Tony shrugged, returning to his easygoing and casual deanor.
"Alright, 'Father's friend'," Tony said, placing special emphasis on the word "friend," his tone laced with a hint of teasing.
"So, as a friend of my father, are you interested in trying out this custom motorcycle made for you? I bet it runs even better than it looks."
Mavuika's eyes lit up, the previous conversation and jokes imdiately forgotten.
She turned to look at the fiery red motorcycle, her amber eyes sparkling with excitent.
"Of course!" she said, her voice full of anticipation. "I can't wait."
Mavuika swung her leg over and straddled the fiery red motorcycle, her movents as fluid as if she had practiced them a thousand tis.
Her simple modern casual clothes now seed to take on the air of a battle robe; her long golden-red hair fluttered gently in the breeze, the tips dancing with tiny specks of light.
She looked down at the motorcycle beneath her with full appreciation, her amber eyes flashing with undisguised affection.
Her fingers lightly brushed over the dashboard, where the precision indicator lights and LCD screen were clearly visible in the sunlight.
The handlebar design was ergonomic, providing a solid yet sensitive feedback that felt reassuring in her grip.
"Truly wonderful..." Mavuika praised softly, her voice carrying the joy of a child who had received a beloved toy.
She gripped the handlebars to get a feel for them, her right hand gently twisting the throttle.
The engine emitted a low, rhythmic roar, like the breathing of a slowly awakening giant beast.
The bike's fra vibrated slightly, transmitting a sense of power ready to be unleashed.
Mavuika could feel every component of the vehicle working in perfect harmony—from every combustion in the engine to every bit of torque transferred through the drivetrain, from the subtle adjustnts of the suspension to the precise response of the brake calipers.
This wasn't just a ans of transportation; it was a work of art, a chanical masterpiece born for speed.
Mavuika kicked up the kickstand, the tal making a crisp "click" as it retracted.
She adjusted her sitting position, leaning her body slightly forward into a ready-to-launch posture.
In that mont, she seed like a different person—no longer the easygoing lady drinking tea and chatting in the living room, but a rider about to step onto the track, her eyes flashing with a thirst for speed and challenge.
Just as she was about to twist the throttle and set off, Tony's voice rang out again.
"Hey!" Tony leaned against the door of his red supercar, arms crossed, wearing that "I have to say one more thing" expression.
"This thing has quite a bit of power. V4, 300 horsepower, and a very aggressive torque curve. Are you sure... you're okay with this?"
There was concern in his tone, but it was mostly a test.
Tony had seen too many people look pathetic the first ti they rode a high-horsepower motorcycle—giving too much throttle and sliding the rear wheel, braking too hard and locking the front wheel, or losing control of their center of gravity and crashing during a turn...
Furthermore, this bike was personally designed by his father with an extrely aggressive performance tune; it was not ant for beginners at all.
Hearing this, Mavuika looked up, her amber eyes eting Tony's.
She didn't answer imdiately, instead shifting her gaze to the red supercar behind Tony.
It was a Lamborghini Countach, one of the top supercars of the early nineties; its scissor doors made it look like a chariot from the future.
With a V12 engine, a maximum output of 455 horsepower, and a top speed exceeding 300 kiloters per hour, this was the pinnacle of speed among ground vehicles.
Looking at that car, a spark of eagerness flashed in Mavuika's eyes.
It had been far too long since she had experienced a race of speed. In Asgard, she and Hela often chased each other through the sky, using their divine power for various competitions.
But in Midgard, on Earth, she had always carefully controlled her power to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.
Now, there was a perfect motorcycle, an open road, and an "opponent" who had proactively offered his concern...
An idea rose in her mind and quickly took root.
The corners of Mavuika's mouth curled into a half-smile as she looked at Tony, her voice carrying a clear provocation: "Underestimating ?"
Tony raised an eyebrow and said nothing, but his expression clearly said, "Shouldn't I?"
Mavuika reached out and patted the motorcycle's fuel tank, the tal surface giving off a crisp ring.
She lifted her chin and gestured toward Tony's sports car: "How about we have a race?"
The suggestion stunned Tony. He blinked, wondering if he had heard correctly.
A race? A motorcycle against a supercar?
While this motorcycle had formidable performance, it was still a two-wheeler. In terms of acceleration, top speed, or stability, it theoretically couldn't beat his Countach.
But...
Tony followed Mavuika's gaze to the sports car he had driven—those sleek lines, the low-slung body, the massive rear wing... it was a machine built for speed.
Moreover, he was quite confident in his driving skills. As the heir to Stark Industries, he had been around all sorts of chanical tools since childhood; while he wasn't at the level of a professional racer, he was far beyond a typical enthusiast.
More importantly, Tony Stark never turned down a challenge.
Especially one from a beautiful woman.
His interest was piqued, and his signature, sowhat cynical smile played on his lips: "Sure! But let's get this straight—don't go crying if you lose."
He spoke lightly, but Tony's mind was already racing through calculations.
He rembered the road from his drive here; it was mostly curves with few long straights.
The motorcycle's advantage lay in cornering agility and initial acceleration, while the supercar's advantage was in mid-to-high-end acceleration and top speed.
If he used the right strategy...
Hearing Tony's words, Mavuika let out a confident and hearty laugh.
"Haha!" She shook her head, her eyes flashing with a long-lost fighting spirit. "If you have the skill, I wouldn't mind having a taste of defeat."
She was serious when she said this. In her long life, victory had beco a habit for her.
Whether it was sparring with Hela in the training grounds of Asgard or fighting various enemies on the battlefields of the Nine Realms, Mavuika hadn't felt the tension of "possible failure" in a very long ti.
That uncertainty, that feeling of needing to give it her all... she actually missed it.
Tony was montarily dazed by Mavuika's smile.
The smile was too radiant, too infectious, as if all the afternoon sunlight had condensed onto her face.
He cleared his throat and looked away, masking his montary lapse in focus.
"Then it's a deal," Tony said, pulling open the car door and sliding into the driver's seat.
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