The Speed Of The Stars

As time ticks by following Collei's triumphant victory and Topaz's near-horrific accident, the racers and their teams have regrouped at the summit. The atmosphere buzzes with anticipation as preparations continue for the next race. Navia meticulously goes over Clorinde's Lancia 037's setup one final time, her expert hands working swiftly and precisely.

Meanwhile, Collei stands a short distance away, her gaze fixated on Serval's Bayside Blue R34. The iconic car gleams under the street lamp, its curves catching the light like a predator resting before a hunt. Her eyes trace every detail—the sculpted bodywork, the intricate rims, the unmistakable aura of a machine born to dominate the track.

Clorinde approaches quietly, her boots crunching softly against the gravel. She notices the intensity of Collei's stare and smirks ever so slightly.

"Seems like someone's taken a liking to that car," Clorinde murmurs, her voice smooth but teasing.

Startled out of her reverie, Collei glances at Clorinde and chuckles nervously. Before she can respond, Serval appears, striding toward them with an air of quiet confidence. Clorinde straightens, her expression shifting to one of composed seriousness.

Serval stops a few paces away, her piercing gaze locking onto Clorinde's. The tension between them is palpable, like the charged air before a thunderstorm.

"I'm Serval Landau," she says firmly, her tone edged with both curiosity and challenge.

Clorinde holds her ground, meeting Serval's gaze with an unflinching stare. Her expression remains stoic as she replies, "Clorinde."

Serval hesitates for a moment, her hand twitching as if she's about to extend it for a handshake. Instead, she turns abruptly on her heel and walks back toward her R34, her ponytail swaying with each determined step.

Clorinde watches her retreat with a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. "That's… very kind of her," she mutters under her breath, the corner of her mouth twitching.

As Serval nears her car, her thoughts churn. No tricks, no smugness, no attempts to rattle me… Not even a hint of overconfidence. What kind of racer is she?

She casts a glance back at Clorinde, who is now engrossed in a conversation with Navia and Ningguang behind the Lancia. Their voices are low but animated as they discuss final adjustments to the car's engine. The sight unsettles Serval further.

"How can she be so composed before a race like this?" Serval wonders aloud, her hand resting on the R34's roof. "Why does this feel so different?"

On the other side of the paddock, Navia shuts the Lancia's rear engine bay cover with a satisfying click. She wipes her hands on a cloth and gives Clorinde a thumbs-up, her confidence shining through.

"All set, Clorinde! She's ready to run," Navia announces.

Clorinde nods with a calm smile. "Perfect. Let's get this going."

She strides to the driver's seat and climbs in with practiced ease. The door shuts with a definitive clunk, and she turns the ignition. The Lancia's supercharged 2.1-liter Lampredi four-cylinder engine roars to life, the sharp snarl of the exhaust slicing through the air. The distinctive whine of the supercharger adds an electric undertone, sending a ripple of excitement through the onlookers.

At the starting line, Serval rolls her R34 into position, its turbocharged inline-six purring like a beast biding its time. Clorinde's Lancia slots in behind her, the aggressive stance of the 037 looming in her rearview mirror.

As the engines settle into a steady idle, Topaz approaches Serval's window. Leaning in, she fixes Serval with a pointed stare.

"Serval, are you ready?" she asks, her voice sharp but tinged with concern.

Serval exhales slowly, her fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter. "I don't know… It's like my body's gone numb. Like that Lancia has already swallowed me whole before I've even pressed the gas."

Topaz frowns and gives Serval a light slap on the shoulder. "Snap out of it! Get that shit out of your head. Stick to your own pace! If you don't, you'll end up like me."

Serval's eyes widen slightly at the reminder of Topaz's accident earlier. She straightens in her seat and nods. "Yeah. You're right."

Topaz's gaze shifts toward the Lancia, her expression darkening. Leaning back into the window, she lowers her voice. "One more thing. On the hairpins with the gutters—don't give her any room to slot their nose in."

Serval raises an eyebrow, confused. "What?"

Topaz's tone turns serious. "If you leave even a meter open, that car can climb over the gutters and pass you on the inside. Don't give them an inch. Got it?"

Serval nods firmly, her resolve hardening. "Got it."

Satisfied, Topaz steps back. Across the track, Keqing raises her hand, signaling the start of the race.

"Let's get this started!" she calls out, her voice cutting through the rumble of engines.

She steps off to the side as both cars rev their engines. The R34's turbo flutters sharply, its exhaust popping in rhythmic bursts. The Lancia responds with its distinctive supercharger whine, its high-pitched scream a contrast to the deeper growl of the Nissan.

Clorinde's eyes narrow, her fingers tightening around the steering wheel. Serval takes a deep breath, her foot hovering over the clutch. Both drivers are locked in a moment of perfect focus, waiting for the signal to unleash their machines onto the winding course ahead.

The stage is set. The race is about to begin.

Serval's eyes narrow in determination as she lets her foot off the clutch. The Bayside Blue R34 launches off the starting line with a ferocious growl, its turbo spooling loudly as the car grips the tarmac and surges forward. Behind her, Clorinde reacts instantly, dumping the clutch of her Lancia 037. The mid-engined rally car leaps forward with a roar, its supercharged engine screaming as it bounces off the redline, its rear wheels spinning and kicking up a cloud of dust before it hooks onto the asphalt.

The two cars tear down the initial stretch, heading into the first left-hand hairpin. Standing at the summit, Topaz watches as they disappear around the bend, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable.

"I have to say," she mutters, glancing toward Navia and the rest of Team Speed Stars, "you guys are one hell of a team…"

Back in the race. Clorinde's mind is a razor-sharp blade, already analyzing the R34 ahead of her. "It's got a lot of power, no doubt about that. A solid engine with insane tuning potential. But as Ningguang said… 'Power isn't your ally on mountain passes like this' Not in the downhills, anyway."

Up ahead, Serval glances into her rearview mirror, her frustration bubbling. Why did she choose a foreign car? Doesn't she have any pride in local machines? She grips the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles whitening. It doesn't matter. I'll show her that cars from Inazuma are far superior to some vintage overhyped Italian import!

As they approach another hairpin, Serval slams on the brakes, her R34 hugging the line with precision. Behind her, Clorinde deftly follows, but instead of gripping through the turn, she sends the Lancia into a perfect four-wheel drift, the mid-engined car sliding sideways in complete control.

Spectators lining the mountain road erupt in amazement.

"Did you see that Lancia? It just nailed a four-wheel drift!" one shouts, nearly spilling his drink.

"Yeah! And it's mid-engined!" another chimes in. "That's gotta be crazy hard to hold! But that driver made it look effortless!"

As the two cars power through hairpin after hairpin, the gap between them remains razor-thin. Serval keeps the lead, but Clorinde is relentless, sticking to her tail like a shadow.

Serval's frustration builds with every corner. What's going on? It feels like I'm losing power… That Lancia's acceleration is unreal!

They approach another tight left-hand hairpin, both cars sticking to the inside line. Serval keeps a cautious distance from the wall, but Clorinde pushes the limit, her front-left wheel coming within centimeters of scraping the concrete.

Serval's focus begins to falter. I've faced RX-7s, GT86s, even Supras, and beaten them all… But this? A full-blown Group B rally car?

She grits her teeth. No. I can still win. I'll beat her with raw power!

The two cars scream down a straightaway, their engines roaring and echoing off the mountainside. Spectators cheer wildly as the vehicles fly past, the Lancia's exhaust spitting flames as Clorinde lets off the throttle to shift gears.

"They're lightning fast!" one spectator exclaims, his voice barely audible over the noise.

"But look at that Lancia!" another shouts, pointing. "It's closing in!"

The racers dive into another left-hand hairpin, this one marked by a gutter on the inside. Serval hesitates, leaving a small gap as she remembers Topaz's advice. I'm not risking it. No way am I getting near those gutters, Topaz!

Clorinde's eyes widen as she spots the opportunity. "Let's do this," she mutters, slamming her foot down on the accelerator. The Lancia jolts forward, diving into the gutter as its front-left wheel hovers above the edge, her car lifting slightly as it defies the laws of physics.

Serval glances to her left and freezes. "What!? That's not possible!"

The Lancia exits the hairpin side by side with the R34, the two cars racing neck-and-neck down the next straight.

Serval's heart pounds as she glances to her right. How is that underpowered car keeping up with me!?

The two racers slam on their brakes as they approach another sharp hairpin, their tires screeching against the pavement. Serval brakes slightly later, managing to regain the lead. The two cars drift in perfect tandem, the sight drawing gasps from the spectators.

Clorinde smirks, her voice barely audible over the roar of the engine. "Not bad, Serval. You do know how to tame Godzilla."

Serval's frustration boils over, her voice a low growl. "Try to overtake me again, I dare you! TRY IT AGAIN!"

Clorinde's grin widens. "Don't get too cocky now, Serval. I've already figured out your weakness."

They approach another left-hand hairpin. Clorinde attempts to pass again, her Lancia edging dangerously close to Serval's door. But as they exit the turn, she backs off, falling behind slightly.

Serval's patience is wearing thin. Her grip tightens on the wheel. You're really starting to piss me off. But no matter what you do, you can't pass this big gal! Can your lightweight rally car push past me? I don't think so!

As they reach the longest straightaway on Nazuchi Pass, Clorinde's expression shifts. Her eyes narrow as she downshifts from fifth to fourth, the Lancia's engine screaming to life. The tachometer needle climbs from 6,500 RPM to 8,500 RPM, redlining as she slams her foot on the gas.

Serval smirks, glancing into her mirror. "You're done here. You've got no chance on the straights."

But her confidence shatters in an instant. To her left, the Lancia surges forward, its lightweight frame and perfect power-to-weight ratio sending it flying past the R34 like a bullet.

Serval's jaw drops. "What the hell!? How is that possible? I've got 400 horsepower—how am I getting overtaken!?"

Clorinde grins as she overtakes. "And that's the end of that."

Clorinde dives into the next hairpin, initiating another flawless four-wheel drift. The gap between her and Serval widens dramatically as she pulls ahead, her Lancia dancing effortlessly through the twists and turns of the mountain pass.

The spectators erupt into cheers as the race comes to a dramatic close. Clorinde crosses the finish line first, her Lancia 037 roaring triumphantly.

Another victory for Clorinde—and another chapter of dominance for the legendary Group B rally car.