3 minutes 59 seconds!
The drivers stared blankly at the screen.
Their minds buzzed loudly, as if about to explode.
Everyone felt heavy, anxious, and overwhelmed.
What they feared most… had happened.
The further ahead the drivers were in the lineup, the more pressure they felt—because the earlier you ran, the harder it was to maintain absolute focus and stability.
Yet Leon had delivered the strongest lap so far.
And the ones running after him?
They struggled to keep up.
Worse yet, this was a time that was almost impossible to surpass.
Running a sub-four-minute lap without using a booster required outrageous luck paired with impeccable skill.
But someone who could run with such ease—
Someone like Leon—
There wasn't a single person at the venue who could match him.
"Th-this speed… it's insane!!"
"He's running like a literal hurricane!"
"He hit 500 km/h without even using the booster!?"
"How are the other racers supposed to survive after this!?"
Everyone stared at the 3:59 time with a sour, bitter feeling in their hearts.
"490"—Leon's codename—wasn't even a local driver.
He was from the United States.
Their own national event… and someone from another country had just smashed the course record.
It was humiliating—a slap across the face.
Faces instantly felt hot with embarrassment.
Back in the pit lane, the mechanical arms demonstrated astonishing efficiency.
After yesterday's calibration, the system had improved even further.
Tire changes now took 1.2 seconds.
Don't underestimate that mere 0.1-second improvement.
Even a 0.01-second gain was enough to set a new world standard.
Leon had become a professional record-breaker.
Now only one thing remained—
the top-speed record on the course.
Because he still hadn't used the booster, he hadn't hit apex velocity.
So naturally, the all-time speed record remained untouched.
Mia genuinely felt happy for Leon.
Dominic's decision to bring him here had been absolutely correct.
Only he could deliver such results.
Anyone else? Impossible.
Her earlier worry had been unnecessary.
"How do you feel?" Mia handed him a bottle of water.
"Not bad. If I run another lap, I could go a little faster," Leon replied, still somewhat dissatisfied.
If anyone overheard this, they'd probably cough blood.
He had already broken the record.
Sub-four-minutes—almost no one could ever dream of touching that.
And he—
He wasn't satisfied??
Claiming he could go even faster??
How monstrous could one person get!?
Mia let out a long breath of relief.
"So… our chances of taking the championship look pretty good this time."
"Of course. Why else would I come here if not to win?"
Leon answered proudly.
He came here for the championship, not to be a decorative filler to make others look pretty.
A sub-four-minute lap was "not bad" to him because the track had been completely clear—
no traffic, no interference, even more open than a free practice session.
So managing a 3:59 lap was, to Leon, nothing surprising.
After all, he was used to speeds of 800–900 km/h.
Five hundred kilometers per hour felt slow to him.
The speed that the Japanese people took great pride in—
to Leon, it was just "normal."
Nothing special at all.
This was the difference between them.
Meanwhile, the organizers weren't idle.
They recorded the new time, saved the footage, and sent it to the media team.
This was a record-breaking moment—the video would explode in popularity once released.
Of course they had to preserve it.
After a short lull, the qualifiers continued.
Those who went before Leon were all technical nobodies in comparison.
Yes, they could dominate normal circuits outside—
but in the Cyber Formula world, their times simply couldn't compare.
Eventually, the qualifying round ended.
Every single Japanese spectator felt heavy.
The results were painful to swallow.
As expected, Leon remained in first place.
Second place was Shinjou Naoki, at 4:09.
A full ten seconds behind Leon.
Ten seconds was enough to pass multiple opponents.
With boosters pushing cars over 1,000 km/h, the gap was astronomical.
Let alone compared to Leon's time—
even compared to Shinjou, Leonhardt's time was over thirty seconds slower.
More than half a minute behind.
How could anyone possibly catch up?
As expected of Shinjou Naoki—
the king of swagger had the skill to back it up.
If Kazami Hayato hadn't pushed beyond his limits and fought tooth and nail,
he wouldn't even be a match for Shinjou.
Third place wasn't Hayato, but Bleed Kaga,
the first man who ever entered "Zero Territory,"
one of Hayato's most formidable rivals.
Even running casually, he clocked 4:12.
His strength was undeniable.
Next was Kazami Hayato, at 4:13—
just a hair behind Kaga.
Perhaps because he didn't have anyone to chase,
his competitive flame didn't ignite fully.
Thus he placed fourth.
Fifth place was Randoll, running a respectable 4:14.
As for Franz and the others—
their results weren't worth mentioning.
In this round, Leon took first place again,
setting a nearly unreachable super-record.
It was a feat that might not be broken for the next decade.
The entire nation of Japan trembled.
The moment Stage One of the qualifiers ended, the times and videos spread online.
Viewers saw the Tyrant—Summer Solstice model blaze across the track like a storm,
and collectively gasped.
The speed was unreal—
so fast that the cameras almost couldn't keep up.
Some sharp-eyed viewers noticed something even more shocking:
When the car flashed past,
the wind arrived one or two seconds later.
The Tyrant's speed…
even the wind couldn't keep up with it.
Then came the 500 km/h highlight reel,
and the comment section exploded.
"Holy crap, 500 km/h!!"
"This is normal speed for F1?? Toyota must be trembling."
"No wonder the medical cars and engineering cars are all Mercedes—ordinary cars would be too slow!"
"What happened to our racers!? How can a foreigner break the record on Japanese soil!? Commit seppuku!!"
Japanese keyboard warriors lost their minds.
Being crushed at home by an outsider—
it was humiliation.
Like being slapped in front of the entire world.
And slapped hard.
So hard that countless people started yelling at racers to commit ritual suicide.
Easy to say when you're not the one racing.
As Leon's record went viral,
all the "experts" who previously doubted him
fell silent.
Leon had shattered their theories with hard evidence,
turning them into a laughingstock in Japan—
and worldwide.
This slap stung.
Now that Leon had demonstrated championship potential,
what else could they say?
Meanwhile, the stock market—
previously plunging—
stabilized.
Then it began rising.
Leon's record gave investors confidence,
and the stocks followed suit.
But when people tried to buy in,
they found that almost no free shares were left.
Everything had already been scooped up.
Even when a few shares were released,
they were instantly bought out—
gone in under a minute.
The stock was about to blow up.
~~----------------------
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