The front grill of the Mini reads "Tua" and its number plates "O4Osum".
The rear back window has "F for effort".
Delicately perched above a Samoa national flag are inscripted the words "100% Kiwi".
Only minutes earlier a stocky bloke, all 110kg of him in black shorts and matching tank top, eased out of the driver's seat with the dexterity of someone emerging from the cab of a dump truck.
He is Mafaufau Tavita Lio Mafaufau Sanerivi Talimatasi, a name he rattles off with a slight hesitation at the halfway mark, but to the unaccustomed he will always simply be David Tua or Tuaman.
His parents, Noela and Tuavala, and acquainted Samoans often call him Mafaufau or even Tovale Tai, an acknowledgement of his high chiefly status.
"But I'm just a humble servant," says the professional heavyweight boxer who'll turn 41 on November 21, five days after he fights IBF world No8 Belarusian Alexander Ustinov in Hamilton in a 12-round Duco Promotions bout deferred from August 31, after Tua strained a calf muscle.
The spontaneity of a media invite just days before the big fight is somewhat amiss from boxing protocol.
Equally out of kilter is the four-round sparring session (reduced from eight) with Canadian Nigerian giant Raymond Olubowele and lanky American Julius Long - the thudding of gloves on dark-tan bodies punctuated by guttural sounds barely harmonious with the angelic note of the Spanish Grammy nominee.
Ditto Tua's decision to spar without headgear.
But, it seems, all that hardly matters.
It's Tua's party and he'll cry if he wants to, as he arrives six minutes after the 1pm appearance - the monopoly for blatant disregard for punctuality in the sporting arena, for now, remains the safe domain of prima donna cricketers.
The Throwin' Samoan bounces into the ring, his totara-like quadriceps in defiance of his agility to glide in the ring as he shadow spars before the exhibition session with the foreigners.
He acknowledges a couple of people in island fashion - raising his eyebrows in tandem with his head and a sideways glance - including New Zealand Professional Boxing Association president Lance Revill and fitness trainer Lee Parore.
Trainer Henry Schuster intervenes, slapping copious amounts of Vaseline on his fighter's face and torso.
An elderly woman, Adelaide Tucker, resplendent in black, complete with fascinator, gingerly clambers up to the ring before embracing Tua as a smattering of onlookers wonders who she is.
"I used to know David when he was only 15 or 16 years old," says the 70-year-old Aucklander whose brothers used to take a teenage Tua to training.
"He used to knock them out in 35 to 40 seconds and they were out going down. David used to hit them again on the way down," Tucker reveals, her face breaking into a beaming sense of satisfaction.
Explains Tua later: "She's a mother like no other. She's a grandmother and great-grandmother like no other."
It is a humbling experience for Tua that she finds time from her daily commitments to support him.
Says Tua: "I felt really embarrassed to take her in my Mini."
He laughs when told how Tucker thoroughly enjoyed riding in his Mini recently and how one day they drove to her brother's farm where he wanted to put an infant pig in the modest boot of the car.
She's unsure what Tua's motivation was but she convinced her brother the boxer simply wanted the piglet as a pet, not for a hangi.
Tua puts the record straight: "Both. You have got to have them as pets to make sure they grow up good and then you eat them.
"Yeah, yeah, you've got to look after it. That's the way," he says with an impish grin.
To comprehend Tua is to understand where he comes from and that sanctuary isn't Mangere where his parents still live.
The clauses and subclauses to his constitution stem from his birthplace, the village of Faleasiu, in the second largest island of Upolu.
His explanations go a fair way to making a modicum of sense on what the cryptic messages on his Mini are trying to convey.
"I'm a 100 per cent Samoan. I'm a 100 per cent Polynesian but I'm a proud New Zealander," declares the former Olympic bronze medallist, stroking his bleached goatie.
"The reason why? Everything started in the islands to the sport of boxing."
He's forever indebted to his adopted country for turning him into a global commodity and providing countless stepping stones towards becoming a decent fighter.
"I suppose that has moulded me into the decent character I am today," he says, perched on the steps to the ring in a media workout that appears more demanding than the sparring session.
The New Zealand platform, apparently, fuels the man but the common denominator, he maintains, is people.
"Sita Le Pupa is an awesome, awesome man. He gave up a lot of things for us," he says of his village guardian who looked after him, a sister and brother as children.
They were challenging times for the 11-year-old when his parents left for New Zealand, incapable of taking all the siblings due to economic restraints.
That the "awesome man", an unassuming villager, could comprehend the trio's loneliness and convey it to his parents with aplomb was pivotal in mapping his life, "and the rest is history".
"I'll always be grateful for that."
TV-manufactured notions of what he is as a person do rankle with the professional.
Okay, so there's the swagger and the undercurrents of egotism come weigh-in time but that, he insists, comes with the territory.
"I'm just a humble man who's been blessed with a God-given talent that allows me to make a living and to look after my family.
"Everything else that comes with being a decent sportsman allows me to represent Samoa and obviously the Pacific nations."
Generally he believes any preconceived notions of his persona tend to evaporate when fans meet him.
"I'm a decent man, you know. I have my good days and I have my bad days but I know in my heart I'll always do what is right."
It heartens him to see other youngsters coming through the ranks, especially professional Joseph Parker and fellow South Aucklander Patrick Mailata, 18, an amateur, who was ringside and harbours ambitions of Commonwealth and Olympic gold medals before turning pro.
"Joseph is a beautiful, young talent coming through.
"It was also awesome to see Patrick here today, who is another young boxer, coming through with awesome talent."
He accepts his influence on young islanders, in particular, those who may try to tread in his heavyweight footsteps.
In the Pacific Island context, the collective is invariably responsible for everyone.
He fires a Polynesian slogan to make his point: "It takes a man to build a village and a village to build a man so no man is an island."
Tua's gym, where he lives in a back room, has novel quotes on life plastered on walls and pillars for inspiration.
"For me, I can only continue to be myself. I really believe in living by example and doing what I need to do rather than worrying about who's saying this and that, so all that takes care of itself."
His Christian values always take him to the point of self-analysis by default: "What would Jesus do?
"For me, as a Christian, it's not so much what I say but what I'll do."
If youngsters such as his nephews emulate his feat to reap any benefits, then so be it.
The days of growing his hair to look taller, as he did in his defeat to former world heavyweight boxing champion Lennox Lewis, are in some ways still a reminder of separating illusion from realism.
"There's still a lot to learn about the sport and about myself.
"I guess, for me, I have a tall order [against Ustinov]. He's an incredible opponent and world-ranked and dangerous but I'm looking forward to the fight," he says of what many pundits consider to be insurmountable odds in a sport where David needs to buy Lotto to prevail over Goliath.
He never imposes on his parents to watch him ply his trade.
"If they wish to come to the fight, it's there. If they don't, it's up to them."
Having them there will be nice but as a professional Tua recedes into a tradesman-like cocoon of discipline, switching off his emotional antennae.
Asked if his much-publicised falling out with former Kiwi trainer Kevin Barry, now based in the United States and mentoring Parker, had made him wiser in the way he handles his affairs, Tua throws his head back with laughter before replying: "I hope so. It is what it is.
"I've become a believer and a decent person. I've become aware of a lot of things I wouldn't normally be aware of so I'm grateful of that."
Dwelling on it isn't an option if he wants to move forward.
Asked where he'll be - fast forwarding the clock a decade on - and the humorous persona takes over again: "I'll still be sweeping this place, man. I'm the head cleaner of this place [gym].
"I love this place. When people walk through this place you don't know who's who.
"They come into this place because they are happy to be here and you cannot replace that."
That was only a day before he publicly revealed aspirations of helping give birth to a Pacific Island-oriented political party.
He has two sons, Klein, 18, and Kynan, 15, who play rugby and live with their mother, Robina Tua.
Asked if they would ever contemplate treading on roped canvas, the man who has defeated four world champions prefers to recount his advice to his sons.
"There are two reasons I told them: 'Firstly you've got to do it yourself and, secondly, you've got to change your name to Smith'."
He cracks up again but elaborates when no one else laughs.
"There's too much pressure man. They gotta go to where they'll have to make their own path, man."
Olubowele laughs when asked how lethal Tua's punches are, albeit on his inner thigh at times.
"I know other guys I've sparred with internationally so he's arguably the hardest puncher I've faced," says the man who claims to have faced four world champions including Briton David Haye and Cuban-born Juan Carlos Gomez.
"David way surpasses those guys," he says, dismissing website rankings that list Tua as the 48th-hardest puncher in world boxing.
"I don't know the other 47 in front of him but he's arguably the hardest puncher I've faced."
Olubowele says Tua's fleet-footedness and snake-like swerves or shark-like ring craft will help negate the gulf in height and reach.
"That's going to prove positive for him on capitalising on the reach.
"I don't think Ustinov will be able to catch him with his jab," he says, adding Tua is smart enough to keep swaying his head from side to side.
"He's going to slip and bridge that gap."
Olubowele reckons how Ustinov will respond to an in-your-face opponent is untested.
"David's game plan shows he'll get right on to him so I don't know what Ustinov is going to do because he's probably never been in that position."
If history is anything to go by, in boxing parlance Tua will need to keep his guard up to protect himself at all times.