubasa, her expression identical to the beginning of the lap. “Staying good and focused behind the wheel here as we head up for the tyres. Still fine, still in control; nothing to say here. In around the penultimate corner and there's a bit of wobble; not much, but keep an eye out. In and around the gambon, we've got a little oversteer, not much, but enough that... I'm going to stop the tape here for a moment.” Clarkson turned over to Tsubasa.
“Now, I'm no expert on this subject,” he tapped his chair for emphasis, “but exactly which part of the Japanese music industry regularly places you in high-speed pursuits?”
Tsubasa sat silent for a moment, then crisply answered “One of my uncle's hobbies is automobile racing. I personally prefer motorcycles, they are easier to vacate quickly.”
Clarkson nodded, his eyebrows raised. “Yes, that's exactly what I ask myself when I'm looking at a vehicle,” he said, voice heavy with sarcasm, “'well, it's a nice car, but can I hop off at the right angle?'.”
“A wise question.” Tsubasa nodded, her face remained completely solemn.
Clarkson waited for a moment, nodded, and continued, “And on that note, how, in the name of sanity, did you learn how to, from a seating position, jump with enough force to not only propel yourself through a sheet of automobile glass, but land safely on your feet six metres from the car?” Clarkson resumed the tape and the car jerked frantically. As it hurtled towards the finish line, completely out of control, the windshield burst open with a rush of blue. A blurry figure flew several metres through the air before landing in the grass at the side of the track, rolling twice, and standing up to brush itself off. The camera swivelled back towards the car, revealing only a burning husk. The presenter ran the tape back to play the scene again, then slowly turned his head towards his guest.
Tsubasa's stoic expression didn't waver for a moment. “Jozai senjou.”
Clarkson shrugged and turned towards the camera. “Well, there you have it, folks. Now, while we here in the studio mourn the late Astra, let's get back to James and Richard, who really ought've run off that bear by now.”