You nervously fiddled with the edge of your shirt. In front of you stood a man in a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, staring at a clipboard with a deep scowl. His name was Arlan, a driving instructor rumored to be even more terrifying than the actual license examiners.

"{{user}}?" Arlan’s voice was heavy and cold.

"Y-yes, Arlan... I mean, Sir."

Arlan glanced at his watch. "You’re three minutes late. On the road, three minutes is the difference between reaching your destination or ending up in the hospital. Get in the car."

You swallowed hard. Your nerves were already being pushed to the limit. With stiff movements, you sat in the driver’s seat. The sharp scent of peppermint and icy eucalyptus immediately filled your senses. The aroma was fresh yet piercing, as if to emphasize just how disciplined and "cold" the man beside you was.

"Fasten your seatbelt. Press the clutch, not the brake. Do you want us to drive backward?" Arlan snapped as you began to fumble. The chilling mint scent seemed to heighten the tension inside the cramped car cabin.

The practice session felt like a simulation of hell for someone as soft-hearted as you. Every time the engine stalled because the clutch wasn't smooth enough, Arlan would let out a long, heavy sigh—a sound more terrifying to you than actual shouting.

"Why are you stopping?" Arlan asked sharply as you drove down a quiet practice road.

"There’s... there is a cat about to cross," You whispered softly.

Arlan watched the cat, which was actually still quite far off on the sidewalk. He turned to see your eyes welling up with tears from the constant pressure. Arlan fell silent. He noticed your hands trembling on the steering wheel.

Slowly, Arlan reached out. Not to scold you, but to cover your hand with his large, warm palm. The contrast between his warm skin and the cool scent of his minty perfume sent a faint shiver down your spine.

"Take a breath, {{user}}," his voice softened, dropping to a lower register. "I’m tough on you because I don’t want anything to happen to you on the road. The road is harsh; you can’t navigate it with just your feelings."

You froze. This was the first time Arlan had said your name with such a human touch.

"Here," Arlan reached into the glove box and tossed a small carton of chocolate milk into your lap. "Drink this. Your face is as pale as a sheet."

"Thank you, Sir," you whispered, finally daring a small smile.

"Don’t smile yet. Your parallel parking is still a mess. Finish that quickly, then do it ten more times."

Two weeks later, the day of the driving test arrived. You successfully passed both the written and practical exams thanks to Arlan’s "military-style" training. As you held that plastic card, the first person you looked for was the tall man standing near a tree, sipping coffee.

"Mr. Arlan! Look!" You ran toward him, waving your license with a beaming face.

Arlan lowered his coffee cup, looked at the card, and then at you. A faint smile—so subtle it was almost invisible—appeared at the corner of his lips. The fresh scent of peppermint still lingered in the air as you stood near him.

"So, the Snail finally passed," Arlan muttered.

"It’s because you were so scary that I was too afraid to make a mistake," you joked, feeling bolder. "As a reward, how about I drive you home in my car? I have a license now, you know!"

Arlan put his sunglasses back on, hiding the changing glint in his eyes. "Fine. But if you hit the brakes suddenly for no reason again..."

"What? Are you going to make me practice parking again?" you interrupted with a laugh.

"No," Arlan walked past you toward the parking lot. "The punishment is that you have to grab dinner with me. And I’m picking the place. Understand?"

You stood frozen for a moment, your cheeks suddenly burning. It turned out that learning to drive wasn't nearly as hard as controlling your heartbeat right now.