With the identity of a professional racer, Mavuika soon began participating in so regional motorcycle races.
She was very interested in it, but not as desperate as those professional racers who craved fa; for her, it was a hobby, a form of entertainnt, and a way to release excess energy.
Therefore, she participated very casually; sotis she would disappear for weeks, and other tis she would suddenly appear at a race track, registering at the very last mont before registration closed.
She didn't join any racing teams, had no long-term sponsors, and didn't even have a professional logistics team; only Tony would occasionally appear as a "Technical Consultant" to check the vehicle's condition before and after her races.
But even so, with Mavuika's exaggerated racing skills, she soon beca sowhat famous in the racing circle.
The first race was on a small track in New Jersey.
It was a regional race, and the participants were mostly amateurs and so young racers who had just started.
Mavuika rode a standardized motorcycle model provided by the race organizers; there were no sponsor logos on the bike, and her helt was an ordinary black full-face helt, completely inconspicuous.
The preliminary race began, and she started in thirteenth place.
When the traffic light turned green and all the motorcycles shot out like arrows from a bow, Mavuika did not show any particular advantage on the initial straightaway; her reaction ti at the start was even a bit slower than so experienced racers.
But after the first corner, everything changed.
Mavuika's braking point when entering the turn was so late that it made all the spectators gasp; the angle of the motorcycle's tilt was almost touching the ground, and when exiting the turn, she opened the throttle fully, with the rear wheel leaving a faint trail of smoke on the track.
She overtook from thirteenth place to seventh place in one go; at the second corner, she overtook three more bikes, and by the end of the third corner, she was already in third place.
By the ti the race reached the fifth lap, Mavuika was already a full ten seconds ahead of second place.
That advantage did not co from vehicle performance or risky overtaking, but from a pure, overwhelming technical dominance.
Every one of her cornering lines was flawless, every acceleration and braking timing was precise to the millisecond, and even on the straightaways, she could reduce wind resistance through subtle adjustnts in body posture to gain that little bit of extra speed.
When the race ended, Mavuika crossed the finish line twenty-five seconds ahead of second place.
When she took off her helt, revealing her long golden-red hair and that stunning face, the whole race track went quiet for a mont, and then erupted into enthusiastic applause and whistles.
From then on, Mavuika's reputation spread like wildfire in the racing circle.
With such good racing skills, being able to take first place without a doubt every ti she entered, and being a great beauty, combined, it was hard not to beco famous.
Racing teams sent her invitations, sponsors wanted to sign her, and dia wanted to interview her.
But Mavuika declined them all; she had no interest in fa, no interest in comrcial endorsents, and not even much obsession with winning the race itself.
What she enjoyed was the process of the race, the feeling of pushing the vehicle's performance to the limit, and the thrill of fighting against gravity at high speeds.
"Why do you participate?" Once, a reporter cornered her after a race and shoved a microphone in front of her.
"Is it to prove that won can also reach the top level in the racing field? Or is there so deeper reason?"
Mavuika looked at the young reporter's serious face, thought for a mont, and then smiled: "Because it's fun."
This answer left the reporter stunned, and also caused heated discussions among the readers who later read this report.
So said she was arrogant, so said she was authentic, and so said she just hadn't realized the comrcial value of this sport.
But Mavuika really just thought it was fun.
Seeing Mavuika's love for motorcycles, Tony had once suggested she try cars, or even F1.
"Four-wheeled racing is also very exciting and fun," he said, pointing to an F1 race being broadcast on TV.
"The speed is faster, the technology content is higher, and... it's not as easy to crash."
Mavuika thought about it and decided to give it a try.
Tony arranged a test drive for her on a closed track, driving a modified Ford race car.
She drove five laps.
"How was it?" Tony asked, waiting in the pit area, full of anticipation.
He thought Mavuika would fall in love with the feeling of flying close to the ground, fall in love with the roar of the V8 engine, and fall in love with the fun of fighting the track with a precisely tuned chassis.
Mavuika took off her helt, thought for a few seconds, and then shook her head.
"It's not bad," she said, "but... I prefer motorcycles."
"Why?" Tony was puzzled, "This car's top speed can reach 300 km/h, the cornering G-force can reach 2.5, the braking performance..."
"It's not a question of performance," Mavuika interrupted him, walking to the race car and gently brushing her fingers over the smooth bodywork.
"It's the feeling."
She turned her head and looked at Tony: "Sitting in a car, I am wrapped up, protected; I control the vehicle through the steering wheel and pedals, and observe the outside World through the windows, but when riding a motorcycle..."
She made a gesture of spreading her arms: "I am exposed to the wind; I can directly feel the speed, feel every shift in the center of gravity, feel every contact between the tires and the ground; the wind rushes past , the World flies backward on both sides of ... that feeling, a car cannot give."
Tony was silent for a while, then nodded: "I understand."
He could understand; just like so people like to drive convertibles, so like to drive hardtop sports cars, and so like to ride motorcycles.
From then on, Tony never suggested Mavuika try car racing again.
He focused on helping her improve the motorcycle, designing more durable parts, and developing more advanced electronic assistance systems, trying to make the bike able to keep up with Mavuika's almost crazy way of riding.
As for Howard's side, the search for the Skrulls still yielded nothing.
Ti passed day by day, the calendar turned page after page, but the investigation had no progress.
The Skrull prisoner kept at ho still refused to speak, the inside of S.H.I.E.L.D. remained eerily calm, and the Tesseract data remained flawless and impeccable.
Howard had even beco sowhat used to it.
Howard couldn't help but start to suspect, perhaps the Skrulls had really already withdrawn from Earth? Or was their target not the Tesseract at all?
He didn't know the answer; he could only continue to wait, continue to observe, and continue to maintain a facade of normal life.
Mavuika was very satisfied with her current life.
She would walk in the garden, go for a ride on her motorcycle to explore new roads and discover new scenery.
She would go to the library to read, or visit a museum, or perhaps just find a quiet cafe and watch the people coming and going outside the window.
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