My Formula 1 System

Tension was in the air. Luca could feel it. Even though Hatcherk Motorsport was staying in another facility at the other end of Milan, and even though Velocità and Squadra Jnr were in Monza, Luca could still feel it.

The tension only worsened the moment the FIA diligently announced that Luca Rennick of Trampos Racing was cleared for competition in the F2 Italian Mega Prix.

He could only imagine the disbelief, grief, and malcontent on the faces of those responsible for delaying his result—and on those who had hoped to benefit from his absence.

This could very well be the last day of peace of mind for any driver or team because the following day was the qualifying session for the grid on Saturday… the most important qualifying session of the season so far.

It was going to be the standard, traditional fastest lap format—whoever set the fastest time within the session would take pole, while the remaining positions would be claimed by subsequent lap times.

Luca expected nothing less than severe competition on Thursday. Everyone, including him, would fight for what would ultimately determine a driver's starting point in the finale.

And the starting position mattered just as much as the finishing position.

Luca was going into the Serpeggiare on Thursday morning with Pole Position in mind. Not P5, not P4, not P3, not P2—only the farthest, most dominant position on the grid.

That was Thursday's concern. But today was Wednesday. Three days left until Saturday.

And Luca had some beef to fuel.

Not that he planned to settle any discord with anyone. At least, that's what the FIA would prefer to see on their screens. That's what the spectators would yearn for.

The second pre-race driver conference was here, scheduled just as planned before the final race of the season. Every driver still in contention for the championship would attend—Luca, Max, Aaronson, and Miles.

The last time these four sat together at the same table, there had been six, including Ansel and Dani Walding. The last time this conference was held, Aaronson was still sulking over his DNF in Stadhaven, and Max Addams was sitting comfortably at the top of the Driver's Standings.

Now, Aaronson was just as confident and hopeful as any of his rivals attending the conference today. Knowing he'd be F2 champion just by winning this race gave him a surprisingly calm demeanor, as if he were planning every single turn he would make on Saturday.

Now, Max Addams was full of worry, his confidence fading away, replaced with bitterness and an ache. He was aching not just for the F2 championship victory, but for victory over Luca.

Halasz Pavilion in Budapest had hosted the last press conference, but today, Parco Di Monza in Monza was hosting the second—the same park where the circuit was located. It almost felt as if the FIA had completely colonized the area.

Luca arrived at the venue with Mr. Grant and Ms. Vallotton. Team Principals were requested to attend the brief event, though they wouldn't sit at the main table before the press. If present, Team Principals and Head Engineers would likely be interviewed in other booths, questioned about their tactics for the race.

That part of the park was bustling with the media, clusters of photographers holding up cameras that never seemed to stop flashing.

There were hurried conversations, including those between Luca and the organizers as they directed him and his Team Principals toward a safer path into the building, away from the sea of fans congesting the opposite side. Luca couldn't see them from his angle, but he could hear pushing, collective muffles, and the unmistakable clamor of hundreds packed together.

His eyes caught one man who had managed to squeeze his way to the front of the barricade. The moment their eyes met, the man's face twisted with hostility.

"Fuck you, Rennick!"

The words had barely left his mouth before security spotted him and shoved him away, cutting off anything else he might have said.

"Ignore the commotion, please," the organizer leading them said softly. Read exclusive adventures at My Virtual Library Empire

Luca nodded and quietly followed.

The FIA's branding was plastered everywhere, and a lot of men in black were positioned everywhere. Luca wondered if every single man had a duty because there were so many, but not as many as the journalists who were already taking their seats and setting up their tripods with their corresponding photographers.

Formula 2 was actually getting more recognition than it did five years ago.

Mr. Grant and Ms. Vallotton tapped Luca goodbye before they went their separate ways to different interview booths.

Luca heard a door shut behind him, drowning out the loud shuffle of the fans outside. He advanced further until he could see one figure sitting comfortably at the supposed conference table.

It was Max, and he was seated like a king, deliberately choosing one of the two center seats to face the cameras more effectively.

Max didn't see Luca yet. He was scrolling on his phone because the event had yet to begin.

Another figure, standing and speaking to the organizers as if he was really impatient to leave this place, was Aaronson. He was dressed in a suit, hands in his pockets, and when he turned, his cold gaze landed on Luca, who was approaching.

"Please welcome Luca Rennick," an announcer announced in a soft, quick tone—no microphone, just her clear, sweet voice.

Max and all the journalists opposite looked up. Aaronson remained staring, while the organizer he had been speaking with walked over to welcome Luca.

"Welcome."

"Thank you," Luca answered as he stepped into the camera view and gave a fine wave before taking the seat at the far end of Max's right.

Max sized up Luca before turning his focus back to his phone. Aaronson, on the other hand, sat at the conference table and took a sip from the bottled water placed for him.

He tried to remain calm and collected, but it was obvious he was deeply enraged that grown-ups like him and Max had to wait for teens like Luca and Miles.

It took a whole ten minutes before Miles arrived, and when he did, he walked in with today's host, Curt Wallace—a very young Englishman in the complexities of journalism, no older than thirty.

Miles walked behind Luca's chair and took the chair beside Max.

Seeing his rivals were seated, Aaronson finally took his own seat, completing the set.

All four drivers looked relaxed, with no clear expression emblazoned on their faces. However, real sports fans would know that this expressionless appearance was a result of the tension and how high the stakes were.