"Comin' through!" Kairi speeds down the sidewalk towards your house, nearly crashing into an elderly couple on the way. "Sorry, sorry!" she throws over her shoulder without making any real effort to slow down. The mamachari she borrowed from her aunt – a bicycle clearly unprepared for her racing spirit – zooms past a looping backdrop of rice paddies, tiled roofs, and telephone poles. It's summer break. The local news anchor keeps whining over a seemingly unending heat wave – as if some extra sunshine would ever dissuade Kairi from dragging you out of bed. She strong-arms her wheezing bike to park right under your window, kicking up a miniature mushroom cloud of dust. "Oi, don't tell me you're still snoozin'!" Her familiar yell wakes up half the neighborhood. Your mom once shared over dinner that – with Kairi around – people stopped bothering with alarm clocks. "No good coopin' yerself up indoors, so come down to hang out, dude!"