Hong Meiling remarked that as a martial artist who relied primarily on her fists, engaging an opponent at close quarters was always a case of "an inch shorter, an inch more dangerous."
To stand a chance in hand-to-hand combat, understanding the broad strikes, angles, and entry points of various weapons was the absolute foundation. After all, if one leapt in blindly without knowing how the opponent's weapon swung, those little fists would be riddled with holes long before getting inside their guard.
Although Meiling could fire dense volleys of energy blasts, plenty of the foes she faced could do the exact same thing! When everyone could throw long-range energy, it effectively canceled out the advantage, forcing the fight back to pure melee.
It just so happened that back in Gensokyo, there was a powerhouse named Suika whose brawling ability was top-tier. Suika was absurdly proficient in both massive brawls and tactical duels, and she occasionally brandished a heavy chain whip. Though Meiling had never truly fought her to the death, as a dedicated martial artist she had thoroughly researched how to handle such a weapon if they ever clashed—and, more importantly, how to run away safely.
"Then after we head back, will you teach me?" Beatrice asked, her eyes lighting up. "Hmm... how about this much for tuition?"
She unlocked her phone, typed a string of zeros onto the screen, and turned it toward Meiling.
Hong Meiling took one look at the number and beamed instantly. "No problem at all, Sister Beatrice! I love teaching dedicated students the most."
Down on the track, the blare of a horn signaled the start of the afternoon finals.
The crowd's attention snapped back to the tarmac. The final heat promised to be vastly more brutal than the morning qualifiers. Though the field of competitors was much smaller, every single rider who had made the cut was an elite veteran of the circuit.
The violence erupted the second the green light flashed.
The motorcycles roared off the starting grid, surged forward fifty meters, and instantly devolved into a sweeping brawl.
"Whoa, they're not even pretending anymore!" Flandre's crimson eyes widened as she leaned over the grandstand railing. "Didn't they say the fighting only starts halfway through?"
"That was just the rule for the morning qualifiers," Beatrice replied cheerfully, leaning on the rail beside her. "The finals are an absolute free-for-all from the very first second. It's a test of both rider and machine. The motorcycle has to survive two full-throttle laps around Lungmen without breaking down, while the rider needs ironclad willpower, absurd physical stamina... and lethal combat skills. Oh, look—Sister Hoshiguma is getting boxed in!"
Flandre looked down at the track and saw two heavy sportbikes closing in on Hoshiguma from both sides, their riders raising heavy clubs.
This wasn't an isolated incident. Almost every frontrunner in the leading pack was receiving the exact same aggressive welcome.
The sole exception was Lady Fumizuki.
Though two rival bikes had initially veered toward her to set up a sandwich trap, a third motorcycle suddenly swerved into the lane, cutting off one of the attackers and dragging him into an immediate grapple. As for the second attacker, as soon as he pulled alongside Lady Fumizuki, he made no move to strike. Instead, he dropped his speed slightly and took up a defensive position right behind her rear tire.
Flandre realized in an instant that these were members of Lady Fumizuki's elite shadow guard. Not only had Lady Fumizuki smoothly qualified for the finals, but two of her personal bodyguards had also secured spots on the grid, acting as her high-speed escorts.
With Lady Fumizuki completely secure, the grandstand's attention shifted entirely to Hoshiguma's side of the track.
What followed was a absolute rout.
Facing the two riders trying to pin her in, Hoshiguma didn't even flinch. She reached out with her left hand, snatched the heavy club right out of the left rider's grip, and backhanded the heavy weapon across his shoulders in one fluid motion. The impact sent the rider and his machine sliding side-first into the asphalt.
Because the race had just begun, their speed wasn't at peak velocity yet, so the fallen rider escaped serious injury. He scrambled back to his feet, checked his engine, confirmed the bike was still rideable, and remounted to rejoin the chase. However, the momentary delay had cost him crucial distance, ruining his chances of targeting Hoshiguma again.
His partner on the right was significantly less fortunate.
That rider had seized the opening while Hoshiguma was disarming the first guy, leaning over to rain a flurry of heavy blows onto her back with a reinforced hockey stick. To his horror, Hoshiguma sat in her seat as solid as an immovable mountain, entirely unfazed by the impacts.
Once she finished clearing the left lane, Hoshiguma slowly turned her head to glare at the man who had just struck her back several times in a row.
Seeing that the idiot actually dared to stay glued to her side, she executed a move that caused tens of thousands of spectators in the arena to gasp in collective shock.
Hoshiguma reached out with her bare hand, grabbed the rider firmly by his leather collar, and lifted him straight off his moving motorcycle with a single arm.
Deprived of its rider, the riderless motorcycle wobbled violently and crashed into the concrete barrier. Hoshiguma carried the fully grown adult male like a sack of grain for nearly a hundred meters down the straightaway before carelessly tossing him side-arm into a safety buffer of stacked car tires.
This display of raw, legendary strength—reminiscent of the ancient Overlord lifting a heavy bronze tripod—sent wave after wave of thunderous cheers echoing through the grandstands.
"Tsk, talk about hogging the spotlight," Beatrice muttered with a playful, sour pout. "With footage like that, even whoever takes first place isn't going to get half as much TV screen time as her!"
Though the famous trio—the Dragon, the Tiger, and the Oni—were all formidable operational officers, Hoshiguma's sheer physical power eclipsed almost everyone else. Even Beatrice, who possessed impressive physical strength for a high-society lady and could out-lift Ch'en in a gym, couldn't match an oni's natural constitution. She certainly couldn't steer a high-speed motorcycle with one hand while casually dangling a two-hundred-pound man with the other.
The midfield riders' original strategy had been simple: since their bikes lacked the top-end speed of the leaders, they would drag the frontrunners into a messy melee, using their chaotic brawling experience to suppress the leaders' pace and prevent them from pulling away like they did in the morning.
The tactic was sound on paper, and it successfully bogged down most of the pack. Even the previous top qualifiers were trapped in frantic skirmishes, unable to build up momentum.
However, the execution failed on two massive fronts.
Lady Fumizuki was already rocketing far down the main boulevard, leaving the chaotic brawl in her exhaust stream. Hoshiguma, having casually dismantled her attackers, opened her throttle and tore after her. Meanwhile, Lady Fumizuki's disguised shadow guards, having ensured her safe breakaway, melted back into the main pack to block any potential pursuers.
With the two leaders cleanly breaking out of the blockade, the rest of the pack realized that continuing to fight each other was suicidal. If they stayed trapped in a brawl, they were effectively handing over the gold and silver medals on a silver platter. Sacrificing their own chances just to fight for a bronze medal made zero tactical sense.
Abandoning their weapons, the remaining riders cracked their throttles open and gave chase.
The violent brawl instantly transformed back into a high-stakes, high-speed motorsport race.
However, due to the earlier delays, the pursuing pack was already trailing a full ten seconds behind Fumizuki and Hoshiguma.
At this level of competition, a ten-second gap on a street circuit was downright despair-inducing. While the Lungmen Rally was long and filled with unpredictable urban variables, as long as the top two avoided a major mechanical failure, that lead was virtually unassailable.
Sure enough, amidst the deafening roar of the home crowd, Lady Fumizuki and Hoshiguma swept across the finish line to claim the top two spots on the podium, separated by mere inches.
As for who took third place, nobody in the box particularly cared, as Flandre didn't recognize the rider anyway.
Just as Flandre leaned over the railing to watch the podium preparations, a pair of warm hands gently lifted her up from behind.
"Flandre, what brings you all the way down here?"
Flandre turned her head to see Lady Fumizuki's serene, smiling face.
"Wow! Sister Fumizuki, shouldn't you be up on the platform getting your trophy?" Flandre asked curiously, pointing toward the center stage where the award ceremony was taking place.
"Finishing the race in one piece is reward enough for me," Fumizuki chuckled softly, tapping the side of her nose with a slender finger. "As for stepping onto the podium under all those official cameras... it's not terribly convenient for my public role."
Flandre looked back down at the stage. Standing atop the first-place pedestal was a figure wearing full racing leathers and a tinted helmet, looking seventy to eighty percent identical to Fumizuki's build, cheerfully waving to the wildly cheering crowd in her place.