Miss Witch Doesn’t Want to Become a Songstress

That night, Mill and Linda followed their companions out of the bar, joining the crowd heading to Pilgrimage Avenue to watch a race between two factions.

Leaning against the guardrail on a high bridge, Mill swept her hair behind her ear, letting the cool breeze brush against her neck, bringing a refreshing sensation. While idly browsing her personal terminal, she glanced at the gathering crowd on the bridge.

After half an hour of tedious waiting, the distant rumble of engines grew louder, prompting many to look up.

Seventeen sleek, silver hovercars zipped overhead, leaving trails of pale blue exhaust flames. Their smooth bodies shimmered with silver filigree that glowed with motion, creating an impressive spectacle.

“Oh, they’re all from the ‘Cold Moon’ series. These people must be well-off,” someone remarked. The Cold Moon series, produced by Cold Moon Union, is a line of high-speed hovercars manufactured by a coalition of major corporations from the Sharpnose Shark Star Region. Though not top-tier, it holds a certain prestige across the Federation.

In the Federation’s array of hovercar brands, the Cold Moon series represents the entry level of luxury. While not the pinnacle, it’s still remarkable to see over a dozen of these vehicles assembled in a place like Four-Leaf Crystal. This indicated their owners came from substantial wealth.

Soon after, another group of cars arrived on the scene.

These vehicles, sporting red metallic shells reflecting neon lights, were adorned with orange-red patterns glowing along their sides. Jets of pale red exhaust quietly flared as twelve luxurious hovercars descended.

“This model is familiar—it’s the ‘Gem Dragon-u3,’ a new model by Hot Lizard Motors, under the Verdant Veil banner,” someone commented.

Hot Lizard Motors produces not only engines but also a variety of hovercars. Though it doesn’t stand at the top within the Federation, it’s considered a respectable brand, just barely stepping into the luxury category.

However, within the Four-Leaf Crystal Star Region, Hot Lizard Motors is renowned, its fiery dragon emblem envied by many.

As the two factions escalated their shouting matches and arguments, their conflict didn’t ease but instead intensified.

“Looks like tonight’s going to get messy,” Mill’s companion said, watching the two sides exchange harsh words and vows, with curses and cheers rising from the crowd.

Though the commotion didn’t concern them, many of their companions were intrigued, unlikely to leave without witnessing the whole event.

After signing a waiver of liability in front of the crowd, representatives from each faction boarded their respective hovercars. They disabled the vehicles’ automated driving features and began adjusting their settings.

Finally, under the direction of a hastily summoned underground referee, the two hovercars accelerated suddenly, darting forward in parallel streaks of light through the high-rises and night markets.

Cameras in the sky followed from a distance. Many onlookers used their personal terminals to watch the race projected in the air. The two hovercars streaked faster and faster, their exhaust flames growing more intense.

“The first checkpoint is the Five-Star Tower. After circling it, the second is the Signal Spire. The third checkpoint is Lion Bridge in the south. They’ll pass under the bridge, make a U-turn, and the winner is the first to cross the massive screen wall in Meteor Plaza,” a companion explained, pointing at the projection.

“Who do you think will win, Mill?” Linda asked.

“I don’t know. Who cares?” Mill replied, leaning against the railing.

“I don’t get why guys are so obsessed with racing,” she muttered, yawning, her mind already drifting toward sleep. It was midnight, after all.

Though Mill showed little interest, the crowd around her was engrossed, cheering and cursing at the projection as the hovercars weaved in and out of each other’s paths. Many had even placed bets on the outcome.

If the race had ended smoothly, the ensuing complications might have been avoided. But as expected, accidents don’t wait for an invitation.

The intense speed and abrupt maneuvers tested both the drivers and the vehicles.

Inside the blisteringly hot, orange-red car, the driver wrestled with the controls, his body frequently pressed against one side by the G-forces. His organs churned as his eyes reddened. Initially, his superior physique as an enhanced human helped him endure, keeping the vehicle’s speed under control.

But with each sharp turn, his blood pumped harder, and the taunting voice in his earpiece stoked his temper. Under the influence of alcohol and adrenaline, his rationality frayed.

The hovercar’s speed soared. The scenery blurred into streaks of light. He relied on instinct to dodge obstacles and adjust his trajectory.

“Both cars are heading for the third checkpoint, Lion Bridge! Whoever passes under the bridge and returns to Meteor Plaza first will be the winner!” An excited commentator shouted, his voice ringing out amid the cheers of the crowd.

The projection showed the orange-red vehicle diving toward the bridge spanning the river, skimming just above the water’s surface and leaving a spray of mist. The silver car followed closely, their gap still razor-thin.

Perhaps the sharp descent and subsequent 180-degree U-turn beneath the bridge caused excessive G-forces. When the driver was slammed back into his seat, his vision went black. Blinded and panicked, he clenched the controls, causing the hovercar to veer wildly.

Traveling at a breakneck speed of 800 kilometers per hour, the car slammed into the bridge’s support structure, erupting into a shower of sparks and debris.

A flash of light flared on the screen before going dark. Shattered fragments rained down into the river below.

The silver car passed cleanly beneath the bridge, turned back, and ascended over the structure. Only after hearing his team’s frantic alerts did the driver slow down and realize his opponent was gone.

The once-boisterous crowd fell into an uneasy silence. Whispers began spreading.

“Do you think he’s dead?”

“Judging by the explosion, it doesn’t look good.”

“Wow, we got to see some fireworks tonight,” someone in the crowd quipped, their words jarring against the grim atmosphere.

Not long after, rescue hovercrafts and the police arrived. The debris in the river was gradually cleared, each piece confirmed and ruled out by scanning units. Eventually, a mangled body was retrieved, placed into an ambulance, and driven away.

“Well, how about now? Ready to give up?” Down below, two groups were still arguing. A young man with green and gold hair leaned against a sleek, silver hovercar, exhaling smoke rings. His tone was taunting and provocative.

“Just bow your head, apologize to my brother, and call him ‘big bro.’ Then we’ll let this slide for tonight.” He twirled a handful of luxury hovercar keys in his hand.

“You don’t really think someone dying tonight means this is over, do you?” He lowered his face to glare at the other group, who were angrily smashing objects in frustration.

“Ginnaco, you son of a—” A red-haired young man pointed at the smug figure reclining on the car, cursing incessantly. However, among his group, there were mixed reactions: some worried whether their injured companion in the ambulance would survive, some felt humiliated, and a few girls were crying, clearly shaken by the night’s events. Chaos reigned.

Despite the cursing, both sides had sworn in front of everyone present, and for these rich brats, reputation mattered more than a few lives. In the end, the red-haired youth’s group begrudgingly admitted defeat. Under the raucous laughter of Ginnaco and his group, the conflict finally came to an end.

The night sky bore witness as the convoy of silver hovercars sped off arrogantly, leaving behind a group seething with rage.

“What are you looking at? Get lost!” The red-haired youth scanned the onlookers with a menacing glare, causing many to back away.

“Who the hell made that sarcastic comment earlier?!” He suddenly remembered something, his face contorted in anger.

“Who was it that said it was like watching fireworks, huh?!” Already upset from losing, he couldn’t tolerate someone mocking his brother. It wasn’t just a blow to his pride—it ignited his fury.

The crowd exchanged uneasy glances until whispers and finger-pointing identified the source of the mocking voice. It came from the high bridge overlooking the square, near a girl named Mill and her classmates.

Having found a target to vent his frustration, the red-haired youth stormed up the bridge, his companions blocking both sides to prevent anyone from escaping.

Faced with the line of hovercar headlights now glaring at them, Mill and her friend Linda grew increasingly panicked. The night’s events had far exceeded anything they were equipped to handle.

The night breeze was still gentle, but Mill no longer felt drowsy. Cold sweat trickled down the backs of the students in her group.

After tense rounds of denial and finger-pointing, the culprit—a boy named Ali—was quickly singled out.

“Ali, maybe you should apologize to him,” suggested Lu Ji, the informal leader of their group, trying to mediate.

“Why should I?”

Ali, a curly-haired boy with bronze-golden locks, was defiant. Spoiled since childhood and coming from a wealthy family, he wasn’t used to bowing to anyone, especially not publicly. His arrogance flared, and he stood his ground, believing his casual remark couldn’t warrant serious consequences.

Lu Ji was caught in a bind, already regretting organizing the outing to the bar that night.

“Heh.” The red-haired youth shoved Lu Ji aside and approached Ali.

Slap! The sound of the slap echoed through the neon-lit night.

Clutching his stinging face, Ali stared in disbelief.

“You dare hit me!?”

He lunged at his attacker but was met with a kick to the knee, forcing him to the ground. The rough surface scraped his palms painfully as he tried to steady himself.

Grabbing Ali by the hair, the red-haired youth sneered and slapped him again. Before Ali could curse or spit, another slap landed.

Slap! Slap! Slap! The repeated blows shattered the silence. Ali struggled fiercely, but the youth’s companions held his shoulders and arms tightly, rendering him immobile.

Under the relentless slaps, Ali’s tears, blood, and mucus mixed into a pitiful mess. His earlier defiance was gone, replaced by muffled pleas for mercy.

“Let him go! We’re students from Edess Academy!” Lu Ji, blocked outside the fray, tried to intervene, hoping the school’s name would intimidate them. After all, Edess Academy represented a considerable power.

But for the red-haired youth, whose pride was already wounded, this only fueled his anger. He had no intention of backing down now—it would only make him appear weak in front of his companions and the crowd.

As his anger reignited, the beating escalated. He kicked Ali to the ground and stomped on him, leaving the girls watching in tears.

Realizing the situation couldn’t be resolved peacefully, Lu Ji stepped back and exchanged a glance with Somoya, another classmate from a wealthy family.

A message was sent out. Around 20 minutes later, a fleet of sleek red hovercars descended, their luxurious and striking appearance capturing everyone’s attention.

Jinzerk, wearing sunglasses, emerged from the lead car, surrounded by an entourage, and made his way to the bridge.

Seeing the imposing group, the red-haired youth’s gang hesitated. Their wariness grew when someone in the crowd recognized Jinzerk and whispered his name.

“Look, it’s Jinzerk, the heir of Hot Lizard Motors!”

The mention of his name drew flashes from onlookers taking photos. Used to such scenes, Jinzerk waved casually. His companions immediately set up a translucent brownish barrier with handheld devices, obscuring the situation from prying eyes.

Once the barrier was in place, Jinzerk strolled over in his slippers, glancing at the curled-up figure on the ground and then at the red-haired youth.

“Kus, my dear brother, out for a stroll tonight?” he asked, tossing a cigarette to the youth without even looking at Ali.

“Uh, yes, Mr. Jinzerk,” Kus replied, catching the cigarette with both hands. Despite being two years older than Jinzerk, he addressed him as an elder without hesitation. No one found it strange—Jinzerk was, after all, the heir to Hot Lizard Motors, a name that carried significant weight in the entire southern district.

As Kus lit the cigarette with the help of a companion, the two leaned against the bridge railing, chatting idly.

“I heard you were racing tonight in cars made by my family’s company and lost,” Jinzerk remarked casually after a few minutes, lowering his sunglasses to look at Kus out of the corner of his eye.

The simple statement sent a wave of tension through Kus. He hesitated, unsure how to respond. While it could be downplayed as a mere race, if word spread online that Hot Lizard Motors vehicles had crashed and exploded in a race against those of Cold Moon Union, the damage to the brand could be immense—potentially costing the company billions in federation credits.

If such losses occurred, Jinzerk would not take it lightly. Known for his violent temper and vindictiveness, he would undoubtedly retaliate, hiring shadowy agencies to ensure justice was served. Kus’s very life could be at stake.

Cold sweat trickled down Kus’s face as the cigarette burned down to his fingers. Yet, he didn’t dare discard the cigarette that Jinzerk had given him.