Hong Kong – Lantau Island
Nora
The Asian humidity makes my clothes stick to me like a second skin.
I shrug off my jacket, gasping.
And just to give my stomach a jolt, I'm hit by a waft of food odors mixed with exhaust fumes.
I'm escorted inside an imposing building, glass and steel, overlooking a sheltered cove overlooking a beautiful blue ocean.
It doesn't look like a hotel, but rather a building housing holding companies and small apartments.
The room is cozy, with a large bed, a private bathroom, and a fridge stocked with bottles and food.
Nothing bothers my stomach after so many hours of flying, except a long shower and a good night's sleep.
Sheng, the man with the scorpion—and who has finally decided to show up—has arranged to meet me in the lobby at 8:00 PM, recommending me to be punctual, with the tone typical of someone accustomed to giving orders.
Tonight I'll meet The Boss, finally getting to know Supreme Velocity and its protagonists.
I wrap myself in my bathrobe, lie down on the bed, lingering on the view outside the balcony.
I must have fallen asleep because a noise wakes me, making me sit up abruptly.
At first I'm a little disoriented—too many neon lights, too much white—but then I remember where I am.
Hong Kong.
And I'm here for my revenge.
I retrieve a pair of light, dark cargo pants, a cotton T-shirt, and a sporty shirt from the closet. I tie my hair in a neat ponytail and, with a touch of vanity, apply a light layer of dark eyeshadow to my upper lids to make my blue eyes appear deeper.
I'm not in a beauty pageant, but I can't afford to look like a high school student who's in the wrong location.
I wink at myself in the mirror and, checking to make sure I'm on time, I leave the room, walk to the elevator, and arrive in the lobby.
It was deserted when I arrived; now it's bustling with a variety of people, in the most diverse attire.
There are people in elegant suits, in Indian saris, in classic Asian or Arabic dresses, even those in mechanics' overalls.
I squint, and a female voice calls out to me in English.
"Miss Gaudenzi? Please, follow me."
We make our way through the busy, indifferent crowd until we reach a private elevator, a small capsule illuminated by cold lights, which takes us several floors down.
The doors open onto a huge space, a mix of an abandoned hangar and an airport waiting room.
At the back of the room, there's a raised table around which a rather busy crowd gathers.
Small groups of people scattered here and there, chatting with drinks in hand.
I betray my curiosity, glancing around to see who they are.
And the truth chills me.
These aren't unknown drivers chasing the dream of a seat in a low-level championship, but so-called 'big shots' from various world championships.
Gena Irish, the viper, for example. I don't know if she earned her nickname because she's exterminated opponents on the track or in hotel bedrooms. Fast, cold, lethal.
She gives me a sidelong glance, stops her glass in mid-air, and then smiles.
Slowly.
As if she wanted to devour me.
I'm afraid she recognized me and was pleased by the idea of having me under her belt.
A little further ahead, the figure of Kaito Tanaka stands out.
Dark, formal suit with tie.
Lean, tall, cool.
And incredibly fast.
They call him 'Thunder.'
You don't even have time to see him sticking to your exhausts in your mirrors before he's already pulled up alongside you on the curve and passed you on the exit.
With elegance.
With mastery.
We've never crossed paths on the track, but I've seen him at a few NASCAR and Le Mans races.
A poker face.
He looks me over as if he's considering whether I'm worth his greeting, then raises his glass and bows slightly.
Not out of politeness, but out of pure cultural habit.
I return the greeting with the same cold courtesy and continue straight on, to my assigned seat.
And that's where I see him.
Stephan.
When he realizes my presence, his face suddenly blanches.
He scrutinizes me as if I were a ghost, his mouth moving silently.
He says my name.
With horror.
And my smile comes spontaneously.
He has no time to do anything else, because a light tap on a microphone and he appears.
The Boss.
It's impossible for it to be anyone else.
He exudes natural authority.
And glacial.
Blond, almost albino, with ice-blue eyes. Tall and massive, he wears an elegant dark suit, without a tie, with the top button undone.
One hand in his pocket, the other holding the microphone.
Adorned with gold rings.
He glances around the room and then smiles slightly.
At first glance, I can't tell if he resembles a TV series mobster or a Russian hologram.
But he certainly doesn't go unnoticed.
His warm, deep voice enchants us all.
"Welcome to the only place on Earth where physics matters more than politics. Here you don't race for sponsors, nor for championship points. Race for who you truly are when the pedal hits the bottom and your heart stops beating because there's not enough oxygen. Supreme Velocity is not a sport. It's natural selection."
He smiles persuasively.
"I'm Jimin Zandar, the one who will make all your forbidden dreams come true."
He uses pauses masterfully.
He steps off the stage and walks among the guests, no longer using the microphone.
And the effect is the same.
"What am I offering you? Pure power. Prototype cars with no weight or fuel flow restrictions. Racetracks protected and safe, but alive for those who race in extreme conditions. Rules? Few, but strict. You race. You win. You survive or you die."
A thought crosses my mind: Exceeding 400 km/h on street circuits? Madness.
He arrives in front of me, scrutinizing me for a few moments.
"The prize? Not the usual money. Sure, there will be, for the more venal among you, but each of you will race to obtain what you most desire: Truth. Answers. Redemption."
I feel a shiver run through me, from my feet to the last hair.
Can he really guarantee me this?
Instinctively, I glance sideways at Stephan.
He seems transfixed, motionless.
What will his wish be?
"Which of these do you choose, Nora?"
I sink my eyes into his and feel my heart pumping faster.
"Revenge," I reply without hesitation.
He smiles at me, with those great white shark teeth, before striking the blow.
"Sign the contract and you will have it."
He gives me a light caress on the cheek, and strangely, I don't pull away.
I'm enchanted by this man, but even more by what he will give me.
I've finally found a purpose.