No one — ever — had even dreamed of flying across one of the Great Lakes.
And certainly not driving across it.
Technically? It was impossible.
Mechanically? Beyond reason.
But that night, Leon did the unthinkable — a feat that defied not just racing limits, but scientific history itself.
Even the NMSL News Network brought in experts to explain the madness.
"Professor Smith," the host asked nervously, "what's your professional opinion on Leon's attempt to fly across Lake Erie? Is it… possible?"
But the expert beside him just stared blankly at the screen — mouth open, eyes wide, expression frozen in disbelief.
"Uh… Professor Smith?"
The host coughed awkwardly.
Finally, Smith blinked back to reality, muttering in shock,
"Impossible. It's… absolutely impossible!"
He waved his hands emphatically.
"To make a car control wings like an aircraft — it's like trying to climb to heaven itself!
No automotive technology in the world can achieve airplane-grade lift or stability."
And then, as experts do best… he got immediately destroyed by reality.
The live chat exploded (though he couldn't see it):
"Bro, you watching the same thing we are?"
"Impossible, huh? Then what's that flaming car doing in the sky?"
To be fair — the professor wasn't wrong.
Cars and planes are designed for completely different aerodynamic environments.
To merge them would require revolutionary engineering — maybe even a new industrial age.
But as one reporter muttered under his breath:
"Then how do you explain the twenty-meter flames shooting from his exhaust?"
The professor went speechless.
Mouth open. Eyes twitching.
No explanation.
Because Leon's Diomas Nilo was doing what modern science said it couldn't.
That was Leon for you — born to make the impossible look casual.
The host, seeing the expert flounder, wisely redirected:
"Alright then — let's switch back to the live feed!"
On screen, the Diomas's glider wings fully expanded, locking into flight mode.
The car's nose tilted upward — the angle of attack increasing.
For normal planes, too high an angle stalls the wings.
But Leon's system managed everything automatically — thrust, tilt, airflow, stability.
All he had to do was steer.
"Target locked. Maintain vector," the onboard AI chimed.
Below, Tobey stood dumbfounded at the cliff's edge, jaw practically dislocated.
"Holy— He really installed a jet engine! That's insane!"
The U.S. checkpoint soldiers below were no better.
They looked up, open-mouthed, as a car soared past the moon.
"Did I… forget to bring a Stinger missile?" muttered George, still staring skyward.
The "Stinger" — a heat-seeking anti-air missile — was meant for aircraft.
None of them ever imagined they'd need one for a car.
They watched helplessly as the Diomas Nilo ascended — metallic wings gleaming gray under the silver moonlight.
The scene was majestic.
The moon framed behind it, the roar of plasma flames trailing like comet fire.
It looked less like a car and more like a royal beast born of steel and thunder — a mechanical phoenix.
And at that moment, the world's attention snapped to one point.
Every American channel switched to the same feed.
Ratings went ballistic — 20% national viewership.
Other networks were stunned, watching their ratings nosedive while NMSL News surged sky-high.
"Holy crap, he's actually flying!"
"Is this still racing or did we enter a sci-fi movie?!"
"Does this count as cheating?"
The audience went berserk.
For decades, racers had done wild stunts — jumping ramps, drifting cliffs, even parabolic launches.
But none had ever stayed airborne.
Leon's flight shattered every racing rulebook ever written.
Across radio channels, chaos broke out.
Fans from the East Coast teams screamed that Leon was cheating — that cars weren't supposed to fly.
Calls flooded into the Monarch Racing Authority, demanding disqualification.
But Monarch, the grizzled organizer, slammed his desk and roared into the mic:
"SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!"
"This is my race — Leon Cup!
My rules say it's legal, so it's legal! You bunch of donkeys!"
That, of course, only made the debate louder — but at least he'd made his point clear.
Meanwhile, above all the noise, there was only silence.
No crowd.
No chaos.
Just Leon… and the sound of wind cutting past the cockpit.
Through his windshield, the moon hung close and bright — so close he could almost touch it.
"Nitrous system offline. Recharging. Time remaining… unknown."
He blinked — realizing how high he'd climbed.
500 meters above ground.
The car was still rising.
He looked down — nothing but darkness below.
No roads, no lights, just the endless black void of the lake.
A chill ran through him — but so did a thrill.
"Open aviation navigation," he commanded.
The HUD lit up, displaying altitude, velocity, wind pressure, and thermal currents.
"Aviation navigation engaged. Target coordinates locked."
"Route: Cross Lake Erie — enter Ohio Highway."
A golden line stretched across his windshield — a flight path from one nation to another.
Leon laughed, spinning the steering wheel to follow the projected path.
"Alright, baby — let's see how far we can go!"
Below, the racers who'd stopped at the cliff could only stare upward, dumbstruck.
Their engines idled uselessly as a glowing streak shot across the night sky.
They couldn't even process what they were seeing.
Had they missed the moment racing became history?
~~----------------------
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