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Late afternoon heat beat down on the Circuit of the Sacred Flame, blurring the far end of the main straight into a haze of gold. Mechanics and camera operators wove between stacks of equipment cases, their voices carrying over the distant whine of engines as production assistants hurried through multiple last-minute checks.
Off to one side was a matte-black electric compact SUV, its paint reflecting the paddock like polished obsidian. Lumine paused beside it, catching her reflection in the tinted window. The oversized blazer had survived the Natlan heat better than she'd expected. She smoothed an imaginary crease from the lapel, an action she'd picked up on as a habit.
Two years ago, her "studio" had been a borrowed DSLR balanced on a stack of textbooks and whatever lamp gave the least terrible lighting. Now there was a team of producers behind everything she did, manufacturers handing over six-figure cars for her to commentate on... even Formula 7 teams from all over Teyvat would happily send their drivers to appear on her show. With time and effort, her little one-woman video channel had grown into a media company.
The director waved from behind the monitor, one hand raised above the crowd. "Ready for you!"
Lumine checked the lapel mic secured to her blazer to make sure it was on. She then took a breath, slipped into her on-camera smile, and headed toward the pit lane.
Someone else was already walking her way.
Childe looked as though he'd wandered onto the circuit without trying to command attention, and somehow managed to do it anyway. His facial structure still held some youth, even though he'd crossed into his forties recently. The silver and blue Fatui Racing gear looked ordinary on its own, but it fit him unfairly well, hugging broad shoulders and a lean frame in a way that made it difficult to remember she was supposed to be here as a journalist. He moved with a confidence that made the bustle around him go quiet.
"There she is," he remarked, reaching out his hand. "The Queen of Shotgun herself."
She shook it. "It's a title I worked years to earn."
"So I've heard." He chuckled, and the crow's feet around his eyes folded upward. "I've watched a few episodes."
Childe... watched her show? He was well outside her target demographic, both in gender and in age. She swore warmth rushed to her cheeks when he admitted that. "Oh?"
"You've made some very patient drivers question their career choices."
"I'm an educational experience. Mostly."
The corner of his mouth lifted again. "I like a challenge."
"That's a dangerous thing to admit around me."
Childe glanced toward the SUV. "I figured an electric car would ease you in."
She followed his gaze. "Because it's quiet?"
"Smooth, too."
"I was hoping you'd say it's impossible to accidentally launch this car into orbit."
He gave her a cheeky grin. "Well, I'm not making any promises."
Lumine looked toward the nearest camera. "Hi, everyone," she said, adopting her host voice. "Welcome back to Queen of Shotgun! Today, I will be placing my life—and this very expensive car—in the hands of Formula Seven drivers." Childe folded his arms, already grinning. "Today's victim—"
"Guest."
"Today's guest is five-time World Champion Childe Aleshkovsky, who's very kindly agreed to discover whether I'm capable of operating an electric SUV."
Childe inclined his head. "We'll find out together."
"I admire your optimism."
A few members of the crew chuckled behind the cameras.
"Shall we?" Childe asked, gesturing toward the vehicle.
She eyed the driver's door with theatrical suspicion. "I feel like I need to be signing something first."
"Nah, it's fine."
"Excellent. That's reassuring."
He laughed again and stepped aside to let her climb in first.
The cabin's ability to shut out the noise of the paddock was impeccable. The leather seats still held a trace of warmth from the afternoon sun, while the dashboard glowed with understated bands of ambient light. Lumine settled into the driver's seat and rested both hands on the steering wheel. Childe slipped into the passenger seat beside her, closing the door with a muffled thud.
"So," he said, turning slightly toward her, "first things first. Comfort." He nodded toward the seat controls. "You want your knees slightly bent. Hands relaxed. You shouldn't have to reach for the wheel."
She adjusted the seat a fraction farther forward. "Like this?"
"Yup. One successful task completed. We're off to a strong start."
"Don't jinx it."
Lumine's attention shifted toward the side mirror. Or, more accurately, where she assumed the controls for the side mirror ought to be. Every car manufacturer in Teyvat seemed determined to hide them somewhere new. She scanned the driver's door, and all she could see were buttons, more buttons, a touchpad... ah! A flip switch with L and R on it. Now that was something that looked vaguely promising.
She pressed it. The rear window slid halfway down.
"Oh."
"Well... that is an interesting choice."
"I stand by none of my decisions."
Childe let out a low, rumbly chuckle before unbuckling his seatbelt. "Here."
Before she could answer, he leaned across the center console. His sleeve brushed against hers as he reached toward the door controls. The movement was entirely practical and completely unhurried, yet it brought him close enough that she caught the faint scent of pine and the sea.
"This little toggle," he said, tapping a switch she hadn't even noticed before. "Everyone misses it."
"Oh, that's sneaky."
"It gets almost everyone."
Thank you for saying 'almost.' It protects what's left of my dignity, was what she wanted to say. Instead, all she could get out was a "thanks".
Childe smiled, eyes still on the controls. "Of course."
She adjusted the mirror until the edge of the rear quarter panel came into view. "There."
"There you go." He lingered just long enough to make sure it was right before settling back into his seat and fastening his seatbelt again. "See?" he said. "Professional already."
"I think we're using that word differently."
"Alright," Childe said, settling back against the seat. "Foot on the brake." He pointed to a big round button that read Start. "Whenever you're ready."
The dashboard sprang to life beneath your fingertips, a cascade of digital displays illuminating the cabin. She waited for a usual rev of the engine, but nothing happened. She gave a frown. "Is it broken?"
Childe looked over, amusement flickering across his face. "It's on. Electric cars don't rumble the same way petrol cars do."
She glanced around the cabin. "It feels unnatural."
"You'll get used to it."
"I'm not convinced."
"You will." He nodded toward the gear selector. "Pop it into Drive."
She wrapped her fingers around the stalk, easing it down before lifting her foot from the brake. The SUV rolled forward slowly but smoothly. "Oh."
Childe smiled. "Different, isn't it?"
"It feels like the world's most expensive golf cart."
"I've never heard anyone describe a car that way."
"I don't think Fontaine Electric Motors would appreciate the comparison."
"They would not."
She eased onto the pit lane, both hands fixed firmly at ten and two. The steering was lighter than she'd expected. Every tiny movement translated instantly to the front wheels, and she found herself correcting for them just as quickly, in an attempt to not overthink it. Beyond the pit wall, the main straight stretched toward the horizon, wide and empty.
Childe glanced at the digital speedometer. "Forty?"
Lumine nodded without taking her eyes off the road. "Yes? I'm driving carefully in this thing."
"I can see that."
"You should be more encouraging of my choices."
"I am." A beat passed. "I just wasn't expecting us to set a new record for the slowest lap in circuit history."
"Wow." A chuckle escaped before she could stop it. "I'm just pacing myself."
He looked through the windscreen at the endless ribbon of asphalt ahead. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I've had formation laps quicker than this. They also don't have nearly this much room." He gestured toward the open circuit. "Look around."
She stole a quick glance. No traffic, no parked cars... nothing but freshly painted kerbs, shimmering tarmac, and blue sky.
"There's nothing to hit."
"Don't tempt fate now. But seriously, this is probably one of the safest places you'll ever drive. No one else is on track. You've got run-off everywhere. If something doesn't feel right, you've got space."
She nodded, loosening her grip on the wheel by a fraction. "I know."
"You've got good control."
"I have a death grip."
"Well, that too."
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"But you're smooth," he continued. "You're not fighting the car. That's good. Do you trust me?" Childe asked.
The question caught her off guard. "I suppose I have to."
He shrugged. "You could ignore everything I'm saying."
"But then I feel like that would make for a very short episode."
"It probably would." The car hummed quietly beneath her as she continued down the straight. He nodded toward the speedometer. "Give it a little more."
Lumine looked ahead again, and her foot pressed the accelerator down another fraction. The resulting surge from the engine was smooth enough that it barely registered until the scenery began slipping by a little faster. Forty-five.
Childe glanced down. "That's it?"
"I added speed."
"You did."
"I'm building confidence."
"Fair," he agreed. "But a little confidence can get you past forty-five."
She shot him a side-eye. "I think I liked you better thirty seconds ago."
"I haven't changed."
"You've become judgmental."
"I like to think I've become optimistic." He pointed ahead again. "Get up to fifty."
She considered it. Fifty wasn't fast, especially when on a circuit built for Formula 7 cars. "Okay, that feels achievable."
She took a slow breath and pressed the pedal a little farther down. The scenery began moving a little more, the faint rush of air growing louder around the windshield. Fifty, then fifty-two. Soon she felt okay to inch up to fifty-five.
"Hey, there we go. How's that?" Childe asked.
Lumine let out a breath she forgot she'd been holding. "Honestly? Less terrifying than I expected."
"I told you."
"But I still reserve the right to panic."
"I'd be worried if you didn't."
The first turn approached. Her shoulders tensed.
"Easy." Childe's voice remained calm. "Eyes where you want the car to go."
She looked through the corner instead of directly at it, easing the wheel over. The SUV responded effortlessly, smooth as it carved through the bend. Before she knew it, they were on the other side.
"Huh. I did it."
"You did." His smile widened, quiet pride replacing the teasing. "See? You've got good control over the car, good instincts..."
"I don't know if I'd go that far."
"I just did."
The tension that had settled between her shoulders at the start of the lap had eased. "I hate that you're right."
"I'll have to try not to get used to hearing that."
"Please don't."
A comfortable silence settled over the cabin. The circuit unfolded ahead in long, sweeping bends, the car gliding from corner to corner. Childe watched her for another moment before speaking. "Alright. It's my turn. I think you've earned a ride from someone with a little less self-preservation."
"Oh, thank goodness. I was running out of emotional bandwidth."
The words escaped with enough relief to make him laugh. She eased the SUV toward the wide paved run-off area and brought it to a gentle stop. The gear selector clicked into Park. Only then did she realize her hands no longer trembled. The moment she stepped out of the car, the warmth of the afternoon settled over her again. Lumine stretched her fingers, flexing them one by one. Childe walked around the front of the SUV, smiling to himself.
"I don't think I've ever seen anyone celebrate parking quite that much," he remarked.
"I earned it."
"You absolutely did." He stopped beside the driver's door and held it open with an exaggerated flourish. "Your carriage awaits."
You blinked. "You're... opening the door for me?"
"I'm trying to make a good impression."
"I thought five world championships covered that."
"They help."
She laughed, slipping into the passenger seat. "I appreciate the commitment."
"Happy to be of service, my lady."
She ignored the mild flutter in her stomach as he closed the door gently, and as he circled back to the driver's side. He was more than ten years older than her, but he hadn't been condescending or rude, and he never went out of his way to make her feel like she was the one who should listen to him. If anything, he treated her as though her thoughts deserved to be heard, her work deserved to be respected, and her company was something he genuinely enjoyed. It was disarming. Most men her age seemed more interested in impressing each other than paying attention to the person standing in front of them. Childe, somehow, managed to exude both confidence and quiet consideration, and she was grateful.
The seat barely needed adjusting. In one smooth motion he slid it back, lowered it slightly, and rested both hands on the wheel as though he'd been driving this particular car for years. The cabin lights shifted from a cool white to a deeper crimson as he tapped through the drive modes.
"Should I be concerned?" She asked.
Childe looked over, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Depends on how much you trust me."
"I've known you for..." You glanced toward the dashboard clock. "...about twenty minutes."
"And? How's my progress so far?"
"I'm still deciding."
"Fair."
He pressed the brake. The display changed to SPORT MODE.
"Childe..."
"Hm?"
"I don't like that face you're making."
He gave her a look that reminded her of a cat that ate the canary. "What face?"
"The one that says you've already decided to ignore my concerns."
"I would never!"
"You absolutely would."
A grin spread across his face. "Just hold on."
She reached automatically for the grab handle above the window. "I don't appreciate that those are the only instructions you're giving me."
"I've got you."
Before she could answer, he eased onto the throttle. The SUV surged forward, gently pressing her into the seat back before gathering speed. "Oh."
Childe glanced sideways, copper curls swishing around his slender face. "Different?"
"A little."
"You'll know when I'm actually accelerating."
Her eyes widened. "That wasn't it?"
"Nope."
The main straight opened before the two of them. Childe's right foot sank another inch. The acceleration hit all at once, and the surrounding scenery blurred. Her shoulders met the seatback in a harder impact as the car shot down the straight with an eerie, almost unnatural silence. Without an engine roaring beneath her, there was nothing to prepare her brain for the speed. Only the growing rush of wind and the blur of painted lines racing beneath the windshield.
A laugh burst from somewhere between surprise and disbelief. "Childe!"
"What?"
"It feels like we're flying!"
"That's a good way of describing driving, yes."
The first turn rushed toward them far faster than it had a few minutes earlier. Her hand found the edge of the seat without thinking, but Childe's movements never changed. With one smooth squeeze of the brake and a measured turn of the wheel, the SUV rotated cleanly into the corner, composed and planted despite its bulky size. Lumine found herself watching him instead of the circuit.
His posture barely shifted. One hand rested lightly at the top of the wheel while the other guided it through the corner with ease. His eyes stayed fixed on the exit, calm and unhurried, as though this pace demanded no more concentration than a Sunday drive.
"You make this look unfairly easy."
He laughed softly. "That's part of the job."
The next sequence of corners arrived in quick succession. The SUV leaned gently from one side to the other, the forces tugging her across the seat before settling again. He accelerated onto the next straight. Again the car zoomed ahead. Lumine had a peek at the speedometer, and saw they were going 125 km/h. Her eyes widened, and she averted her gaze to hold onto the handle above her. He hadn't changed the gear; it was all one continuous, gentle acceleration.
"I think this is the part where you try to convert me into someone who likes driving."
Childe considered that for a moment. "Nah."
"No?"
"I don't really care if you like driving." She looked over, surprised. "I'd rather you enjoy it." He glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to the track. "But if you're tense, you're thinking about everything that could go wrong."
"I usually am. And if I'm enjoying it?"
"You have to not be tense first. When you're out driving, it's important to relax. Take a few breaths."
She looked back out through the windshield. The circuit blurred past beneath the afternoon sun. She focused on the road ahead of her and took a few deep breaths like he told her to. By the time the final corner came into view, her hand had slipped away from the grab handle. Childe guided the SUV onto the pit straight one last time before easing off the throttle.
Mechanics and camera crews came back into view beyond the pit wall, a few of them already watching the Mercedes roll toward its mark. Childe brought the car to a gentle stop.
She let out a long breath. "I take back everything I said."
"Oh?"
"I understand why people like this."
"I thought you might."
"I still don't want to drive."
He laughed. "I wasn't expecting a miracle today."
She turned toward him. "But I think I finally get it."
His smile softened, and the wrinkles around his eyes made it look sincere. "That's all I was hoping for."
Outside, the director gave them a thumbs-up. "And cut!" he called. "That's a wrap!"
Almost immediately, the bustle of the paddock returned. Crew members began disconnecting microphones, camera operators lowered their rigs, and someone nearby applauded. She unbuckled her seatbelt.
"You know," Lumine said as she reached for the door handle, "that wasn't too awful. Can we do another lap sometime?"
His grin widened. "I was hoping you'd ask."
The moment the doors opened, the noise of the paddock rushed back in. Conversations overlapped across the pit lane. Someone wheeled a stack of camera cases past the Mercedes while a pair of mechanics debated something over the radio. The scent of warm asphalt mingled with coffee drifting from one of the hospitality units. She climbed out, blinking against the afternoon sun.
"I think my heart dropped out of my chest somewhere back at Turn Three."
Childe laughed as he stepped around the front of the SUV. "Oh come on, it wasn't that fast."
"Spoken like someone whose job description includes driving at three hundred kilometers an hour."
"Fair point."
A production assistant hurried over to unclip the wireless microphone from her blazer. "That was fantastic," she said. "Seriously, the chemistry was great."
Lumine thanked her, trying not to think too hard about what she'd meant by chemistry. The assistant disappeared just as quickly as she'd arrived, already calling after the next member of the crew. Nearby, the director replayed a few shots on a monitor, nodding approvingly before giving Lumine a thumbs-up across the pit lane.
"You've got another hit," he called.
"We'll see what the comments say."
"Trust me when I say they'll love it."
She turned to face Childe. "I've learned never to underestimate the internet."
Childe nodded sagely. "Wise."
The bustle around the car slowly began to thin. Camera operators drifted toward the garages, producers gathered around folding tables to review footage, and the once-crowded pit lane settled into a calmer ambience. For the first time all afternoon, neither of you was being filmed. Childe leaned one hip against the SUV, folding his arms loosely. "So. Was it everything you feared?"
"Yes, and unfortunately," she admitted, "slightly better."
He looked far, far too pleased with that answer. "I knew we'd get there."
"I'm not saying I'm ready to commute to work, but..." She looked back toward the circuit stretching into the distance. "Like I said before, I think I understand why people enjoy driving."
His expression softened, satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with the cameras. "That's all I was hoping for. So... how long are you in Natlan for?"
She frowned slightly. "Until Monday."
"Any plans tonight?"
"Besides ordering room service and pretending my heart rate has recovered? No plans."
"Ah. Well, I was thinking of something a little better than room service."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Oh?"
Childe slipped his hands into his pockets. "I know a place just outside the city."
"You do?"
"Yeah, I've been there a few times." He smiled. "It's pretty secluded, as its not in a well-known area. There won't be any cameras there. No producers, either. And the best part? No one asking you to drive."
She let out a chuckle. "I must say, that last part is very persuasive."
"So..." He held her gaze for a moment with his dull blue eyes. "Would you let me take you out to dinner?"
For half a second, her brain stalled. Childe—Childe, of all people—was asking her out to dinner.
She was suddenly very aware of the warmth lingering in the afternoon air. Of the distant hum of generators. Of the fact that somehow, in the span of a few seconds, she'd completely forgotten how conversations were supposed to work. Curse her brain.
"I..." She laughed at herself, rubbing the back of her neck. "You know, for someone who's interviewed world champions before..."
He waited patiently.
"...Gods, I'm handling this so badly." Remarkably so, she decided.
His smile widened. "I think you're doing alright."
She let out a quiet breath. "I'd like that."
"You would?"
"I would." The answer came easier the second time. "I'd really like that."
For just a moment, his expression brightened. It lit up his face in a way the cameras hadn't captured all afternoon. "Great." He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Can I have your number?"
She unlocked her phone and handed it over. "Our producer's going to be devastated she can't claim credit for this."
Childe chuckled as he typed. "I'd rather ask you myself."
Her phone buzzed a second later. A new contact popped up on her screen. Childe.
"There," he said, handing the phone back. "I'll text you the details."
"Sounds good." She glanced at the new contact before slipping her phone into her pocket. "I suppose this means you'll officially be my driver now."
He laughed. "For tonight, I will be."
"I can live with that."
Someone from Fatui Racing called his name from across the paddock. Childe looked over his shoulder before turning back to her. "I should probably go."
"Professional obligations?"
"Yeah."
Lumine smiled. "I guess I'll see you tonight."
"You definitely will."
Childe took a few steps backward before turning toward the motorhome, lifting a hand in farewell, and Lumine watched him disappear into the crowd of engineers and team personnel.