Wild Surge

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Car number oo1313’s thrilling move linking two vehicles was witnessed by a spectator who had been watching the chase between the two cars, as the driver in the rear was his cousin.

He was so excited by the dazzling scene he’d just witnessed that he couldn’t help but shout three times, waving his arms, “Amazing, absolutely incredible!”

A man beside him, curious about his excitement, asked, “Hey, which car are you watching?”

“oo1313. Damn, that’s insane.”

“Really? Let me see.”

Bored, he switched his channel to oo1313. Every spectator received a player upon entry—a pair of glasses enabling them to follow whichever car they liked. It was impressively user-friendly.

Seeing the car’s speed, he grew excited: three hundred and fifteen kilometers per hour.

As a seasoned sports car enthusiast, he knew precisely what that meant. Theoretically, the maximum speed for these cars was three hundred kilometers per hour.

But the reality was different. The club had set new rules to make the sport more thrilling: as long as the accelerator was pressed continuously, the speed would keep climbing. But the moment the pedal was released, the speed dropped instantly to three hundred.

Since the club’s founding, no one had ever managed to keep their foot on the accelerator all the way to the finish line. The highest record was the fourth stage, reaching five hundred and eleven kilometers per hour.

The red sports car performed a dazzling feint, tricking the vehicle ahead into leaving an opening, and slipped through.

Beautiful.

He clapped his hands.

Once speeds exceeded three hundred kilometers per hour, overtaking wasn’t hard—the speed itself made it easier. But the risk of accidents soared. Many spectators were here just to witness spectacular crashes.

Soon, staff noticed the red sports car and switched its video feed to the track’s panoramic live broadcast. Every car exceeding three hundred was displayed on the big screen.

oo1313’s outstanding performance quickly caught the crowd’s attention. Seeing an unfamiliar license number reach three hundred and twenty kilometers per hour, some admired the newcomer’s courage, while others speculated this upcoming curve would surely flip the car. They waited in anticipation.

But their hopes were dashed. The red car rounded the corner effortlessly, speed undiminished.

In the northeast section of the grandstands, several young people were discussing the race. One tall young man yawned, “There aren’t any real experts here in Mingzhou. Captain, why did we even come?”

Beside him stood a girl with brightly colored hair and striking features, echoing him, “Yeah, these drivers are no match for us from Darr. Not even in the same league.”

A bespectacled young man disagreed, “Maybe their top racers didn’t show up today.”

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“Please,” the colorful-haired girl scoffed, “You can tell from the average skill level—their best isn’t likely to be much better.”

“The captain said Mingzhou has a top racer comparable to him. Isn’t that right, Captain?” the bespectacled young man said.

“Watch that red sports car.”

Their captain, a tall, robust man with a buzz cut, had been following the live feed above and suddenly interrupted.

Clearly a figure of authority, the three stopped arguing and turned their attention to the screen.

Just in time, the red sports car was approaching an S-shaped double curve.

“Is he insane?” Seeing the red car maintaining a speed of three hundred thirty, the colorful-haired girl couldn’t help but exclaim, “He’s not slowing down?”

The bespectacled young man replied, “Don’t forget, the club’s rules are different from ours. After exceeding three hundred, if you brake for more than five seconds, the car will drop straight to three hundred.” He spoke without taking his eyes off the red sports car.

“Looks like this person is either a rookie or a pro,” the tall young man said.

Closer now, the red sports car’s body noticeably jerked—it was finally braking.

In the grandstands, the captain relaxed his brow. His assessment was correct: this driver was no ordinary racer.

A screech.

The red car tilted slightly, skidding several meters, its wheels sparking against the track. It cleared the first curve, then leaned to the other side, skidding again, and passed the second curve.

To the spectators, the red sports car moved like an agile carp, its actions flawless—though speeding at three hundred thirty, those two pauses made it seem almost like slow motion, a feast for the eyes.

A wave of applause erupted from the grandstands. They never hesitated to cheer for superb driving.

Some began speculating that oo1313 was a seasoned racer in disguise, pretending to be a newcomer for fun.

Others guessed this was an expert from out of town.

Unfortunately, the car’s canopy had already risen, obscuring the driver’s appearance—otherwise, they could have identified this mysterious master.

For safety, once a car exceeded three hundred, the canopy automatically rose; otherwise, the three hundred kilometer winds would make breathing impossible.

Unlike the boisterous crowd, the four in the northeast section fell silent, each replaying the scene in their minds.

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“He’s really strong,” the bespectacled young man finally exhaled, admitting honestly.

“Anyone can handle an S-curve at that level,” the colorful-haired girl replied dismissively—and she wasn’t wrong. Like swordplay: some can strike seven times in a second, slicing a block of wood into eight equal pieces.

Others can also strike seven times in a second, but the resulting pieces vary greatly in size.

That’s the difference.

The tall young man chimed in, “Yeah, it’s just three hundred thirty—nothing too difficult.”

The bespectacled young man smiled but didn’t argue.

The captain nodded, “Regardless, he’s our rival. We need to be cautious and gather information on him.”

He turned to the bespectacled young man, “Did you record it?”

He nodded, “I downloaded oo1313’s footage, but unfortunately there’s nothing from before it hit three hundred; otherwise, we’d know who that driver really is.”

“Good,” the captain nodded again. As he glanced at the red sports car, a hint of fervor flashed in his eyes. Is it you?

“Just now, I think I heard a woman screaming inside the red car,” the tall young man suddenly said.

“You heard it too?” The colorful-haired girl said, “Could the driver be a woman?” Her eyes burned with excitement.

Many women joined the sport, but those who reached the colorful-haired girl’s level were rare—just as most top mecha pilots were men. Women simply had a disadvantage in physical strength.

Since mastering her driving skills, she had never found a female rival. Learning that the red car’s driver might be a woman, her fighting spirit ignited.

“Unlikely,” the bespectacled young man shook his head, dismissing the notion, “That scream was clearly hysteria from fear—not something a driver would do.”

Hearing this, the colorful-haired girl felt a twinge of disappointment. “Then why would there be a woman’s scream in the car?”

“Could it be that besides the driver, there’s a woman in the car as well?”

The three exchanged glances, momentarily speechless. After all, it was too absurd.

ps: Still racing without cover—brothers, lend me your support!