He flew into a rage.
"Get out here now!"
Several racers nearby watched the scene unfold with amusement.
Someone spat on the ground discreetly.
Served him right.
Who told him to slander someone's deceased mother behind their back.
Thankfully, a mysterious figure stepped in to teach him a lesson.
Though they were paid to race, even they looked down on such despicable behavior.
A cool voice cut through the crowd.
"Talking trash about someone's mother, especially a deceased one—did you never have one yourself?"
Sophia Sullivan withdrew her hand.
Tilting her head, she studied him.
"Need me to teach you some manners?"
She wasn't one to meddle.
But his taunts had dragged Ethan Sullivan's mother into it.
Even tried fabricating scandalous rumors.
Words could be deadly weapons.
That departed lady had also been a friend of her mother's.
She wouldn't let her name be tarnished unjustly.
The bald man saw red.
"Who the hell do you think you are? Daring to lecture me? I'll beat you to—ah! Mercy! Mercy!"
His arm was twisted behind his back at an unnatural angle.
With a thud, he collapsed to his knees.
A sickening crack echoed from his joints.
"P-please! I beg you! I'll stop!"
The bully was all bark and no bite.
Cold sweat poured down his face.
One more ounce of pressure would snap his arm like a twig.
White-hot pain blurred his vision.
Sophia's voice remained calm.
"Apologize for your lies."
The humiliation burned worse than the pain.
But survival instinct overrode pride.
He could taste death in the air.
Even kneeling, unable to see her face—
An icy dread clung to him like a second skin.
Trembling uncontrollably, he sobbed.
"I'm sorry! I was wrong! I shouldn't have spread rumors—ahh!"
A sharp kick sent him sprawling.
"Get lost."
The man scrambled away like a beaten dog.
Grateful for the mask and voice modulator hiding his identity.
Not a single spectator came to his aid.
"Serves the bastard right!"
"Should've broken more bones!"
"Damn, that was hot!"
Sophia ignored the commentary.
Her aloof aura kept others at bay.
The draw results were announced.
Unfolding her slip—
Group B.
Several racers nearby gasped.
Pitying looks came her way.
"Tough break drawing Zephyr."
"Dude's practically unbeatable—reigning champion with sixteen MVPs."
Sophia had raced motorcycles abroad.
But since returning to A-City, she'd stayed out of the scene.
Zephyr's name meant nothing to her.
She arched a brow.
The voice modulator lent her words an extra edge.
"Zephyr?"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"You've never heard of him? Underground Raceway's undefeated king—his records still stand!"
"Sponsors keep bringing in hotshots. All end up eating his dust."
"Rides like a demon—takes corners so tight you'd think he's got a death wish. We all steer clear."
Most warnings came from genuine concern.
A few held mocking tones.
"Quit while you're ahead, sweetheart. That pretty face won't stay intact after a wipeout."
"Amateurs shouldn't play with fire. Withdraw while you still can."
Sophia tuned out the noise.
Mentally cataloging her opponent's strengths.
Some mistook her silence for fear.
"You can forfeit. Next week's draw might be easier."
"No need." She pocketed the slip.
Heading toward the prep area.
"I race today."
The crowd fell silent.
Respect glimmered in their eyes.