Ethan shot him a glance. Cool. Calm. Deadpan. Didn't say a word.
The guy who tried to provoke him? Awkwardly scratched his nose. He looked like a kid caught stealing candy.
Jason laughed. "Chase, dude… you know it already. Ethan? Rule number one: never touch chicks outside. Rule number two: never, like, mess around. And the old rule here? Loser rents Tongquelou for the night. Full package. Yep."
People around them whispered—small voices. Small enough not to be noticed.
The young rich kids were showing off to their new ladies, pointing at the three men. "That's boss, Ethan, under twenty, president of Yun Group. Nephew of that bigwig, the top heir of Kyoto's elite circle. The other two? Friends. Jason—top secret job, but trust me, not a nobody. Chase, son of a political hotshot."
Show-offy much? Yeah. Classic rich kid flex.
The engines roared. Repeatedly. Hot as hell, even though the night was kinda chilly. The mountain smelled like burning rubber. Literally.
Ethan stared down the winding road as cars disappeared like ghosts. Calm? Usually. Today? Not so much. Provocation ticked him off, tiny bit.
He flicked the keys in his hand, held them tight, eyes darted to the other two. Smirk. "Loser? Not only rents Tongquelou, but… naked dash across the mountain. Yep. Naked. You heard me."
Jason: "Uh… what?"
Chase: "What?! Seriously?"
Crowd erupted. Cheers. Whistles. A few laughs that sounded like dying hyenas.
"Hahaha, Jason chicken now?"
"Dude… Mr.Ethan going full WWE, hand-to-hand with losers?"
"Bets! Place 'em!"
Ethan slid in his car, keys clicked in, engine roared to life.
Jason yelled, "No way, Ethan! One meter more, and you foul! One meter!" while hopping into his car.
Ethan smirked. Calm. Sure. Maybe too calm.
Chase hopped in. Engine on. Start. Go.
Not just them—road full of wannabe racers. Bet? Everyone wants a piece.
"Green—" Cars shot off. Straight arrows. Vanished. Curve swallowed 'em.
Anya hobbled up with a thick branch. Limping. Forest behind. Road ahead. Darkness. Lights. Engines screeching like… electric snakes? Yeah, snakes. Sparks. All of it screaming past her.
Racing? Thought popped in her head. Yep. Two words. Simple. Perfect.
Problem: she had no way down.
Her ears? Amazing. She noticed modified cars. Speed didn't match chassis. Odd.
Wait… one car wasn't modified. Hmm. Approaching.
Anya stepped forward. Middle of the road. Why? I dunno. Fear? Testing? Maybe both.
Ethan skilled, sure. But these mountain kids? Born with GPS in their brains. First lap, he's trailing.
Gambling regret flashed. Tomorrow? Luke runs naked. Yeah, that's it.
100 meters ahead, figure. Honks. Figure? Doesn't budge. Weird. Ghost? No. Human? Maybe.
20 meters left, Ethan emergency brakes. Screamed internally. Barely stops.
Fifty centimeters away. Woman? Frown. Door opens. Out he steps.
Her leg? Clamped branch. Probably broken. Dark. Mud? Maybe. Face dirtied. Eyes? Reflective. Clear. Dangerous?
"Looking for trouble?" Ethan, cold.
Tall man. White shirt in night glare. Handsome. Strong jaw. Angry eyes. Deep brows. Looming.
Anya browsed internal memory. Term popped:
"Scam Slam," said like it's official business.
Ethan: "…." First time seeing Scam Slam done like a pro.
She added: "Might be… you misunderstanding Scam Slam."
Ethan eyes narrow. Thought, Yeah, you're the one misunderstanding! Forget it. Lucky she isn't some ghost.
Throws cash. $500. Turned. Back to car.
Anya picks up. Calm. "Racing? I can help."
Ethan pauses. Backlit girl. Cold gaze. "You serious? International joke?"
She checks road ahead. Voice too mature for age. "First lap barely done. Cars mostly 310 km/h. Curves here, slow you down. Five minutes lost? I can have you catch by third lap."
Ethan's eye twitches. Shift. Change.
Her terms. "Help you win. Condition: down mountain. Hospital." Adds, "No payback. Just, nope."
Ethan: "…." Nods. Passenger seat. "Get in."
Lost anyway. Might as well watch.
Anya calm. Branch leg. Left calf broken. Brake replaced by branch. Right hand steers. Bruises everywhere. Functional.
Looks impossible. Yet methodical. Car starts.
Ethan thought stunt. Nope. Real. Eye flicker.
One-hand steering. Focused. Like sniper on prey. Not normal.
"Hold on," Anya suddenly says.
Ethan frown. Hands grip overhead.
Car drift. Curve. Beautiful. Smooth. Almost surreal.