Leon took first place and shattered the world record.
Such a dazzling performance shocked everyone watching around the globe.
The Japanese fans collectively fell silent.
They had mocked him earlier…
And the moment Leon hit the track, he slapped them all across the face.
People in the U.S. were thrilled—
Serves them right for looking down on America!
Meanwhile, Wolf of the Wall Street's reputation skyrocketed.
Everyone suddenly envied him.
The man once labeled "the worst investor in history"
transformed overnight into "the man with the sharpest vision."
The dramatic reversal made Wolf of the Wall Street burst into triumphant laughter.
Refreshing. Exhilarating.
He had been acting aloof even before this—refusing interviews, ignoring reporters.
Now that Leon had exploded in popularity, the outside world acknowledged Leo's insight.
Those who mocked him earlier had their faces ruthlessly slapped.
Wolf of the Wall Street was more than satisfied.
But he still couldn't meet Leon yet.
Not until the entire event was over.
If Leon won the championship, that would be Leo's moment to make his move.
This kind of maneuver was something he excelled at.
The next morning—Sunday—
the second stage of qualifying began.
This round was both a Q2 qualifying session and a sprint race.
A total of 12 laps.
Whoever finished first would secure pole position for the official race.
But unlike the official race, qualifying was shorter,
and not bound by the same strict regulations.
There was no warm-up lap—drivers went straight into action.
On Saturday's qualifying, fuel wasn't restricted.
But Sunday was different.
After the first round of qualifying, teams could adjust setups,
including ride height, aero, and even fuel estimates.
But in Sunday's session, every car had to carry the exact fuel they would need for the afternoon's main race.
No refueling allowed before the official start.
In other words—
they had to fill the tank yesterday.
Today, they race with whatever they already had until everything is over.
So the second-stage qualifying distance wasn't long,
to avoid burning too much fuel.
The afternoon race was 300 km.
The morning sprint was 80 km.
Together: 380 km.
But the tank needed enough to safely run over 500 km,
because low gear acceleration eats fuel like crazy.
If they didn't leave enough reserve,
they'd risk running out before the end—
a humiliating way to be eliminated.
The weather was terrible today—dark clouds overhead,
winds picking up, and rain likely.
For racing, this was awful news.
Speed would drop significantly.
Worse, today's route passed along the coastline.
Waves could crash against the barriers,
and any driver who misjudged the road risked losing precious time.
Inside the Imperial Team's pit box—
Mia helped Leon fasten his helmet and reminded him gently:
"Be careful out there. Avoid unnecessary collisions."
"Relax. I've got this." Leon replied with absolute confidence.
His confidence came from his total control over the car.
Whether he would crash or not—
Momo had already simulated and monitored every possibility.
Even if an impact seemed likely, Momo would adjust in time.
Unless the opponent suddenly braked violently or made an extreme move,
Momo could avoid it.
And even with sudden braking,
the AI could usually react—
but physics were physics.
If the distance was too short, a collision was unavoidable.
Fully suited up, his blue-and-black racing uniform matched the Tyrant's colors.
The blue radiated boldness;
the black gave him a calm, imposing presence.
After climbing into the car, he drove to his designated grid slot.
Because he ranked first in the first-stage qualifiers,
the second stage used a reverse start order.
Leon would start dead last.
From where he sat, he could see more than twenty cars ahead.
He was at least ten seconds behind P1.
In a racing series where overtaking was notoriously difficult,
this gap was fatal.
Unless you were supremely confident in your own ability.
This was why top drivers often controlled their pace in Q1,
trying to secure a favorable starting position for Q2.
Go too slow, though, and they risked falling outside the 107% rule—
failing to qualify unless granted special permission.
Stalling out or crashing?
No need to think about it—
that would be instant disqualification.
Because this wasn't the official race yet,
there was no ceremonial entrance,
no anthem,
no grand presentation.
Attendance wasn't high—barely ten thousand spectators.
In a stadium built for two hundred thousand,
it looked sparse and cold.
If today weren't a weekend, even fewer would have shown up.
Soon, the cars reached their grid positions.
The countdown began.
Drivers revved their engines, heating them up for maximum launch power.
VROOOOM!!!
Every engine screamed with its own unique tone—
some sharp and crisp,
others deep and thunderous.
The engines seemed locked in a mechanical duel—
each refusing to yield.
The crowd roared in excitement.
Suddenly—
A king-level roar tore through the air.
The sound crushed all other engines instantly.
Every other car's sound became faint, weak, like a whisper.
Utterly dominated.
The audience turned their heads—
It was Leon's Tyrant—Summer Solstice edition.
It emanated danger—
a beast sharpening its claws before the hunt.
A predator preparing to strike.
Its sheer engine presence overwhelmed the entire track.
Even if all the other cars combined their noise,
they still wouldn't match Leon.
The contrast was devastating.
The audience's expressions twisted with shock and disbelief.
Even their cheers grew softer.
There was no point shouting—
their voices were drowned by the Tyrant anyway.
Absolute suppression.
The aura of a natural-born king.
Drivers closest to Leon—Kaga, Shinjou Naoki, and Hayato Kazami—
felt their scalps tingle and their hearts pound violently.
The sound was powerful enough to rupture eardrums.
Even the cockpit glass couldn't block it.
It felt like the engine held infinite power.
If the officials hadn't already verified the engine's legality,
Shinjou Naoki would have thought Leon was using something illegal—
something NOT of this world.
Just hearing it created crushing psychological pressure.
Shinjou's expression hardened.
His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
Inside his gloves, sweat already soaked his palms.
Leon's pressure was terrifying.
Thankfully, the gloves had reinforced leather patches on the thumb and index finger,
allowing a firm grip on the suede-wrapped steering wheel.
Without it, they might not even be able to hold the wheel properly.
Five seconds left!
Every driver's gaze sharpened like a predator's.
Ready to launch.
Ready to fight.
~~----------------------
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