Farming Life Starting in Africa

Giselle, standing nearby, translated at the opportune moment: "Ares said she was dissatisfied with the last match and wants to have a rematch with you today."

After listening to the translation, he looked at the short-haired woman in front of him. Ares' chin was slightly raised, and her gaze was fixed on him, her expression clearly waiting for his reply.

Rosen chuckled and said, "Did you get your car out of the police station?" He then stroked his chin. "Getting it out doesn't seem to matter. Even if you were driving that car, you still couldn't outrun me."

Ares's eyes reddened in that instant. She took half a step forward, her shoulders slumped, her fists clenched, and her entire center of gravity shifted forward.

Giselle stepped up from the side and hugged her waist from behind, her arms around her elbows.

"Hey—hey—Ares! You don't have a car, you can't make it tonight. Calm down!"

Ares was locked up from behind by Giselle. He struggled a couple of times but couldn't break free. His body tensed for a moment, then slowly relaxed.

She looked around, her gaze sweeping over the parked cars before finally settling on a handsome man with long blond hair on the other side of the area.

The man was wearing a dark leather jacket and was chatting and laughing with three charming girls, looking relaxed and carefree.

Ares patted Giselle's hand, signaling her to let go, then quickly walked over and stood in front of the blond man, gesturing a few times with her hands.

The golden retriever's smile froze the moment he saw her gesture, and his tone turned noticeably colder. "Ares, I still need my car, I can't lend it to you. I need it for deliveries in a few days."

Ares didn't wait for him to say another word. She reached behind her waist with her right hand and pulled out a dagger, the blade reflecting a cold light under the streetlight.

She took a step forward, pressing the tip of her dagger against the blond man's neck, the blade digging into the skin outside his trachea. She stared at him, her expression unchanged, as if waiting for him to make a new decision.

The people nearby immediately started whispering among themselves. This blond guy was a deliveryman for Braga. If he got stabbed here today, someone would definitely be in trouble.

Golden Retriever's face turned red, and he didn't dare to swallow too hard, because the knife was pressed against his neck.

The choice between the car and his life was easy, and the golden retriever decisively compromised.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a key. "Okay, okay, you can borrow the car, but you can't crash it."

Ares took the keys, nodded in satisfaction, and then went to the parking lot to find his car without looking back.

Giselle looked in the direction Ares had walked away, a hint of helplessness on her face. "I don't know if calling you here tonight was the right thing to do."

Rosen grinned and said, "I think it will definitely be very enjoyable for me."

Giselle's attention returned to the Pontiac Firebird. "Is yours also an antique?"

Rosen leaned against the car door, arms crossed. "Do you want to see... what's inside me?"

Giselle raised an eyebrow, her hand already resting on the edge of the hood. "Of course."

Rosen shrugged, turned around, opened the car door, and pulled the hood lock lever. Giselle lifted the hood herself.

The layout of the engine compartment drew the attention of those nearby.

A horizontally opposed six-cylinder twin-turbocharger lay there, its two turbine housings gleaming with a dark metallic sheen under the lights. The intake piping was neatly routed, and the positions of the pulleys and cooling pipes had been redesigned.

Several car enthusiasts nearby exclaimed in surprise, as this level of modification was far beyond what underground racers should have.

Giselle bent down, examining every corner of the engine compartment. Her gaze traveled from the cylinder block to the pipes and then to the throttle body. When she straightened up, her expression remained complex and intriguing: "You modified this yourself?"

"Of course." Rosen rested his hand on the edge of the roof. "Today, I guarantee you won't even see my taillights."

Gisele remembered how that pickup truck performed on the curves last time; it was not the kind of cornering speed a pickup truck should have.

The engine bay of this Pontiac Firebird is many times more organized than that pickup truck's. If its chassis tuning and transmission matching can keep up with the engine's level, then tonight's challenge is definitely not on the same level as last time.

She smiled and tilted her head slightly: "So, are you still placing bets tonight?"

Rosen clicked his tongue. "You'd better promise you won't run off with my bonus this time."

Gisele couldn't help but laugh when she heard this. She turned around and walked back to her white Porsche, bent down to take a brown paper bag from the passenger seat, and closed the car door behind her.

When I walked back, a bald, burly man was already standing next to the Dodge Charger, examining the Pontiac Firebird.

The man was wearing a dark short-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms. The contents of the engine compartment kept his eyes glued to the screen.

After he finished reading, he turned his head to look at Rosen, his gaze lingering on his face for a moment.

"Is this your car?"

Rosen then noticed the big bald guy standing next to him. Wasn't this Family Hero? Had he come home?

"Yes."

"This is a good car," Tang said in a low voice.

Rosen raised an eyebrow at this, but before he could say anything, Don continued, "I hope you deserve it."

Rosen couldn't help but roll his eyes. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him with such a fatherly tone. He'd show him who the real king of the track was in a minute.

Rosen got cocky. This was only his second time racing, and if it weren't for his exceptional reflexes and familiarity with the car, he wouldn't have had a chance to win. Everyone who wins a championship on the track has their own strengths.

At that moment, Giselle walked over, shoved the paper bag into Rosen's arms, and slightly raised her chin: "What do you say?"

Rosen weighed the paper bag in his hand. "If I beat you tonight, will you have breakfast with me tomorrow morning?"

Giselle smiled and gave him a sharp look, stubbornly saying, "I'll talk to you after you win."

Upon hearing this, Rosen grinned and shoved the paper bag back into Giselle's hand. "I bet I'll win."

At that moment, Rosen saw a familiar figure—it was Brian, whom he had met a few days ago.

He was wearing a black shirt and was wandering around here.

What good can come of a policeman hanging out with a bunch of guys who're always thinking about breaking the law?

Suddenly Brian looked over, but not at Rosen; he was staring at Tang next to him.