Chapter 27: Cage Is Too Strong

“If you ask me, Cage is obviously going to keep winning the championship, right?”

In the VIP viewing hall, men and women dressed in tailored suits and luxurious evening gowns chatted merrily while holding wine glasses.

“That one called Selty seems to be a dark horse as well.”

A masked man with a cigar clenched between his teeth spoke loudly. “She seems to be biting onto Cage really tightly.”

“So what?”

Another well-dressed man said. “I’ve seen plenty of people who managed to stick close to Cage. What happened to them in the end? They all died!”

His words were met with unanimous agreement from the surrounding crowd. In their eyes, Cage was unquestionably the strongest competitor in the race, and there was almost no chance anyone could snatch the championship trophy from his hands.

“That kid called Dante also seems to be a pretty good racer.”

A woman in a black gown studded with sequins, her long hair swept up high, spoke softly. “I wonder what kind of cute face he has under that helmet. I hope he doesn’t die in this race…”

As she spoke, she extended a hand wrapped in long black silk gloves and gently stroked her cheek. Beneath her black Gothic mask, a suspicious blush surfaced.

The crystal chandeliers in the hall refracted luxurious golden light, bathing these upper-class figures in resplendent brilliance.

Sera maintained her usual aloof posture as she pushed a trolley loaded with red wine through the hall.

The wine bottles were carefully wrapped in towels and placed in an ice bucket, the ice cubes clinking crisply as the trolley moved.

Sera cast a contemptuous glance at the powerful figures engaged in loud conversation. Even with masks concealing their identities, she could still recognize who they were.

The first to speak was Bain DeWitt, the police chief of Ingrey City.

This man, who always presented himself as a champion of justice before the public, had only last week stood before reporters and declared that he would crack down hard on underground racing in the John District. And yet, who would have known that he himself was actually a VIP patron of underground races?

The second was Mayor Morpheus Wenley. On the surface, he appeared to be a clean and upright official—but in reality?

The fact that he was here already said everything.

The third was that woman—Lady Margaret, the current head of the Mondila family. She looked gentle and intellectual, and was a devout believer of the Church.

But only those within the upper circles knew that she was utterly vicious.

Not long after she married the previous head of the Mondila family, he fell gravely ill and died. She then smoothly inherited the position of head of the Mondila family as Lady Mondila.

It was even rumored that she kept a large number of male lovers in her mansion.

What really happened back then was easy enough to guess without saying it out loud.

Sera had no interest whatsoever in staying in the same room as these sanctimonious people. Just looking at them made the very air feel polluted to her.

She pushed the trolley toward the hall entrance.

“Creak—”

Just as Sera was about to push the door open, it opened on its own.

A young man hurried inside and accidentally collided with the trolley, making the ice bucket wobble violently. One of the wine bottles slipped out, about to shatter on the floor.

“Snap!”

A hand caught the bottle steadily.

It was Sera.

She bent down at a speed nearly too fast to see and firmly caught the bottle.

“Please do not run in a place like this.”

With a cold expression, Sera placed the bottle back into the ice bucket and glanced at the flustered young man.

“Ah, sorry!”

The young man apologized repeatedly as he helped straighten the trolley that had been knocked askew. “I was in a bit of a rush. I’m really sorry.”

He was dressed like a mechanic, with several oil stains and some brownish marks on his chest.

At a glance, he looked like a logistics crew member responsible for motorcycle adjustments in one of the racers’ teams.

Logically speaking, someone of this status should never have appeared here—in the VIP viewing hall filled with society’s elite.

With just one glance, Sera recognized that the brownish stains on his chest were blood.

He had concealed them well, deliberately smearing oil stains nearby so people would mistake them for engine oil or other motorcycle fluids.

But he had forgotten to clean the bloodstains on his cuffs.

Even though they were faint, Sera could see the traces of crimson, along with the subtle scent of blood beneath the gasoline smell on his body.

This man had probably killed someone not long ago.

“Be more careful next time.”

Sera lifted her chin and pushed the trolley out the door.

Even if this man had just killed someone, it had nothing to do with her. All she needed to do was protect Young Master Cyril.

If this man dared to harm Young Master Cyril…

A chilling glint flashed through Sera’s eyes.

“Y-Yes, definitely!”

The young man nodded repeatedly, scratching his head. Only after Sera completely disappeared outside did he clutch his chest and let out a long breath.

For some reason, he felt that this cold-faced maid was an extremely frightening person.

Better not provoke her.

With that thought, the young man went down the stairs from the VIP hall to the lower level.

The entire bastion had been transformed into a venue for VIP viewing.

The upper level consisted of private VIP viewing rooms, while the middle level was the social hall where VIPs mingled.

The lower level, however, was an area few could access—reserved for the organizers.

Two burly bodyguards stood before an ornate wooden door, their hands crossed over their lower abdomen. This posture allowed them to maintain a dignified appearance while also enabling them to draw the pistols concealed at their waists at a moment’s notice.

They stopped the young man, verified his identity, then knocked on the wooden door three times with their knuckles. After a voice inside said “Come in,” they opened the door for him.

Inside was an office-like room.

The bookshelves were filled with books, though the thick layer of dust suggested they were only there to showcase the owner’s status.

A luxurious red velvet carpet covered the floor. The golden light refracted by the crystal chandelier shone upon a stuffed lion specimen by the floor-to-ceiling window.

“How did it go?”

The man behind the desk asked.

He looked about twenty years old, dressed elegantly, every gesture deliberately steeped in aristocratic affectation.

His name was Aldrich—Aldrich Nianhog.

A collateral branch young master of the Nianhog family, and the organizer of this death race.

It was only thanks to the Nianhog surname that he could afford to host such a competition, attracting countless influential figures from high society and raking in enormous profits.

“Of course it’s done.”

The young man dropped onto the sofa across from the desk and poured himself a glass of red wine from the table. “I tampered with his fuel lines. As long as the wheels keep spinning at high RPM, the fuel line will rupture, and then…”

“Boom!”

He gestured with his hands as if something were exploding. “Our defending champion, Mr. Cage, will turn into a blazing fireball racing down the street.”

“Was the cleanup thorough?”

“Completely.”

The young man tugged at his sleeve, only then noticing a trace of blood he hadn’t wiped off. “Just a pity about that old man. He taught me quite a lot about motorcycle maintenance…”

If Cage were here, he would recognize this young man as the newcomer recently recruited into his pit crew.

Originally, Cage’s crew hadn’t needed any new members.

But this young man had killed one of the original crew members, creating a vacancy, then applied and joined as a newcomer.

All for the sake of this very day—to ensure that Cage would die during the race.

And not long ago, he had killed the elderly, gray-bearded mechanic to silence him.

“As expected of a professional hitman, Horn. Clean work.”

Aldrich pulled a thick envelope from a drawer and tossed it onto the coffee table. “This is your payment. Pleasure working with you.”

The young man—Horn—picked up the envelope. Just by its feel, he could tell how large the sum inside was.

“As expected of a Nianhog family young master—very generous.”

Horn grinned. “But may I ask one last question?”

“What is it?”

“Cage should be your golden signboard. Why would you want him dead?”

“Because he’s too strong.”

Aldrich turned to look at the racetrack below the floor-to-ceiling window.

“Too strong?”

“Yes. Too strong.”

The city streetlights reflected in the glass, illuminating Aldrich’s cruel smile. “He always wins, and he refuses match-fixing offers. Last week, the racer I was using to manipulate the odds died completely. If he keeps this up, it gets hard for me to make money…”

“Huh? There’s match-fixing too?”

Horn asked in surprise. “I always thought your races were fair!”

“How could that be?”

Aldrich sneered. “If it were fair, wouldn’t it be far too boring?”

“Can you tell me who’s going to win this time?”

Horn shouted dramatically. “I placed a bet, you know!”