A Cutthroat Business (Ninja POV)

[King Serperior]

Story Elements:  Humor!  Puns!  Rivalries!  Pirates!  Ninja!  Hilarious takes on said rivalry!
Premise:  An ancient ninja clan of prestige has decided to go legit and open a themed (Bakery OR Restaurant).  As luck would have it, there was also a pirate crew that had the same idea.  The two opened their places across the street from one another, not realizing that there was a rival place opposite of them until opening day, which happened to be the same day for both places.  From that moment on, they decided to use their skills and abilities to drive the other place out of business.....all while keeping the facade of being completely, totally legit and not look like the places are run by actual pirates or ninjas.
Story Guide Notes:  The story will follow from the point of view of the ninja clan as they try to protect their business from the pirates while also trying to drive the pirate rivals out of business.

Writing Turn Order:  Turn order dictated by Random.org

• Ziether
• Lisa2lady
• Napanee
• Arianna

[Ziether]

It was with heavy hearts that the Ishikawa clan had packed their bags to cross the great Pacific Ocean, finally settling in posh southern Orange County, a land of spoiled housewives and high expectations. The money would only last so long, and nobody here knew of their family's legendary history serving those with great means in their homeland. Though their accoutrements had infiltrated the country past the watchful eyes of the port security agents, it would be sheer folly to make a show of their most precious of skills. Kentaro knew well that they would need to blend in, and Californians love little more than Asian foods, something that he and his many kinsmen could produce with ease. Americans were also all too readily swayed by a mote of cuteness, and thus the furry face of Takashi Tanuki now graced the facade of a former Coco’s across the street from the docks in Dana Point. Takashi Tanuki’s Tempura Temple was slated to open for lunch in but a few short hours.

Ishikawa Kentaro, or, as his new neighbors insisted, Kentaro Ishikawa, strode between the neat rows of properly arranged tables, chairs, and booths, admiring the expedience with which the venture had been enacted. But a few short weeks ago, the space was a disaster. But debris seemed to disappear in the night as if by magic. Shadows were reported moving about, but none of the nearby residents ultimately witnessed any of the comings and goings of the adept Ishikawa ninjas. Clad all in black and with footsteps muffled, they had transformed the chain diner into a beacon of fried Japanese perfection. Kentaro’s path ultimately took him past the hostess’ stand and to the front door, the portal still barred until the restaurant's opening. It was then that he caught it. A flash of sunlight on steel. No ninja could ever mistake the telltale shape of a ridiculous cutlass peeking out from a black trenchcoat. The figure looked right, then left, then right again before unlocking the door across the street from the Tempura Temple and slipping inside.

Kentaro knew that it warranted further observation. Divesting himself of his restaurant uniform, he walked the streets in a simple sweater and khakis, casing the joint. A big sign over the front door proudly decried “Peg-leg Patrick’s” with fried shrimp and fish advertisements festooning the windows. A fried fish joint. Of course. Any number of restaurant's came and went in the demanding Southern California food market. A black van sat at the receiving door. California license plate number PCS OF 8 stood out in stark contrast to the matte black of the vehicle. As Kentaro watched, a pair of young men with scraggly stubble exited the building to retrieve boxes from the van. Like the first fellow, both carried swords at their sides, glancing furtively about before disappearing back within. Pirates! Kentaro managed to keep to himself, whirling to make a line for the rest of his clan within their own enterprise. This had just gotten a whole lot more complicated...

[Lisa2lady]

 Kentaro made his way to the kitchen where his clansman were working hard to prepare for their lunch rush. The team worked like a well-oiled machine chopping and dicing without even skipping a beat. In a normal kitchen evidence of the staff’s hard work would have been scattered around the kitchen in the form of unclean pots and pans along with used cooking utensils. That was not the case in Kentaro’s kitchen it was so spotless one would have questioned if a meal had even been prepared there.  The clan's motto was never to leave a trace of one's presences.   
 
  Among his clan members was an older gentleman, the grey hairs on top of his head indicated that he was in his late 70s but those who knew him well had their suspicions that he was much older. Unlike the others, he was not prepping food but sitting on a small stool in the corner of the kitchen leaning against his wooden cane. At first sight, one would have thought the old man was taken a nap. But he was doing so much more, he was listening to his surrounding a skill he developed over the years as his vision faded his hearing increased. His ears twitched as he heard a new presence entering the kitchen, the soft but heavy steps indicated that it was Kentaro. There was something in his steps that indicated there was something wrong “ Ishikawa what troubles you?”  The others quickly looked up to acknowledge their master's presence.

“It looks like the enemy has found us.” In a blink of an eye, cooking utensils turned into weapons. A sweet smile crept onto the elders face “Ah I knew this silly little restaurant assignment would not last long” The old man had been waiting for Ishikawa to come to his sense and return to the life of a Ninja. As he stood his bones ached and cracked but he was ready to slay the enemy. The others were just as excited to be getting back to what they did best. The excitement quickly wore off as  Ishikawa objected “No we are civilians now and civilians don’t attack their enemies .” Ishikawa response was not what they wanted to hear and a collected sigh swept across the kitchen. “We never do anything fun anymore” a young clansman groaned as he tucked his knife back into its hiding place.

[Napanee]

Kentaro turned to look at the younger clansman who had spoken out of turn. Back home a loose word or phrase spoken out of turn would mean, if not instant death, then certainly instant regret on the part of the speaker. There were rules within the clan, and the younger members did not question the orders of their leader. "Are you turning into an American, Kito? Do you think you are on vacation? This mission may not be entirely to your liking, I know, but it is still at my direction. Do you wish to repeat your disagreement with my orders?" The kitchen had already been silent. Now, as all eyes were on the individual who had spoken out of turn, it could even be said that all heartbeats had been quieted just for the show.

The younger man looked briefly left and right but found no friends to stand next to him - and in truth expected none. He knew that he had done wrong and would now suffer the consequences. He dropped to his knees and once more the fearsomely sharp knife was visible; this time it was held firmly in his hands and pointing straight towards his own stomach. "Hai! Kentaro. I apologize for my unforgivable outburst. I will commit sepukku forthwith." A small bead of sweat trickled down the side of the young man's cheek.

Kentaro smiled as paternally as could be expected from the leader of a clan who's speciality was silent murder. He reached out his hand to the younger man with the clear intent of helping him back up again. "Your apology is accepted Kito. It was a brief youthful expression of exuberance and should be treated as such. If we disembowelled everyone who did one of those... Well then there would be no one left," He turned to the very much older man. "Would there now, great-grandfather?" "Tru 'dat fo' sure!" said the very much older man with a wry grin directed at the now stood up again Kito. Great-grandfather might well be ancient, but he did very much delight in throwing the rest of the clan off guard on occasion; speaking 'American' was but one more way to do that. Kentaro was no less put off guard with the 'street speak' than was the rest of the clan. "Yes, um, quite. Alright then. There will be no disembowelling of ninjas today, but I make no such claim for the stinking rum-soaked scum opposite. Civilians cannot be seen killing their opponents, but then we'd not be very good ninjas if we were seen now would we?" He paused for a brief round of blood-thirsty giggling. "Alright. So we spend the rest of the day serving our most honorable customers and thinking about how we can sneakily run the pirates out of business - if not out of the land of the living as well." He turned to scan the rest of the ninjas before ending his gaze upon great-grandfather. "Kapeesh?" See, it wasn't just great-grandfather who could put the clan off-guard.

[Arianna]

Making his way to the front desk where he enjoyed welcoming his guests in person, Kentaro pondered upon the dilemma he had now: should they simply try to run the pirates out of business, or should they just try to take them out? The restaurant was packed, as it always was this time of day. It had been almost a week since he alerted his staff about the cunning pirates, and so far they did not seem like much of a threat. As he weaved through tables, he greeted people and randomly asked how the food was, usually expecting people to simply nod in return, mouths full and a joyous look on their face. Today, however, people did not seem as pleased. As some of the patrons were genuinely content, others not so much.

"I said I want shrimp!" a bratty kid shouted loud enough for at least half the restaurant to hear him. "Jimmy, but the line, honey. We would wait hours... please have some more tempura, you used to love it..." The mother pleaded, clearly not controlling her child too well. It made Kentaro wonder though, what were they talking about? Which wait, what shrimp? Swiftly, he was at the restaurant entrance, looking at the place next door. In golden, yet rusty letters, the sign billowed above a line of at least ten people. "Peg-leg Patrick’s" the title screamed at him and his blood boiled. Those scoundrels have found a way to threaten his business, but he will not have this. He hurried into the kitchen, where his men were prepping meals, resembling the most exquisitely oiled machine, and yet all their eyes raised to look at him as he entered.

"The time has come," he said in a stern voice "to show the enemy what we are made of.". He did not have to finish his sentence as every man within sight had a sharp knife ready. His great-grandfather had not made a move. He expected him to jump first, and yet again, the old man surprised him, sitting there, on his usual chair in the corner, rubbing his belly while a mischievous grin spread upon his face and crinkled his beady, old eyes. "You have come to your senses, I see... Do not worry, my son. They shall never know what hit them." Kentaro nodded and perused the staff once more. "Very well then. We attack tonight, as soon as the sun has set." He bowed, in respect for his loyal men, and they all bowed back, then he returned to his usual greetings.

[Ziether]

Knives have more uses than to be thrust into the unsuspecting flesh of one’s enemies. Such crude methods are often seen as brutish, and they leave a terrible mess for somebody to clean up. As the sun set over the Pacific, the power in the building suddenly went out. A few heartbeats later, Kentaro stepped out from the kitchen and informed the patrons that due to a problem with the restaurant’s electrical equipment they would need to cease operations for the evening. “I apologize for the inconvenience,” the well-polished man said with every indication of sincerity, “We hope to have repairs completed before lunch tomorrow.” A trio of the wait staff calmly urged the patrons to depart, helping to pack up remaining food and assuring the customers that they would not be charged for their meals. Once all was quiet in the shop, the family went to work.

Gone were the long white coats. Gone were the waiter’s uniforms. Gone was any indication of Western normalcy. In its place, the traditional black garb of the Ishikawa clan. Matte black pouches and sheaths concealed wickedly sharpened weapons. Clever poisons sat in reservoirs on some, while others were kept blackened to avoid detection. One by one the entire clan dashed across the road, shuriken flashing through the air to sever the power supplies on the security cameras. With the enemy’s defenses neutralized, they set to the mayhem.

Gloved hands kept fingerprints from remaining behind to incriminate the ninja, and their blades made mincemeat of the pirates’ stores. Linens were rent asunder. Frying oil coated the floors. Raw fish lined the tables, slowly rotting in the open air. It was over in a flash, though, as the clan could not afford their sabotage to be witnessed by the locals. As quickly as it began, the ninja dashed back to their own restaurant, divesting themselves of their gear and garb in order to stow them away out of reach of the police who would doubtless investigate. Insurance would replace the pirates’ belongings, but it would take time and annoyance. It would be a long war, but the first skirmish had been struck.

[Lisa2lady]

The most beautiful thing about California was the seasons were never truly what they were named after winter often mimicked summer and occasionally during the summer, the temperature dropped to the low-60s. Sadly this was not one of those nice sunny days the morning started out humid and by 8am the temperature had hit the high 80s. Which was not the best thing for Peg-leg Patrick’s, the heat turned the restaurant into an oven speeding up the decay of fish and intensifying the smell. It was a little after 8am when the pirates returned to their establishment. Kentaro had been waiting to see how his plan panned out. As Patrick open the door the wicked smell of decaying fish washed over them like a blanket of rot. The scent was so strong some of the men found themselves fighting back the urge to vomit. Even worse it flooded out on to the street causing many passer byers to complain.

Patrick quickly turned to his second mate “Quick go find that god awful” he quickly covered his nose with a cloth. They suspected the source of the smell could be found in a broken fridge. Almost immediately the two men found themselves struggling to keep their balance. One by one they found themselves falling flat on their butts. Each one trying to help the other instead they would find themselves joining their mates on the floor covered in frying oil.  Captain Patrick groaned at the display of idiocy “Useless vermin” he hissed as he was heading towards the front of the building. 

Watching from across the street was Kentaro and a few other shop owners who had gathered outside to gossip about the smell that filled the street. “Ugh… I hope they get that smell cleaned up soon, my customers are going be upset if they have to smell that while eating their ice cream.” One woman frowned at the thought of losing customers. Soon the other shop owners would add their own opinion and fears about the smell. Kentaro just stood there quietly with a satisfied grin on his face. "No one challenges the Ishikawa clan"

[Napanee]

As the minutes ticked by, and the sounds of 'supposedly' steady on their feet pirates falling flat on their fat arses over and over again continued, Kentaro started to struggle to keep his composure level. It was a battle that many of the younger clan members had already lost. There were titters and giggles and rough (sometimes very rough) approximations of some of the saltier phrases that the pirates were yelling as they fell.

"Right you lot, time for phase two," he announced as he came into the kitchen proper where the clan was busy re-cleaning already spotless cookware.  All tittering stopped and all eyes were on him. He began speaking. "We're going to help out our fellow small business owner over the road who's suffered from a cruel act of vandalism and nothing deflects suspicion like helping clean up the mess we, ourselves, made." He walked over to a large silver work surface. "But let's just say that things are not entirely as they seem." With a theatrical flourish he let go of one end of a thick tool roll filled with snippers and pliers. The roll unfurled and the clan looked at him apprehensively. He paused while the look of disbelief did the rounds of the younger members. It made his smile all the more broad. "We'll all grab a snipper or a set of pliers before going over the road. When unobserved - and only when unobserved - we'll loosen, crimp, bend and abuse anything and everything in their kitchen that we can. Don't go too far though. They can clean up the mess we made easily enough but when the stove starts to fail or their water pipes start to leak in a few days time... Well they'll have to close again to fix everything won't they?"

Once everything had been handed out - and once all weapons had been left piled up in the kitchen under the watchful eyes of great-grandfather - Kentaro led the clan into the den of the enemy. Since the smell was still pretty bad, the front door and all the widows of Peg-leg Patrick's were open; Kentaro knocked loudly on the door frame. "Hellooooo! Patrick?" Once Partick appeared, Kentaro took his hand warmly and introduced himself "Ishikawa Kentaro, small business owner. It's terrible what's happened to you, simply shocking." He moved to the side so that the clan started to file into the restaurant while Patrick was making nice with Kentaro. "We're here to help with the clean up. We've got garbage bags, mops, squeegees, you name it. Just point us in the direction of the mess and we're on it. We gotta stick together, right Patti. I can can you Patti now can't I? These days it's hardly at all an ifeminate name now is it?"

[Arianna]

"Aye, matey, ye can call me whateva' ye fancy. But I 'ppreciate ye help. Ye work in the joint across the street, no?" the small man with the scruffy beard looked at him through narrow eyes. "Ye didn' happen ta notice anything odd last night, did ye?"

"I am afraid not, Patti. You see, me and my family... we have a strict sleep regimen." Kentaro shook his head for emphasis. "Therefore, by that time, we were all gone." He nodded twice, slightly apprehensive of the pirate's bewildered look. Soon, though, he relaxed when the man nodded and smiled, patting his arm and gesturing for him and his men to come in.

"A'right then, matey, ye help is much welcome. As ye probably noticed, I work with a bunch of useless swines, yarrr." The man started walking before Kentaro, waddling as he moved his peg leg, and trying to keep his balance on the slippery floor. Kentaro's talented men moved to action immediately, skillfully cleaning the floor first, then cabinets, soon the place was looking cleaner that it had ever been. Since he knew what to look for, he managed to see some of the sabotaging snips in action and he smugly looked away each time.

Once done, they were all getting ready to leave when Patrick cut them off at the door. "Arrr, fellas, ye need to celebrate with us! We must show ar gratefullness for ye help, no? Yarrrrrr, Wailing Jack! Ye play some music for ar friends, will ye!?" A look of shock followed the man's gesture towards the end of the restaurant where an accordion started playing and a harmonica soon joined. Kentaro tried to say something, but immediately they were surrounded by pirates whom did not even bother to hide their swords, since the place was empty, and each felt compelled to grab a glass and a seat.

[Ziether]

Rum was definitely not sake. Not that any of the Ishikawa clan had relegated themselves to any particular libations in the past, but as a family they tended to stick to Japanese whiskeys and the rice liquors of their homeland, if only out of a sense of belonging. The sweet, strong, brown liquor flowed freely, filling the younger ninja with the bubbly feeling that accompanies inebriation so surely. The only thing keeping Kentaro’s kin from divulging their deepest secrets was the wariness their patriarch had reminded them to guard while in the den of the enemy.

It would not do to make a stir, but Kentaro slowly began making the rounds, whispering to each of the most drunken ninja. “Wait five minutes, then leave. This is an order,” he would tell the men and women under his command. While the youths were most affected, the leader was most disappointed in the ability of his most trusted lieutenants to hold their liquor. A sharp jab to the ribs and a glare of utter disdain for their actions sobered them up enough to only act plastered, seeking to draw out information from their salty seadog companions. The night would be short, but it might be to their advantage. Any intelligence (ha, ha, like a pirate could be all that intelligent!) gleaned from these sailors could be the thing that allowed the Tempura Temple to crush the competition and ascend the chain of Orange County culinary scene’s ladder of success.

After a while, only Kentaro remained. While he was drunk beyond all reckoning, his mind had been trained not to release its secrets under the influence of simple chemicals. Knowing that he could no longer stand in the stronghold of his foe, he sought out Patrick once more. “Here, my brother,” he forced himself to say, swallowing the bile that accompanied the words. Handing the pirate captain his embossed business card, he added, “If there’s anything we can do for a fellow businessman, don’t hesitate to ask. I am but a humble restaurateur, but if it is within my power, I will do what I can.” Any chance to further sabotage the fried fish place would be worth this inconvenience, and there was no way he would allow his clan to be seen as anything but the most upstanding of citizens.

[Lisa2lady]

 While Ishikawa and the rest of the clan were enjoying a few drinks a young ninja Miko was making her rounds ensuring that the sabotage would go as plan. She was just the right size to slip away without being noticed. Her first stop was the very large and expensive walk-in freezer that house the restaurants fish supply. The model was just like the one they had in their own kitchen, so she knew how sensitive it was. She slipped the metal frame off the maintenance panel and turned the nozzle just a bit to turn the temperature up enough to turn the fish bad.  Over the next few days, the freezer would start to thaw and the fish would be of no use to them. She would do the opposite when it came to the fridge she would turn the temperature down enough to freeze the produce.

Just as she thought she would get away without notice she was caught slipping out the kitchen. “Aye lassie checking out our kitchen.” The pirate was little wobbly in the knees, the smell of cheap rum and cigarettes radiated off him. Miko quickly smiled at him trying to think up the perfect excuse for being in the kitchen.  “Uh I…I was looking for the restroom.” Maybe it was because he was intoxicated he did not seem to challenge the fact that she had to pass the restroom to get to the kitchen. He was kind enough to show her the way to the restroom. While hiding she tinkered with the bathroom flushing enough toilet paper and trash to ensure that the next person to use the bathroom would have a rough time.  She hid in there for a few minutes before slipping back out and joining her peers. 

It was just in time for the group to start to disperse, it had seemed that once again they were able to successfully land a blow to their enemy. Surely this would harm them finically and force them to shut down.

[Napanee]

The next morning, Kentaro found that some unseen person was happily smashing his head with a mallet every time he took a breath or even tried to turn his head. It was worse - far, far worse - when something even slightly larger than a bicycle drove past on the road outside. He groaned as he got out of bed and then nearly threw-up off immediately after pulling himself up to near full-height. "Never again shall I consume rum with pirates. Never, never, never again."

Ten minutes later and after four Alka-Seltzers - the instructions had said 'one to two' but they had clearly never been written with drinking with pirates in mind - Kentaro was feeling much more like someone who wasn't going to throw up in the next five seconds; he reckoned that he could stretch that window to at least thirty seconds. Maybe. He walked into the dormitory that most of the younger clan members slept in. He was nearly only about twenty-nine seconds out. He stepped back into the corridor and sucked in huge lungfuls of air to stave off another wave of nausea. Clearly what he'd been feeling most of the other clan had been feeling - only worse. The smell from the dormitory was entirely overpowering. That and the groaning from the terminally hung-over clansmen made Kentaro turn away and head into the main restaurant. That, at least, should not smell bad.

Smell, no, but it looked like a bomb had gone off in it. All the tables and chairs - expensively imported from Japan - had been smashed to pieces and those pieces had been scattered all over the dining area; the wall-hangings had been ripped off and slashed with swords and knives. Shaking his head in both disbelief and anger, he walked into the kitchen and, if possible, things were even worse. All their cooking equipment had been bent, snapped, smashed or simply stolen. Along one of the back walls, someone had smeared tomato paste to create a message. It was a little hard to decipher because the spelling was atrocious but eventually Kentaro worked it out. "Nyce tri ya scurvy scumbags. No won gits somefing ovar Old Patrik. No won!!!" Kentaro picked up a smashed wok and the shaft of a wooden spoon. He began banging the wok with the shaft to wake up the rest of the clan. The pirates had struck back!

[Arianna]

One by one, the young ninjas gathered behind Kentaro, gasping in shock and at the same time moaning in pain. Soon, great-grandfather appeared as well, and after slowly assessing the damage at face value, he made eye contact with Kentaro. His wrinkled face held no emotion. A faint nod, that was all he offered, and he knew exactly what needed to be done. Raising his forearm, he created complete silence amongst his men. They all watched his back and awaited his orders. He could tell by how they even held their breath. His voice resounded clearly in the devastated restaurant.

“In darkness they strike
Cutthroats selling catering
Our blades will dance.”

Without another word, he walked out the door, pulling the sharp knives that always hid into the bindings around his ankles, and stepped into the still empty street, but that was as far as he got before he froze in his tracks. A click, and then another was heard, and he could see faint traces of bearded shadows in the pirate restaurant windows.

“Hold right there, matey!” Old Patrick shouted from the safety of the building. “Take one more step and these fellas here be puttin’ a hole straight through yer chest.” Though he moved not an inch, Kentaro saw in the corner of his eye how dark silhouettes moved swiftly around the back of the building and realized those are probably his men, using the side entrance. Cursing under his breath at his own stupidity, he decided to stall the filthy pirates some more, and so he placed his blades on the ground, in a theatrical manner.

“You win, you bastard, name your price.”

After a few minutes of deep silence, Patrick’s words echoed through the wind.

“I want yer… I want yer to sing ‘Ooops I did it again for us, ‘cause me mates here, they need some entratainin’. So have at it.”

[Ziether]

Ishikawa Kentaro was no connoisseur of the early works of Britney Spears, but even he knew exactly what price he was being asked to pay for the chance at retribution his men demanded of him. The cycle of violence was to be perpetuated, at least for now, and the war of attrition could only succeed if he were to debase himself before these wretched sailors. Kentaro’s head still hammered with the relentless clamor of a dozen master blacksmiths forging fine katanas. Despite his lack of interest in Ms Spears’ discography, the weary ninja had to admit that he could both recall the lyrics to the song in question and vividly remember the original music video, prominently featuring the young singer in an iconic red latex catsuit. His mind couldn’t help but wander to memories of yesteryear before the throbbing at his temples forced him to return to the present.

Singing: now that I can do, the crafty ninja considered, thankful that his foes had not thought to mention what he needed to do while he sang. It was embarrassing enough to consider belting out the woman’s lyrics in public. Possibly cavorting about to them would be out of the question. I could put a shuriken through Patrick’s throat before he could even think, Kentaro idly considered, watching the last of his kin disappear into the back of the pirates’ lair. He needed to buy them time, and for that he needed to stall just a bit longer. “You think I will just dance to your fiddle, you flea-ridden mass of salt spray?” Kentaro asked, playing up the appearance of continued inebriation. The headache was very real, but the man did possess his full faculties. “You and your...I am loathe to call such mangy mongrels ‘men’...could have done much worse. At least you have some degree of taste,” he rambled, staggering a bit before raising his fist to his mouth to clear his throat. “I was wondering after that feeble excuse for rum you drink hit my tongue. If you can swill that rank filth, you mustn’t be able to tell a proper fried fish from garbage.”

Resigned now to his fate, Kentaro spread his feet to shoulder width apart, his chest a perfect target for any of the pirates who would dare take their shots. Not that their blood blunderbusses could hit me at this distance. He swallowed hard, sheer force of will propelling him onward to complete the pirates’ task. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. Thankful for the concession to modern technology, Kentaro drew out his smartphone slowly, careful to give his enemies full view that he was not pulling a hidden weapon. The lyrics came up on the screen swiftly enough, prompting him to close his eyes and shake his head slowly for a bare moment before singing. The note that emanated from Kentaro’s mouth was completely unrecognizable as anything resembling the original song, but it was unmistakable as the pace and lyrics flowed forth. “Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah…” he sang, pretending his was back home at a karaoke bar. “Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah,” he finished the intro, taking a deep breath and preparing to dive into the body of the admittedly catchy song.