Chapter 238: Met An Old Investor

The days following Ruby’s historic album launch were a non-stop blur of high-octane work. Ruby was whisked off from set to set, shooting back-to-back high-budget music videos for her chart-topping tracks, while the hype surrounding Hidden Gem reached an all-time peak.

Then came the main event: Grand Prix Race Day.

We pulled up to the elite track stadium in May’s sleek team van. The moment the doors slid open, a wall of flashing cameras and shouting sports reporters swarmed the vehicle.

"May! May!" a lead sports anchor yelled, thrusting a microphone into her face as we stepped out onto the concrete paddock. "After Winny officially set the world record last month, how does it feel coming into today’s Grand Prix as the underdog? Do you feel the pressure of losing your top spot?"

May didn’t even flinch. She adjusted the zipper on her high-performance sprinters’ jacket, her expression cool, relaxed, and completely unfazed.

"It’s nothing," May said smoothly, throwing a small, confident grin toward the cameras. "Records are meant to be broken. I’ll just get it back today."

The press crowd snickered and murmured, clearly not taking her seriously. They were completely glazed over by the media hype around Winny, treating May like her time at the top had already passed. They had no idea about May’s terrifying 9.11-second private run at the estate track.

Just then, Winny walked past the media line surrounded by her glowing PR team and coaches, looking smug and high on her own press.

I stepped up right beside May, sliding my hands into my jacket pockets, and looked directly at the crowd of reporters with a razor-sharp smile.

"Hey," I called out, my voice easily cutting through the noise. "Why don’t we ask our current world record holder right over there? Winny, how confident are you feeling about keeping that record in today’s final?"

The reporters instantly turned their cameras toward Winny.

Winny froze in her tracks, her eyes wide as she caught sight of May and me. The color visibly drained from her face. She remembered the telemetry data, the private track reports, and the absolute wall of power May possessed.

"I—well..." Winny stammered, frantically trying to regain her composure in front of the flashing lenses. "I’m... I’m extremely confident! A record is a record, and I plan on keeping it today!"

Her voice cracked slightly at the end, her nervous body language betraying the sheer panic underneath. She knew. She knew May was going to tear that track apart.

May caught my eye and let out a low, dangerous chuckle, her eyes sharpening like a predator zeroing in on its prey.

"Let’s go," May whispered to me, tossing her warm-up towel to her assistant as she headed straight for the sprinter’s tunnel.

I leaned back in the plush leather seat of the VIP skybox, swirling the amber liquid in my glass as the roar of the stadium filled the air below. The elevated view gave a perfect line of sight over the entire eight-lane track, where groundskeepers were making their final checks on the starting blocks for the 100-meter sprint heats.

"Look who decided to show up."

A voice slick with forced confidence dripped into the box. I turned slightly to see Peter Pear walking in, flanked by a small entourage of corporate analysts. The man was practically beaming, strutting inside like he already owned the stadium. Ever since Winny grabbed the public record, Peter had been practically flying on media high. He had pulled his capital out when Ruby’s sportswear line took over and Zenith skyrocketed to number one, but now he clearly thought the tides had turned.

He leaned against the railing next to my table, looking down at May warming up on the field. "Quite a drop from grace, isn’t it, Ethan? Your star sprinter losing her crown to Winny. Zenith might have taken the market back then, but track numbers don’t lie. Looks to me like your champion is completely washed up."

I took a slow sip of my drink, looking him up and down with absolute disinterest before returning my gaze to the track. "Do I know you?"

Peter’s smug expression twitched, his face darkening for a split second. "Don’t play stupid. You know exactly who I am. And I’m telling you, you backed the wrong horse this time. Winny is peak athletics. May is yesterday’s news."

A slow, mocking smile pulled at the corner of my mouth as I turned to face him fully. "Is that so? Sounds like a lot of talk from a guy who got stripped clean the last time we crossed paths. Tell me, Peter... do you want to wager again?"

He stiffened immediately. The memory of losing his investment cut to Zenith clearly still burned in his gut.

"Last time was a fluke," he snapped, crossing his arms, though he took half a step back. "And no, I’m not throwing money into your lap today. I’m being practical. I don’t feel like losing twice."

I let out a low, genuine laugh that echoed through the private box, drawing the attention of his entourage. "So you admit it. You know you’re losing."

"I know nothing of the sort!" Peter barked, his face flushing red as his composure cracked. "I’m being cautious! There’s a difference!"

"Right, cautious," I drawled, steepling my fingers as I leaned back. "You’re terrified. You stand there in your custom suit, running your mouth about Winny being peak athletics, but deep down, you know the second May hits those blocks, your whole narrative crumbles. You don’t actually believe a single word coming out of your own mouth."

The cheap hit to his swollen ego worked like a charm. Peter’s eyes flicked to his analysts, then back to me, burning with pure humiliation and anger.

He reached into his tailored coat pocket, snatched out a sleek, customized carbon-fiber key fob, and slammed it onto the glass table right beside my glass.

"You still drive that hypercar?" Peter spat out, glaring at me like he wanted to tear my head off. "The one the one i saw when last met outside?"

I raised an eyebrow, tossing my own matte-black supercar key onto the marble surface right next to his. "Every single day."

"Then let’s put it on the line," Peter growled, his voice trembling with reckless pride. "Winner takes both cars. Right here, right now. Winny takes the Grand Prix 100-meter gold, I drive your hypercar home. May takes it, you get mine. Multiple rounds, total points, final standings."

"Done," I said smoothly, not even hesitating as I picked up my glass again.

Down on the track, the stadium horn blared, signaling the sprinters to line up for the preliminary heat.

The crowd of fifty thousand roared as May stepped onto Lane 4, stripping off her outer track jacket to reveal the sleek, dark Zenith performance suit underneath. Winny took Lane 5 right beside her, bouncing on her toes and flashing a tense smile up at the big screen.

May didn’t bounce. She didn’t smile. She just rolled her shoulders, lowered herself toward the blocks, and locked her eyes onto the open track ahead.

The starter pistol raised into the air. The entire stadium went dead silent.