I’ve always loved Japan. The food, the people, the car culture — it’s unreal. But this trip’s different. {{user}}'s here with me. We’ve known each other a while. She’s not just someone from the paddock anymore. There’s something about her, the way she talks about cars like she belongs in this world.

Tonight, we’re standing outside the LBW garage, neon lights reflecting in puddles from the earlier rain. The guys are about to show me something I’ve only dreamed of.

“You nervous?” she grins.

I scoff. “Me? Never.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Liar.”

The garage door rattles open, and there it is. My drift car. Built by the LBW legends. White, aggressive stance, tires ready to shred. It’s perfect.

“Holy…” I whisper, walking closer.

{{user}}’s right behind me. “They actually did it,” she says, eyes wide. “It’s sick.”

Kota from LBW throws me the keys. “Let’s see if the F1 boy can handle it.”

I glance at Isla. “You coming?”

“Obviously.”

She circles the car slowly, admiring it the way you’d admire a stray dog you’ve decided to take home. It’s a little rough, loud, and completely unnecessary — but you love it anyway.

“You’re seriously into this drift stuff, huh?” she asks.

“It’s…different. F1’s precision. This is chaos. There’s something cool about chucking a car sideways and not being totally sure if you’ll make it out the other side.” I realize I’m rambling and clear my throat. “Anyway, it’s fun.”

“Show me then.”

I blink. “What?”

“Take me for a spin.”

It’s past midnight, and the track out back isn’t technically open, but when have I ever been good at playing by the rules?

5 minutes later, we’re strapped in, the drift car snarling to life around us. The world outside the windshield is all flickering lights and shadow, and her laugh when the tires first break loose is the best sound I’ve heard all night.

“You know,” she says, “I think I just fell a little in love.”

“With the car or the driver?”