Compared to big cities, this small American town felt modest—few people, narrow streets, and short stretches of road.
Leon only had to lightly press the accelerator, and in just a few minutes, the Diomas Nilo had left the town behind, shooting toward the open highway.
American highways were nothing like the pristine movie versions. They'd been built long ago, patched up carelessly, and lacked the glamour of modern freeways. No overhead streetlights, no glowing safety markers—just cracked pavement and simple guardrails on either side. At night, they looked more like old national highways back in China.
It was almost ironic.
The "mighty" American interstates looked rougher than rural roads elsewhere.
But to Leon, none of that mattered. These so-called flaws weren't obstacles—they were opportunities.
He grinned.
"Hold on tight. The real thrill starts now."
Excitement laced his voice. To him, cruising at 200 km/h felt like nothing more than a lazy stroll. He wanted more. He needed more.
Once on the highway, he could finally let the beast loose.
"Let's go!"
Leon floored the accelerator, shifting gears with smooth precision. The exhausts of the Diomas Nilo spat golden flames, and the speedometer needle shot upward like a rocket.
The surge of acceleration pinned everyone to their seats.
In the back, Hattie and Elena clutched the handles, their faces draining of color. They had never, ever seen anyone drive like this.
"Wh-what's the speed now?" Elena stammered, barely able to form words.
Leon glanced casually at the dial. "Only five hundred."
"Only—five hundred?!" Elena shrieked.
For her, 250 km/h was already terrifying. Cars began to float, the road blurred, and danger lurked at every twitch of the steering wheel. Yet Leon dismissed 500 km/h as if it were nothing.
Her head spun, her stomach lurched. The sheer intensity was overwhelming. If someone with a weak heart were sitting here, they'd probably have died of fright already.
Even Hattie, the hardened MI6 operative, felt her heart hammering violently, as if it might burst from her chest. The world outside blurred into streaks of light, cars in the distance vanished in seconds.
Leon swerved past obstacles with inhuman calm, sliding the Diomas Nilo through traffic with surgical precision. What looked casual from the outside was a testament to god-tier driving skill.
To ride in this car, one needed nerves of steel.
"C-can you slow down?" Hattie pleaded, her face pale as a sheet. Tears almost welled up—not from sadness, but pure fear. She'd jumped out of planes, fought armed men, even stared down death before… but this? This was worse than any mission. Even flying in a crashing plane felt less terrifying than sitting in Leon's passenger seat.
But Leon was in his element. Unlike the women, he felt pure exhilaration. The force pressed against him like the soft hands of a girl's massage, gentle yet electrifying. Every gear shift pumped adrenaline into his veins. The accelerator wasn't just metal—it was ecstasy.
"Under nine hundred? That's not even fast!" Leon laughed wildly.
The words almost made both women faint.
At 200 km/h, they could stay calm.
At 300, they grew tense.
At 400, their nerves began to fray.
But 900? That was beyond comprehension.
They trembled like lambs before a lion, praying Leon didn't push them into oblivion.
The Diomas Nilo roared like a monster, its engine echoing across the highway. Even from far away, the thunderous growl made heads turn. Drivers checked their mirrors, only to see a silver blur tearing toward them like a bullet.
Instinct took over—they swerved aside, letting the beast through.
As the Nilo shot past, the violent wind shear rocked their cars. Some drivers nearly lost control, stomping the brakes to steady themselves.
"Who the hell is driving that?!" someone yelled, clutching the wheel.
"What kind of car is that?!" another shouted in disbelief.
"Damn it, that's not a car—that's a missile!"
Chaos rippled down the interstate as the Diomas Nilo disappeared into the night, leaving only shockwaves in its wake.
By the time people pulled out their phones, the supercar was already gone. Even those who had cameras ready couldn't capture it—the speed was too insane. No photos, no videos, not even a blur.
Just gone.
It was speed beyond imagination. Even veteran street racers had never witnessed such velocity.
Speculation buzzed.
"Could it be him? The new West Coast Racing God?" someone whispered.
"The one who broke the Death Track record?" another replied, eyes wide.
If it really was him, then they hadn't just seen a car pass by.
They'd witnessed the rise of a legend.
~~----------------------
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