The Return of the Cannon Fodder Trillion Heiress - Chapter 611

Chapter 611: Chapter 611 When The Queen Steps In The Race 2
As Hera approached her car, a male racer nearby couldn’t resist making a crude remark.

With a whistle, he jeered, “Woah! I didn’t know models and celebrities were trying their hand at racing now. Hey, sweetheart, why not warm my bed instead? I can pay you plenty—no need to risk yourself in a place like this.”

He leaned casually against his car’s open door, a smirk playing on his lips as he taunted her. Despite his arrogant words, it was clear he was captivated by her.

Her hourglass figure, with a slim waist, toned curves, and striking beauty, had turned more than a few heads.

The attention of several racers lingered on her, their gazes ranging from admiration to objectification.

But Hera’s expression remained calm and unreadable, like an unyielding mask. She didn’t flinch, her steady stride betraying no hint of the irritation or amusement she might have felt.

Her focus was unwavering, her silence more cutting than any retort. Without giving the racer or his comment a second glance, she exuded an air of authority that made it clear: Hera was here for one purpose—to dominate the track.

Her usual, warm and approachable demeanor shifted in an instant, morphing into an ice-cold, regal expression that made her look every bit the queen she was. Her piercing gaze, sharp and unwavering, radiated authority. This was Phantom.

Among the crowd, there was also another female racer—a brunette from the U.S. She possessed an enviable hourglass figure and full, plump lips, reminiscent of a model’s pout.

However, unlike Hera, there was an unmistakable artifice to her appearance. Many of the racers recognized her immediately, aware of her past cosmetic procedures.

But Hera—Hera was different. This was the first time they were seeing her, and she carried herself with a natural grace and allure.

Her body was sculpted by nature, her features ethereal and flawless, as if she were a gift from the heavens themselves.

The contrast between the two women was undeniable, and it was clear that Hera’s beauty was far beyond anything manufactured—her presence alone commanded attention.

“Ha! What a showoff!” The woman sneered, her eyes narrowing as she shot Hera a taunting smirk. She was seated beside Hera’s car, her own a stunning, bright red number 19.

But Hera didn’t even acknowledge her, remaining completely unfazed as she made her way to her vehicle.

Without a glance in the woman’s direction, Hera calmly reached for her helmet and slid it on before slipping into the car.

The silence left behind by her indifference stung those who had hoped to provoke a reaction. The racers who had intentionally ignored Hera or acted indifferent to her presence now found themselves seething with humiliation.

The snub was unbearable for many, and they seethed with frustration, plotting to teach Hera a lesson for her apparent arrogance.

However, not everyone shared the same sentiment. Among the first line of racers, there was an unspoken understanding—they wouldn’t target a woman who seemed so fragile.

But beyond that, curiosity simmered in the air, particularly among those eager to finally uncover the true identity of Phantom.

The news of this mysterious racer who dominated many races had spread quickly through their circle, and the question on everyone’s mind was no longer just about her skills—it was about the real face behind the legend, the one they had only seen in shadows until now.

As the racers took their positions, the tension on the track grew palpable. The moment the lights turned green, the roar of engines echoed across the circuit.

Unlike the national race, this was a whole different level. The drivers here weren’t holding anything back; they were all gunning for the top spot.

The competition was fierce, and every maneuver was calculated with precision, as each racer pushed their car to the limit.

Even the other female racer, the one with the sultry smirk, showed no hesitation. Her acceleration was as aggressive as the men’s, and it was clear why she was a fixture in these races—she had already clinched several local championships before the international circuit, proving that she was no one to underestimate. In this arena, every racer, regardless of gender, was a formidable threat.

Just as Leo had advised, Hera didn’t hold back. The moment the green light flashed, she slammed her foot on the gas, and her car shot forward like an arrow released from a bow.

The engine roared to life as her speed surged, and with expert precision, she shifted gears, effortlessly increasing her pace.

In a matter of seconds, she overtook the racers lined up beside her, swiftly weaving through the pack. Despite starting at the back, Hera was making a steady and unstoppable climb toward the front, leaving the competition in her dust.

At first, the crowd in the stands was focused on the front of the race, where the well-known favorites were battling it out.

Only a handful of spectators were keeping an eye on the back of the pack—Hera’s devoted fans, who had come in person to cheer her on.

Their excited shouts and cheers caught the attention of those around them, drawing curious glances as they wondered what was fueling such enthusiasm.

The race up front was intense, but it was the sleek black car in the rear—like a panther hunting its prey—that had everyone’s attention. With every turn, the car effortlessly weaved through the competition, making its way toward the front, unstoppable and precise.

The black car, number 18, seemed to glide effortlessly through the pack, its smooth and calculated maneuvers almost defying the chaotic energy of the race.

With each turn and overtaking move, it appeared as though the car was simply breezing past its competition.

The precision and grace of its movements caught the eye of many, and before long, more and more spectators began to focus on this car, captivated by its seamless dominance on the track.

“Ah! That speed and maneuver… Isn’t that Phantom’s…?” The spectator couldn’t even finish his sentence before gasping in awe.

The black car, number 18, didn’t shift gears like the others; instead, it executed Phantom’s signature 180-degree turn with effortless precision.

The sheer audacity and danger of the move stunned the crowd. Behind it, a rival car, struggling to match the speed and cornering technique, misjudged the turn.

The car skidded out of control, flipping over before crashing violently into the rail. A heavy silence fell over the audience as they watched the aftermath, the tension in the air palpable.

…

[LoosersGonnaLose: Hahaha, she’s really making them crash one after another! Classic Phantom!]

[WannaDie: @LoosersGonnaLose Exactly! That car was trying to mimic Phantom’s maneuver, but they underestimated just how far apart their skill levels are. The driver was so fixated on Phantom that they completely misjudged the curve. They probably thought if Phantom could accelerate into the turn, they could too. But Phantom’s not Phantom without those out-of-this-world maneuvers. Such a daredevil move—no wonder the others can’t keep up!]

…

Many in the stands began to realize the identity of the driver behind the number 18 car. As whispers spread through the crowd, a palpable wave of excitement rippled through the audience.

Eyes remained glued to the sleek black vehicle, breaths held in anticipation as the atmosphere crackled with electrified energy.