?<strong>Chapter 396:</strong>


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    “Naturally. First ce went to that youngdy. You should talk to her and see if she’s willing to sell it.”


    He was genuinely concerned for Ken, knowing his friend’s demeanor could be… intimidating.


    Ken wasn’t exactly the type to put people at ease.


    “Try being a bit nice for a change,” Ferdinand suggested. “Offer a good deal, but be prepared. She looks like the determined type. Almost as if…”


    “She cares a lot too,” Ken finished, his tone heavy with meaning.


    While he couldn’t bepletely sure, Ken had a strong hunch about who this woman might be.


    As for his mother’s relics…


    Ken had spent years searching for them, so how had they resurfaced here, of all ces, as the prize for a racing champion?


    When his mother passed, he was just a boy, and many of her belongings had mysteriously vanished, swept away by the hands of his seemingly “kind” stepmother.


    Deep down, Ken had always harbored doubts, convinced that someone as intelligent and caring as his mother couldn’t have simply met an untimely end. The thought gnawed at him constantly.


    Suppressing the emotions that threatened to rise, he set his jaw and said with quiet determination, “I’ll go talk to her.”


    Meanwhile, Allison was walking down the alley. After winning the championship, many people wanted her contact information, but she skillfully evaded them. She was just about to call Amya to check on their progress when a tall figure stepped into her path.


    “Miss Sweety, we meet again,” came a deep, smooth voice.


    Allison looked up and saw a man leaning casually against the wall. Dressed in a sleek ck riding suit and a silver mask, he exuded a maic energy that was hard to ignore.


    It was Turbo, the mysterious racer she’d justpeted with. She cocked her head slightly and asked, “What do you want?”


    The man, using a voice changer, replied, “I’m just very curious… is Miss Sweety someone I already know?”


    Allison couldn’t help butugh at his outdated line.


    “That’s such a cliché.”


    People stopped using that line years ago.


    Both of them, still masked and using altered voices, clearly had no intention of revealing their true identities. Under the moonlight, the silver and white masks they wore glimmered softly as they faced each other.


    Allison’s eyes swept over him, taking in his strong,manding posture. His presence was formidable, like a silent, deadly force.


    As her gaze moved to his face, she noticed the sharp contours of his jawline. Even behind the mask, his features hinted at a chiseled, rugged handsomeness.


    Her attention then drifted to his throat, where a slightly protruding Adam’s apple was marked by a small, barely noticeable red mole.


    Wait a second…


    Allison, who had been feeling fairly rxed, suddenly furrowed her brow.


    A red mole?


    A memory sparked in her mind.


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