The Speed Of The Stars Side Story | The Italian Evolution

Morning had just begun to settle over Lake Yougou. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and the distant murmur of waves lapping against the shore. Clorinde stepped out onto the porch, letting the cool morning air brush against her face as she took a deep breath.

She had finished her breakfast, but something about today felt heavier. Maybe it was the weight of expectation. Maybe it was the car waiting for her in the garage.

The doors were still wide open, just as she had left them the night before. And there, standing in the soft morning light, was her father's car—his 1983 Lancia Rally 037.

The legendary Martini Racing livery adorned its sleek, aggressive body. The white paint contrasted sharply with the bold blue and red stripes running along its length, a color scheme burned into motorsport history. The car was a relic of Group B's golden era, a machine that had once conquered the world's most grueling rally stages.

Now, it belonged to her.

Clorinde let out a slow breath, her lips curling into a faint smile. "I love you, Dad," she muttered under her breath.

She stepped forward, placing her hand on the Lancia's front hatch, her fingers tracing the cold metal. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment to take everything in—the weight of her father's legacy, the responsibility resting on her shoulders.

But this wasn't a morning for reflection. It was time to drive.

She turned back toward the house, quickly changing into her casual attire—a purple shirt, a black hooded jacket, and a pair of skinny jeans. By the time she returned to the garage, she wasted no time hopping into the Lancia 037's cockpit.

With practiced ease, she buckled the five-point harness, ensuring the straps were secure before reaching for the keys. The moment she turned them, the 2.1-liter Lampredi twin-cam engine came to life, a deep, guttural roar filling the garage. The distinct whine of the supercharger echoed around her, a mechanical symphony that sent chills down her spine.

With a firm grip on the Momo racing wheel, she slowly guided the Lancia out of the garage, the low-slung rally car rolling onto the open road. Her destination was set—Yougou Pass.

Minutes later, Clorinde reached the summit of Yougou Pass. The road ahead twisted and curled down the mountainside, a treacherous mix of hairpins, sweeping corners, and blind crests.

Her eyes narrowed.

With a quick movement, she downshifted from fifth to second gear before stomping her foot down on the throttle.

The Lancia 037 snarled as it lunged forward, its supercharger screaming in response. The acceleration was brutal—no turbo lag, just instant power—and she was thrown back into her seat as she hurtled toward the first corner.

"Let's see how she handles..." Clorinde muttered, gripping the wheel tightly.

As she approached the first hairpin, she swiftly slammed the brakes, feeling the car's weight shift forward. Downshifting from fourth to third, she flicked the wheel and threw the Lancia into a four-wheel drift.

The car responded aggressively.

Too aggressively.

The mid-engine layout sent the rear end snapping out faster than expected, forcing her into immediate countersteer. She barely caught it in time, her tires screeching as she avoided slamming into the guardrail by inches.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. "That was too close..."

She kept going.

Corner after corner, hairpin after hairpin—the Lancia fought her every step of the way. It was raw, unforgiving, yet intoxicating. The steering was razor-sharp, responding to her every input with surgical precision, but the weight transfer was tricky. The more she pushed, the more she realized—this car would punish even the smallest mistake.

And then, she reached the final hairpin.

She braced herself, slamming the brakes and initiating another drift. But this time, she was too aggressive on the wheel.

A mistake.

The Lancia's rear end snapped violently to the side.

Before she could correct it, the car spun out of control, its tires shrieking against the tarmac as it whipped around.

For a split second, Clorinde thought she was about to slam into the guardrail—but the Lancia miraculously stopped just inches away.

Silence.

She sat there, breathing heavily, her hands gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

"What the hell was that..." she whispered, her voice unsteady.

Regaining her composure, Clorinde turned the Lancia around, now driving at a slower, more casual pace toward the town below.

She pulled into a diner parking lot, shutting off the engine before stepping out. As she walked toward the front of the car, she stared at it in deep thought.

Her father's words echoed in her mind.

"When driving a mid-engine or rear-engine car, your inputs must be precise.Especially your steering inputs. Jerk the wheel too suddenly, and the rear end will break loose into a snap oversteer. Throttle control matters just as much, Clorinde. Be smooth with your right foot and your hands. That's how you master the art of a mid-engine drift."

Her father's voice felt so real in that moment.

Her gaze fell upon the car again. "I have to be smooth... Tarmac racing and dirt racing are two different things. In dirt, drifting is predictable. But on tarmac... it can spin out so easily."

She crouched beside the Lancia, placing a hand on the side skirt.

"A Formula Rally Car…" she muttered. "It truly lives up to that name. Agile, precise... it goes exactly where you direct it."

She slowly stood up, eyes locked onto the 037.

"Remember your training, Clorinde.

Everything Dad taught you will be tested in this car."

Her expression hardened.

"Was this… the final test he was talking about before he died?"

She shook her head.

"Doesn't matter. I have to prove I can handle this car."

She stepped toward the Lancia's front hatch, unlatching it.

Inside, resting neatly on the spare tire, was something unexpected—a stack of stapled papers.

She furrowed her brows, picking them up. Flipping to the front page, her eyes widened.

It was the Lancia Rally 037's FISA homologation papers.

Detailed inside were everything she needed—specifications, tuning guides, part numbers, even a website for sourcing Group B rally car components.

Her hands tightened around the pages.

"Why was this with the spare tire?" she muttered.

She gently placed the homologation papers on the passenger seat, before stepping back into the car.

Sitting there, alone with her thoughts, a single question gnawed at her mind.

"Am I really worthy of this car?"

Her father won the 1983 championship with this very machine. And now, it was in the hands of a daughter who had never even driven it until today.

"Can I really handle this?"

Her hesitation lasted only a second.

She buckled her harness, started the engine, and without a second thought—she raced back toward Yougou Pass.

Minutes later, Clorinde shot past the uphill starting line of Yougou Pass, her Lancia Rally 037 screaming through the gears as she launched into her second run of the day.

But this time—she was in control.

Armed with her newfound understanding of the Lancia's handling, she attacked the fast-paced turns with precision. Each left-hand and right-hand corner demanded quick reflexes, and she executed them flawlessly. Hugging the inside line, she clipped the apex before exiting wide—the perfect racing line, maximizing her speed and cornering grip.

The 037 rocketed down a long straightaway, the supercharger whine blending into the roar of the engine.

Then, the first left-hand hairpin appeared.

She reacted instantly—slamming on the brakes.

For a split second, the front wheels locked up, the tires skidding against the pavement. But Clorinde's instincts kicked in—she eased off the brakes just enough to regain rotation before rapidly downshifting from fifth to fourth, fourth to third, and finally into second.

With a sharp flick of the wheel, she initiated the drift.

The rear end swung out, but this time—she was ready.

Her hands worked fast, smoothly countersteering as she feathered the throttle, keeping the car balanced in the slide. The Lancia glided effortlessly through the hairpin, the tires screaming in protest before she snapped it straight and powered out cleanly.

A smirk crept onto her face.

"Now that's what I'm talking about."

She blasted down the next straight, eyes locked on the next wide hairpin.

This time, she pushed the car even harder. Another drift—but different.

A four-wheel drift.

Instead of just the rear tires breaking loose, all four tires slid in unison, maintaining an angle without sacrificing speed.

She held it. Perfectly.

The Lancia 037 exited the hairpin faster than before, seamlessly transitioning back into grip.

Her confidence surged. With each turn, each hairpin—she adapted.

She was no longer just reacting. She was controlling it.

By the time she reached the final corner, she finally understood the Lancia's quirks—how it behaved while drifting, how it responded under grip, and how it demanded precision.

Reaching the summit's rest area, she pulled over and shut the car off, stepping out.

The cool mountain air filled her lungs as she leaned against the car, arms crossed.

"That was actually fun."

She turned, gazing at the Lancia, her mind already analyzing.

"She handles great... but I want to change the suspension setup. Stiffen the rear to make it react faster. And check the front settings too. It was understeering when i grip those wide turns."

She snapped her fingers, suddenly remembering something.

"Navia! Of course!"

Without hesitation, she dug her phone out of her jacket pocket and quickly dialed a number.

Three rings later, the call connected.

"Hey, partner! What's happening'?" Navia's voice came through, lively as always.

"Navia! Perfect timing—I need your help. Can you tweak the Lancia's suspension setup?"

Navia didn't even hesitate. "Sure! Drop by my place, and we'll talk handling characteristics."

Clorinde nodded. "On my way."

With that, she ended the call, hopped back into the Lancia, and raced back toward Lake Yougou.

By the time Clorinde pulled up to Navia's home, the sun hung high in the afternoon sky, casting long shadows over the pavement.

She parked right beside Navia's car—a stunning red Honda NSX NA1, its mid-engine design making it a kindred spirit to the Lancia 037 in its own way.

As she shut off the Lancia's engine, Navia stepped out of her garage, wiping her hands on a rag.

"Hey there!" Navia called out, waving.

Clorinde stepped out, returning the wave before closing the door. The two walked up to each other, standing in the driveway.

"Alright, suspension setup, right?" Navia asked, getting straight to business.

Clorinde glanced back at her Lancia, nodding.

"Yeah. The rear slides out well, but it's not as reactive as I'd like. I want the rear suspension to be stiffer—make it more responsive. Also, I noticed a bit of understeer on the wide turns at Yougou. Think you can check the front settings too?"

Navia listened intently, nodding as she processed the request.

"Makes sense. Too much body roll in the rear could be delaying the weight transfer. Stiffening it up should sharpen the response. And for the front? Might need a slight toe adjustment or a softer rebound rate to counter that understeer. I'll check it out."

Clorinde crossed her arms. "Good call. I need to push the car harder, but it has to react instantly."

Navia grinned. "I like the way you think. Let's get to work."

Without wasting time, Navia headed back into her garage, grabbing a toolkit and hydraulic jack.

Clorinde turned back to the Lancia, resting a hand on the fender.

"Time to take it to the next level…" she muttered under her breath.

She followed Navia inside, ready to get her hands dirty.

The tuning process was just beginning—and the journey to mastering the Lancia had only just begun.