My Formula 1 System

At 12 PM, Luca was on his way to the HQ.

He had the taxi dispatch number of the park near the airport, where cab drivers gathered as a group with a collective interest.

So he made the call, requesting a dispatch service from the network of drivers to pick him up from Dahlem, so far away.

The cab driver arrived on time, and before long, Luca was already on his way.

Luca had made a huge mistake, and he hoped it wouldn't lead to bad consequences.

When he was leaving his gate and stepping into the taxi, he hadn't yet put on his nose mask and cap. The taxi driver, a Formula racing fan, recognized him instantly, his eyes going wide.

Because of this, the ride wasn't boring. The man kept blabbing excitedly, praising Luca and thanking him for bringing glory to Deutschland.

Luca spoke with the driver, cracked jokes with him, but in the end, he made a request. He asked the man to promise he wouldn't tell a soul about Luca Rennick's address.

The cab driver hesitated. He looked like an aged talkative.

"Ah, mein Junge... it'll be hard..." the driver wailed.

Luca sighed, already knowing this would be a problem.

"But I'll do anything for you! Our #21!" the driver suddenly exclaimed before making a gesture of zipping his lips.

Luca smiled briefly. The last thing he wanted was a mob of fans outside his house, turning his peaceful neighborhood into a circus.

He adjusted his cap lower and leaned back into the seat, exhaling quietly.

"You know," the man continued, his tone full of pride. "Now we have elites, but back then, we had legends. You, mein Junge, you are different. You have the fire of the old racers, the ones who didn't just drive, but fought!"

Luca wasn't used to being glazed to this extent. He only said, "Thanks."

"When you took the Drop in the French against that Addams—ah!—I nearly threw my beer at the screen!"

Luca began imagining the sheer number of people who had watched away from the circuit. They'd all have different versions to tell of Max's crash in Le Castellet.

The driver clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "But now... now they say you want to leave."

Luca's gaze shifted slightly, but he said nothing.

"Is it true?" the driver pressed, his voice quieter now. "You're really going to F1?"

Luca exhaled through his nose, leaning his head back. He wondered what he should tell this man.

The driver seemed like a good, enthusiastic fellow, and Luca didn't want to spoil his day by confirming what they both knew would likely happen.

"You leave, and who takes your place? Who carries the fire?"

"Ansel."

"Hahn? The Hahn that crashed you?"

Luca had no answer to that.

"If you go..." the cab driver sighed, his voice trailing off. "We start from nothing again."

Luca's eyes lit up when the surroundings leading to the HQ emerged into view. The conversation was over as a security guard approached the car rolling over gravel and stones.

Luca removed his mask and cap as the guard bent down to inspect the driver and passenger. When he saw Luca, his scrutinizing expression changed to surprise.

Luca made sure to pay the cab driver extra as a reward for his undying loyalty to Trampos and as a small bribing measure to ensure he kept his mouth sealed about his address.

"It was an honor ferrying a knight to the castle," the driver said before driving away.

Luca watched him disappear down the road before turning around and following the security guard toward the HQ gate.

--------

Luca knew there were still some activities left to handle, maybe some parts to repair, some orientation to give new crew members, and other post-season tasks.

But with the season officially over, none of it was truly urgent. Some of these tasks could easily be postponed until late January.

As far as he was concerned, the rest of December should be a time for the crew to take a well-earned break before the next season. So he fully expected the HQ to be quieter today.

Yet, contrary to his expectations, everyone was present.

The surroundings had a deserted feeling, but its capacity was anything but that. It felt just like a regular drill day in the heat of the season, with every crew member he knew on-site.

Still, they all seemed less busy. Some had even brought their kids along, and at a distance, Luca could see children running and playing on the track.

He wondered if they had all gathered here today knowing he would be coming in for his meeting with Mr. Fisher.

Luca hadn't seen any of Trampos' crew members since the finale celebrations—except for Mr. Grant, Ms. Vallotton, and Colt—the night of the F2 Italian Mega Prix, the night after, and the two nights that followed.

And now, with his impending exit drawing closer, many had begun to believe he was deliberately distancing himself.

Luca was about to prove them wrong. He had promised himself that he would give his goodbye in the best possible manner, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

But for now, it was 12:35 PM and he was already late for his meeting with Mr. Fisher.

So instead of heading straight to where the crew was mostly gathered, he diverted to the main building, greeting and hugging those he passed along the way.

"Welcome, Luca," Mr. Fisher said once Luca got comfortable in his cozy office. "I suppose I haven't properly congratulated you for becoming F2 Champion."

"There's no need to," Luca replied humbly, noting how Mr. Fisher had gotten even rounder. "Every driver is a driver to win. And I won, helping the team to win."

Mr. Fisher stared at Luca with a soft smile, as if his mind wasn't present for a split second. Then, he exhaled and rose from the edge of the table he had been sitting on.

Luca watched him walk around his table to his chair. "But now, we're about to lose," he said, sitting down and looking up at Luca. "We're about to lose you."

Luca stayed silent, gripping the armchair tightly. Another test.

"Tell me, Luca," Mr. Fisher continued, his heart weighing. "Do you really want to go to F1 now? I hope you aren't being pressured in any way? Any other reason related to persuasion? Is there any?"

"No, sir," Luca replied quickly. "F2 is the starting point. F1 is the destination."

Mr. Fisher nodded, flipping through a file.

"It's Outback's fault they don't have both our signatures yet," Mr. Fisher said after a long moment of silence. "They're trying to play bargaining games, not realizing that there are many fishes in the sea."

Luca was expecting the main point any moment now.

"We have another set of knuckles on our door," Mr. Fisher said. "Nevada HanSama. Ready to give us what you want, and I believe they're also ready to give more than what you want."

"Would you like to go to the Italian team?"