My Formula 1 System

"...Twenty cars… twenty gladiators of the most thrilling sport… lined up under the Arabian sun. This is what it's all been building toward. After two months of winter break, speculation, and rocking transfers, the lights above the home straight here in Bahrain will soon spark alive for the first time in the 20XX Formula 1 season...!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

"...The crowd is enormous. The wind is gentle. Over 110,000 in attendance, all on their feet..."

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The moment the first grid light lost its red glow, the entire world nearly erupted with excitement and uncontainable enthusiasm. The crowd in attendance kept jumping up and down, shuddering the fragile desert land upon which the magnificent circuit was built.

Even as lights-out approached, people were still filing into their seats, mostly suites, because businessmen, tycoons, celebrities, and magnates often have a habit of arriving late to sports events, no matter how important.

They settled in, whether into luxurious booths or standard seats, and were instantly presented with the full scale of the moment. The heat was so tenacious, no one could tell if the cooling system was faulty, or if the sun was simply too scorching, or perhaps if the massive crowd itself was generating breathless heat of their own. Or maybe, it was the searing heat of the engines, ready to blast away the moment the fifth light disappeared.

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"...Buoso Di Renzo, Albert Derstappen, Denko Rutherford… the midfield is a cauldron of raw talent and unpredictability.....!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

"...The championship trophy sits on a pedestal. It will only belong to one man on the final night in the United States. But who? Who amongst these 20 elites....?!"

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Starting from DiMarco's fresh, sharp-looking RBioL, the count descended backward all the way to the segment, where many analysts had predicted would host the most catastrophe and competition.

Luis Dreyer was taking in regular deep breaths to calm his entire nervous system. He wasn't exactly anxious or perturbed like many others behind him, centering breaths had always been his personal ritual before lights out.

Steady and calm was his Red Bull in box 7. But the car behind him? Revving, impatient, voracious.

It was Elias Nyström.

And truthfully, it made perfect sense for him to be acting that way, with his hands gripping the wheel like a loved one's life depended on it.

He had Dreyer, a more-than-decent driver, just ahead of him. And behind him… was none other than Rennick, the sharpest, pointiest stack to the ass.

Luca's reputation for executing a perfect grid start had never been forgotten, and Nyström of all people, wasn't going to be the first to forget it. He resented Luca, since envy or hate were quite stronger words.

Out of all drivers on the grid, Nyström bore the most unreasonable grudge toward Luca. And the most frustrating part about it was that Luca couldn't even reciprocate the malice. He wasn't on his level anymore—if he ever was.

Luca Rennick's true challenge lay upfield, not with these zealous cutthroats.

Right behind Luca sat another—Buoso Di Renzo. The Italian was piloting the 97 here in Bahrain, the once-fastest car now rumbling dramatically to the right of its previous driver.

While Luca drummed his gloved fingers around the flawlessly crafted wheel, his eyes locked forward on the grid lights, Di Renzo was doing the opposite. He was watching Luca—his every motion just listed above.

It was a pity Luca couldn't hear thoughts, because if he could, he might've had reason to fear for his own life.

On instinct, he glanced at his side mirror and caught Di Renzo's cold, piercing glare even through his visor and through the shimmering waves of heat all twenty cars were emitting on the grid.

Luca didn't make much stew out of that. He calmly moved his gaze to scan the rest of the Titans near him—Derstappen, Rutherford—trailing further back.

And right ahead of Dreyer and Nyström, seated calmly in the checkpoint at P5, was Jimmy Damgaard.

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BWAHHHHH!!!!!!

**Game on, Luca**

"WOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

The muscle and power DiMarco possessed to launch out of pole was enough to likely kill the average human.

Ailbeart Moireach launched at the same time with almost equal puissance, and Luigi, with the greatest thrust of the three, bolted with so much force, he nearly crashed and ended both his and Ailbeart's race right then and there.

"....AND IT'S LIGHTS OUT IN BAHRAIN...!!"

"...WE ARE RACING ONCE AGAIN..!!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

"…These are insane rockets off! Too much aggression from the top three! It could've been a double retirement in Turn 1 before the race even found rhythm!"

"…THE TORQUE AT HOME IS ENOUGH TO SHATTER RIBS..!"

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

The other drivers could only watch as the supers made bursts for their starts while they began more standardly. DiMarco, Ailbeart, and Luigi were already attuned to the enormous demands of the HiCEs, so they were able to withstand such explosive momentum unlike the majority trailing behind them.

To Marko's surprise, Damgaard had a perfect getaway and stole his position at lights out. Nyström attempted the same puny act on Dreyer, but the Spaniard shut him down with unparalleled authority, threatening to smash his wings as they weaved erratically for tire warmth.

Humbled, Nyström decided to revert to the immediate defense of P7, but his thoughts didn't fully form before Luca dove forward with unwavering confidence, slipping clean out of Di Renzo's futile strike and sliding right to Nyström's side in a flash.

Lights out was always going to be chaotic, and this one was a perfect example.

"…This is the release of a thousand battles to come. And we're only ten seconds in, Alex. This is Formula One..!"

[7th Position]

"WOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

Luca expertly picked his way through like a needle through thread, overtaking Nyström without much stress showing on his facial expression.

[>>>>

┌T2

|

└T1–┐

└———

<<<<<]

[Turn type: Tight Left-hander] [Angle: 70°] [Braking Point: 120 meters before turn-in] [Recommended Entry Speed: 130 km/h] [Optimal Apex: inside curb]

The Bahrain International Circuit proved rigorous once more with its anticlockwise structure. Luca, along with many other drivers, was notably more dominant with his right than his left even though some of them were actually left-handed when it comes to literacy or writing preference.

When Luca threaded his way between Nyström's wing and Dreyer's rear in a very flawless Y-pattern, both his body and car were angled right, even though his P8 grid box was on the left side of the track.

As a result, Dreyer was fortuned with the inside line which Marko was already banking on. Luca had to switch back, cut across Nyström's line once again, further frustrating him in order to properly join the cruise.

"...And just like that, the initial chaos has simmered... The grid has finally stretched into formation, and now we're settling into the early choreography of this Grand Prix..."

"...Yes, the stampede is over. The wheel-to-wheel scrapping down to Turn 4 has loosened its teeth. The race breathes—no longer thrashing, but flowing..."

P1— Davide DiMarco

P2— Antonio Luigi ↑

P3— Albert Moireach ↓

P4— Jimmy Damgaard ↑

P5— Marko Ignatova ↓

P6— Luis Dreyer

P7— Luca Rennick ↑

P8— Elias Nyström ↓

P9— Buoso Di Renzo

P10— Denko Rutherford ↑

While at Turn 4, Luca felt something strangely wrong with his car, though he couldn't immediately tell what it was. The output, steering, and overall balance all appeared fine. It was just a general, creeping feeling that unsettled him.

Earlier, when he exerted energy at Turn 2 to remain tucked behind Dreyer, whose car had a more powerful edge on a levelled basis, Luca had noticed something off. There was no ERS deployment curve visible on his dashboard, even though it showed clearly on his system interface.

That was definitely wrong and wasn't supposed to happen. The dashboard was programmed to track every piece of data in the car both automatic and manual actions executed by the driver.

Some figures were still present, but Luca quickly realized they were stale values. Could it be he'd lost power? No way. If that were the case, he'd already be rolling to a stop.

Pushing the ERS button again just to be sure, Luca confirmed his suspicions: the telemetry data was inactive. Without hesitation, he activated his radio to report the issue.

"Team, do you copy? Telemetry looks frozen. The data's static."

But all that answered Luca was silence. Not absolute silence, of course; there was still the relentless roar of twenty engines and the electric buzz of the Bahrain crowd.

He didn't even bother speaking into the radio again. He already understood what was going on. For now, he chose to focus on the race at least until the problem got resolved—if it ever would.

[Operational Status:

Fuel Level: 90%

Tire Condition: New

Telemetry Status: Inactive ]