Ultimate Choice System: I Became The Richest!

41  Demon on the Track

Noah's phone buzzed with a notification just as he was getting ready for the race. He glanced at the screen, and a number caught his attention—$72,000, accredited to an account ending in xx04.

For a moment, he furrowed his brow in confusion. Then it hit him: An's Gourmet. That was the weekly profit from the Michelin-star restaurant he owned.

Noah chuckled to himself. "Well, I guess that's lunch sorted for the next year." He pocketed his phone, shifting his focus back to the race ahead.

About 20 to 25 minutes later, everything was finally set for the race. Jackson approached Noah with a wide grin. "Alright, Noah, it's time. Head over to the starting line with your Lykan."

Noah nodded, sliding into the driver's seat. The sleek leather hugged him as he gripped the wheel, his heart already starting to race.

The Lykan purred as he started the engine, the growl of its V6 twin-turbo engine sending shivers through him.

Pulling up to the starting line, Noah noticed the other cars—a Lamborghini Aventador, a Pagani Huayra, a Ferrari LaFerrari, and Max's McLaren P1. These weren't just regular sports cars; these were machines designed for one purpose—speed.

Five cars, five racers, and all of them knew what they were doing. But Noah wasn't intimidated. He could feel the Lykan beneath him, its power ready to be unleashed.

"Unless Lewis Ham is here, no one would be able to give me a challenge" muttered Noah, as he readied himself.

The crowd gathered around the track, and Noah caught the excited murmurs and whispers as people eyed his Lykan. Only seven were in existence, and here it was, ready to leave them all in the dust.

Max pulled up beside him, a wide grin on his face. He looked over at Noah and gave him a thumbs-up. "Let's see if you really are like in the videos," Max called over. His voice was full of enthusiasm, but there was a competitive edge to it as well.

Noah smirked. "You'll see."

The signaler stood in front of the five cars, raising his arm in the air, a red flag waving in the wind. The engines roared to life, each racer revving, waiting for that moment of release. The air was thick with anticipation. This wasn't just about the prize money—this was about pride.

The red flag dropped.

"VRRROOOOOM!"

The Lykan shot forward like a rocket. Its acceleration threw him back into his seat as the tires screeched against the tarmac.

The first turn was fast approaching, a sharp right, and already Noah felt the Lykan respond like a second skin. He didn't slow—he didn't need to.

He braked just enough, twisted the wheel, and sent the Lykan into a perfect drift. The tires screeched again, a high-pitched cry of power as he held the car at the perfect angle through the curve.

From the back, Max watched in awe. "What the…" he muttered, his eyes wide as he struggled to match Noah's speed.

He'd seen the videos, but seeing it live was a different story. Noah wasn't just fast—he was precise. "He's not even slowing down…" Max grinned, feeling the rush of adrenaline. "This guy is something else."

Inside his McLaren, Max tried to mimic Noah's drift, but it wasn't as clean. The tires lost a little too much grip, and he had to correct his line. Behind him, the Lamborghini driver was swearing under his breath, gripping the wheel tightly as he tried to figure out just how Noah managed to take that corner at full speed.

"Who the hell is this guy?!" the driver spat, gritting his teeth as his Lambo struggled to keep pace.

Noah, on the other hand, barely noticed. The road was his only focus now. The engine's roar filled his ears, blocking out all distractions. He felt every movement of the car, every slight shift in traction, and adjusted his driving instinctively. It was like the Lykan was part of him.

Another curve appeared—a brutal S-turn that would force most drivers to ease up. But not Noah.

He grinned, his fingers tightening on the wheel as he shot toward it without hesitation. He hit the brakes at the last second, throwing the car into a flawless double drift. The Lykan swung effortlessly through the S-curve, its tyres screaming but never losing control.

From the stands, Jackson stood with his mouth hanging open. "He's insane!" he shouted, shaking his head in disbelief.

Noah exited the curve and gunned it down the straight, the speedometer climbing rapidly. 160… 170… 180 miles per hour. The wind roared past him, and the world became a blur. He could barely hear the other cars now; they were falling behind.

Behind him, Max pushed his McLaren harder, eyes locked on the Lykan ahead. "He's even better than the videos… He doesn't slow down—he speeds up!" Max's heart pounded in his chest as he floored it, but Noah was pulling away. Max wasn't just chasing a car—he was chasing a ghost, something untouchable.

"He's a demon on the track," one of the other drivers said, his voice tinged with disbelief as he struggled to keep up.

Noah hit another corner and drifted again, perfectly balanced between control and chaos. The other racers, all professionals in their own right, watched with wide eyes as the Lykan moved like a machine born for this. The way Noah handled the car wasn't just impressive—it was unreal.

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"He's making us look like amateurs," the driver of the Pagani muttered under his breath, frustration evident in his voice.

As Noah neared the final stretch, the track opened up into a long straightaway, the finish line in sight. He glanced at the dashboard—190… 200 miles per hour. He could feel the car wanting more, begging to go faster, but this was enough.

He crossed the finish line, the checkered flag waving in his rearview. The roar of the Lykan softened as he decelerated, bringing the car to a smooth stop. The world came back into focus, the noise of the crowd growing louder as cheers erupted around him.

Noah unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car, feeling the cool night air against his face. His heart was still racing, but his expression was calm—almost serene. He had done what he came to do.

Max pulled up beside him, wide-eyed and panting from the rush. "Dude, that was insane! You really are just like in the videos. No, scratch that—you're better," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Noah chuckled, leaning against the Lykan. "It's just a good day," he said with a casual shrug, though he couldn't hide the small smirk tugging at his lips.

The other racers pulled up one by one, all of them looking either shocked or impressed. The driver of the Lamborghini shook his head as he approached Noah, still trying to wrap his head around what he had just witnessed. "Man, you're world-class. I don't know where you learned to drive like that, but it's something else," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and admiration.

Noah smiled, glancing back at the Lykan. This was what racing was about—the speed, the challenge, the thrill of pushing the limits and coming out on top. There was no other feeling like it.

Max cleared his throat and said, "The $100,000 reward… I'll have it sent to you by tomorrow morning. Just need your bank details."

Noah nodded, unfazed. "Sure," he replied, pulling out his phone.

As Noah was about to give Max his bank information, a man in a sharp suit, who seemed to materialize out of nowhere, stepped forward.