Chapter 121: Wuling, You Are Truly Impolite

Chapter 121: Chapter 121: Wuling, You Are Truly Impolite

The spectators no longer cared who would take first place. Their attention was entirely fixed on the Ford Transit, wondering if the pink van could overtake yet another sports car.

The van followed closely behind the Bugatti Divo. Glancing in his rearview mirror, Wyatt Winslow saw the Ford Transit in hot pursuit.

"Holy shit, it’s about to pass the Bugatti!"

"Is this thing modified to be that badass? Makes me want to buy one myself."

"It’s a thrill ride, sure, but it’s terrible for picking up girls. Who’s going to get into a van?"

"You’re too superficial, man. Speed is a man’s true romance."

"Then stay away from women."

"No way!"

Amid the chatter, the van effortlessly overtook Wyatt’s Bugatti, leaving the crowd momentarily speechless. Wyatt furrowed his brows as he stared at the blindingly pink vehicle ahead of him. Then, a horn blared from behind—HONK HONK.

Jason Rivers pulled up alongside him in his flashy red Ferrari. Jason had been pretty speechless after getting overtaken himself, but seeing his good friend suffer the exact same fate instantly made him feel much better. Wyatt ignored him and slammed on the gas, blowing past Jason’s showy Ferrari.

The race raged on. The only cars that had yet to be passed were Evan Rivers’s Lykan and Rian Sinclair’s Devel Sixteen.

Just as the spectators thought the Ford had reached its absolute limit, it delivered another massive surprise. The van suddenly accelerated, hurtling toward the Lykan five hundred meters ahead at an unbelievable speed. Everyone watching was utterly stunned, forgetting to even breathe.

"Holy shit, the Lykan needs to block that Ford Transit! Don’t let it pass!"

"How the hell do you block at that speed? Even the slightest scrape could send the car flying off a cliff. Are you trying to get Evan killed?"

"Anyone with a shred of common sense wouldn’t dare try to block that."

This was an illegal underground street race, after all. With minimal safety measures, dying on the spot was a very real possibility.

Evan was a master at racing. Though he had fallen behind at the start, he was fully capable of making up the distance with sheer skill. Yet... he raised his eyes to the Devel Sixteen ahead of him. It maintained a constant, moderate distance, as if Rian were just walking a dog.

Looking closer, though, it didn’t quite seem that way. He couldn’t be bothered to overtake her, knowing his car’s performance couldn’t match the Sixteen, but he wondered what on earth this wealthy woman was trying to pull. His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, his gaze turning icy.

Spencer Pierce sat at the wheel of the hot pink Ford Transit. Seeing the two cars ahead playing cat and mouse, he nonchalantly floored the gas pedal, causing his speed to spike once more.

"Mother of God, that’s got to be over 300 kilometers per hour."

"Good lord, is the driver standing on the gas pedal? Can this piece of junk really go that fast?"

"Ford Transit! Badass!"

The crowd held their breath, waiting to see if the Ford Transit could overtake the Lykan to claim second place. They watched the van with a sense of numb disbelief. On one hand, they hoped to see the domestic Ford pull off another miracle and surpass Evan’s Lykan. On the other hand, they wanted its rampage to end here. It had already reached heights it had no business reaching; pushing any further would just be insulting.

If it overtook another car, it would make all of them—the gearheads who spent fortunes on supercars—look like absolute fools. It had already passed a GTR, a Maybach, a Bentley, a Ferrari, and a Bugatti. At this point, they could still justify it by telling themselves the Ford was a heavily modified sleeper build.

First, it had bypassed two professional racers, then Ulysses Shepherd’s Bentley, followed by Jason’s Ferrari, and finally Wyatt’s Bugatti. Looking at the current situation, it was probably going to pass Evan’s Lykan as well.

The only question was whether it could overtake the lead car, the Devel Sixteen. Even though the Sixteen had a top speed of 515 km/h, not even professional racers dared to push it to that limit. Let alone an amateur beauty. None of them believed Rian Sinclair possessed driving skills superior to the pros.

Therefore, everyone assumed it was only a matter of time before the Devel Sixteen was overtaken. The real suspense lay in whether the van could pass the Lykan.

The Lykan’s top speed was 390 km/h, so it all depended on how Evan drove. If he played dirty, he could absolutely box the van out and force it to stay behind him, and Spencer Pierce wouldn’t be able to complain. A top speed of 390 km/h was already an astonishing figure—a speed ordinary people couldn’t even fathom.

So, if the Ford could surpass that... it would be truly, downright disrespectful.

Such were their thoughts, but reality proved far more cruel. The van continued to accelerate, tearing forward. Getting faster and faster, the Ford closed in on the Lykan ahead at a terrifying velocity.

Evan noticed the situation behind him, frowning slightly. He wouldn’t play dirty; it was just a race, after all. Losing didn’t matter, and winning didn’t offer any grand prize. Spotting the curve ahead, he prepared to drift.

Suddenly, a pink van surged from his flank, hugging the guardrail at an extreme, exaggerated speed to overtake him. Evan could only catch a glimpse of its taillights. Seeing that blinding flash of hot pink ahead, he couldn’t help but click his tongue.

"Driving like he has a death wish. What’s the point?"

Wave after wave of gasps erupted from the stands.

"Holy shit! It passed him!"

"The Ford Transit passed the Lykan!"

"Damn!"

"My god! How is it still passing cars?"

"What kind of twisted genius modified this thing? And the driver’s skills are insane!"

"Calling it now: the Ford is going to win by a mile. Every single supercar here is going to lose to a rust bucket that costs less than their vehicle taxes."

Glancing in her rearview mirror, Rian Sinclair saw the van closing in fast. The corners of her lips curled up slightly, and the tapping of her left fingertips quickened.

"Things are finally getting interesting," she thought.

Spencer slammed the gas pedal, preparing to overtake the Devel Sixteen at the upcoming curve. After all, in a hunk of junk like this, he couldn’t beat these supercars on a straightaway. But this track was far more than just straight lines. Everyone here was a gearhead; they all knew the golden rule. True speed wasn’t measured on the straights, but in the corners.

"That Ford hasn’t just been modified. It’s been entirely reborn. It’s a hypercar wearing a Ford’s skin."

"The base specs of a Ford are what they are—you can’t just modify it to go this fast. It’s definitely just wearing the shell of a van."

"The Ford Transit is so badass!"

"Stop talking, I’m recording this. I’m going to take this back and analyze it with my boys later."

The van behind her drew closer and closer—so close she could clearly see its hood and catch a glimpse of the driver’s wild silver hair.

When the Devel Sixteen was inevitably overtaken, everyone felt it was perfectly expected. Finishing second was already incredibly impressive; she had simply had the misfortune of running into the "God of the Ford Transit." They all agreed it was entirely normal for the gorgeous amateur to lose to the Ford God. It was well within their expectations.

The first lap was nearing its end, leaving two more to go. The racers in the back had begun catching up. The two professional drivers, likely exercising maximum social tact to let the VIPs shine, trailed at a respectful distance behind the Sixteen.

Having completed one lap, Rian now had a perfect understanding of the track. At first, she had only memorized the general layout by studying photos and videos, but she had needed to run it in practice to confirm every detail.

Rian raised her gaze to the closest car ahead of her—Ulysses Shepherd’s Bentley—and her lips curled into a faint smile.

The real race was finally beginning.