Surpass Red Queen?
That meant this seemingly delicate girl...
might actually shine on the racetrack tonight?
Could it be that Leon might stumble unexpectedly?
Leon froze for a second, his eyes narrowing with intrigue.
He hadn't expected this — Yin Jiajun really had a sharp eye.
For the system to issue a mission just because of her... she clearly wasn't simple.
If he could win the Leon Cup Championship in front of all these people...
It would be explosive — for Diomas, for Leon, for the entire West Coast!
This wasn't just a race anymore. This was about legacy.
So he couldn't just win —
he had to dominate.
He had to make the entire country remember his name.
Leon smiled faintly, glancing at An Qiaoqiao.
"Red Queen S9 is a fine car," he said with a teasing tone. "I'm looking forward to your performance."
Leaving behind those cryptic words, Leon stood up and walked away,
leaving An Qiaoqiao utterly puzzled.
Tonight was destined to be a night like no other.
As time ticked toward midnight, the crowds began to gather —
thousands of racing fans flooded into Metropolis Square,
their excitement practically shaking the ground.
Monarch, the event organizer, had everything prepared down to perfection.
Sound systems, lights, stage setups — all gleaming, ready to ignite the city.
Explosive music thundered across the plaza,
neon lights pulsed with the beat — red, green, yellow, blue —
as dancers twisted and swayed, their movements wild and fiery,
their energy infecting the crowd like gasoline meeting flame.
By ten o'clock, the plaza was packed wall-to-wall with supercars.
Names like Lexus LC, Chevrolet Corvette, Audi TT, and Porsche 911 gleamed under the floodlights.
Every single one was a masterpiece.
And parked among them was something rare — a Pininfarina Battista – Modified Edition.
The upgraded Battista had a flatter, sleeker frame,
its aerodynamics re-engineered for perfection.
Gone was the narrow front intake — replaced with a complex new grille system.
It looked less like a car and more like a spaceship on four wheels.
Altogether, the total value of the cars gathered there easily exceeded five billion yuan.
Two Aston Martins were among them —
one belonging to James Bond himself, and another to someone unknown.
Under the bombardment of online hype and sponsorship,
the entire United States knew about this race.
TV networks had taken over the plaza,
helicopters hovered in the air —
fifty channels, twenty aircraft —
broadcasting the Leon Cup live across the world.
Before the engines had even started,
millions were already watching the livestream.
"So many star racers!"
"Taxi driver Daniel! Gone in 60 Seconds Randall! Bodyguard Mike— this lineup's insane!"
Every fan was hyped.
Even Japanese racers had flown in to compete.
This was no longer a simple race.
This was turning into the Oscars of street racing.
"No matter who wins tonight,"
"they'll earn the glory of all America!"
Monarch was grinning ear to ear.
His livestream channel had already hit 3 million concurrent viewers,
the highest-rated stream in the country that night.
Then he dropped the bombshell:
"Even President President personally called to express his interest! He's watching live!"
The crowd went wild.
Monarch laughed, milking the moment.
"If tonight's race is legendary enough, he's considering making the Leon Cup an official part of America's racing culture — worldwide!"
Even the President was watching.
That meant the Leon Cup had reached the absolute pinnacle of prestige —
on par with the Olympics Opening Ceremony itself.
Then, true to form, President tweeted:
"Glad to take a break from work tonight to enjoy the Leon Cup. Who do you think will win? Personally, I hope it's a white man."
Predictably, his comments section exploded —
keyboard warriors flooded in, sparking massive debate across social media.
The Leon Cup was now a national spectacle.
East Coast vs. West Coast.
Pride vs. Power.
History vs. Revolution.
"Let those West Coast clowns see what we're made of!"
"East Coast all the way!"
"You've got no chance — all you have is that van driver!"
"Go home, loser — the title belongs to the East!"
The East Coast crowd was relentless,
mocking Leon for being a "van racer" who'd gotten lucky.
But the West Coast fans were just as loud:
"You talk big — but can you drive?"
"Support Leon! East Coast, prepare to kneel!"
"Don't underestimate the Road Tyrant — tonight, you'll eat your words!"
And so the flame war began —
millions of people online,
two coasts at each other's throats,
waiting for the race that would decide it all.
Meanwhile, reporters were hunting like sharks through the crowd.
"Mr. Daniel, do you think Leon stands a chance tonight?"
Daniel smirked arrogantly.
"Chance? Against us? Not a damn one."
The fans roared with approval.
Boasting came easy, but reality hit hard —
and tonight would prove who truly ruled the roads.
"No one can shake the East Coast's throne!" Daniel declared confidently.
Cameras flashed.
Fans screamed.
The East Coast team looked unstoppable.
On the other side of the plaza,
Leon and his crew — Shaw, Gisele, and the rest — stood quietly.
No cheers.
No cameras.
No attention.
People walked by, sneering.
To them, the West Coast team were outcasts —
undeserving, underdogs, nobodies.
"Let them laugh," Shaw said coldly. "They'll see soon enough."
Only those who had witnessed Leon race before
knew what kind of monster he really was.
The Road Tyrant wasn't just a title —
it was a warning.
"Why rush?" Leon chuckled softly.
"Let them mock. After tonight... they'll kneel."
His eyes gleamed under the lights.
"East Coast? Forget them. My target... is the world."
~~----------------------
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