Tony shrugged, returning to his easygoing and casual demeanor.
"Alright, 'Father's friend'," Tony said, placing special emphasis on the word "friend," his tone laced with a hint of teasing.
"So, as a friend of my father, are you interested in trying out this custom motorcycle made for you? I bet it runs even better than it looks."
Mavuika's eyes lit up, the previous conversation and jokes immediately forgotten.
She turned to look at the fiery red motorcycle, her amber eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Of course!" she said, her voice full of anticipation. "I can't wait."
Mavuika swung her leg over and straddled the fiery red motorcycle, her movements as fluid as if she had practiced them a thousand times.
Her simple modern casual clothes now seemed to take on the air of a battle robe; her long golden-red hair fluttered gently in the breeze, the tips dancing with tiny specks of light.
She looked down at the motorcycle beneath her with full appreciation, her amber eyes flashing with undisguised affection.
Her fingers lightly brushed over the dashboard, where the precision indicator lights and LCD screen were clearly visible in the sunlight.
The handlebar design was ergonomic, providing a solid yet sensitive feedback that felt reassuring in her grip.
"Truly wonderful..." Mavuika praised softly, her voice carrying the joy of a child who had received a beloved toy.
She gripped the handlebars to get a feel for them, her right hand gently twisting the throttle.
The engine emitted a low, rhythmic roar, like the breathing of a slowly awakening giant beast.
The bike's frame vibrated slightly, transmitting a sense of power ready to be unleashed.
Mavuika could feel every component of the vehicle working in perfect harmony—from every combustion in the engine to every bit of torque transferred through the drivetrain, from the subtle adjustments of the suspension to the precise response of the brake calipers.
This wasn't just a means of transportation; it was a work of art, a mechanical masterpiece born for speed.
Mavuika kicked up the kickstand, the metal making a crisp "click" as it retracted.
She adjusted her sitting position, leaning her body slightly forward into a ready-to-launch posture.
In that moment, she seemed like a different person—no longer the easygoing lady drinking tea and chatting in the living room, but a rider about to step onto the track, her eyes flashing with a thirst for speed and challenge.
Just as she was about to twist the throttle and set off, Tony's voice rang out again.
"Hey!" Tony leaned against the door of his red supercar, arms crossed, wearing that "I have to say one more thing" expression.
"This thing has quite a bit of power. V4, 300 horsepower, and a very aggressive torque curve. Are you sure... you're okay with this?"
There was concern in his tone, but it was mostly a test.
Tony had seen too many people look pathetic the first time they rode a high-horsepower motorcycle—giving too much throttle and sliding the rear wheel, braking too hard and locking the front wheel, or losing control of their center of gravity and crashing during a turn...
Furthermore, this bike was personally designed by his father with an extremely aggressive performance tune; it was not meant for beginners at all.
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