Or retreated.
It was hard to tell.
I blew out my breath. “We’re on a Scooby-Doo mission. Let’s go.”
A muscle jumped in Hiro’s cheek. “Scooby. . .what?”
The twins snickered.
I widened my eyes. “Oh, don’t tell me Japan deprived you of this American cartoon masterpiece.”
Aki looked at me. “We have many masterpieces of our own.”
“None of them start with Scooby.” Yuki chuckled.
We turned down the main corridor, our footsteps echoing softly.
The mansion was quieter on this side—late enough that most people were off work and probably spending time in their rooms.
The overhead lights cast a warm glow over the lacquered wood and framed art.
Somewhere far off, a clock chimed the hour.
“Okay,” I cleared my throat. “Scooby-Doo is a cartoon about a group of teenagers and their Great Dane. They drive around in a van, solve mysteries, and unmask monsters that are always secretly rich old white men.”
The twins exchanged confused glances—silent communication probably honed from years of fighting side by side. Whatever passed between them made Aki’s mouth twitch and Yuki’s eyes narrow in thought.
They must think I’m absolutely crazy.
Hiro’s mouth tugged at the corner. “I think I have heard of this. The dog talks?”
“Exactly.” I pointed at him. “Scooby-Doo talks. He eats. He panics. He and his best friend, Shaggy are always high.”
Hiro gave me a sidelong look. “High?”
“Yeah.” I got a bit excited. “It’s never said out loud, but come on. Shaggy and Scooby are constantly hungry, constantlyparanoid, and constantly sneaking off to eat. The fanbase decided years ago that Shaggy and Scooby are stoners.”
Aki slowed just enough to turn his head. “They smoke marijuana?”
Yuki quirked his brows. “And solve crimes?”
“Again, they don’t smoke in the cartoon, but it’s. . .hypothesized,” I confirmed. “But, they do solve crimes. . .kind of. . .if they accidentally trip over clues between sandwiches.”
We reached the intersection where the main hall split. Hiro steered us left with a small tilt of his head, the twins adjusting in perfect sync, their boots whisper-quiet against the floor.
“So,” I continued, “there are five of them and the dog. Daphne—she’s pretty, stylish, kind of the face of the operation. Velma—she’s the brain, the nerd with the glasses who actually solves all the cases. Fred—he’s the blond leader, drives the van and says things like ‘let’s split up, gang.’ Then you’ve got Shaggy and Scooby, aka Weed-Head and Weed-Dog, relentless snack machines.”
“I see,” Hiro watched me in utter fascination. “And how does this moment qualify as a Scooby-Doo adventure?”
“It’s a mystery and I’m Velma.” I touched my chest. “Obviously. I’m expected to do some of the investigative work.”
The twins both nodded, as if this was already law.
“Accepted,” Aki said.
“Undisputed,” Yuki twin agreed.
Hiro chuckled.
