My Formula 1 System

"...Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Shanghai. The local time is 3:42 PM, and the temperature is 18 degrees Celsius. Please ensure you have all your belongings before disembarking..."

Luca and his personal team touched down in the great city of Shanghai, one of the most populous countries in the world—China.

As private jet passengers, arrangements had been made to conduct their immigration and customs away from the main terminals, utilizing the FBO's exclusive services. This ensured a swift and seamless process, free from the usual congestion of a commercial arrival.

Luca stepped out of the Hawthorne 3 with sunglasses on, shielding his eyes from the overcast sky. Manuela emerged a second later, and Vance showed himself last, adjusting his earpiece.

"...Passengers arriving on private flights, please proceed through the VIP clearance area. Your assigned concierge will guide you to customs and immigration services...."

The concierge arrived moments later, dressed in a red-and-white uniform, religiously Chinese. He approached them with a nod of respect and led them to the FBO.

Luca got his documents signed swiftly, his luggage checked without issue, and was informed that a private car was waiting just outside the executive lounge.

Luca expressed his thanks and moved just that way with his team, Dino and Chico bouncing protectively behind.

"You know, I was expecting them to address us in Mandarin, and I'd have to use a translator," Luca said to Manuela as they settled into their ride. "Sadly, no Ching Chong Ching, just English."

"Mr. Luca!" Manuela snapped, giving him a sharp look. "This is an international airport. Of course, they accommodate travelers in a language they understand. English is the global standard, after all."

"Understood," Luca replied, then leaned back, thinking aloud. "But I hope they still speak their own language natively. It'd be cool to hear Mandarin in person rather than just in movies. Hmm… Hey, do you think I can see Jackie Chan?"

Manuela sighed deeply. "Maybe. If he likes Formula 1. But I don't think he even lives in China anymore."

"Damn it," Luca muttered, genuinely disappointed. "Would've loved for him to teach me some Mandarin."

Pulling out his phone, he tapped the screen and turned it toward Manuela, pointing at the name of the team's facility for the second round of the season.

"Can you pronounce this?" he asked with a very wide smirk.

Manuela squinted at the screen, her lips pressing together as she attempted to sound it out. "Xiángshuǐ Jiāháng Qíchē Jìnéng Pínggū Zhōngxīn…?"

Luca burst into laughter. "Yeah, sure, let's go with that."

The SUV drove out of the FBO driveway into the city of Shanghai. This was Luca's first time in China—or in any country with an Asian background—so his focus remained fixed outside the window.

Having listened to all the playlists in his MP3, his ears were tired, but his eyes were not. Glued to the city they were, as he marveled at the modern architecture, partially obscured by a thin layer of mist in the distance.

1.3 billion people in one goddamn country. A nation this vast had to be a machine—an unstoppable force. Luca wondered about the rate of poverty in its communities, knowing that such a massive population would inevitably bring economic disparity.

Yet, he also remembered that China had one of the strongest economies in the world, if not the best. The density of life here must be overwhelmingly staggering.

True to the country's populous nature, the streets and roads were filled with motion, movement, work, and bustle. It was as if everyone was grinding toward a greater goal, far more coded than even the Jackson Racing team crew.

Fine cars, motorbikes, and buses weaved seamlessly through traffic like a designed pattern, an intended harmony. Pedestrians in sharp business attire moved with the synchronized efficiency of a metropolis that never slowed down.

And now, after six years, Formula 1 was back here.

Luca recalled the Grands Prix that had been hosted in China. The majority of them had been night races, making him wonder if there'd be a second night race in a row.

He had yet to carefully check the details of the race, the schedule so tight and fast that he hadn't found the time. So, he didn't know if this one would be under the lights or not.

Regardless of the sky color, the scale of the Grand Prix was going to be massive. It would be a spectacle on the world stage. Spectators would pour in by the hundreds of thousands. The race would be treated like an art—a monumental rarity, which it was—and the entire weekend would be colossal.

Judging by the way China operated, Luca knew this would be a special stop on the calendar. A country with over a billion people, most of whom were locked in the relentless rhythm of work and progress, didn't often have the chance to pause for something as electrifying as this.

So, when an event like this approached, the people would set aside their usual rat-race existence, trading boardrooms, assembly lines, and packed metro stations for the roar of engines and the pulse of raw speed.

Billboards already bore the official ad cover for the second round, with Luca being the most displayed driver due to his win in Monaco.

Their ride pulled up at the entrance of the Imperial Azure Grand Hotel. Luca had already made early reservations in the hotel, so they knew he was arriving.

Two doormen in sharp uniforms were even waiting. They smoothly opened the door for Luca and his team.

"Mask?" Manuel offered Luca a black mask and he accepted.

"Thanks," he said, putting it on.

Luca and his team stepped out. The way they moved, all dressed in black except for Luca in a white shirt, actually oppressed everyone else. Luca knew it was just because of Dino and Chico's imposing heights.

"Welcome, Mr. Luca," the doormen said, leading the way.

Luca's gaze swept the premises of the enormous hotel. There was a centrepiece in the driveway, a newly installed fountain to help boost the hype of the upcoming race.

It was an F1 car fountain, sculpted from obsidian-like stone and frozen in a state of blurry dynamic motion. There were water jets mimicking the aerodynamic flow of the car slicing through the air. And most importantly, the sculptors made sure it was brandless and teamless; just an F1 car.

Luca imagined how it would look like at night. He would stroll out of his room just to make sure he get the sight.

Since there were lights beneath the fountain, it would give the impression of a ghostly, possessed machine streaking through a mist.

"Now that's some hype," Luca murmured, admiring the artistry as he entered the hotel.

Check-in was swift. The staff had clearly been trained to handle high-profile guests, and within minutes, Luca had his key card in hand.

"Penthouse suite," Mr. Vance noted as they entered the private elevator. "Hawthorne spared no expense."