My Formula 1 System

Luca disconnected his headphones from his phone and placed both devices on the bench before rising to his feet.

Haas spotted him, nodded, and approached. Seconds later, the two Trampos drivers met in the middle. They stood eye to eye for a brief moment, sizing each other up, before breaking into a casual dab handshake.

"Are you dialed in?" Luca asked, pulling his head sock over his head with smooth, practiced movements.

"All set," Haas replied, his voice slightly muffled beneath his balaclava. "P12 isn't that bad now, is it?"

Luca chuckled. "It's fine. We'll come out on top."

"Boys!"

Luca and Haas turned to see Mr. Ruben approaching them with his usual commanding presence.

Unlike the other crew members and staff dressed in tracksuits, Veststars, or other official attire, Mr. Ruben stood out. He wore a plain white t-shirt that clung tightly to his bulky biceps, blue jeans, and casual sneakers.
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Somehow, he managed to look like a spectator and staff member all at once. Luca couldn't fathom how the man pulled it off so effortlessly.

Ever since Luca returned to training after the one-month hiatus, Mr. Ruben had been deeply involved in Trampos' affairs.

As the Chief Head Engineer, he had naturally stepped back into his role of authority. Mr. Moritz and Colt, who had been managing many of his responsibilities in his absence, had gradually returned those duties, giving Mr. Ruben full reign at the top of the engineering hierarchy.

Like any sudden shift in team dynamics, Luca had initially greeted the change with a healthy dose of skepticism. But, to his surprise, Trampos' recent transitions had proven to be quite beneficial.

Ms. Vallotton's team, for instance, turned out to be a fantastic addition. And Ms. Vallotton herself? A bold, commanding woman who had played a pivotal role in keeping Trampos ahead in the standings.

Her five-month tenure so far had been impressive. While her once-unyielding demeanor had softened slightly, her leadership remained firm.

Luca felt this balance was crucial for the team's continued success, especially since Mr. Grant often had a habit of being lenient with crew members who spent more time joking than working.

As for Mr. Ruben? He was a different beast altogether—a dog with a toy bone. He cursed and yelled constantly, yet, ironically, never acted on half the threats he uttered. Luca found his fiery personality amusing, though he knew others might not share that sentiment.

As long as Mr. Ruben communicated effectively during races and Luca executed his on-track instructions, there was no issue. The man's career reputation was stellar, after all. Rumors had even circulated among the crew that Mr. Ruben was planning to retire with Trampos.

"There's rain in the clouds," Mr. Ruben announced as he walked up to Luca and Haas. "I'm pretty sure it's just hanging out, waiting for you two to get started before it dumps down on us."

Rain? Here? At Circuit du Soleil?

Luca wasn't shocked—it had rained nearly every day since he'd arrived in France—but the idea of rain during the race still set him on edge.

He'd been through one wet race back in Stadhaven, and it wasn't the thrilling challenge he'd imagined as a kid. The car felt less like a precision machine and more like a rebellious teenager, constantly veering off-course at the worst possible moments.

If there was a seven-year-old in the grandstands, excitedly hoping for rain to "spice things up," Luca would've gladly handed the kid his helmet. Let him experience what it was like to wrestle with a car that barely wanted to stay on the track.

"Let me see for myself," Luca muttered. He wanted to know what he was dealing with as he moved towards the garage's opening. The French Grand Prix was a must win for him, and bad conditions like poor visibility, wet track, traction loss and poor downforce would make his goal difficult.

Luca peeked out of the garage and glanced up at the sky.

Thick clouds loomed above, nothing but the promise of rain, the kind of rain where blue and orange birds chirp after when it's gone. The clouds stretched as far as the circuit went with no trace of the golden sunlight Circuit du Soleil was known for. Even the other teams' crew members stood beneath their caps, glancing upward with wary expressions.

"WOOOOHH"

Haas, who walked to his side, chuckled. "It wants to wash away this season, I guess," he said.

Luca didn't respond right away. His mind was already cycling through the implications. Even though he simulated in wet conditions, simulations weren't fully reality. And only a few times he'd trained and had sessions under drizzle—not even rain.

He crossed his arms, still staring at the sky. "If it rains, it rains," he said quietly. "All thirty of us have to deal with it. Not just us."

"Exactly my point," Mr. Ruben piped in, walking to his driver's again as he shot a wicked glare at the Federation stewards who came to check on their single-seaters. "All our foes would have the same problem. We just have to be better driving under the conditions, if we can't be better driving. I don't know if you get me?"

Luca nodded.

"We do," Haas answered confidently.

"Good. Let's go over things one last time with Val and Grant," Mr. Ruben said, already turning on his heel to lead the way. "No time to waste, boys."

By factoring in the possibility of rain, Luca and Haas had adjusted their strategy to include two pit stops, with the potential for a third if conditions demanded it.

However, the fundamental priority of Luca's race remained unchanged. Now, more than ever, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing—every decision and action revolved around ensuring his success.

For now, the track remained dry, though the sky hung heavy with looming clouds. The atmosphere was tense as the announcement echoed through the circuit: Ten minutes till lights out.

Miles Bellingham was seated deep in his garage as his team strategists, engineers and Mr. Mancini reigned him with what to do and what not to do. They anticipated the rain, they anticipated a possible crash for a driver today. Miles was planned not to be involved in any crash, even if he was, not the victim... but the aggressor.

PROVISIONAL DRIVER'S CHAMPIONSHIP STANDINGS (TOP5) Scroll for more.

Position | Team | Points

----------------------------------

1. | Max Addams | 155

2. | Miles Bellingham | 131

3. | Luca Rennick | 126

4. | Sean Aaronson | 126

5. | Ansel Hahn | 115

"WOOOOHH!" The roar from the crowd echoed as the drivers' standings flashed up on the screen, following the team rankings.

A quick standing ovation rippled through the grandstands as the French national anthem played, a wave of respect for the tradition and the spectacle unfolding before them. VIPs were introduced one by one, their eyes scanning the grid—the magnificent, yet empty expanse that would soon be filled with the roar of engines, vibrant team colors, and the adrenaline of the race ahead.

Luca, steadying himself in the midst of the buzz, picked up his helmet, feeling the cool, smooth surface beneath his fingers. He slipped it on, as crew members adjusted his suit with practiced hands, tightening it, ensuring everything was secure.

It was as if he heard the first drop of rain—a whisper—touch the pavement to their garage and he glanced in the direction. No, he was certain that was the first drop of the rain.

The first drop of rain had just hit the track.

A few more followed, and soon, a gentle drizzle started to blanket the circuit, giving it an unexpected, refreshing sheen.

"...five minutes till lights out!"

"...all drivers are required to roll their cars to their respective grid positions!"

[Ding!]

[Daily Quest has been Issued!]

"I see."

[-·-ATTAIN 6 OVERTAKE POINTS IN THIS 55-LAP RACE-·-]

[DURATION: nil]

[This will help improve your overall Overtaking Skill and Attributes related to it, making you use and implement them better.]

[Reward for Completing Saturday's Daily Quest: (EXP)

-Strength +1

-Agility +1

-Intelligence +1

~Unlock A New Skill (Early Reveal)!!!!!!!!

-Slipsense & Rainborne +2 ]

[Consequence for Failing Saturday Daily Quest: Punishment

-nil.]