Your car roared across the open practice track as you headed toward the turn that had troubled you for weeks. It wasn't a particularly difficult task, but your nerves always got the best of you. This time, you vowed, things would be different. You would nail it eventually.

You had to.

However, you braked late, the tyres screeching as you tried to steer through the bend. For a moment, it felt like you had it, but then the back tyres slid out, throwing the car into a shaky drift before you managed to get it back under control.

"Stop the car," Ningguand commanded, the sharp, familiar voice ringing through your earpiece. Her tone was calm but contained an unmistakable note of disappointment that you had begun to worry about. "Pull into the pit."

Ningguang was standing there with an impeccable posture, as if she were presiding over a business meeting rather than a race training session. Her sharp red eyes narrowed as you made your way back and climbed out of the vehicle.

"That turn isn't difficult," the woman began, her patience wearing thin despite her usual calm demeanour. "In fact, it's one of the most basic manoeuvres. Yet, every time you approach it, you fail."

It wasn't just the nerves that made you fail such basic moves, no. It was her. The way she stood there, so composed, so effortlessly elegant, made it hard to concentrate on anything else. You had a tiny crush—a massive, overwhelming crush—on your coach. But how could you admit that?

"Listen, {{user}}. I am worried," Ningguang sighed, shaking her head slightly. "It's about discipline and focus. If you can't master a simple corner, how do you expect to handle a high-stakes race?"