The gale howled.

The Alloy RCH was like a remnant shadow in daylight.

John was already used to this driving experience, as the street scene rapidly flowed past him. A virtual navigation line extended forward, flanked by the real-time performance of the Alloy RCH.

The full view didn't affect him at all.

Sora could directly read the data from the implant eye, no matter how thick the layers were, and even chat with John.

They were heading to an illegal race site, so the rogue AI started gathering relevant intelligence on the dark web, only to discover information about John.

[You participated in illegal races!?]

Another pop-up appeared in John's tightly packed view, automatically playing a video file.

A quick glance told him it was the Palmer race, the one he ran with Oulos a few days ago.

Footage stitched together from municipal cameras.

The editing was very concise.

[You raced like a pro.]

Sora was incredibly envious.

For something so attention-grabbing, he only regretted not being there in person.

[I also found out about the guy we need to take down, Alek Tanner, oh wow, the city's grand slam king, though from the last term.]

"What's that?"

[Illegal street racing.]

Kenichi Sora began sharing the dark web intel with John.

They operated like a mercenary team, exchanging information collected from their respective sources.

Eden City had ten famous illegal tracks.

The Palmer track John challenged was just one of them. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

These illegal races were scattered around different areas, often accompanied by massive betting activities.

Thrill-seekers and show-offs alike participated.

Vehicle companies and modification shops also promoted them, using them as a preamble for business.

Hence, they garnered significant attention.

The prize money and reputation rewards were astonishing.

Each track had its unique characteristics.

There was even one set in the suburban wilderness, where the road conditions were so harsh that only four-wheeled vehicles with off-road capability could participate.

Sora's "grand slam king" title didn't require winning ten championships; you just had to survive each race to earn it.

Don't think it's easy.

Illegal street racing had casualties.

Last time at Palmer, John took down a few unfortunate souls engaged in malicious competition.

Even if you survived, you might not make it to the race.

Event schedules weren't fixed.

They depended on the mood of the authorities and city changes.

For instance, the recent hovercar crash and the special forces' semi-district lockdown both caused race postponements.

With city planning, some tracks might have their routes changed based on real-world conditions, or they might vanish entirely until a new, approved route emerged.

Not only that.

You had to endure challenges outside of the tracks.

Some participants worked as mercenaries; perhaps one day they'd take on a dangerous task and never return. Many competitors died on hazardous jobs or were forced to flee Eden City.

They couldn't die from any accident or be assassinated by rival racers at night, and they shouldn't end up like Mr. Alek from this commission...

Caught in disputes, targeted by mercenaries to be eliminated.

John and his team arrived at the race at Sakura Cross Street, a death sprint exclusive to motorcycles.

Starting point set in an abandoned oil refinery.

The rusty pipes appeared like skeletal remains of decomposing beasts under the daylight, with the air thick with the pungent smell of industrial raw materials.

This was also the only daytime race in the city.

The sun filtered through the smog in a pale white glow.

Paint peeling off, smoke wafting.

Under numbered cement structures stood throngs of fervent spectators.

Dozens of heavily modified motorcycles roared deafeningly, chasing each other, leaving black tire marks and kicking up darker clouds of dust.

The riders wore helmets and sunglasses.

Each one crouched low.

Like predatory wolves sprinting headlong.

At the front was a matte black motorcycle leaving competitors far behind.

[Name: Alek Tanner]

The motorcycle beneath him had a unique design—a special wind tunnel structure and a new generation engine, making its roar distinct.

No one noticed the rifle on a distant overpass.

The subtle red light of a Type 4 sight danced on the motorcycle's windshield's HUD, zooming in and out, capturing the race situation and target in full view.

John chose an excellent spot upon arrival.

The Triangular Maple rifle was magnetically locked onto a special mount at the front of the Alloy RCH.

Through the scope, the race was already halfway.

[Sakura Cross Street Track] reached its most dangerous segment.

The modified motorcycles left the industrial zone, heading to cross the still-operational intercity rail tracks.

This segment was called "Hurricane Mixer."

Intercity trains roared and crossed each other, deep in the ground, rumbling in the subway platforms.

Their stirred airflow could topple any motorcycle with poor balance.

The racers had to pass through a narrow maintenance tunnel, drift at right angles, and switch onto trembling tracks, with accelerating train carriages right behind them.

A single fall meant never rising again.

This is why the Sakura Cross Street track was the only one to run in daylight.

The train schedules were clear.

There was a specifically dense crisscrossing period, most challenging and most suitable for headstrong lunatics pressing their heads into the throttle.

Buzz—

John retracted the rifle, sprinted across the road, and upon looking down again, saw motorcycles bursting out of the tunnel.

Unsettling collision sounds echoed behind them.

Some competitors were already out.

"It's about time; let's go."

John straddled his motorcycle, revved the throttle.

The Alloy RCH picked up speed along the overpass, soared over a makeshift ramp, and flew into the sky.

The race had entered its climax.

Motorcycles leaving the tunnel would dash into a construction site, then jump off a pre-constructed ramp, crossing a road, and land on the opposite intercity train tracks.

Sakura Cross Street had significant height differences between buildings.

The track designers took full advantage of this.

The intercity train tracks wound around skyscrapers, seeming "within reach" for certain areas.

The tracks were set above the train.

Massive carriages "hung" on the road in motion.

Motorcycles had to leap over the train, racing above in the city sky, crossing layers of metal and concrete building materials.

Only Sakura Cross Street could offer such heart-stopping height differences, flanked by abyssal depths, beneath the rumbling steel serpent.

Anyone racing on this track would experience an adrenaline rush.

Some couldn't even land smoothly.

They lost speed, fell from heights, while sparks flew as motorcycles landed on the tunnel above.

John descended from the sky, joining the fray.

The Alloy RCH's engine hummed.

The factory tires worked like snug gears, seamlessly navigating the uneven road.

The suspension system unleashed a terrifying absorbing capability.

[Eisenberg] specializes in vehicle manufacturing, unlike the [Raftsuki] conglomerates spanning multiple industries...

It excelled in its field.

The Alloy RCH began accelerating, catching up with, and even slightly pulling ahead of the leading pack under the fearful eyes of other riders.