My Formula 1 System

Luca half-expected to see a priest and a few nuns in the garage for this prayer. After all, this was Italy, a country deeply rooted in Roman Catholicism. But that was a bit of an overreach for his thoughts.

The pre-race prayer turned out to be a simple but meaningful tradition within Trampos. Every crew member, from the seasoned Mr. Grant to the youngest little Sam, gathered in the haul room to the left of the garage.

There, they'd bow their heads together, each saying a short, silent prayer according to their own faith or beliefs. Afterward, Mr. Grant and Mr. Ruben would rally them with a series of booming motivational statements, each one met with a resounding "JA!" that shook the very walls of the garage.

Luca had no doubt that nearly every other team was doing something similar at this very moment. It made him wonder which team's prayers would be answered today.

"We own this track today!"

"JA!"

"Victory is ours—no excuses!"

"JA!"

"Trampos takes the title today!"

"JAAAAAAA!!!!"

"Okay!" Ms. Vallotton boomed as they dispersed. "Lights out in less than thirty minutes. Work begins today," she announced.

Luca stood next to the wall, admiring the stir of activity and movement in the garage and paddock.

Damn, little Sam, he thought as he began to reflect how this might be his last time getting prepared in a Trampos garage.

He began to envision the possible future with Outback Performance say their negotiations with Trampos unfold well. The red livery of Trampos slowly changed to that somewhat darkish, yellowish orange color of Outback and their secondary green.

Mentally replacing Trampos' colors was an easy task, but it was difficult to envision Outback's Red Bulls as the Dallaras seated calmly before him.

For some reason, that seemed too much of a stress for Luca's imaginative radius.

Luca's eyes caught Mr. Grant and Ms. Vallotton walking toward him, so he stood upright and saluted.

Ms. Vallotton seemed peculiarly happy today, and Luca noticed right away. His mind quickly searched for reasons because her mood was brighter than usual, and if there was ever a rare time to see a Trampos personnel with a happy face, this was it.

Was she realizing that, in some way, she could actually become a two-time F2 Championship winner?

After all, Ms. Vallotton and her strategy group had worked for Bueseno Velocità Jnr last season and were part of the winning crew. This year—being with Trampos—she and Colt had the chance to pull off something crazy: back-to-back F2 championship medals, one from each team.

That's if Trampos won today.

Luca saluted again when his Team Principals approached him.

"...P5, Dani Walding...!"

"WOOOOH!"

"...P4, Albert Derstappen...!"

"WOOOOH!"

"...P3, James Legrasse...!"

"...P2, Benjamin Taubert...!"

"...Pole Position, Oliver Kristensen...!"

"WOOOOH!"

"...for the first time this season, Oliver Kristensen starts at pole! Benjamin Taubert and James Legrasse make up P2 and P3! Our next powerhouse is Albert Derstappen, at P4! Jon, don't you think this opportunity came a bit late for these our drivers?!"@@novelbin@@

"...Oh, absolutely! If they had this kind of start all season, we might've had an entirely different championship battle! But, better late than never, Steve! And let's be honest, for them now, it's more about pride now than points!"

The primary strategy today was still the same—Tiered Pursuit strategy in speaking. Luca's finish was prioritized, not just because he was significantly better than Haas, but because a win for him would also be a win for Trampos, fostering driver-team happiness and a good relationship.

Microstrategies included three or four pit stops, depending on how lucky these soft tires could get, withstanding the wear and tear that came with navigating the lethal turns of Serpeggiare.

Mr. Grant made it clear that this wasn't the track for duels, and he suggested his drivers try their best to focus on their own race, even though that might not really be possible.

But they had to, for their sake. Many Team Principals had cracked the psychological code of the circuit, Autodromo di Lombardia.

Never had the Italian circuit been scheduled to host a mid-season race. It was always the first or one of the last three. And this was where the stakes were often at their peak.

Not like it was done intentionally during construction, but over time, the track had been termed a punisher of adrenaline, impatience, eagerness, bloodthirstiness, drive, and every single thing that defined a driver in those high-stakes moments when Italy hosted a race.

So it was up to the drivers to get schooled by Serpeggiare and mellow themselves even in the time of heat...

Or to face its punishment, where the bendiest curves made their bottlenecks look like a short straight.

Luca couldn't say he hadn't expected Mr. Grant and Ms. Vallotton to pull him into a tight hug. They had approached him in Haas' absence, ready to give him parting words, words that could carry him far, not just in his career, but in life.

As they strolled into the uniform room, Ms. Vallotton veered off to handle business, leaving Mr. Grant to continue speaking with Luca.

"I wouldn't like it if you don't win and we do," Mr. Grant said. "I'd personally order that the team doesn't celebrate. Not even for a second."

He was referring to the possibility of Luca finishing in P2 or P3 or any position at all high enough to secure Trampos the championship over Max and Velocità Jnr, but not enough for his own personal victory.

"Please, sir, don't do that," Luca replied. "If it happens, everyone deserves to celebrate. Little Sam deserves to celebrate."

They re-entered the room, and as Luca made his way toward the bench where his balaclava and helmet lay, he noticed Mr. Grant had stopped walking. He turned around.

"No, I'm serious," Mr. Grant said. "It'd be a gesture of respect for bringing us this far."

Luca didn't know how to respond. Keeping the team from celebrating their own victory just because he hadn't won the Drivers' Championship… that felt a bit cruel, didn't it?

Mr. Grant turned to leave. "I told you before—I'm not a Team Principal of numbers, fame, or accolades. If I can't sit in my living room ten years from now and rewatch you lifting the F2 trophy high on November 28, then there's nothing worth celebrating. Not even our first team championship title."

Luca stood frozen as Mr. Grant walked out. Silence stretched in the room—until the walls trembled again with the roar of the circuit.

"...Decima posizione, Erik Haas...!"

"...Nona posizione, Sean Aaronson...!"

"WOOOOHH!"

"...Ottava posizione, Max Addams...!"

"WOOOOHH!"

"...Settima posizione, Luca Rennick...!"

"WOOOOHH!"

"...Sesta posizione, Miles Bellingham...!"

"WOOOOHH!"

Luca sighed and grabbed his helmet and sock. It was time to begin the race.

[Ding!]

[Daily Quest has been Issued!]

"Haha! I had a hunch you'd do this. In important races like this, you often give Daily Quest tied to the race to prevent me from losing."

[Indeed, host. Critical moments demand decisive action.]

"So, what's it?"

[-·-CRASH ONE RIVAL IN THIS 75-LAP RACE-·-]

Your next chapter awaits on My Virtual Library Empire

[DURATION: nil]

"..."

"You... you must be kidding, right?"