~ Proficiency Panel ~
As the two sets of memories finished their violent merger, the searing pain in Arthur's head began to dull into a manageable throb.
The nausea was still there, a cold weight in his stomach, but his mind was finally clear.
He looked up at the circle of faces surrounding him in the dimly lit garage.
He wasn't ready to play the role of the loyal "family" member yet.
He certainly wasn't ready to trade barbs with Vince while his brain felt like it had been through a industrial blender.
Arthur cleared his throat, his voice sounding steady despite the ringing in his ears.
"Dom, I think I've got a concussion. My head hit the bench pretty hard... I can't stop the world from spinning, and I feel like I'm going to lose my lunch."
He paused, leaning back against a heavy steel tool chest for support, his breath hitching slightly.
"I need to take some leave and get some sleep. Is that okay?"
Dom studied him for a long beat, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes searching Arthur's face for any sign of deception.
Finally, the big man nodded and reached out, patting Arthur's shoulder with a hand that felt like a heavy weight.
"Go on, kid," Dom said, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Get some rest."
"And do what I said—go to the hospital and get checked out properly. I don't need you collapsing under a car tomorrow."
Despite the dangerous lifestyle he led, Dom was a man who looked after his own.
The repair shop was his sanctuary, and the people working in it were under his protection—even the ones who weren't part of his inner circle.
"Thanks, Dom," Arthur muttered.
He didn't look at Vince. He didn't want to give the man the satisfaction of a reaction.
Arthur clutched his head and pushed himself off the workbench with a grunt of effort.
With the help of a few fellow workers who stepped forward to steady him, he managed to find his footing.
Ignoring Vince, who remained standing a few yards away with his chest puffed out and a furious glare still etched onto his face, Arthur headed straight for the exit.
His condition was far from good. His equilibrium was off, and every loud clang of a wrench made his teeth ache.
Facing someone like Vince—a man who lived for the adrenaline of underground street racing and high-speed heists—wasn't a smart move right now.
Arthur's current fighting strength was clearly insufficient. He was a teenager with a wrench, not a street brawler.
Fortunately, he held onto a timeless principle: a gentleman's revenge is never too late.
Vince was a creature of natural violence and overbearing ego.
Arthur knew from his knowledge of the Fast & Furious movies that this behavior had a shelf life.
Between robbing trucks and picking fights with the wrong people, Vince was bound to hit a wall eventually.
In the original story, this man would be shot and forced to leave the crew for many years.
When he finally returned, he would receive his 'bento box'—meeting a permanent, fatal end.
I'm not in a hurry, Arthur thought, his jaw tightening. I'll let the world break you for me.
As he pushed through the heavy garage doors, the pungent, choking odors of the shop disappeared.
A fresh sea breeze happened to blow by, carrying the scent of the Pacific.
Arthur immediately felt refreshed; his lungs expanded, and his mood improved significantly.
This was Los Angeles—one of the largest cities in the United States and the busiest container port in the country.
The proximity to the sea made it comfortable year-round, a truly livable city.
Well, at least that's true if you have money, he mused bitterly.
He began sifting through the memories of his predecessor to locate his home.
The property his parents left him was currently listed for sale because he couldn't afford the steep inheritance taxes.
Consequently, the previous Arthur had rented a small, dilapidated place near the repair shop.
Arthur walked toward the parking area, his eyes landing on a weathered, aging motorcycle.
It was an Nth-hand piece of junk his predecessor had bought for seven hundred dollars from the very shop where he worked.
The bike was barely newer than Arthur himself, covered in patches and rust.
It had been repaired dozens of times, yet it still hummed with a dozen mechanical problems.
Still, it was decent enough for temporary transportation.
His rental was about six or seven kilometers away—too far to walk with a possible concussion, but a short trip on two wheels.
Arthur was no stranger to bikes; he had owned one in his previous life.
He straddled the worn seat, fumbled for the keys, and kicked the engine to life.
Accompanied by a rough, stuttering roar, the motorcycle slowly lurched into motion.
As he pulled out onto the main road, Arthur didn't have the mental energy to evaluate the bike's performance.
An indescribably strange expression took over his face.
The moment he had engaged the clutch and accelerated, a cold, mechanical voice echoed clearly in his mind.
"Ding! The proficiency system has been activated!"
"Personal Attribute Template has been opened. You can call up the attribute list with your mind to view it!"
"Private space has been opened. It can be summoned and used with your mind."
"The Host is currently driving. [Driving] skill has been automatically generated."
"Current [Driving] skill level is Lv0. 100 Experience Points are required to level up."
"For every kilometer personally driven on the road in a mechanical vehicle, one Experience Point is gained."
The voice explained that the rate of experience would change based on the vehicle type and road conditions.
It also promised "generous rewards" for every level gained.
Arthur resisted the urge to pull over and start shouting.
He kept his eyes on the road, listening to the 'Driving Experience +1' prompts that chimed in his head like clockwork.
The short journey felt incredibly long as his anticipation built to a fever pitch.
Finally, burning with impatience, Arthur reached his residence.
He parked the bike in the cramped apartment lot, yanked the key from the ignition, and rushed into the building.
The apartment was an old relic from the post-WWII era.
It looked dilapidated from the outside, and each unit was a tiny box of only thirty to forty square meters.
Fortunately, in this world, the dollar went a long way for basic goods.
Reaching his door, he subconsciously fumbled for his key and slid it into the lock.
The moment the cylinder turned, the mechanical voice rang out again.
"Ding, Host detected opening a door lock. [Lockpicking] skill has been automatically generated."
"Current [Lockpicking] skill level is Lv0. 100 Experience Points are required to level up."
"Regardless of the method used, one [Lockpicking] Experience Point is gained for personally opening a lock of a different style."
Arthur froze, his hand still on the knob. An expression of pure ecstasy washed over him.
He stepped inside, slammed the door shut with a sharp clack, and collapsed onto the relatively clean sofa.
Call up Attribute List, he commanded silently.
A shimmering Wall of Light abruptly appeared before his eyes, displaying his current status in sharp detail.
[Host: Arthur Sterling.]
[Lifespan: 18/72.]
[Intelligence: 9] (Average value for adult males in the current world is 10)
[Strength: 7] (Average value for adult males in the current world is 10)
[Agility: 8] (Average value for adult males in the current world is 10)
[Physique: 7] (Average value for adult males in the current world is 10)
[Stamina: 7] (Average value for adult males in the current world is 10)
[Free Attribute Points: 0.]
...[Current Skill List]
[[Driving] Lv0 (6/100): New driver on the road, nothing noteworthy yet.]
[[Lockpicking] Lv0 (1/100): Without a key, you can't open anything.]