The speed of Leon's car left everyone dumbfounded.
They stared blankly at the silver streak of his taillights.
That maze of cramped alleyways should've taken minutes—yet he had blasted out in under sixty seconds. His car emerged without a single scratch, not even a scrape along the panels.
"No way. How the hell did he do that?!"
Spectators gaped at the Silver Marauder's rear end, unable to fathom how he threaded through passages barely wide enough for a motorcycle, let alone a supercar.
And what stunned them most: once he cleared the alleys, the Marauder went berserk.
It wasn't just fast—it looked like a predator gone loose, tearing down the asphalt while every other car suddenly looked like it was jogging.
Drivers buried their throttles, but no matter how hard they pushed, all they could do was watch the taillights—an LED strip glowing like a beast's snarl—fade further and further ahead.
The car's adaptive split rear wing deployed, automatically trimming itself with every angle of attack through corners, heightening downforce. The whole thing oozed sci-fi—like a machine ripped out of Transformers.
"What the hell… is that a plane or a car?!" one racer shouted.
For them, even touching 400 km/h was a miracle. Most barely cracked 200 before running out of road or nerve. But Leon… he was moving like lightning.
Even Letty, running behind him in her Medusa S, was overwhelmed.
No wonder… no wonder he feels untouchable. Only Leon can drive like this. Watching him is like watching a movie on the big screen—every frame flawless, every shift breathtaking.
She slammed down a gear, pinned the throttle.
"Medusa, let's fly!" she cried.
The car answered with a howl, arrows of fire from the exhaust as she surged past car after car.
"Holy sh*t!" The same people who'd sneered at her just minutes ago were now wide-eyed, their disbelief shattering.
The Medusa S wasn't ordinary by any stretch—it was designed for curves and bite. But paired with Letty's grit, it turned savage.
Who the hell IS this guy? they whispered.
A car with no badge, no production lineage, an engine note unlike anything they'd ever heard… Was Leon some hidden supercar designer?
Because only an engineer at the very top could conceive such a machine. And only a master driver could tame it.
Some spectators began to pale. If we really mocked a builder like that… do we even deserve to sit in these cars?
Even O'Neal's face had gone ashen. The realization hit him like a blow: if he lost tonight, if Leon beat him—forget about getting a Devel Sixteen, he might never get his hands on any new hypercar. Designers don't sell to men who burn bridges.
"I can't lose. Not tonight." His jaw clenched so tight it ached. He buried the throttle; the Devel's 12.3-liter V16 bellowed, belching flame as it roared past 400 km/h.
His friends screamed encouragement from the sidelines:
"Go O'Neal! Crush the van kid!"
"You're the king!"
But to O'Neal, the cheers rang hollow. His Devel 16, capable of 560 km/h, still couldn't close the gap. The Marauder was pulling further away.
Moments later, Dominic Toretto muscled his Hennessey Venom F5 through the wreckage and into open space. The 1,600-horsepower monster clawed its way forward, slipping into fourth place. His hands were calm on the wheel, every drift measured, every line perfect.
Before long he was hunting Letty's Medusa S, and with a single brutal straight-line push, he surged past her into third.
The leaderboard shifted:
1st: Leon, far ahead, the Silver Marauder shredding the night with impossible speed.
2nd: O'Neal, wringing every ounce from the Devel 16, his pride burning hotter than his exhausts.
3rd: Dominic, the Venom F5's savage pace and his unshakable technique closing the gap.
4th: Letty, Medusa S blazing, but her lack of street-racing hours forcing her to hold back slightly, keeping her steady around 250 km/h. Her car could do more—but her reflexes weren't honed for this chaos.
While engines howled and neon blurred into streaks, danger brewed outside the track.
From the rooftop of a hotel overlooking the Violence District, a man lowered his binoculars, a cruel smile curling his lips.
"Heh. Finally, the race begins."
A voice behind him asked, "Young Master, do we move forward with the plan?"
His eyes hardened. "Anyone who dares steal what's mine… won't walk away whole. Execute it."
"Yes, sir." The aide pulled out a phone, dialing with a smirk.
"Hello? I'd like to report illegal street racing happening right now…"
No one on the road knew it yet, but the net was already closing. The gang that had once tried to snatch Letty was setting their trap.
Above the roar of engines and the madness of speed, an invisible storm gathered.
~~----------------------
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