between the lines | p.js

chapter nine

smoke and mirrors

The night before had been loud—reporters chasing headlines, cameras flashing like lightning. But morning was different. Morning was focused. Morning was still.

The paddock smelled faintly of fuel and hot rubber, the sharp perfume of a racetrack just waking up. Nari tugged on her gloves as she walked into the garage, her suit already zipped, helmet tucked under her arm. Her team bustled around her, voices low but efficient.

Yujin was double-checking torque settings with a junior mechanic. Minseo was frowning at a tablet, muttering about wing angles. Haein hovered near the telemetry setup, eyes darting across streams of data. And Sooyeon—already armed with her clipboard and headset—was stationed near the entrance, swatting away the occasional journalist who tried to sneak a word in.

They were a fortress. And inside that fortress, Nari felt steady.

"Nervous?" Yujin asked without looking up.

Nari shook her head, setting her helmet on the bench. "Focused."

"Good answer." Yujin tightened a bolt with a practiced flick of her wrist. "Stay that way when the lights go out."

Nari pulled her gloves tighter and nodded.

The grid was chaos. Cars lined up nose-to-tail, engines snarling as mechanics darted back and forth. Reporters snapped last-minute photos. Team members held umbrellas against the unforgiving sun.

Nari rolled her car onto the grid, the cockpit humming beneath her as she slid into place. Her visor was still up, but already the sweat was beading at her temples.

Jisung was three rows ahead, his car gleaming like liquid silver in the light. Even at a distance, she could see how calm he looked, his helmet resting on the sidepod as he spoke with Mark. He didn't need theatrics to own the grid; his presence was enough.

She forced herself to look away, scanning the faces of the others. Jeno sat stone-still in his cockpit, visor down already, body wound tight like a coiled spring. Haechan leaned back in his seat, mouthing something ridiculous to the cameras, ever the entertainer. Jaemin flashed a grin at a group of fans, soaking in their attention. Renjun was quiet, checking something with his engineer, while Chenle joked with a marshal about Jisung's fanclub growing too loud.

Each one of them dangerous. Each one of them hungry.

Nari lowered her visor.

The formation lap passed in a blur of heat and color. Her tires squealed against the asphalt, her hands gripping the wheel as she wove to keep the rubber alive. Every breath was measured, every corner a rehearsal.

Then—on the grid again. Lights overhead. Five glowing red dots, burning into her eyes.

Focus.

The lights blinked out.

Engines roared.

And the world snapped forward.

The first corner was a battlefield. Jeno cut hard inside, muscling his way past Haechan, who laughed into his comms even as he lost a place. Jaemin danced between lines, teasingly close to Nari's front wing before darting away again.

Nari held her ground, threading her car between two rivals, refusing to give an inch. Her heart hammered but her movements stayed precise. She wasn't here to survive. She was here to belong.

Ahead, Jisung was already carving space where none should exist, slipping past Mark with the ease of water finding cracks in stone. The commentators would be going wild, Nari knew, but she didn't hear them. She heard only the scream of her engine, the rush of air around her helmet, the pulse of her own blood.

Lap after lap, the field stretched and contracted like a living beast. Haechan launched a reckless dive on Jaemin, both of them nearly spinning. Jeno chased Jisung with ruthless intensity, every braking zone a dare. Chenle peppered his comms with jokes, but his driving was sharp, his lines clean.

And Nari—she fought. She clawed. Every overtake was a statement, every defense a refusal. She wasn't the fastest yet, but she was relentless, inching forward, carving her name into the track with every lap.

Then, near the midpoint of the race, she saw him.

Jisung.

Silver car, fluid through the corners, engine singing in perfect harmony with his control. He was ahead, of course—he always was—but for the first time, he wasn't untouchable.

She could see him. Really see him.

And he saw her.

When she closed the gap by half a second, his car shifted subtly, blocking the line before she even thought to take it. It was instinctive, anticipatory. As if he already knew her moves.

Her pulse spiked. Adrenaline surged. This wasn't like dicing with Jaemin or out-thinking Renjun. This was something else.

Lap after lap, they danced. She'd lunge, he'd block. She'd fake a move, he'd smirk in the mirror. It was a duel without contact, a conversation written in rubber and asphalt.

And for the briefest, most electrifying moment, she believed she could beat him.

But then—traffic. Slower cars ahead, the chaos of lapped drivers throwing the rhythm into disorder. Jisung slipped through like smoke. Nari got caught in the mess, boxed in by two rookies who couldn't decide which line to take. By the time she fought clear, the silver car was gone.

The checkered flag came down with Jisung first, Jeno second, Mark third. Nari finished sixth. Respectable. More than respectable for a second race. But still—her jaw clenched as she crossed the line, the ghost of his car still burning in her vision.

The paddock after a race was always an explosion—reporters swarming, crews cheering or cursing, the smell of champagne already in the air for the podium finishers.

Nari pulled off her helmet, shaking out damp strands of hair, ignoring the flashes of cameras that tried to catch her expression. Sooyeon intercepted the first wave of journalists, her voice firm: "No questions yet. Give her a moment."

And then, unexpectedly, Renjun appeared.

He wasn't grinning like Jaemin or cracking jokes like Haechan. His face was thoughtful, eyes sharp, every bit the strategist he was known to be.

"Sixth," he said simply, stepping close enough that she could hear him over the chaos. "For your second real outing here? That's impressive."

"Impressive isn't enough," Nari replied. She kept her tone cool, but the frustration in her chest betrayed her. "I had him. I could've had him."

Renjun studied her, tilting his head slightly. "Maybe. But you lost him in traffic. You hesitated."

Her jaw tightened. "I didn't—"

"You did." His voice wasn't cruel, but it was cutting, precise. "And that's not an insult. It's data. You can't beat Jisung by raw speed alone. No one can. He's too practiced. You'll need to outthink him. Force him into mistakes. He doesn't make many."

Nari blinked, caught between irritation and reluctant respect. "Why are you telling me this?"

Renjun's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Because I like puzzles. And you're the first one I've seen who might actually solve him."

Before she could answer, a handler called his name, and he was gone—vanishing back into his own team's celebrations as if he'd never been there.

Nari stood in the middle of the paddock, sweat cooling on her skin, heart still pounding from the race. Around her, the world celebrated Jisung's win, but Renjun's words echoed louder than the cheers.

Outthink him.

Her fists curled at her sides. She wasn't here for second place.

And if Renjun was right, then beating Jisung wasn't just about speed. It was about patience. Strategy. Precision.

She could do that.

She would do that.

Because today, she'd proven she belonged on the same track as him. Tomorrow, she'd prove she could win.