My Formula 1 System

Two days had passed, and the atmosphere was pacifying little by little. But peace was never a long-lasting element in the life of a Formula 1 driver. For Luca, that truth hit again when a notification came in from Manuela, informing him of a compulsory team gathering at the Trampos facility.

Training sessions were scheduled to begin the following day, so Luca wondered what this formal call to duty was about. The Bahrain Grand Prix was now behind everyone, with the season already stretching its neck toward the Austrian Grand Prix, so surely, there'd be new strategies to formulate and demanding discussions to climb.

Without overthinking it, Luca dressed formally in plain trousers, a dark vest jacket layered over a collar shirt, but with no tie.

He slid an incomplex watch over his wrist and organized a few important items. He carefully tossed them into the back of his coupe before moving to the driver's seat. It was still late morning, the sun strangely pale and vibrant at the same time, as the car started with a smooth growl and rolled out of the property onto a road that hardly demanded focus and attention.

By a few minutes past eleven, Luca arrived at the purlieu of Trampos' HQ. The facility was now far larger than before. From a distance, one could see the stretch of rising buildings painted boldly in the team's colors—red, black, white, and their new addition, yellow.

As fate would have it, two other cars swerved into the access road just ahead of Luca when he was nearing the gates. One was the typical black glossy executive SUV, while the other was a striking red Toyota, and both of them had tinted windows. From first glance, they were likely owned by members of senior management or high-level strategists.

They were all heading toward the same gate, moving in quiet sync, semiformally and with no rush. The security checkpoint let all three vehicles through without pause, and Luca slid smoothly into his usual parking spot, which he had noticed the team left reserved for him out of reverence.

As he opened his door, the doors of the other two vehicles opened simultaneously, and that rich scent of car interior quickly saturated the lot. Luca closed his and turned to see the other two stepping out of their lustrous rides.

The first was Mr. Ojukwu, Chief Technical Officer, and the second, Mrs. Lindholm, the lead data analyst. Both of them hadn't been present during Luca's first tenure with Trampos Racing. Once Trampos made it to Formula 1 and Mr. Lemaître gained part-ownership, a lot of things were changed—as expected.

In sport, when a team enters a new era, personnel get rotated, departments are restructured, and even philosophies or long-standing goals might be realigned. Many priorities would shift, and there'd be an internal cultural change as well, so it wasn't strange at all.

All three naturally gravitated toward each other, exchanging strong handshakes, followed by pleasantries and subtle smiles.

Afterwards, they turned toward the main building, each showing mutual respect by motioning for the others to go first. In the end, Lindholm, being the woman among them, agreed to walk ahead, seconded by Ojukwu, and Luca entered the building last amongst their set.

Inside the main Trampos building, the designated venue for the internal meeting was on the 5th floor. It was the same floor they often used for technical briefings and management coordination.

Luca and his two colleagues were greeted with nods and smiles from the inside clerical workers as they moved purposefully to the place of gathering. Before they could reach, they encountered others like Mr. Grant, Ms. Vallotton, Mr. Ruben, and the rest of the attendees of the said meeting.

Luca's presence sparked the atmosphere with flame, and everyone suddenly grew more vivacious and noticeably happier. Victor was there too, and he was the one most influenced by Luca's halo. He had his hands in his pocket, his eyes panning until they met Luca's, and in that moment, he suddenly regained his energy.

Before they could natter long, a secretary kindly asked everyone to step inside the big hall that was filled with comfortable seats, arranged in a manner that expressed hierarchy.

They all made their way in and took their seats. After a while, the managers entered with a stoic presence. Leading the file was Mr. Fisher, still the undisputed president of this thriving team. Mrs. Doyle, Mr. Gräber, and three more followed—the big six that ran this team from the head. Their assistants came in behind, and very soon, the room was fully bathed in formality.

The managers didn't bear any happy expressions, because the matter of discussion was very important and had to be taken seriously. The issue in question had to deal with the calamity that struck Trampos just less than a minute into the first race of the season, the Bahrain Grand Prix.

Right as the lights went out and the cars barreled into Turn 1, every data stream from Victor and Luca's car ceased transmitting to the pit wall. For more than 10 laps, Victor had raced completely blind from the team's side, with zero telemetry, and this was what led to his crash.

Management were still angry about this because it was not supposed to happen. The Bahrain telemetry failure wasn't due to underfunding, nor was it a matter of broken equipment. Trampos might not have the financial prowess of the legacy constructors, but they had more than enough to prepare properly. All necessary resources were provided ahead of the season opener.

So, what went wrong wasn't on the side of material provision. It was the human side. The technical crew had simply failed in their jobs. Hence, poorly experienced workers were the problem.

"We can't be making such mistakes! Not at this level! Not in Formula One!"

"If the systems hadn't failed, we might've locked in more than just Luca's winning 25 points. Victor has the capability to push into the top 10. This is unacceptable."

"We need internal excellence to match our external goals. Look around—Squadra Corse is running like a machine, Haddock's efficiency is elite. We need to be better, smarter, tighter. If our garage isn't functioning, we have no business being on the track."

"And Luca—thank you. You carried this team on your shoulders through hell. Even after your own systems glitched, you held strong. You deserved better support. You shouldn't have had to rescue our weekend on your own."