Yoon Ha-rin's Influence
“When I dive inside like this, if you force your way in, I'll just fly off and you'll eat the penalty, right? Next corner!”
Kim Ji-hyun was dragging Han Dae-jin into a virtual circuit in multiplayer simulation mode, giving him a brutal wheel-to-wheel lesson.
Han Dae-jin tried to push ahead with sheer grit, but every time, Kim Ji-hyun countered with late braking and line blocking, shutting him down cold.
“Good attempt coming from the outside, but you lacked the speed. You couldn't match my pace for the next corner.”
“Nice! Late braking! That's how you overtake when diving inside. Use your momentum to slip in first, then claim the line. Remember—line priority is everything!”
Once Kim Ji-hyun's lesson wrapped up, Han Dae-jin shut down the voice chat app and the sim, then fired off a message to her.
Han Dae-jin, drenched in sweat, hopped in the shower to clean up. But halfway through, the water started draining like shit—thanks to the semi-basement's crap plumbing. It backed up to the brim before finally gurgling away, and only then did he breathe easy and finish up.
He toweled off, blow-dried his hair, and flopped back onto the bed.
While checking his email, Han Dae-jin spotted the collaboration request and lit up with joy.
It was from an engine additive company. They'd cover all review costs and wanted him to promo their product by comparing before-and-after runs at circuits and such.
For Han Dae-jin, this was a golden fucking opportunity. Not just expense coverage, but a solid paycheck too.
He shot back an immediate acceptance, and soon his phone rang—the rep.
"We'll send the product right away. Film some street and track comparisons—make it pop. Meet tomorrow at Gimpo Coffee Special?"
After a long chat, they set it for Gimpo Coffee Special the next day, and he hung up.
The next evening, Han Dae-jin arrived early, parked in the lot, and waited.
The Cafe Owner wandered over to the grinning Han Dae-jin. “What's got you smiling like an idiot, Kiwi boy?”
Han Dae-jin spilled the ad deal details, and the owner beamed. His wife did too.
But as the appointed time passed with no sign of the rep, Han Dae-jin called.
"Uh, we initially wanted to collab with you, Creator-nim, but after internal review..."
"What the fuck? You said it was all good yesterday."
"Your image... promoting our product might look bad."
"Who the hell said that?"
"Higher-ups. They keep saying, 'Don't give it to creators with girl problems—trouble waiting to happen.'"
Han Dae-jin hurled his phone to the ground in rage. The owner and his wife, who'd overheard on speaker, just stared in disbelief.
Call dropped. Han Dae-jin stormed out, bellowing.
“Hey, Kiwi boy! Think Yoon Ha-rin pulled some shit behind the scenes?”
The owner's wife asked.
“Ha... no fucking way, right?”
“Explains everything otherwise. We'll see who picks up their ads next.”
Han Dae-jin scooped up his phone, patched it as best he could, and headed home.
Back in his hole, pissed as hell, he impulse-bought a top-tier new phone to replace the piece of shit. Nearly two million won.
Days later, after transferring data, he fired up YouTube.
There it was: Yoon Ha-rin shilling that exact engine additive, street winding and circuit runs comparing before-and-after.
Han Dae-jin nearly chucked the new phone too, but caught himself and set it down gently.
Still fuming, stress boiling over, he grabbed the keys for Namsan Fortress, hopped in the Avante N, fired it up. The exhaust roar echoed down the alley as he peeled out toward the mountain.
He hit Namsan Fortress and attacked the straights and corners like a madman.
After clearing the hill climb, he pulled into the rotary lot for a breather.
Sitting in the car, he spotted Yoon Ha-rin rolling up soon after.
She got out with Dori, left the lot, and wandered off somewhere.
Han Dae-jin debated tailing her but decided to wait quietly.
She returned, set Dori down outside, slipped on racing gloves and swapped to racing shoes. Han Dae-jin did the same.
Her engine growled to life—he matched it. Then he shadowed her down the Namsan downhill.
Post-tunnel, she hammered the right-hander; he copied her line.
Through S-bends to the speed cam straight—they both reversed to dodge it, diving into the blind S.
Yoon Ha-rin braked without lifting off the throttle, glancing back at his tailing car.
“Fucking psycho...”
She cranked it up, threading S-bends with the centerline kissing her tires, then hit the right-slope corner riding the shoulder hard. Han Dae-jin mirrored.
Full throttle through the gentle left, prepping brakes for the hairpin. He stalked her braking point, pedal floored.
Brakes! Discs glowing cherry-red as both slammed them. He rowed the stick for downshift; she paddled hers.
They dove the inside ditch line. Cleared it, then assaulted the left downhill hairpin.
Short straight to right hairpin—falling leaves everywhere, but they carved the inside viciously.
Suddenly, Yoon Ha-rin slid on leaves, pushed wide. Han Dae-jin pounced, drawing alongside.
Side-by-side into the next left from the outside lane. His rear stepped out—he wrestled it straight, nosing ahead.
But Yoon Ha-rin smirked, let him go, then glued to his ass.
At the pedestrian chicane, he flicked to the opposite lane then reclaimed the apex line. She followed suit.
S-bends flew by. Then—the fateful deep left downhill.
He led; she prepped her brake and turn-in. Then—wham! Front bumper to his rear.
No time to react—his car snapped sideways. He countered, but it reverse-countered into a spin.
Brakes and sideknob locked in a spin-turn attempt. She blasted past.
He skidded to a halt. She pulled over, hazards on.
Shaking it off, he U-turned and tailed her slowly.
They ended up at some cafe near Seongnam. Awkward parking, awkward face-off at a table.
“Same old dirty fucking tricks from you, you slut.”
“Common as dirt in pro racing.”
Yoon Ha-rin shot back coolly.
“You stole my ad gig.”
“Told you—ads are ads, content is content. Nobody said it was yours.”
Han Dae-jin's lips quivered.
“What bullshit you pulling me here for?”
“Quit YouTube. No upside for you anymore. Other ads'll dry up same reason.”
“What the fuck did you do?”
“Just doing what I can. Oh, going full-time now? Sucks you got fired.”
He slammed the table with his fist.
“What do you want?”
“Said it—quit YouTube. I'll even fuck you if you do.”
Han Dae-jin barked a disbelieving laugh.
“You better watch your back now. I'm done playing nice.”
“Why keep invading my world? Stay in yours.”
“Don't make me laugh.”
“Why not pivot to something you're actually good at? I don't wanna do this either.”
Han Dae-jin bolted first. Yoon Ha-rin rose to leave—waiter stopped her.
“Pay up.”
“Huh? Didn't that guy?”
“Two coffees.”
She paid, stunned, and stormed out. He was long gone.
Then her phone buzzed—a text.
Yoon Ha-rin replied curtly, got in her car, and drove off.