"Judgement Giver Volternes, Direct Attack!"
At the moment of the final blow, it was as if the gates of heaven had burst open. Holy light poured down like a waterfall, swallowing the track in blinding white. Within it, the vague silhouette of a colossal figure could be seen raising the hammer of judgement before bringing it down with overwhelming force.
"Aaaahhh!"
His Life Points hit zero, and Victor's D-Wheel erupted with translucent steam. He involuntarily slowed on the track until he came to a complete stop.
"OH MY GOD!!!" The Pompadour Commentator sprang from his chair, his microphone trembling violently in his hand. "He did it! He really did it! He single-handedly crushed the North American champions, the Psychic Team!
Officer Fujiki Kira, making his first public appearance in a world tournament, was technically a rookie competitor—yet he was practically a god of war!!!"
The roar of the crowd erupted like a tsunami. The spectators in the front rows all leapt to their feet, knocking over entire rows of seats. Popcorn and drink cups spilled everywhere, but no one cared. Commentators from every country screamed in different languages at once, and one German commentator even yanked his headset cable apart.
On the big screen, Kira calmly slowed amid the cheers and fireworks bursting along both sides of the track, a stark contrast to the stunned, life-questioning expressions of the Psychic Team members beside him.
Victor looked utterly despondent.
They had really lost.
They were the North American Team Match champions. When they had come to WRGP, their sights had been set on the title. They had believed that, with the three of them combined, they could surely make a name for themselves under the team rules. But who could have imagined...
Lina and Black came to his side as well.