March 1946, 8 years ago

"So, Shirogane Takashi—Mind if I call you Shiro?" The large, older man in front of Takashi interrupted himself.

Takashi didn't really want to tell his potential new boss that Shirogane was actually his family name; he knew acting out of line could lose him the job before he even had it. "Not at all, Mr. Iverson." He said meekly.

"Tell you what, you can call me Teddy. Makes us even." The man offered.

Takashi nodded.

"Now, the reason I called you here, Shiro, is because I'm seriously impressed. You got accepted into business school, had a baseball scholarship; had everything going for you 'til you got beat up badly by some white kids, but even when you lost all use of your right arm, you didn't give up." He read from a stack of paper on his desk. The thick cigar in his mouth muffled his words ever so slightly. "Hell, you're a Jap applying for a job at a white diner. That takes some serious stones. I admire that in a man. So, I'm going hire you as the new manager."

Takashi's look shot up at Mr. Iverson immediately, the man put it so lightly, as if his decision was made on a whim, that it took a few seconds before it dawned upon him what exactly had just happened. "Wait, really? You would hire me?" He asked, still not quite believing what he had just heard.

"Yes, really. I'll desegregate the entire joint just so you can work here." Mr. Iverson—no, Teddy, smiled at him, amused by the look on his face. "My kids won't like it, nor a good amount of my customers, but I'm not getting any younger, Shiro, and I'd rather leave my restaurants in the capable hands of a resilient, colored young man such as yourself than the soggy slices of white bread that applied as well."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Iverson. I'm—I'm not sure what to say… I promise, I won't let you down!" Shiro smiled and shook the man's left hand to thank him.

Shiro… He smiled. He liked that.

October 1946, 7 and a half years ago

A bell rang through the diner, signalling the opening of the door, snapping Shiro out of his daydream.

He looked up to see a family had just entered the restaurant. A white father, an Asian mother, maybe Korean, and their son.

"Dad, this is awesome! I've never been inside a real restaurant before!"

"Happy birthday, son." The father said.

"I thought we wouldn't be allowed in here." The mother mumbled.

Shiro was disappointed, but not surprised.

Teddy had chosen not to advertise about the desegregation, to not immediately lose the bulk of his usual clientele. It stung, but he understood why. However, word of mouth had spread fast enough. He had simply asked his first colored customers to spread the word to their friends, which they did. Now, after half a year, the restaurant was as busy as ever, with people of all colors and from all layers of society.

"Well, it used to be." Shiro answered from behind the counter. "We made the change official a few months ago, when I started my job as the manager here."

"So… Everyone can come here now?" The boy asked, looking up at Shiro with large, indigo eyes. He couldn't be older than twelve, had long, messy hair, and a few teeth seemed to be missing. He looked like a troublemaker, but Shiro couldn't help smiling at the unabashed wonder in his eyes.

"Yes, everyone." The young man assured him, coming out from behind the counter, holding some menus. He grinned widely as he placed a bright red birthday hat on the boy's head. "Can I get you guys a table?" he asked, looking up at the parents.

"Yes please, Mr. uh…"

"Please, just call me Shiro."

July 1947, 7 years ago

Shiro smiled as he watched the girl, Allura, sleep in the booth by the window. The night had faded into the early hours of the morning, and he couldn't help but stare in pure wonder at how her pearly white hair turned into a fiery red as it reflected the brilliant orange dawn. It was basic physics, Shiro knew, but she made it seem so magical, so not of this world, so—

Shiro's gaze snapped up when he heard the door open and a panicked man rushed inside.

"Princess! Oh thank the elders you're safe!"

Shiro immediately got out from behind the counter to try and quiet the man down.

"Sir, please calm down!" he hissed at the older man. "She's alright, but I think she needs some rest. She seemed shaken when she came here…"

"You took care of her in my absence?" The mustachioed man asked, looking down at Shiro.

"Um, yes?" He panicked. Was he not supposed to? Was helping someone a crime wherever these strange people came from? His worries were more or less erased when the man, roughly his own father's age, pulled him into a bone crushing embrace.

"I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality towards the princess, young lad! I will personally see to it you will be properly rewarded for your services. Did you have anything specific in mind?"

"For you not to sever my spinal cord, please." Shiro muffled into his shoulder.

"Easily satisfied, hm? Alright, deal." The man said in his perpetually chipper tone. Shiro could only sigh in relief when he was released from the man's death grip.

"You must be her uncle Coran, then?" Shiro asked as he tried to catch his breath.

"Yep, that's me. Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, at your service." Coran smiled as he pulled Shiro's right arm from the sling and gave it a shake. "Hm, not a very firm handshake. We'll work on that."

Had it been anyone else, Shiro would have been offended by the man's sheer ignorance, but his infectious good humour made it very difficult to be angry at this 'Coran' figure. Shiro smirked as he took a firm, almost squeezing hold of Coran's bicep with his left hand, catching the man off guard.

"I'm afraid it's permanent." Shiro said, managing a wry smile. "My name is Takashi, but everyone calls me Shiro."

"Ah, I'm sorry… But it's nice to meet you nonetheless, Shiro." Coran apologized as he awkwardly maneuvered Shiro's right arm back into the sling.

"The sentiment is mutual, Mr. Smythe." Shiro said, smiling more genuinely this time. "How about some breakfast? You must be starving after looking for your niece all night."

"Thank you, that sounds great."

August 1954, present

The sun was bearing down on the small, New Mexico town, smothering it with a blistering heatwave. All of the town's inhabitants seemed to have the same idea; to cool off with icy cold milkshakes at the diner.

"I'm sorry everyone!" Shiro called over the mass of people gathered at the counter, still hoping to order some sweet relief from the heat. "We're sold out of everything but burgers and fries! We'll make sure to have more tomorrow."

The crowd let out a collective sigh in disappointment and left the restaurant, only leaving Keith and his friends behind in their usual booth, when a man in a black suit entered.

"Summer heat must be working miracles for a business such as this one." He said as he took a seat at the counter.

"It really does." Shiro sighed as he wiped his forehead on a towel he kept behind the counter. "But I'm guessing you're not here for Lance's world class milkshakes."

"I'm not. I have a letter for a Takashi Shirogane. Is he here?"

"You're talking to him." Shiro smiled at the man, but when the stern look on his face didn't crack, Shiro's smile fell. "Teddy isn't doing well, is he?"

The man across from him shook his head as he produced a letter from his pocket and handed it to Shiro. "He wanted this delivered to you as soon as possible. My firm is still working to finalize the change before he passes away."

"Change? What change?" Shiro asked as he fumbled with the envelope, panic overtaking the ease with which he usually went about his tasks.

Upon seeing Shiro's struggle, Keith got up from the gang's usual booth to open it for him.

"Mr. Iverson didn't discuss this with you?"

"I- No. What was there to discuss?"

"Shiro, just read the letter. I'm pretty sure it's in there." Keith said as he squeezed the older man's hand, holding out the folded letter to him. "I'm here for you. We're all here for you."

Shiro sighed as he looked down at the letter and unfolded. Lance, Hunk and Katie all came to his support as he read the letter out loud with tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat.

"Dear Takashi,

I'm sorry it took me until my death bed to figure out Takashi was actually your first name. I would have said I wished you had corrected me the day I hired you, but you really seem to like your nickname.

I know I don't have long, so I wanted to take the time I have left on this earth to tell you that over the past eight years, I've come to think of you as my own son. To reward you as such, I've decided to leave you my restaurant.

My kids don't care much for owning the place themselves, and I don't want it sold to people who would segregate it again. I trust you can keep the place afloat and help out kids like you who need a place to go.

Thank you for everything, but most of all congratulations. You now run your very own business.

I'll be watching you, son.

Theodore Iverson"