Lawyer Kim Ji-hyun's Public Road Rampage #3
“Wh-what the fuuuck?!”
Kim Ji-hyun suddenly kicked into a drift at the intersection. Way off in the distance, police lights were flashing from a patrol car.
“How’s that, you fucker? Fucking fun, right?”
With her words, an ugly vibration rumbled from the rear tires, smoke billowed up, and screams—mine—filled the air.
She blasted out of the intersection and floored the accelerator, sprinting full throttle. Then a speed bump appeared, and she hit the brakes, easing over it slowly. Back at the Dongmak Beach entrance bridge, she flicked the nose of the BMW F8X M3 toward the wall at the three-way junction before sliding into a right turn with a perfect Scandinavian flick.
By this point, I wasn’t admiring Kim Ji-hyun’s skills anymore. I felt like a lab rat uselessly exposed to gravitational acceleration, pure frustration washing over me.
Every corner, she lectured me on weight transfer, droning on about the relationship between braking and steering. But my ears were pickled by the aftershocks of g-forces and the savage roar of the full exhaust on her M3.
“How’s that! Killer, right?!”
She shouted as we dove into the next right-hander. Braking! The nose dipped hard at first, brakes easing as it lifted slightly. Then the dizzying rush of the wall—or guardrail—barreling toward the side window.
I’d ridden with plenty of car club bros and their rough-riding sisters, but this was the first time someone made the concrete cliff face and rickety guardrails feel that real to a passenger. I had to hand it to her.
When the infamous chicane appeared, Kim Ji-hyun didn’t slow down. She shot to the right outline, clipped the apex over the center line, and barreled straight through the next corner like it was nothing.
“Remember how I said I got pushed out here before? Just take it like this! Fuck the center line—who gives a shit? No insurance payout on roads like this anyway!”
She yelled it out in bursts.
“For real?!”
“Dead serious! Ask any dumbass who’s gotten roadkill’ed on Namsan Fortress. See what happens when you crash there.”
As she spoke, she tapped the left-footer brake just enough for the following left, then smashed full throttle. I couldn’t even watch, crushed under cascading g-forces.
Back at Dongmak Beach, nothing greeted us but a silence that swelled like crashing waves.
The brake discs on her M3 were glowing cherry red, smoke rising. She hopped out casually, lit a cigarette. Me? I was shaking like a leaf, barely crawling from the car.
“Killed it, huh?”
“Fuck... yeah, you did.”
I let out a long breath.
“So. You gonna hit up that girl?”
“Dunno. Honestly, thinking about it now, doesn’t seem like it’ll go anywhere proper.”
Kim Ji-hyun smirked, eyeing me. I stared blankly at the sea.
“Overthink it, and even good shit falls apart. Just do it. Look at me—I ignore that cafe owner nagging me not to spin donuts in the parking lot. I do it to warm the tires. Drift? Cops? Whatever. Life’s like that. Oh, but don’t just fuck that bitch whenever you feel like it. Life gets miserable. Skip that part.”
Her last line cracked me up. She chuckled too, like she knew it was funny.
“You’ll call her?”
“Tomorrow. It’s almost five a.m. already.”
“Fuck that. Do it now. Tomorrow? You’ll bail again.”
I thought for a sec, then pulled out my phone and dialed. The Avante 3 (Science 3rd Unit) Sport girl picked up quick. Sounded like she wasn’t sleeping—gaming or something?
“Yeah?”
“Hey, uh, couldn’t say earlier, but... wanna guest on my YouTube channel? Film you driving, upload it—good for both of us, right?”
Silence. Then:
“Eh, dunno. Mom’ll kill me.”
I cleared my throat. “Getting busted coming home at 4 a.m., or this? Same difference, no?”
“Hate comments everywhere.”
“Not everyone in the world’s gonna like me. Ninety-nine percent of people you meet are assholes anyway.”
After some deliberation, the Avante 3 Sport owner agreed. I set the meetup spot in glee and hung up.
“Smooth talker, huh.”
“Thanks.”
“For what.”
“Well...”
“Just saw you overthinking. Gave you a nudge. C’mon, let’s go. I got people who’ll chew me out if I roll in at sunrise too.”
She climbed in. I followed, and she fired it up, heading for Gimpo.
“You married?”
“Cobwebs on the pussy by now.”
I bit back a laugh, turned away.
“Ah...”
“What I hate: broke-ass mentality. No dreams. All money, no soul. Three types. That’s it.”
She lit another smoke, window down, cruising easy. Said she’d drift the whole Dongmak this time, grinning. I pulled out my phone to film— she snatched it, stuffed it down her cleavage.
“Unhook the bra and fish it out if you want, asshole. No video.”
“What? Why not?”
“Think, dipshit. Heiress to a multi-billion-won law firm, street-racing at dawn? These penny-pinching fucks’ll talk shit everywhere. Ruins everything. So bra or wait, your call?”
She flipped me the bird. But then she checked the side mirror, rolled up the window, chucked the cig, and dove into a savage left hairpin.
“Huh? Wh-what?!”
“Grip something!”
Silence after that as she tore through Dongmak. Way faster than before. Every corner exit, the 700hp she bragged about overwhelmed the road—the rear danced wildly.
In my passenger mirror, a silver Porsche 966 Turbo appeared. It closed the gap viciously, corner by corner. On a right, it hugged the ditch and guardrail like the front bumper was glued, barely crossing the center line.
At the chicane, the silver 966 tried to pass beside her M3. She ground her teeth, braked— but it nosed ahead from the outside, claimed the line, flicked left, cleared it.
Kim Ji-hyun gripped the wheel harder, chasing. I finally clocked the green plate on the 966.
9THSILVER. The YouTuber car nerds called the shadow racer. UK drill beats with dashcam footage, weaving through traffic like magic, or balls-to-the-wall time attacks on foreign windies.
I watched in awe as 9THSILVER demonstrated the 966 Turbo’s murderous handling up front, corner after corner.
At the end bridge into Dongmak, M3 and 966 rolled side by side. But the 966 braked first—Kim Ji-hyun followed, sliding right at the junction. The 966 slid left, facing off.
Then a nailed finger poked from the 966, pointing back toward Dongmak. Kim Ji-hyun hit hazards and floored it that way.
At Dongmak’s entry left, the 966 glued to her tail. Matched her braking perfectly, stuck like a magnet. Kim Ji-hyun pushed lines closer to guardrails and walls, grinding me like a blender.
One corner, impatience made her cross the center— the 966 mocked it, taking a tighter inside line.
Chicane again: an Avante N sat crashed. The couple who bailed waved frantically at Kim Ji-hyun and 9THSILVER.
Both slammed brakes, whipped noses toward Gimpo. Screeching skids faded to dead quiet.
9THSILVER flipped the bird out the window and vanished.
Kim Ji-hyun panted, lit another smoke. “Fucking bitch...”
I stared, shocked. “You know her?”
“Wish I didn’t.”
“It’s a chick...”
The only photo I’d seen on 9THSILVER’s Stargram was some dude in fatigues by the Porsche. AI, then?
“What’re you staring at, punk? I ain’t got energy to fuck around, so quit looking at me like that. Let’s go.”
She caught my gaze, grumbled, and drove toward Gimpo.
We didn’t talk the whole way back. Finally home in Osan, I watched the sun rise. Morning trains on Line 1 and KTX rumbling by killed any sleep— I chugged Monster Energy instead.
“Next Saturday... Gyeongin Expressway.”
Saved the spot with Science 3rd Unit Sport. Crashed into bed. Woke at 7 p.m.— phone ringing. Kim Ji-ho.