The Rise of John Raymond

Chapter 27: Show Up and Show Off

The lights dimmed again.

Then boom.

Spotlights hit the car like a beam from heaven, illuminating every curve, every line, every elegant detail of the beast that had just pulled up. It wasn’t just a car. It was art. An aerodynamic, impossibly sleek masterpiece. A creation that made even the most luxurious rides that came before it look like amateur prototypes.

The engine let out a growl, low and menacing, like a lion prowling the savannah. Its deep rumble vibrated through the auditorium floor, straight into the bones of every spectator present.

Gasps filled the room. A few jaws literally dropped open. Phones flew up into the air, recording, flashing, live-streaming. Students—some of them self-proclaimed car experts—stood in awe, trying to name the model, searching their minds and the internet for any clue.

Nothing came up.

It was too unique. Too futuristic. Too perfect.

“If that car were a woman…” someone muttered in the crowd, “...every man here would propose on the spot.”

“And every woman would be jealous,” another student added.

Even the seasoned judges stood up, wide-eyed, like kids seeing Disneyland for the first time.

The spotlight followed the mystery car as it slowly rolled down to the stage. The auditorium was completely silent. No music, no cheering—just collective, stunned silence. Even the usual cocky ones were speechless.

John—seated behind the wheel—watched the students through the side mirror. Their heads were turning left and right, whispering furiously, trying to guess who it could be.

Was it a guest billionaire? Some tech mogul in disguise? A movie stunt?

The tinted glass gave nothing away. Every inch of the car screamed power and privacy. The type of car you don’t drive to be seen—you drive it to make a statement.

And tonight, it was making the loudest one of all.

Even Jerry and Noel were left speechless.

“Bro…” Noel whispered.

“I know,” Jerry replied, eyes glued to the machine. “We’ve been outplayed.”

But pride wouldn’t let them admit defeat.

“Whoever this is,” Jerry muttered, “he better have a damn good reason for pulling this stunt.”

The music in the hall suddenly changed.

It was a drum roll, deep and echoing—like something straight out of a Chinese imperial court, the kind played when an emperor was about to appear.

Collins, dumbfounded, turned to Anna. “Who the heck is that?”

Anna, still staring, shook her head slowly. “We’re about to find out.”

Back inside the car, John slipped on a custom mask—a sleek black face cover that altered his voice, obscured his features, and gave him a completely anonymous presence.

He wasn’t about to reveal his identity just yet.

The moment had to be perfect.

He pressed a button on his dashboard.

The door opened upwards, wings of the car lifting like an eagle spreading to take flight. And out he stepped.

Tall.

Composed.

Covered.

Mr X.

The crowd gasped in unison again.

They’d hoped to get a glimpse of the man behind the machine, but his entire face was covered by a mask that shimmered slightly under the lights. It wasn’t just a disguise—it was a statement. A mystique. A reminder that some legends walk silently.

The auditorium was still.

The event manager—visibly shaken but professionally steady—returned to the stage with the judges behind him.

They didn’t need a debate. No consultation was necessary. It was obvious.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the event manager announced, “we have our new winner.”

A roar erupted from the crowd.

Phones flashed. Social media exploded.

On TikTok, the car’s entrance already had millions of views. On T*****r, hashtags were popping up fast:

#WhoIsMrX

#MaskedBillionaire

#LuxuryKing

Comments poured in:

“Bro, is this Batman’s cousin???”

“I NEED this car in GTA.”

“This guy just entered and ruined everyone else’s night.”

“Okay but who TF is this masked guy???”

As the crowd buzzed with online and offline excitement, the event manager walked forward with the trophy that had initially been handed to Daniel—now tarnished with scandal—and gave it to Mr X.

One of the judges followed behind and handed over a matte black access card—an elite pass used only by the top 1% of global automotive collectors. It allowed the bearer to solve any car-related issue at the world’s most prestigious garages—three times, no questions asked.

John bowed slightly, showing respect.

Then came the pictures. Photos with the judges, the event host, and the crowd in the background, cheering like they were witnessing history—which they were.

John didn’t say a word.

The silence only made it more epic.

Jerry, standing off to the side, clenched his fists.

“This is a joke, right?” he hissed. “Who does this punk think he is?”

Noel’s eyes narrowed. “Driving in here last minute, stealing the spotlight? Nah. This guy’s gonna learn today.”

But before either could act, John was already moving. Calm, confident, unstoppable.

He walked back toward his car with the trophy and cards in hand. But just as he reached to place the items inside, Noel lunged forward—attempting to grab the coat John wore.

But John dodged swiftly.

Gracefully. Effortlessly.

It was enough of a warning.

He didn’t want drama. He’d already won. That was enough.

Without another glance, he entered the vehicle, started the engine, and the car let out a final elegant growl before it pulled away from the stage.

Back to silence.

Back to mystery.

“He came, he saw, he conquered… then vanished,” someone muttered in the stunned audience.

Outside the auditorium, John didn’t head home just yet. He had already planned his exit.

He pulled the car into a hidden trailer parked in a dark corner. The same trailer he and the chief butler had arranged a day earlier when he first woke from the accident.

The car was loaded inside, locked down, and hidden from view.

Once it was secure, John exited the trailer, slipped into a normal black suit, and got behind the wheel of a regular black SUV.

A few minutes later, he returned to the event—walking in casually like he’d never left.

Meanwhile, Anna couldn’t stop thinking.

She stared at the stage, watching the last hints of the car’s light disappear behind the curtain.

“Collins… I know this sounds crazy… but that car…” she paused.

Collins looked at her, frowning. “What about it?”

“I’ve seen that plate number before,” she whispered.

“Here we go,” Collins teased, crossing his arms. “Now you’re the paranoid one.”

“I’m serious,” she insisted. “It’s so familiar. I know it.”

Collins rolled his eyes. “Come on, Anna. That kind of car? It’s only owned by the one percent of the one percent. No one we know has access to that level.”

But deep down… he wasn’t so sure.

He’d seen it too.

He just couldn’t admit it. Not yet.

Still, Anna wouldn’t drop it. Her mind raced through every memory, every moment.

And yet—nothing.

Later that night, just outside the main entrance of the hall, John was waiting. A soft bouquet of flowers in hand, a simple, warm smile on his face.

As Anna and Collins stepped outside, they were greeted by the sweet scent of fresh roses.

John handed the bouquet to Anna with a charming grin. “Thought you two might need a little congratulatory gesture.”

Anna’s face lit up. “Aww, John. You’re too sweet.”

Collins smirked. “Nice job supporting the queen. But uh… what about your bro over here?”

John laughed. “Your car, Collins? That thing was a monster.”

“Better,” Collins said, puffing his chest. “Appreciate the recognition.”

The trio shared a laugh, the weight of the event slowly lifting from their shoulders.

“Alright,” Anna said, linking arms with the both of them. “Let’s eat before we collapse from excitement.”

They began walking down the venue’s steps when Collins turned to John. “Bro… you missed it. A mystery guy came in with the wildest ride I’ve ever seen. Won the whole thing in, like, five minutes. It was insane.”

John smiled. “Sounds like I missed a show.”

Before another word could be said, a scream cut through the night.

“Let go of me this instant!”

They all turned sharply.

Anna was being dragged away by Noel.