My Formula 1 System

The first racing event of the season was the Bahrain Grand Prix. The country of Bahrain had really put in a lot of work in order to be given this great role and the opportunity to host the first race on the calendar of what everyone believed would be a more hectic year than the last.

First tickets of this year were sold out, and while the organizers and the nation prepped the venue, designated facilities, and the country as a whole, teams were getting ready to fly in with full force like nations going to war.

The night before, Luca left his German villa and checked into a quiet hotel in the metropolis. The trip to Bahrain was scheduled to be very early, so he didn't want a long drive from that his home to delay anything. He packed up every essential of his, just like a seasoned F1 driver would, and zipped his travel bag with a tug.

Luca looked up and around the hotel room, scanning for anything that might have somehow left his mind. He found nothing, except his untouched tray of breakfast. There was no time to sit down and have breakfast, so he gripped the handle of the travel bag and parried into the hallway.

As always, Manuela was waiting outside the door, dressed sharp and formal. She also seemed to be making a call that felt one-sided on the other end, because her eyes lit up with relief the moment Luca emerged, and she unapologetically seized the call.

Manuela handed Luca a quick breakfast as they began to walk briskly: half a sandwich and a glass of milk. She guessed right that he didn't touch the room service tray. If she was wrong and Luca had already eaten, then she would promptly dispose of the food in the bin they just passed.

Without a word, Luca chewed and sipped as they cut into the next corridor. There, Chico and Dino joined silently mid-hall. Dino took over Luca's bag as they fell into their complete familiar flank formation.

There was no pause down the lobby, only up until the elevator where they settled for a moment before continuing. The morning was cool, and the atmosphere felt just like every other hotel. When the glass parted to the gardens and premises of the hotel, a few people who had learnt Luca Rennick was lodged here and gathered since 5:30 AM, rushed toward him and his team.

Dino and Chico reacted like hungry dogs and attempted growling them away, but Luca told them it was alright. He spared just five seconds to wave, smile, and acknowledge them before resuming his path toward his SUV, instead of just walking by and ignoring them completely.

The enthusiastic fans were grateful for his acknowledgement and waved back as he entered the black SUV. All wished him a safe journey.

****

Bahrain remained a small but striking Arabian kingdom. The appearance of the nation didn't have a novel awe anymore to Luca, but more like a full realization of its beauty. A country full of sand and sea, blended with luxury, and an amorous mix of the Arab tradition and modernity. Glass towers, white mosques, urban complexes, dancing highways, open skies.

The FIA had secured accommodations for Trampos and their personnel in the same city of Sakhir. The complex was just a few kilometers away from the Bahrain International Circuit, but it was the nearest in comparison to other teams' placements.

There were many hotels, even small-sized private villas banking the facility. Luca decided to lodge himself into one of the hotels instead of dwelling with the team in the facility and its already prepared living quarters.

The team saw no problem in this because it was close enough to them for swift movement, and also distant enough for peace and preparation—as they believed he deserved. Moreover, this was commonly practiced by other big drivers on the grid; they seldom resided with the team no matter what.

After three days of all teams officially settling into Bahrain, the F1 season buzzed fully to life with the start of the pre-race conferences. All paddocks had to welcome the press into their various facilities with good purpose in order to conduct what was deemed necessary. And very soon, it was a swarm of journalists, broadcasters, and cameras, ready to capture the opening thoughts of a brand-new championship year.

As all teams actively conducted theirs, so did Trampos. Luca was in the facility on the specified day of Press Conference 1. He noticed that the number of reporters in attendance was far greater than the average for just a simple opening press conference like this—for a single team, in fact, not collectively.

Luca didn't know it was all just because of him. His name alone was enough to spark a discussion, or even a dinner argument. For months, and even for a year now, international news outlets had practically been printing money off every Luca Rennick headline. Every single action this young man made had shifted the world in some way...even by just breathing.

To the media, Luca was more than just a driver, but a storyline generator, and they needed his voice now to snowball reception for this season. With Ansel's memory freshly stitched into Trampos' livery, his marred face, and new halo, every word Luca says would carry weight.

"Luca says 'congratulations' on your championship victory at the Emirates last November," a reporter told Antonio Luigi at Squadra's facility. "But he also added, and I quote: 'With such competition, I doubt he might hold the title for long.' What do you say to this, Antonio?"

Antonio amusedly stared at the male reporter, who wore a serious expression on his face as though he had just stated a legislative bill to be signed into law.

"What does Luca know of competition? Does he aim to be one of the contenders while in... Trampos?"

Back in Sakhir, at Trampos' facility.

"Luca, Antonio Luigi seems to doubt the capabilities of your driving under Trampos. What do you have to say to this?"

With a neutral expression, Luca said, "Skip."

Another reporter was picked, and she stood up with her notepad.

"Good day, Luca."

"Good day."

"Davide expresses 'concern' regarding your 'quick recovery' from the incident in Spain last season. He suggests that you receive full medical attention regardless of how long it takes."

Luca scoffed inwardly but clasped his hands and interlocked his fingers on the outside. He could vividly imagine DiMarco's smug face uttering such words.

"Tell Davide I'm very touched by his 'concern,' but I'm completely cleared for competition—confirmed by the Federation."

He leaned slightly forward. "Perhaps, he should be more concerned about the results of the race. Last year's Bahrain GP didn't go too well, did it? Fate might strike twice."

When DiMarco received Luca's response, a big frown blemished his face. Anger coursed through him because that wasn't the reply he was hoping for to fuel his ego.

"If that's the case," he hissed, "then he should be concerned about this year's Spanish GP. I'll show him just how much fate can repeat itself."

The reporters truly loved that reply and were in a haste to deliver it to Luca. However, Luca's reception was shut down completely on the last day.

"I will be receiving no more questions."

When Luigi realized nothing else was coming from Luca anymore...

"No more questions."

And finally, DiMarco, waiting hungrily for fire, was left with wind and chill.

"No further questions. We'll see on Sunday."