Danilo knows that Nora Scott is very popular, often seeing her face trending on social dia, which makes her familiar, so he imdiately recognizes Nora.
However, he doesn’t know the detailed topics about Nora for the past six months, or that her "half-brother and step-brother" are in the sa school and class.
It’s just because there is a boy with the sa surna as Nora in the Marcus Shaw and Oliver Scott duo, that he guessed it was them.
"Are they the two boys from Golden Lightning?"
"Hmm."
"I see. They are very impressive."
Danilo smiled awkwardly.
However, in the next mont, Nora squinted and took the business card.
She didn’t look at it much, just put it away, seemingly helping him out of his awkwardness of holding the card.
— In reality, it was simply because Danilo praised Marcus Shaw and Oliver Scott, so Nora found him pleasant to look at.
"In any case, I hope we have the opportunity to collaborate in the future." Danilo said sincerely.
"You’re too kind."
Nora chuckled lightly.
Nodding to Nora, Danilo felt regretful but did not push, and left on his own accord.
Seeing him being so sensible, originally intending to throw away the business card, Nora thought about it and decided to keep it.
This circle...
Is neither very big nor very small.
It’s not to the extent of "et wherever you go", but there’s always a chance for collaboration. Keeping a business card isn’t a bad thing.
...
The match begins.
The audience seats are now sparsely filled.
Two chas, each controlled by Marshall Ferreira and Marcus Shaw with remote controls, standing at their designated positions.
At the mont the referee counted down, the two glanced at each other in the air, as if sparks ignited between them, with a thick sll of gunpowder.
Glancing at the severely damaged Golden Lightning, Marshall Ferreira curled his lips, full of confidence and contempt and disregard for the opposing young man.
"Start!"
As the referee uttered the last word, both young n began controlling the chas for battle.
Marshall Ferreira’s smug smile lasted for three seconds before his relaxed face slowly twisted into a scowl, eventually becoming so dark it seed like it could drip water.
Fifteen seconds.
The cha controlled by Marshall Ferreira started smoking, announced its resignation on the spot, and no matter how much Marshall Ferreira pressed the remote, the cha on the field was immovable.
In just two or three rounds, the Golden Lightning, which should have been completely crushed, used a speed that was as fast as lightning to firmly suppress Marshall Ferreira’s cha, destroyed one-third of its body in the first round, and later fought back stubbornly but didn’t even graze the Golden Lightning.
"..."
The whole venue was stunned.
Team mbers, spectators, judges, referees... everyone was dumbfounded for a second.
Even before the third round of the competition, they had been observing the damage condition of the two chas, watching the performance of the team mbers from both sides.
Marcus Shaw and Oliver Scott had gloomy expressions all afternoon, the atmosphere around them was terrifyingly low, even reporters trying to interview them kept getting frustrated. By contrast, Marshall Ferreira’s team was much more relaxed, several even proclaid assuredly that they could get first place. Naturally, the spectators’ hearts leaned toward Marshall Ferreira’s team.
Who would have thought—
The seemingly badly damaged Golden Lightning ended the match in just fifteen seconds and completely rendered Marshall Ferreira’s cha obsolete!
"Holy crap, aweso!"
"Golden Lightning won?"
"It only took fifteen seconds? These two machines definitely aren’t on the sa level! Who said they were close in competition?!"
...
The few spectators in the audience, though few, each expressed their opinions, causing an uproar.
The few girls from First Affiliated High School who stayed behind had long lost hope, just waiting here for Marcus Shaw and Oliver Scott. Seeing the unexpected turnaround, after being stunned for a few seconds, couldn’t help jumping up, excitedly shouting "yeah yeah yeah" and "ah ah ah", cheering for Marcus Shaw and Oliver Scott.
Harlen Johnson’s group: "..."
"Lost, lost?" Harlen Johnson looked bewildered, dazed.
"WTF."
"Their gloomy faces were just for show? That’s so damn cunning."
"Fooled us."
"Motherf***er, only fifteen seconds!"
...
Teammates were indignant.
The team’s coach looked extrely displeased.
Marshall Ferreira took a deep breath, and tightly gripped the remote, shooting a cold glance towards Marcus Shaw on the opposite side.
By coincidence, Marcus Shaw was looking over here, their eyes straight and sharp, piercing through with an edge as cold and arrogant as it stabbed, making Marshall Ferreira shiver slightly.
Tossing the remote to one hand, Marcus Shaw stared at him indifferently, and suddenly, the corners of his lips lifted into a slight mocking curve with extre casualness. He stretched his arm forward, raised a thumb, and then slowly turned it 180 degrees downward, full of provocation.
Arrogant!
A blatant, undisguised act, yet a naked show of defiance and provocation.
He opened his mouth, silently mouthing the words—
Gar, bage.
Fuck!
Marshall Ferreira forced down his emotions, barely resisting the urge to throw the remote.
After doing all this, Marcus Shaw turned around, eting the embrace of the not-so-nice to-be-kicked patient, Oliver Scott. At the sa ti, he shed the day’s indifference and gloom, and the foul expression improved significantly.
*
Marshall Ferreira’s team took second place and successfully advanced, which should have been a cause for celebration. However, the previous pride and the contrast of being instantly defeated led to the whole team’s gloomy mood as they left the hall, feeling none of the joy of advancing.
Led by the coach, the two teams from Affiliated Middle School pushed their chas out through door number three.
But as soon as they reached the entrance—
They all stopped at the sa ti.
Six students from First Affiliated High School, wearing the sa school uniform, stood in a row outside the door. They were all assertively confident teenagers, so with their arms crossed, so with an arm around a shoulder. The sunset’s afterglow fell behind them, casting long shadows in front.
Soone whistled.
Then, several teenagers, their faces lit with bright smiles, sohow glowed dazzlingly in the sunlight, appearing blindingly brilliant.
"Forever number two, huh."
"Where’s the swagger of saying you’d take first place?"
"Got a slap in the face, and still the Affiliated Middle School folks chicken out, resigned to losing before the result is even in."
"That’s what it is. It’s not that we’re too skillful, but that our opponents are too trashy."
...
The teenagers chatted noisily, one after another, with each comnt harsher than the last.
They didn’t know the grudge between Marshall Ferreira and Oliver Scott, but they certainly weren’t fools. They’d long noticed how Affiliated Middle and First Affiliated High had tead up, abandoning another team, all to damage Golden Lightning in the match, so Marshall Ferreira’s team could successfully take first place.
Such things, without evidence, were hard to state.
But—
No one said they couldn’t show off in front of them after winning first place!
Even Glenn Flynn silently allowed it.
The people from Affiliated Middle School, after being unabashedly mocked, imdiately boiled over with anger, their expressions turning increasingly ugly.
"You want a fight?"
Harlen Johnson, face flushed, rolled up his sleeves, ready to brawl.
The coach shot him a sharp look.
Harlen Johnson halted imdiately.
The coach stepped forward, looking stern and speaking coldly, "Don’t be arrogant in victory or discouraged in defeat. Affiliated Middle School, you only took first in a local competition. Up next is the national championship. I hope you don’t get arrogant or impatient so that you’ll perform well then."
Standing in the middle, Oliver Scott, who had yet to speak, suddenly smiled brightly.
"Teacher, we’re just here to say hello."
As he spoke, he seed sunny and harmless, the orange-red sunlight gilding his hair, complenting the perfectly poised smile. It carried no malice, on the contrary, drawing a sense of affinity effortlessly.
Just the next mont—
Despite his smile that deceived neither young nor old, his words carried concealed barbs and provocation, "Don’t get eliminated too early in the national championship. Hope we can see you there."
!!!
Is this the legendary good-tempered Oliver Scott?!
Screw that!
Tongue sharp and arrogant!
Must be a rumor spread by those infatuated girls who only care about looks, right?
The students from Affiliated Middle School panted in anger, the coach’s expression utterly crushed. Marshall Ferreira stood gloomy, fists tightly clenched, veins popping on the back of his hands.
"Let’s go."
Oliver Scott spoke, turning away.
The five others followed and left.
"Fuck, that’s infuriating."
"Fucking hell, if anyone tells Oliver Scott has a good temper again, I’ll lose my shit!"
"And ’hope you don’t get eliminated too early’—who’d get eliminated earlier than them!"
"Damn it, too arrogant!"
...
Amidst a pile of angry curses, soone suddenly clapped a hand on Marshall Ferreira’s shoulder and said, "Captain, do well at the finals and crush these arrogant Affiliated High School bastards! It’s up to you for our Affiliated Middle School’s collective honor!"
Marshall Ferreira’s expression slightly froze.
First place.
And the finals.
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