Braga.
Yes, the same Arturo Braga from Fast & Furious 4. The cold-blooded Mexican drug lord, ruthless and connected, who trafficked not only narcotics but heavy weaponry. RPGs, landmines, AK-47s—you name it, he had it. With his deep ties to a certain U.S. general, even tanks could be arranged for the right price. And if you had enough power and money, Braga would sell you more than tanks—missiles weren't out of the question.
Now, word was that Braga was teaming up with Dino, Leon's sworn rival. That meant Leon wasn't just up against racers anymore—he was staring down one of the deadliest cartels in the world.
Monark, the middleman, swallowed hard, eyeing the live grenade Leon toyed with in his palm. One slip of Leon's fingers and the entire café would go up in flames. "This race doesn't concern you, Leon. My advice—don't get involved."
Leon smirked, hand outstretched. "The invitation."
He wasn't joking. He had faced planes, landmines, C4—things that would break most men. But him? He wasn't afraid. If Braga showed up, Leon would kill him. In fact, he'd been waiting to test out the Diomas Nilo's graviton wave system—a feature he had yet to unleash. What better time than against a warlord with tanks?
Monark stared, dumbfounded. Who the hell was this man? Tanks didn't scare him. Missiles didn't scare him. Leon looked excited. He was a predator itching to strike. Did he even understand what Braga represented?
Braga wasn't just any gangster. He ruled Mexico's underworld. Out of 89 cartels, his organization stood at the very top. Using Mexico as his springboard, he had expanded into the U.S. market with unrivaled strength, money, and firepower. If the price was right, he could even deliver a fighter jet—fully armed. That was the kind of empire Leon was about to step into.
With Dino's cunning mixed in, the danger Leon faced had multiplied several times over. Even with his unmatched speed, who could guard against ambushes, explosives, and assassins? The East Coast wasn't just deep waters—it was a shark tank.
But Leon? He was unfazed.
"Life and death are fate. Fortune is heaven's will," Monark muttered at last, producing the coveted invitation. He shoved it across the table. "Once you enter the Leon Cup, your life is no longer my concern. You understand?"
Leon smiled, finally releasing the grenade's pin. "Plenty of people want me dead. One more doesn't matter." With that, he stood and strode from the café, leaving Monark pale and trembling. The middleman quickly snatched the grenade, re-securing the safety pin before letting out a long sigh of relief.
Leon was insane. Not just ruthless—he was pure chaos. Who pulls a grenade in the middle of Manhattan like it's nothing? Only someone willing to burn everything down with him. And only that kind of man could rise above the rest.
The moment Leon joined, the entire Leon Cup shifted. What was supposed to be Dino's private revenge match was now transforming into a West Coast vs East Coast showdown—a battle for supremacy, to decide once and for all who was the true "God of Cars."
As news spread that Leon was entering, hype exploded. The media ran nonstop coverage. Online debates raged.
On the West Coast, fans erupted in cheers.
"God Leon, crush the East Coast!"
"He conquered Death's Run, no one can match him!"
"He's the car god we chose—our fastest man alive!"
They had expected Leon to rest, study his rivals, and prepare before challenging the East Coast. Instead, within just a few days of becoming the West's champion, he was already crossing the country to fight for the ultimate crown.
Some fans immediately booked flights. "I missed his godhood run—I won't miss this one!"
Others vowed, "This time, the East will bow before the West!"
Of course, East Coast pride wouldn't let it go.
"Car god? He was driving a delivery van not long ago!"
"Yeah, a van driver is your god? Pathetic!"
"He's a nobody. Luck got him here."
"Our Tobey and Dino can crush him any day."
The insults flew across forums and comment sections. East Coast fans mocked Leon's humble beginnings—claiming a van driver could never be a legend. They boasted about Tobey Marshall's previous win over Dino, making him their strongest contender, while Dino's followers pointed to his 513 km/h top speed as proof of his comeback.
So the East was divided—two titans vying for car god status—while the West stood united under Leon. The irony was glaring.
Casinos picked up on the buzz, opening bets. Leon was the runaway favorite, odds so low they were practically insulting. But that didn't stop bettors—his legend had grown so strong that fans were pouring money into him anyway.
The rivalry boiled over. East vs West. Coast against coast. Fans slinging insults, pride on the line. Everyone knew—whoever lost this battle wouldn't just walk away humiliated. They'd be dethroned. The "God of Cars" crown wasn't shared—it was won.
One man versus twenty East Coast racers.
Leon versus the entire coast.
Could anyone really stand a chance?
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