Chapter Theme:

Sub Focus & Dimension - Desire

She’s busy cooking again when Seulgi walks in the door with an expression on her face unusual enough to make her stop stirring and put the spatula down and say, barely audible over the hiss of the gas cooker, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘What?’ Seulgi says. She looks up from her phone screen and shrugs and adds, ‘Oh, nothing. Just a text, is all.’

‘Who from?’

‘Joy.’

‘You look like it’s bothering you.’

‘A little,’ Seulgi mumbles. Irene waits for clarification that never comes. When she’s finished with the food and they’re sat in their little world of domestic comfort and homeliness she says, ‘So are you going to tell me what it is Joy said to you? Or am I going to have to guess?’

‘What?’

‘The look on your face. It looks like something isn’t sitting right with you.’

‘She said she needed to speak to me,’ Seulgi says between mouthfuls. ‘This is really good, by the way.’

‘Thanks.’

‘What did you put in it?’

‘Just some cumin to season. What did she say?’

‘Well, just that. Just that she needed to speak to me. And that she had a proposition for us. Which is the part that’s bothering me.’

‘She’s got a proposition?’

‘Not that part. This is really good.’

‘Thanks,’ Irene says again absently. ‘Which part, then?’

‘Us. She said “us.” Maybe she means, like, me and her. But maybe not. I’m thinking maybe she means me and you. I don’t know why. Just call it a hunch of mine. But I think I’m right on this.’

‘Well. What do you think she wants?’

‘I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s going to be anything straightforward or simple. In fact, I’ve got a good idea of what it might be, honestly, after the rally a couple weeks ago. I think I’m almost certain.’

Irene just looks at her. The silence that fills the room would be alarming if they were not both so used to just how comfortable it is instead. It tells them there’s nothing else that needs to be said and there’s nothing wrong with that at all. It just is. She finishes another mouthful of food and washes it down with a glass of water and spends a long time just sitting there admiring Seulgi across the table, trying not to smile and failing, thinking to herself: How did I ever get so lucky? Four championships, and this is the grandest prize of them all.

After a while she asks, ‘Are you going to text her back, then?’

‘I already have. But you know what she’s like with her replying, always at the dumbest times. I swear I don’t know how she does it. She’s almost as bad as you.’

At that Irene only laughs, and it isn’t until half past two in the morning that Seulgi’s hypothesis is proven correct, when they’re both awoken by the ringing of Seulgi’s phone on the bedside table, loud enough to stir them, incessant enough to keep them from returning to sleep. Irene opens her eyes and closes them again and fights back a yawn. A single thin knife of moonlight pours in through the crack in the blinds and paints Seulgi in a pale seraphic glow and Irene kisses the nape of her neck tenderly from behind and mutters against her back, arms draped around her and half asleep, ‘Ignore it.’

‘I can’t. I know who it is.’

‘Just pretend you had it on mute or something.’

‘I’ll feel bad if I don’t.’

Irene kisses her again to no avail. She nudges her way out of Irene’s embrace and picks up the phone and says, ‘Hello? Yeah, I am. Well I mean, I wasn’t, but I am now. Yeah, you woke me up. It’s okay. Did you need something? What? What, now? Oh. Then why did you call now? Yeah. Yeah, I know. It’s okay. I said it’s okay. Both of us? When and where? Okay. Yeah, sure. Bye. See you tomorrow.’

When she’s done she pulls herself up against the headboard and wipes her eyes and glances at Irene. ‘Well?’ Irene says.

‘Yeah, it was Joy.’

‘Why the is she calling at— what time is it?’

‘Nearly three.’

‘At nearly three in the morning.’

‘She said she needed to speak to us tomorrow. Both of us.’

‘Then why couldn’t it wait until the morning?’

‘Don’t know. She said she’s very sorry but she’s a bit of an insomniac and she was very bored and needed to talk to us urgently. Well, kind of said all that. But still.’

‘I can’t believe her sometimes,’ Irene mumbles.

‘I know.’

‘What did she want?’

‘Didn’t say. But I still have a very good idea at what it might be. Suppose we’ll see when we get there tomorrow. I’ve got a feeling we won’t be alone, the three of us.’

‘Where did she want to meet?’

‘At the café, as per usual.’

Irene only nods. In the dark and slender light it’s hard to make out much of Seulgi at all save the faint outline of her but it doesn’t matter. Seulgi is perfect, ghostlike or not. Every inch of her.

‘She should’ve probably waited,’ Seulgi mumbles to herself, pushing back the covers and yawning and getting out of bed.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To get something to eat.’

‘What? At three in the morning?’

‘I won’t be able to sleep again now. My body clock’s ruined for the day. I guess I’m a bit like you.’

‘Are you serious?’

Seulgi shrugs. ‘Do you want some toast?’ she says.

And at this Irene can only sigh and rub her head and say quietly, ‘Two slices, please. With extra butter in the middle. And crunchy. And don’t give me the crusts. You know I hate crusts.’

The first thing Seulgi says when they walk through the café door and catch sight of Joy and Yeri sat over in the far corner sipping coffee is, ‘Knew it.’

‘What?’

‘I knew it wouldn’t just be the three of us.’

‘Are you going to tell me what you think this is about yet?’

Instead Seulgi waves to them and Joy waves back with a smile and tells Yeri to shift along the bench so they can sit down. ‘Morning,’ she says, full of the enthusiasm missing in both Seulgi and Irene.

‘Are you going to apologise?’ Irene asks. ‘For waking us both up at two in the morning, I mean.’

‘I didn’t know you’d be with her. And, in all fairness, I did apologise to Seulgi on the phone. Just not…y’know. To you. Anyway, sorry. But I called you both here for a reason. A big reason. Right, Yeri?’

‘Right,’ says Yeri, fingers tapping on her Styrofoam coffeecup absently. She’s dressed in a casual red shirt with a small yellow and black FERRARI logo printed on the front and Seulgi takes one long look at her and laughs and says, ‘Wearing Ferrari merch already?’

‘I have to get in the mood, you know? Testing starts in two weeks. I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited in my life. You ready, by the way?’

Seulgi only shrugs. The truth is that she hasn’t really been thinking about it much at all. Her life is a maelstrom of events and happenings and all of them great and testing is only that – testing. It barely matters. The season could be entirely different. ‘So,’ she says, ‘what did you want us for?’

Joy shifts a slight in her seat. The look on her face is part anticipation and part a sort of unsurety of how she’s going to be received, almost apologetically so. ‘Alright,’ she says, ‘so I’ve got a proposition for you. Both of you. And you don’t have to say yes or anything, since I know it’s on super short notice, but I figured you two are the type to do things on a whim, right? And I couldn’t think of anyone better than the pair of you.’

‘Go on,’ Irene says.

‘You look tired.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I didn’t mean it in a rude way. Just…yeah.’

‘I wonder why.’

‘Right. Sorry again. Anyway, where was I?’

‘Why are we here?’

‘Yeah,’ Joy says. ‘Of course. Well, I wanted to ask if you both wanted to take part in a race with me this coming Saturday and Sunday. I know it’s only five days’ notice and everything, but I needed to get it all sorted beforehand, and you have no idea how much effort all of that took on my own. Like, way more than the rallying did. The number of hoops I’ve had to jump through to even get this on the table, which is strange really, because it’s nowhere near as dangerous as the rally was.’

‘What is it?’ Irene asks.

‘Have you heard of the World Endurance Championship? Wait, that’s a stupid question. You’re a racer. Of course you have. Well, this weekend is the first leg of the 2021 WEC season, and I figured we could go along and, you know…do it.’

‘Do what?’

‘The race,’ Joy says.

‘Knew it,’ says Seulgi.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Go on.’

‘Right. Well, what I mean is, we obviously can’t compete in the two top classes, since they’re locked to participants with relevant licenses and teams and such. But the GT3 class is an open field for privateer teams. At least, for this part of the season it is. I don’t know how they’re gonna do it at Le Mans or whatever. But yeah, this weekend it’s a privateer thing. Basically as long as you’ve got your own team and your own mechanics and your own car, and it all passes the health and safety regulations and stuff, you can go along and race GT3s. A bit like our rally gig.’

‘And you’ve got a car and a team and a bunch of mechanics that pass the regulations?’

‘That’s what I’ve been putting together in my spare time. Well, that and the rallying stuff, of course. I’ve been gathering a couple sponsors and asking a bunch of the higher-ups and they said, sure, go for it. Just fund it yourself and don’t do anything stupid. So I thought, why not?’

‘And you need help.’

‘Yeah.’ She shifts in her seat again and pauses. As if they might be being watched, but they’re not. Then she continues. ‘It’s the 24 Hours of Suzuka.’

‘Suzuka?’ Irene says.

‘Yeah. Why?’

‘You’re going to Japan for this?’

‘Well, they weren’t gonna hold it in Korea, were they? Why? Got a problem with that?’

‘No. I was just asking.’

‘So, yeah. That’s why I need your help.’

They’re quiet a moment, putting two and two together. Then Seulgi says, ‘You need us because you need—’

‘A team of drivers,’ Joy interrupts. ‘Yeah. With it being a twenty-four-hour race, you’re obviously not allowed to drive it yourself for the whole twenty-four hours straight. That would practically be suicide. So, the rules say you need a team of four drivers alternating stints. Each driver must do a minimum of five hours each, but can do as much extra as they like, provided all four drivers meet the minimum, obviously. So I put my thinking cap on and thought, which three people do I know who are, A, very fast, B, willing to drive that fast, and C, are good friends of mine? And hey, what do you know?’

‘Us.’

‘Yay,’ Yeri says, barely enthused at all.

‘You can say no,’ Joy adds. ‘I mean, if you don’t wanna do it, I totally get it. Totally. But I thought it’d fun, you know? It’d be a cool thing for us to do as a team. I figured it could be a cute sendoff for Yeri as well, before Ferrari claim her soul.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. I’ve told you this already. I’ll still be in the paddock and on the track and with you wherever else. I just won’t be in the Samsung garage, is all.’

‘Yeah, but being with Ferrari ages you, like, twenty years. Look at Seb. Look at Kimi. Hell, look at—’

‘Alright, I get it. I’m gonna look like a forty-year-old woman at twenty-five. Blah blah. Anyway, I’ve already said yes, so why did I need to be here?’

Joy shrugs nonchalantly. ‘Just figured you’d like a drink,’ she says.

‘So all you need is for us to drive?’ Seulgi asks.

‘Yeah, basically. Just be part of the team. I’ll do the rest – I’ll put together the crew and the sponsors and the car and get all the logistics organised. All you both have to do is show up at six PM on Friday evening in sunny Suzuka – or rainy Suzuka, probably – and the rest, as they say, is history.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Kinda.’

Irene and Seulgi share another glance. It’s become quite telling of their relationship that with as little as a silent nod they understand each other completely. So much so that Irene says, ‘Sure. We’ll do it.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. It’ll be fun.’

‘Oh my god, yes! Thank you! I mean, I figured you’d both say yes, but like…there was still this doubt in my mind. And I had a few backups in mind, but you two were top of the list.’

‘Backups. What backups?’

‘I was gonna ask Jennie if either of you said no. And maybe your buddy boy from Ferrari, since he seems like a such promising young talent. What’s his name again?’

‘Leclerc,’ Yeri says.

‘Yeah, him. Or maybe I’d give Alonso a buzz. He seems to be dipping his fingers into every pie these days. But no need now, since you both said yes. God, this is gonna be so much fun!’

‘What about the car?’ Seulgi asks.

‘Don’t worry about that.’

‘No, I mean, what is it?’

‘Mercedes AMG. GT3 spec. It’s a beast, trust me.’

‘Are we allowed to drive a Mercedes? Contractually, I mean, seeing as they’re a rival F1 team and all.’

‘Yeah,’ Joy says with an idle wave of the hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve gone over all this stuff already. Like I said, all you need to do is worry about getting on a plane to Japan on Friday night and being ready to race. And if there’s one thing you two know how to do better than anything—’

‘It’s race,’ Irene mumbles.

‘Bingo.’

‘Do we get a prize if we win? Or is it just for s and giggles?’

‘No, there’s a prize. A big fat trophy. Why? Were you gonna say no if there wasn’t?’

‘No. I was just curious.’

‘This Friday,’ Seulgi says.

‘Yeah,’ says Joy, stirring what remains of her coffee with a little wooden stirrer. ‘Just make sure you get to Suzuka by, like, five in the evening. The race starts at midday on Saturday and runs until midday Sunday, but we need to get some practice in and stuff first. Test the car out. And I’ve got a bunch of stuff to sort out regarding getting the team there and stuff. So, yeah. Friday would be good. You too.’

‘I know,’ Yeri says with a dismissive wave of the hand. As if she has not been listening at all. ‘I’ll be there. I’ve already said this twice.’

‘Great.’ The smile Joy breaks into has the others almost smiling as well, so pure and infectious and full of enthusiasm for the future. ‘God,’ she mutters, ‘this is gonna be insane. I can’t wait.’

The atmosphere is so very different on Friday evening. Formula 1 is one thing, but endurance racing breeds in its very nature a certain unique audience and experience that can’t truly be classified. The difference is that here no one sleeps, not driver nor team nor spectator. The hotels in Suzuka City aren’t as full, the streets a slight emptier. Instead people opt to camp out in the fields and all along the banks, little rows of fairylights like orange glowfingers in the cool dusk, crowds all stirring restlessly across the main straight. Standing there in the pitlane against the falling daylight Seulgi takes a moment to soak it all in. The race doesn’t start for another eighteen or so hours but the camera crews are out in force already, all eager to grab footage of her and the others in their practice sessions. The pitlane is a good deal busier than it is during F1 weekends, too – more cars, more people, a thicker smell of gasoline and food in the air. Inside their garage Joy and Irene are stood talking to the mechanics at the back, Irene’s arms folded in front of her chest nodding along every so often and saying something and pointing to parts of the car.

‘Well,’ Yeri says, sipping her water through a straw. She’s dressed in their team racing outfit for the weekend, a black ensemble with the Red Bull logos printed across the chest and various others all down the arms and across the back and her name threaded across the right side of her front. Seulgi takes a minute to soak up the car. Long and sleek and low to the ground. In its coat of matte paint it looks almost evil. The enormous rear spoiler and splitter like something from an aircraft, the Mercedes badge bright and proud. All across the livery are the decals of sponsors and information about the four of them, names printed on the doors and small stickers pasted to the backseat windows and the number 5 in huge white paint, the largest of all.

‘Why five?’ Yeri asks.

‘What?’

‘Why did you pick the number five? I mean, out of all the numbers.’

‘It’s the total number of championships between the four of us.’

‘Wow. Okay.’

Seulgi has to fight back a giggle and try and be serious. ‘It’s pretty,’ she says.

‘Not really. But it does look kinda badass. Kinda like the batmobile or something. Or, like, something a Bond villain would drive, you know?’

‘Yeah. I know what you mean.’ She’s about to say something else when Joy and Irene come over and Joy says, ‘Are you ready to go out and give it a spin?’

‘Not really. But I know this circuit, so I suppose so.’

‘That’s the spirit. That’s why I picked the three of you, because you know Suzuka already, so what else is there to learn?’

‘How about everything?’

‘Well, sure. But it’s not that hard.’

‘They’re so different from F1 cars. So different.’

‘I know,’ Joy says. ‘But don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. What sort of experience have we all had in GT cars?’

‘Absolutely none at all,’ Seulgi says.

‘Nor me,’ says Yeri.

They look to Irene and she shrugs, arms still folded, and says, ‘I’ve done three laps of Silverstone in an Audi R8 LMS. But it was a parade show for a charity event. So, none, really. What about you?’

‘About the same,’ Joy admits.

‘Great. We’re off to a flying start. And one other thing, too. What the is this?’

‘What?’

Irene directs them to one of the stickers on the rear window, with their names and information plastered on it in bold white font. ‘This,’ she says.

‘What about it?’

‘IRENE BAE – Blood type, A. SOOYOUNG PARK – Blood type, A. SEULGI KANG – Blood type, A.’

‘Yeah, so?’

She points a slight lower. ‘Yerim Kim. Blood type…ABO, positive negative.’

Yeri shrugs idly in response. ‘I forgot what mine was,’ she says. ‘And Joy asked me on short notice. You basically put me on the spot.’

‘What if you get into an accident and you need a blood transfusion?’

‘That’s a bit extreme, no?’

‘No,’ Irene says. ‘That’s the whole point behind asking for our blood types. In case something goes wrong and there’s an emergency.’

‘Well then I guess I’ll get the whole lot. Or I’ll have free choice over which I want. Which is best for you? I want the good stuff.’

‘That’s not how it works.’

‘In that case I guess I’ll just have to not get in any accidents that require a transfusion of blood, right?’

And at this Irene can only manage a sigh.

‘Who’s going out first?’

‘Me,’ says Joy. ‘Just to see that the car’s actually set up and working right. And then you can pick straws or something to decide who goes next. I dunno.’

‘And what about tomorrow?’

‘We’ll figure that out as we come to it.’

‘Man,’ Yeri mutters. She takes another look at the car and breaks into a grin and runs a hand through her hair and says, ‘This is gonna be awesome.’

It feels like another world compared to anything she’s ever done before, so new and exciting. Sitting there in the driver’s seat, gloves tight on the wheel, Seulgi finds herself filled again with that same childlike glee, that same pure adrenaline urging her to jump, to just fall from the very edge into the unknown, to give herself that little nudge forward into whatever the future may hold. And she does.

The straights fly by slower, the corners almost at a crawl compared to Reve. If she were not so focused on the track ahead of her she’d take a moment to just think about the absurdity of that. Barreling down the main straight at two hundred and fifty kilometres an hour and with the greater world without evaporating against the sheer speed and the car wobbling and rattling around and the turbocharger whining and the engine begging for release all she can think is: This is so slow. This feels like I’m walking.

But there’s a certain instability in it that feels utterly exhilarating. Reve, fast as she is, is so stable and planted and good-natured. Swerving violently through the S curves in the setting dark Seulgi realises the Mercedes GT3 is nothing alike at all. The entire car has been weight stripped for performance – gone are the rear seats and the cupholders and the dashboard displays and the passenger seat and whatever else might prove a momentary distraction. Everything that can go has gone. All that remains is a steeringwheel and a small LED display and the rollcage in the rear. Even the windows have been knocked out and replaced with sheets of plastic to save weight. The result it a car on the edge of insanity, one thousand kilograms of unstable lunacy in a metal frame, six hundred horsepower under her right foot and a twin turbocharged V8 engine that sounds like the end of the world itself whenever she accelerates down the main straight and the crowd – already formed and already rabid – urge her on.

She does five laps, slower than Reve and no less fun at all. Then she does five more, smiling all the while. When she pulls back into the pits alongside thirty other GT3s it’s almost nine PM and the last of the red light has bled away and she’s still grinning ear to ear like an idiot when she climbs out of the single seat and pulls off her helmet and wipes the sweat away and glances at Irene, smiling proudly at her. ‘Well?’ she says.

‘That was great. It’s great.’

‘I knew you’d say that,’ says Joy with a grin of her own.

‘It’s so snaky out there. Like, unbelievably so. Even with that rear wing the backend just wants to kick out at every possible opportunity. You’ve got to be so tuned in to stop it from sliding about. And if you do slide, that’s it. Tires are gone. Ridiculous car. Just ridiculous.’

‘You sound like you love it, though.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Seulgi replies, still beaming, hands still shaking, still on her racing high. ‘That’s some of the most fun I’ve had in a car in ages. What were the times like?’

Joy points her to the digital board at the back of the garage. ‘Your lap times were about the same as mine,’ she says. ‘Two minutes three seconds, there or thereabouts.’

‘Is that fast? I honestly don’t know.’

‘It’s fast enough for what we need, so yeah. Now it’s all about consistency tomorrow. As long as we can stay within two minutes six seconds per lap, I think we should be good. Assuming everything else goes right, of course. Which is a big assumption.’

‘It will. I think it will.’

‘Is it my turn yet?’ Yeri says.

‘Sure,’ says Joy. ‘Just don’t break the car, yeah?’

‘Do you think that little of me?’

‘Never said that.’

‘Uh huh,’ Yeri mumbles, fixing her helmet in place. ‘You’re forgetting something.’

‘What?’

‘I’m a Ferrari driver. We’re practically racing royalty.’

‘God,’ Irene says, ‘you’re going to be insufferable over the next few years, you know that?’

‘Oh yeah,’ Yeri says. ‘I plan on it.’

Saturday morning is like nothing she’s ever experienced before. Part of Seulgi is grateful and a little overwhelmed at how so many events in her life seem to have her saying the same thing, but it’s entirely the truth. The sky is swollen and grey and the radars read rain potentially by six PM and a whole lot of it, too. What remains of the cold sun is sallow and sunken and barely a sun at all. The pitlane is crowded to the point of confusion, teams coming and going and cars ready and cars broken down and mechanics desperate to fix their cars before the midday start. In their shared garage Seulgi and Joy sit tapping their feet nervously and Irene watches the names on the leaderboards showing the grid and Yeri is nowhere to be seen.

‘What time is it?’ Seulgi asks.

Joy glances at her watch absently and says, ‘Just after eleven. We’ve got about forty minutes before we need to line up on the grid.’

‘Where are we starting?’

‘Third out of thirty-six, after that lap Yeri put in last night.’

‘That was a pretty good lap.’

‘Yeah. I didn’t wanna tell any of you that it was qualifying and not practice because I didn’t wanna put any pressure on you, you know? But then she goes and does that. Don’t tell her this, but I think she might actually be the best driver on the grid in this car. No offence to you two, of course.’

‘None taken. Where is she, anyway?’

‘Dunno. She’ll turn up. She always does.’

Five minutes later, she does. She saunters in with a packet of spicy potato chips in hand and her hair tied back and glances once at the leaderboards and hums to herself and says, ‘When are we going? I wanna start.’

‘Soon,’ Joy says. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Am I starting?’

‘No. I was just asking in general.’

‘Hell yeah, I’m ready. Are you?’

Joy nods. They look at Irene and Irene turns to them and smiles softly and says, ‘I’m ready, before you ask.’

‘Good, since you’re our first driver. Just don’t go too hard in the first part, okay? You’re out there for three hours, then it’s me, then Seulgi, then Yeri. Then we switch back in again, and if one of us happens to be, like, much faster than the others, they do the longer stint. Everyone with me?’

They all nod, barely listening at all. As if they haven’t already been over it countless times. The nerves have gotten to them and it’s plain to see. Ten more minutes pass in silence save for the wind and the other cars along the pitlane and a handful of mechanics before Seulgi’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out and reads the message with a little laugh that has the others turning to see what’s so funny.

‘What?’ Joy says.

She holds up her phone. It’s a selfie of Wendy, in a Ferrari hat and an Apex shirt and a Samsung jacket, smiling and holding a little peace sign with her fingers to the camera. And the message attached to it reads:

Didn’t know who to support this weekend, figured I’d support all of you! Good luck 😊

‘Cute,’ Yeri says.

‘Yeah,’ says Joy. ‘She’s cute. The cutest, really. Easily the cutest.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Why didn’t we invite her along?’ Irene asks.

‘I did, but she said she was busy doing stuff. And there wasn’t really a role for her anyway, apart from moral support. The only contact you’re allowed when you’re in the car is with the other drivers - no race engineers or pitwall consultants like in F1 - and since she’s not a driver herself…you see?’

Irene nods as to say: Makes sense.

‘I miss her a bit,’ Seulgi says. ‘Feels weird not having her in my ear all the time when I'm in a race.’

‘Yeah, I miss her too. I miss her a lot right now. Didn't realise how much I missed her until she's not here.’

‘Joy,’ says Irene.

‘Right. Anyway, it’s almost time. No pressure or anything, but this might be singlehandedly the most publicity the WEC has ever gotten as an event.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Well, because they’ve never had a team of four Formula 1 drivers before. Usually it’s just one or two, like when Fernando won it last year or whatever. But never the whole team. And two world champions on the same team as well? And the latest Ferrari signing? This might literally be the most stacked team of drivers in history. Not to blow my own trumpet or anything.’

‘No chance of that.’

‘Like I said, no added pressure.’ She beams at Irene and Irene can only shake her head in amusement and fasten her gloves and grab her helmet from the back shelf. The number five is printed across the lid bold enough to be seen from anywhere. The crowd outside are restless. Some of the engines are already humming in anticipation. ‘This should be good,’ she murmurs, more to herself than anything, and the expression on her face is one Seulgi knows all too well. No longer does the new and domesticated Irene exist – in this personal space of hers only the competitive four-time champion can compete. It’s her innate desire, much like Seulgi’s, to succeed at anything and everything she does. Push the car, and herself, to the limit. Outside the speakers burble into life and a man calls out, first in Japanese and then in English, for the GT2 and GT3 cars to begin making their way to the grid in an orderly manner.

‘Right,’ says Joy. ‘Good luck out there. Remember, take it easy. No point doing anything crazy this early on. We’ve got twenty-four hours of racing ahead of us.’

Irene nods to her and to Yeri and looks at Seulgi and suddenly all pretense of seriousness and severity is thrown out of the window and replaced with a tender and loving smile. A quick look around tells them that save for Yeri and Joy and a handful of the team performing final checkup on the car, they’re alone. She tugs on the zipper of Seulgi’s racing suit and pulls her in and kisses her long and warm and soft and Seulgi kisses her back, so accustomed to one another, part of a shared and cosmically intertwined existence, and Irene mumbles, ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ Seulgi says. ‘Good luck.’

‘Thanks. I’ll see you in about three hours’ time.’

‘Uh huh. Be safe. Don’t, you know…get into accidents that require blood transfusions.’

‘I think that’s Yeri’s concern, honestly. But I won’t. Don’t worry.’

The man on the Tannoy repeats his message twice more before Irene lets go of Seulgi’s hand and climbs into the solitary seat and gives a thumbs up to the engineers and starts the engine. Seulgi looks back at Joy, arms folded, watching the names of the participants light up one by one on the timing screen to her right. ‘Joy,’ she says. ‘What time is it?’

‘Ten minutes until it all starts. Best kick your feet up. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.’