Lu Haifeng was getting a headache. Junko Toyota, heir to the Toyota family, seemed too interested in him.
Not romantically—it wasn't that kind of interest. It was the intense curiosity you reserve for a rival or a rare species. Every chance she got, she'd pop up to chat about the auto industry's future, casually probing for insight.
But Haifeng wasn't buying it. He knew this was more than just mutual professional admiration.
"Why overthink it?" he muttered to himself. "If I can't handle a woman, how am I supposed to dominate global tech?"
With a smirk, he pushed the thought aside and leaned into the moment.
"Miss Junko, you know, my teeth hurt every time I see you."
She blinked. "Your teeth? Why?"
Haifeng gave her his most charming smile. "Because you're too sweet."
"Pfft—"
"Cough, cough—"
*Thud*
The nearby Audi staff and Xu Zhilin, mid-meal, practically choked in unison.
Seriously, President Lu? We're just trying to eat, and here you are dropping corny one-liners like we're in a romcom.
Junko was stunned. That might've been the cheesiest compliment she'd ever received—and it worked. Her cheeks flushed.
"Thank you for your praise, Mr. Feng. Junko is pleased."
She'd already dropped the formal "Mr. Lu" for the familiar "Mr. Feng."
Haifeng noted that with quiet satisfaction. Junko might be sharp and capable, but she was still a woman at the end of the day. And Haifeng? He had a black belt in psychological warfare.
Before the mood could settle, a voice pierced the air like a record scratch:
"Mr. Lu doesn't seem worried about the engine results. Or maybe you already know you've lost. That's fine. You've already won for design—go home and celebrate that."
Cue the clown.
Walter, the design director from Volkswagen, had shown up again.
This man had zero self-awareness. Last time, he'd mocked Haifeng's abilities. Then the awards dropped, and Haifeng's models swept the top two in design. Walter had gotten a double slap to the face—and still came crawling back.
As Haifeng turned to face him, he spotted another man beside Walter: middle-aged, Asian, silent.
"Mr. Walter, can I ask you a question?"
Walter grinned smugly. "Of course, I'm happy to answer."
"What facial cleanser do you use? Does it take a lot to wash your face?"
Walter froze. "What?"
"Just wondering," Haifeng said with a smile. "Because I doubt any cleanser could wash off all the dirt on yours."
Haifeng delivered it in perfect English—no translation needed. But Walter stood there, blinking, trying to decode it.
T/N[1]
The German designer had no idea he'd just been insulted.
Junko, on the other hand, snorted. She'd spent years in America and understood precisely what Haifeng was saying. He'd just called Walter thick-skinned without actually saying it.
The Asian man leaned over and whispered, "He's mocking you, Mr. Walter—he's saying your face is too thick."
Walter's face turned beet red.
"Damn brat. Just wait! The results will humble you. Only Germans make real engines!"
T/N[2]
He threw out one last grumble and stormed off.
Good riddance. Haifeng could finally finish lunch in peace.
As they wrapped up the meal, Haifeng and Junko chatted quietly, waiting for the final test data.
At 3:30 p.m. sharp, the engine and chassis testing were complete. Around the world, car enthusiasts had tuned in to watch rally drivers thrash these pre-production cars on Ward's official track.
Now that testing was done, the final performance scores were being submitted.
Once the computer tabulations were in, the top ten engines—the official winners of Ward's 10 Best—would be revealed.
[1] That shit was weak asf
[2] The previous sentence used Chinese brat. Should I keep removing these Chinese stuff?