An F1 steering wheel was an extraordinary piece of engineering.
It had twelve buttons, six rotary switches, three knobs, two paddle shifters, a built-in display,
and twenty-five LED lights.
Altogether, this produced hundreds of millions of possible configuration combinations.
Yes—hundreds of millions.
Aside from basic steering and gear shifting, the tiny screen could show real-time telemetry:
engine RPM, gap times to other racers, sensor information such as tire temperatures, and more.
The steering wheel could also modify the car's settings:
adjust brake balance, tweak the differential (how much torque was distributed between the rear wheels),
and even change power-delivery modes.
F1 regulations forbade teams from sending data to the car via radio—
but the car was allowed to send data back to the pit wall.
Meaning engineers could see everything happening in real time,
but they could not change the vehicle remotely once the race started.
Every adjustment had to be made by the driver manually.
That was why the steering wheel looked like a scifi control panel.
Because it was overwhelmingly complex, many settings weren't even operated by the driver alone—
they needed a race engineer talking them through every step over the radio.
Otherwise, even a professional driver might not understand what half the buttons did.
Leon, of course, had never driven an F1 car before—
but the car's onboard system had.
And Momo, the AI, knew everything.
As long as a racing machine was built using the system's technology,
the system could copy Momo directly into the new vehicle
and integrate her flawlessly.
Mia listened and covered her mouth in surprise.
"This is amazing… the coolest car I've ever seen!"
"Where's Momo?" she asked, eyes bright with curiosity.
"Momo, come out," Leon called.
A tiny cartoon girl appeared on the dashboard—
a cute chibi avatar wearing an orange off-shoulder dress.
The V-neckline added a touch of femininity,
while the double-button embellishments made her upper body look stylish and lively.
Her collarbones shimmered subtly;
the lower half of the skirt fluttered with a light, airy feel.
Individual strands of her hair were visible, looking almost real.
She was only about twenty centimeters tall—
yet Mia's eyes were instantly fooled by the realism.
Incredible.
"Momo, start the engine," Leon commanded.
"Okay!"
Her voice chimed like a windbell—clear and sweeter than any voice actress.
The moment she spoke, the engine detonated to life.
The sound was like a missile exploding.
Mia jumped in fright, thinking something had blown up.
The Tyrant hadn't even started moving, and already its temper showed—
this machine had a vicious personality.
If someone angered it even slightly…
the consequences would be terrifying.
This car was ferocious.
Most modern F1 cars used semi-automatic gearboxes with no clutch pedal.
To move forward, you simply released the brake—
just like an automatic transmission.
Leon eased the brake lightly, inching the car forward.
He didn't dare release it completely.
The underground garage was too cramped;
if he let go fully, The Tyrant would blast straight ahead
and turn someone else's car into scrap metal.
And F1 brakes were not gentle.
Unlike other race categories, F1 cars used carbon brakes.
These produced monstrous braking power—
and crushing deceleration G-forces.
Drivers described the sensation as:
"Your internal organs feel like they're about to burst out of your mouth."
Very accurate.
Both the deceleration G-force and the lateral G-force from cornering were extreme.
Because Mia was in the car, Leon didn't dare push it.
He feared she might literally cough blood from the pressure.
So he drove carefully.
When they finally drove out onto the street,
they instantly drew attention.
The Tyrant's aggressive styling and futuristic lines
made it stand out like a king among toys.
Leon revved the engine, and the explosive roar
snapped every head toward them.
This car was simply too cool.
Wherever it appeared, it ruled the scene.
No other car could stand beside it.
"It's like a fighter jet!"
"It looks more expensive than any supercar—"
"I can't afford it, but I love it!"
"That engine sounds like it's about to explode!"
People flooded the sidewalks, staring in awe.
Especially anime fans—
they adored the design.
It looked like a machine that had stepped right out of an anime racing series:
a dreamlike body with a dreamlike engine.
Perfection.
Tourists and locals pulled out their phones
to capture photos of The Tyrant, ready to upload them to Twitter and Instagram.
Leon lowered his window, revealing his face.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Many recognized him immediately—
the "Speed God" who had dominated East Asia's headlines this week.
Just yesterday, haters mocked him for not showing up.
Today, here he was—
driving the most aggressive machine in the country.
A collective slap across their faces.
Cameras clicked wildly.
The car was handsome,
but the driver was even more handsome.
Once enough photos had been taken,
Leon raised the window and tapped the accelerator lightly.
The Tyrant's roar thundered across Akihabara—
so loud that nearby cars' alarms started ringing.
It was like they were terrified of The Tyrant.
Compared to this beast,
ordinary cars seemed delicate—almost feminine.
Leon accelerated.
At 200 km/h, The Tyrant didn't even need to slow down for a turn.
A small flick of the steering wheel—
and it devoured the corner effortlessly.
The tires had too much grip; drifting was impossible.
Leon simply carved through the corner directly.
Mia felt a wave of discomfort—
like her body was being torn sideways by the lateral G-force.
The turning lines were brutal and unforgiving—
pure violence conquering physics, not technique.
This wasn't a supercar drifting gracefully.
This was domination.
"Hold on. I'm going to accelerate."
"What? We weren't already accelerating?!"
Mia's face went pale, terror flooding her expression.
Never underestimate an F1 car's acceleration.
A Bugatti needed 16 seconds to reach 300 km/h.
An F1 car did it in 12 seconds.
The Tyrant—
Even faster.
Mia felt like she was about to ascend to heaven.
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