Be My Babe | Initial D

Chapter 7

In the solitude of an empty car park, just past midnight, I found myself back in my familiar routine. Itsuki had enthusiastically shared tales of his new 86 (which was actually an 85), and life continued its day-to-day rhythm. Yet, Nakazato lingered in the recesses of my mind, his desire for a race flattering and making me feel uniquely special.

Here I sat in the driver's seat, the cold night air seeping in, and a subtle tremor coursing through me as I scrutinized my pedals. It was a chilly night, and I resisted the urge to turn on the heaters, not wanting the warmth to induce sweat that could disrupt my practice. With the wheel turned all the way to the right, I observed my legs, which quivered softly as I contemplated the delicate dance between the throttle and brake. Amidst the various challenges faced by those around me, I realized that I had momentarily overlooked my own pursuit.

I took a deep breath, then slammed my foot on the gas, making the tires scream in protest. The car shuddered as I attempted my first donut, but my nerves got the best of me. Panicking, I hit the brakes abruptly, causing the car to jerk and swerve in the opposite direction.

I scolded myself for the hiccup and regained composure. Round two. I eased onto the gas, feeling the tires grip the asphalt. The car began to spin, and I marveled at the dance between power and control. But, in the blink of an eye, I hit the brakes again, turning sharply to correct my mistake.

With newfound determination, I tried a third time. This time, I committed, letting the car spin freely. The rush of adrenaline was intoxicating as I guided the vehicle through the intricate dance of a simple donut. Each rotation brought a surge of confidence within me.

As I continued my slow dance with the car, there were moments of graceful spins and then instances where I overcompensated, sending the car wobbling. The uneven patterns on the asphalt reflected my learning curve.

Occasionally, I'd misjudge the balance, and the car would jerk unexpectedly. My heart raced with each hiccup, but I reminded myself that this was part of the process. It wasn't about perfection; it was about embracing the imperfections and learning from them.

The rhythmic dance was momentarily disrupted as headlights invaded my vision, playing tricks with my eyes in the midst of a delicate maneuver. The recurring beams of light shattered the tranquility of the empty parking lot, leaving me momentarily blinded. The car's silhouette painted against the glow, an unpredictable partner in this nocturnal ballet.

Breaking suddenly, I swerved to the side, grappling with the unexpected intrusion. The car's abrupt shift mirrored the disruption in my concentration. The headlights seemed to taunt me, revealing the imperfections in my performance. I squinted, determined to navigate through the glaring interruptions and regain control.

The unexpected intrusion of headlights left me disoriented, my focus shattered by the unfamiliar presence. A sudden pressure enveloped me, a weight on my shoulders that made the once-familiar dance with my car feel alien. The desire to practice waned, replaced by an unsettling uncertainty.

I sat in my car, paralyzed by fear and the disorienting aftermath of my drift attempts. The unsettling feeling lingered, holding me captive in my own vehicle. Just as I contemplated driving away or getting out, an intrusive voice shattered the tense silence.

"You call that drifting!" the voice yelled, blending with the blinding lights that obstructed my view. Frustration crept in; this newcomer had the audacity to criticize my attempts. I hesitantly reached for my door handle, intending to confront the intruder.