Daynight Racer (Completed)

Chapter 19

The Belgian sky was tinted with light grey clouds, covering the sun and diffusing its light. Humidity hung in the air, the earthy smell of oncoming rain penetrating the forest surrounding Spa Francorchamps. In spite of that, a certain auburn-haired girl found herself in a good mood as she marched through the gates to enter the paddock.

Journalists and interviewers spotted her. They eagerly greeted her by shooting questions that she had no interest in answering. She pushed them aside and cut through the crowd like a sharp knife. Soon enough, she reached her garage, where her team and racecar were awaiting her arrival.

She put on her race suit and the other equipment, before hopping into the car. The team mechanics put the headrest in place and helped her buckle up. With everything set up and in place, Lyst was ready for practice.

R: Practice session has started. You can go out now.

L: Okay, Rick. This is gonna be fun.

A mechanic made a gesture towards Lyst, and she dropped the clutch. She turned right onto the pitlane, before making a U-turn and entering the track.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins the moment she floored the car. With the power of 270 horses, paired with the gravitational pull down the long straight after La Source, the acceleration was immense. Lyst enjoyed the speed very, very much.

The fun didn't stop there. Trusting the downforce of her racecar, Lyst's right foot was firmly planted on the throttle pedal as she sped through the iconic corners of Eau Rouge and Raidillon. It was like a roller coaster ride, a mild left followed by a right turn up the hill with a steep incline, ending with a left flick on the steering wheel onto the Kemmel Straight. By then, her heart was pounding with exhilaration, and her body felt like jelly being squished from all sides.

It's such an enjoyable track, this one. She grinned at herself. Driving here in real life is way better than in the simulator.

Riding along the Kemmel Straight provided some time for Lyst to calm her nerves down after her thrilling experience. But it was only a short window of time, because soon came the twisty middle section of the track. The first sequence of corners that came was a chicane, and it wasn't a particularly challenging one. At where the kerbs started, Lyst hit the brakes, gently letting go as the car turned right into the first corner. Careful not to lose control, she managed her throttle input while navigating left and right through the two corners that followed. Once that was over, it was full speed again down the hill.

In an attempt to carry more speed through the corner, Lyst's entry into Bruxelles was a wide one. A dive towards the inside, and a quick peck on the apex later, she drifted back towards the outside of the track again, but not for long. She positioned her car well, and with one smooth motion of the steering wheel and a delicate balancing act of her left and right feet on the pedals, she weaved her car through the nameless corner.

The next corner was Pouhon. Beneath her helmet, cold sweat formed. It was a corner that Lyst dreaded a little. Mainly because of its high speed nature, and therefore its neck-breaking tendencies. Nonetheless, she pushed on. With just a tiny lift of the throttle and a small rotation of the steering wheel, she flung the car around the corner like Tarzan swinging on a vine.

Lyst let out a breath of relief when she found herself in one piece after Pouhon. By then, her car was running at top speed towards the chicane that was coming up shortly. With a gentle dab on the brakes, she flung her car right, carrying as much speed as possible into the first corner, before turning left again to complete the chicane. After a short dash, came the next downhill right hander, which Lyst had no problem tacking.

Now onto the last sector. For the most part of it, Lyst had the pedal to the metal, blasting past Courbe Paul Flere and Blanchimont at full speed. She only slowed down a hundred metres from the end of the straight, where she slammed on the brakes, bringing the car down to a measly seventy kilometres per hour, which was just adequate to make the final bus stop chicane.