The Diomas roared ahead, when suddenly a formation appeared in the distance.
A convoy—heavy motorcycles, massive off-roaders, all forming a three-sided encirclement.
Including the bikes, each flank had no fewer than a hundred vehicles.
Leon reacted instantly.
He yanked the handbrake, flicking the wheel—
The Diomas swung into a brutal drift, tail sliding sideways across the asphalt.
Inside the cabin, Andrek's face drained of blood.
"Holy sh*t—does he have to drive like this?!"
He felt as though his very soul was being whipped out of his body.
As Leon powered out of the curve and prepared to accelerate, a sleek white machine suddenly slid up beside him, running door-to-door.
It was the SSC Tuatara—the so-called "world's fastest production car."
Zero to a hundred in 2.8 seconds.
Its reputation for explosive performance was well earned.
Leon turned his head.
The driver was a young man radiating sharp maturity, someone Leon didn't recognize.
The stranger caught his gaze—and smiled, even giving a little wave.
Leon's brow twitched.
"The hell is this clown doing?!" he muttered.
Was this guy trying to flirt—or trying to provoke?
He wasn't passing, wasn't slowing down, just sticking by Leon's flank, locking his rhythm.
"Trying to challenge you, maybe?" guessed Elena, glancing out the window.
She didn't know him. As a West Coast native, she wasn't familiar with all the East Coast racers.
Hattie, however, stared harder. Then it clicked—
"That's Tobey Marshall. East Coast's so-called 'Car God.' The Tuatara is his signature ride. I've seen his file before."
Her voice carried an edge of recognition. As an agent, Hattie had sifted through countless dossiers. Tobey had been on federal radar for a long time—marked, tracked, flagged.
An FBI "priority watch" case.
So that was it.
He wanted a race.
Leon's lips curled into a grin.
"Heh. So that's how it is."
The Tuatara was pure engineering savagery.
A biomimetic-inspired design, its very name meant "Giant Lizard."
The silhouette screamed futurism—low prow, domed canopy roof, and a knife-like profile, stripped of gimmicks, built for one thing: raw speed.
The front fascia: razor-sharp intake, full carbon-fiber accents, LED eyes like predators.
The rear: scooped out with cavernous vents, balancing weight savings with brutal cooling for its monstrous engine and brakes.
Its Y-shaped taillights mirrored the headlights—aggressive symmetry.
Nineteen-inch front wheels, twenty-inch rears, lightweight carbon fiber forged into a multi-spoke pattern.
If Leon's Diomas was a beast forged in fire, Tobey's Tuatara was a reptilian predator honed by science.
Two kings, side by side.
Behind them, the black river of motorcycles surged, a hundred exhausts growling like an oncoming storm.
The air vibrated with menace.
Leon's grin widened.
"Speed? Fine. Let's see what you've got!"
He stomped the accelerator.
The Diomas unleashed a roar so brutal it felt like it could tear the street itself apart.
A few minutes earlier, Tobey had spotted Leon—and his eyes had lit up.
"Perfect. Let's warm up with him."
Now, the Tuatara howled.
The beast lunged forward like a lizard in full sprint, straining to keep pace with Leon.
Within moments, it was door-to-door again.
On the passenger seat, Benny went pale.
"Jesus Christ—this is a city street!!" he shouted.
The cars were already threading traffic at over 200 km/h.
Tobey didn't even flinch.
"Relax. Two hundred's nothing."
The arrogance dripped from his tone.
Benny, however, was practically glued to the window, watching Leon's Diomas chew up the tarmac like a monster let off its chain.
"You really think this guy is the West Coast Car God? He doesn't look like—"
Then Benny caught sight of the rearview.
The motorcycle convoy—a black flood—was bearing down on them, also pushing two hundred-plus.
His throat went dry.
Even if Leon was some "West Coast legend," how could anyone outrun that?
"Cut it out already, Tobey! If East Coast and West Coast gods clash now, what happens to the rest of us?" Benny's voice trembled.
But Tobey's jaw set.
"No. This won't end here. We'll settle it in New York."
The Diomas beside them snarled louder.
Leon pushed harder, pressing the accelerator all the way.
The engine note wasn't just loud—it was apocalyptic.
Benny's eyes went wide.
"He's accelerating even more?!"
The impossible unfolded before him: the Diomas began to pull away, inch by inch, overtaking the Tuatara.
And then the gap widened.
Tobey's heart skipped.
He flicked his eyes to the digital dash.
"Damn it… already 240 km/h?!"
In the city.
Threading traffic.
Two-forty was beyond reckless—it was lunacy.
And yet Leon was still pushing.
The Diomas danced through gaps as if traffic wasn't even there.
At that speed, one mistake meant death.
But Leon made it look effortless.
The Tuatara roared, but no matter how hard Tobey buried the throttle, he couldn't keep up.
The gap kept growing.
Cold sweat dripped from his brow.
It wasn't the car. It was the driver.
Same speed, same chaos of obstacles—
Leon was untouchable.
Tobey was straining, while Leon was flowing.
The truth hit him like a hammer.
"This… this is him. The West Coast Car God."
The pressure crushed him.
Ten years of street racing, dozens of rivals, countless wins and losses—
But never had he been obliterated like this.
His foot eased off the gas. The Tuatara slowed.
The fight had already been decided.
Benny panicked.
"You're giving up?! If East and West already claim the top spots, where does that leave us?!"
Tobey didn't answer.
His silence said it all.
The Diomas thundered into the distance, its roar echoing like a war drum, a declaration to the entire world—
Speed had a new definition.
And Leon was rewriting it.
~~----------------------
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