There was no way Leon could win.
Everyone agreed on three things:
The "minivan" was trash.
O'Neill would be the champion tonight.
The Devel Sixteen's appearance sealed the deal.
When O'Neill's monstrous Devel Sixteen rolled in, the crowd erupted. The cheers nearly drowned out the music.
Girls abandoned the guys they came with, rushing wildly toward O'Neill.
Just a glance from him tonight would make them feel blessed.
O'Neill leaned casually against his car, cigarette between his lips, smiling like a man who already owned the night. The D16 wasn't just a car—it was a spotlight.
Dominic walked over. They'd been rivals for years, and knew each other well.
"I heard you got overtaken by a van," Dominic said coolly. "You know who that guy is?"
O'Neill shot him a sideways glance.
"I ran the plates. Registered to someone else. Not him."
Online, the picture of Leon had already gone viral—he clearly wasn't the owner. The registration showed some greasy middle-aged uncle. But Leon? Young, sharp, and dangerous-looking. Completely different vibe.
"Why? You interested in him too?" O'Neill asked.
Dominic didn't bite. He wasn't about to reveal his own suspicions—not when it could blow back on his crew if word got to the cops.
"Not interested. Just… curious," Dominic replied with a cryptic smirk.
O'Neill narrowed his eyes. Dominic's tone had weight.
Scanning the lot, O'Neill muttered,
"Everyone here's a familiar face. Maybe that guy won't show tonight."
Most of the racers were people O'Neill had run against before. Some had great skill, some had insane machines, but none had shown the kind of drifting precision that "van" had in that viral clip. The face he wanted to see… wasn't here.
Dominic glanced into the distance.
"Still early. Maybe he's on his way."
Right then, a strange, throaty roar cut through the night.
Not one car—but two.
The engines howled with raw, endless power, so fierce it made people's hearts race and blood burn.
The crowd froze mid-dance, turning toward the sound. Even the DJ stopped the beat.
"He's here."
"That's him…"
"The guy O'Neill's waiting for!"
The street fell silent. Everyone strained to see.
Headlights flared, searing the night, forcing the crowd to shield their eyes. Through their fingers, they caught glimpses of the machines approaching.
First came the beast: a silver monster of a supercar.
Its body gleamed like liquid steel, lines aggressive and predatory. Two blazing headlights glared like a marauder's eyes, daring the street to look away.
Closer now—gasps rippled through the crowd.
The stance, the wide grille, the swollen fenders, the rocket-like rear—every inch screamed speed.
21-inch wheels spun like blades. Twin exhausts glowed like thrusters primed for liftoff.
Behind it rolled the second car—sleek, elegant, deadly beautiful: the Medusa S. Feminine lines, curves wrapped in carbon fiber. Not as savage as the silver car, but dazzling in its own right.
As the two closed in on the starting grid, they didn't just stop.
They drifted. Perfect, synchronized drifts—circling into the parking slots with absolute precision.
Smoke curled. Tires screeched. The crowd went insane.
Even the Medusa's driver—Letty—executed the move flawlessly. A clear statement: she wasn't just along for the ride. She was a player.
In Leon's head, the system chimed:
Ding! New Mission:
Win the race.
Reward: Adaptive "Soft-Metal" Body, +1 Level, and a fortune in cash.
Leon's eyes lit up.
This wasn't just a prize—it was a dream upgrade.
The "soft-metal" body was futuristic tech: a material that felt almost like rubber or gel, but with the strength of steel. It could flex and absorb impacts in a fraction of a second, bouncing the car clear instead of crumpling.
Self-healing. Bulletproof. Explosion-proof. Practically indestructible.
Way beyond any armored car.
Exactly what he needed.
Dominic studied the silver supercar with suspicion. The styling had changed since the night he'd seen that mysterious van—it was enough to throw him off. Besides, silver cars weren't rare. Three others here tonight wore the same coat.
But O'Neill wasn't fooled. He straightened, eyes locked on the machine.
That swaggering, show-stealing entrance? That had to be him.
The silver car's doors lifted upward. The crowd fell utterly silent.
They held their breath, afraid even the sound might disturb the moment.
Click.
A foot touched down on the pavement.
And from the Silver Marauder, Leon stepped out.
Like a king entering his court.
~~----------------------
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