The Return of the Cannon Fodder Trillion Heiress-Chapter 888 Trouble

Hera let out a dry, humorless chuckle, her eyes gleaming with quiet anticipation. She was looking forward to the moment when that arrogant blonde racer’s smug expression would twist into horror, once he realized exactly what, or rather who, he was up against. ’Ah, the sweet satisfaction of being petty.’

The blonde racer didn’t hear her chilling laugh, but a sudden shiver crawled down his spine. Uneasy, he quickened his pace toward his side of the car. Hera, calm and confident, strolled to hers.

The crowd, watching closely, knew exactly what was going on. Excitement buzzed in the air as anticipation crackled between spectators. The trending topic across social media was their bet, and the match-up had gone viral. More fans piled into the stream, eager to witness the showdown.

As the momentum built, Hera’s name shot up from the bottom of the betting ranks to the top five. Her countrymen rallied behind her, pouring in their savings not just out of patriotism, but because they genuinely believed in her skill.

Everyone was waiting for her to humiliate him on the track, to watch that confident mask crumble. Viewers rubbed their hands in anticipation, phones ready to screenshot the moment of his downfall and post it online with smug captions. Bets were made, screenshots queued, and popcorn ready. The show was just about to begin.

And because what Hera did was so satisfying, "putting an arrogant jerk in his place," as many viewers put it, her livestream was flooded with gifts. Digital confetti and donation animations exploded across the screen, and Betty and Daisy could hardly contain their excitement, grinning from ear to ear. It was marketing gold.

They hadn’t even needed to promote Hera; she did it all herself. Her bold attitude and performance pulled people in effortlessly. Viewer ratings soared, and more importantly, the retention rate remained high. Everyone was sticking around to see how the bet would play out.

Even international viewers had started pouring in, intrigued by the viral moment. Seeing the trend, Betty quickly instructed her PR team to roll out free subtitles in multiple languages, making sure the growing foreign audience could follow along seamlessly.

As soon as Hera settled into the driver’s seat and fastened her seatbelt, the engines around her began to roar to life. The deafening chorus of revving motors filled the air, and many of the male racers glanced her way with smug, knowing smirks. She could tell she’d just become their target. They were planning to make this race hell for her.

Unbothered, Hera calmly started her own engine. The deep, sleek growl of her custom-built machine silenced everything around her for a moment. It wasn’t just any car; it was a masterpiece engineered to the exact specs she needed, a one-of-a-kind model that no one else in the world had. It sounded like a black panther snarling, elegant, deadly, and ready to pounce at any moment.

The signal lights overhead flicked to red. A beat of tense silence passed as every racer’s focus zeroed in. Yellow. Then—green.

All the cars shot forward like bullets. Two of the cars beside her immediately swerved in front of Hera, boxing her in tight. She arched an eyebrow. ’Oh, so that’s how they wanted to play,’ She thought, keeping her caged and out of the lead from the start.

But Hera, as always, didn’t panic. This wasn’t the first time racers tried to box her in. Calm and calculating, she floored the gas, swerved slightly, and angled her car just right, aiming at the edge of each tail light of the cars in front of her. With precise bumps at the rear corners, the two cars skidded off course, their tires screeching as they struggled to regain control.

By the time they managed to straighten out, Hera had already shot past them like a bullet, leaving them choking in her dust.

More drivers moved in to block her path, clearly working together to keep her behind. But Hera only smiled. Her expression was cool, almost amused. Inside her car, every movement she made was streamed live, her hands on the wheel, her eyes scanning the track, and side by side, the viewers saw what she saw: a wall of cars trying to cage her in.

Hearts raced across the livestream. Yet Hera remained composed.

She waited, letting them think they had her cornered, until the first sharp curve came. Then she took the inner lane and drifted with pinpoint precision, passing four cars in one smooth, fearless move. The nose of her car came within inches of the railing. Many viewers gasped, thinking she’d crash.

But instead, she shot out of the corner like an arrow.

And the best part? She hadn’t even used her signature move yet.

Those who had witnessed the legendary Barcelona Race leaned forward, recognizing the ghost behind the wheel. But most international viewers were still in the dark. They didn’t know... Hera was ’Phantom.’

Gasps of astonishment rippled through the crowd as the live feed zoomed out from the lead car to reveal a black blur tearing through the lineup behind the rest of the cars. The camera locked onto a black Car No. 18, Hera’s car, slicing past competitors with increasing speed, a phantom streak that couldn’t be caught.

Drivers scattered across the course, some attempting to block her, but it was no use. She maneuvered around them effortlessly, her precision and rising velocity leaving no room for interception.

Those who had been plotting dirty tricks froze. At the speed Hera was going, any minor contact, whether they hit her or she hit them, could trigger a catastrophic chain reaction in the tightly packed race track. And in a sport with cameras rolling from every angle, that would mean jail time for reckless endangerment.

Intimidated, several drivers moved aside, unwilling to take the risk. Those who didn’t were simply outmatched. One by one, Hera overtook them with surgical precision, climbing rapidly to the top five.

Then came the critical moment.

Cars three and four spotted Hera in their rearview mirrors and quickly dove into the inner lane to defend their position as they approached a sharp U-curve. But in the blink of an eye, Hera was right there, drifting beside them like a phantom in the night. All three cars rode the curve in dangerously tight formation. One wrong move, one small nudge, and the car in the middle would be crushed between the others, possibly flipping into a wreck.

But Hera’s control was flawless.

She held the perfect distance, her nose barely brushing the line of danger, threading through the needle’s eye. As soon as the curve opened up, she floored it and shot out like an arrow, leaving the two racers scrambling behind her.

She was now within striking distance of the top two.

Another curve approached fast, just a few meters away. Hera braced herself to drift again, already calculating the angle. But the second she pressed the brake—

Nothing happened.

Her heart skipped a beat.

The brake didn’t respond.

’Damn it,’ Hera cursed inwardly. She wasn’t the type to swear, but this time, she couldn’t hold it in. Her brake plate was slick, slipping every time she pressed down on the brake pedal. The moment she tried to slow, the screech of metal-on-metal rang out, sending a jolt of dread through her chest. One wrong move, and she’d spin out of control.

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