My Formula 1 System

On the second day of the following week, Trampos Racing, specifically the Team Principals and the drivers, were obliged for a long press interview in the same location in Berlin.

Just like how there were Federation stations for all sorts of activities in each motorsport country, there were press venues as well. These venues were responsible for the facilitation of rumours, information, broadcasting, television, interviews, and lots more. And today, Trampos were to give an outline of their ambitions for the coming Grand Prix to the Federation, the whole of the competition, and the spectators.

Luca sat next to Haas, handing him a cup of coffee as the bus rumbled toward the venue. He believed that small gestures like this went a long way and could help improve their camaraderie, which, in turn, kept them connected on the track for good results.

Luca recalled his early days at Trampos and how Haas' first impression had been anything but welcoming. He even remembered making a silent promise to steer clear of Haas as long as he remained teamed up with Ansel.

But now, here they were, training for the French Grand Prix in what would be a critical race that could make Trampos lose the lead that they had held since the start of the season.

They arrived so early that the venue was still nearly empty, with only a handful of fans scattered around, likely those who had come early for a better chance to interact.

Luca had hoped for a more relaxed moment with them, but that hope quickly faded as Trampos and Federation staff rushed to usher everyone inside, keeping things tightly controlled.

Once in, they were ushered to a simple backroom, Mr. Grant, Ms. Vallotton, Luca, and Haas, for a quick makeover if necessary just to keep them camera-ready.

A few minutes passed, and they made their way to the long white table with microphones, facing the press and cameras that had strategically set themselves up for perfect picture angles and much more.

A pang of nostalgia hit Luca as he settled into the seat next to Mr. Grant. Ms. Vallotton was to the left of Mr. Grant, and Haas was to the left of Ms. Vallotton. This kept both Team Principals in the middle of the drivers.

Another flash of the cameras deepened the nostalgic daze that overwhelmed Luca at that moment.

Luca had attended countless press sessions over the past months, but those had always been with Ansel and Mr. Grant. Now, things were different. Ms. Vallotton's presence was a constant, and Ansel, once a fixture beside him, was gone, replaced by Haas.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Taking a steady breath, Luca reached for the bottled water in front of him, sipping slowly as he surveyed the sea of expectant faces of men and women. The reporters' eyes were locked onto him, waiting.

Luca anticipated this press session to be a tedious one. The press interview after a driver's recovery was never straightforward, and they were always relentless.

The questions that would be thrown at him and even his Team Principals might deviate from simple strategies and what to expect from Trampos, prying into Luca's recovery and extra details that never focused on the subject, which was racing.

Luca wondered if this digging into his condition and recovery was a way to know whether he was still the same driver he had been or if the brief pause in driving had brought about a significant change.

"There are two rounds left in the Formula 2 Constructor's Championship. Trampos is still in the lead, but the margin has been steadily shrinking since the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. My question is, will this decline in points continue into France and beyond? Or does Trampos have plans to put an immediate stop to it, especially now that..." The reporter's eyes shifted to Luca, and he immediately recognized her from a previous session. "... now that Luca is back?"

"Yes, absolutely. Or rather, obviously," Mr. Grant responded without hesitation. "In times like these, our objective is crystal clear. Any team leading the standings will do everything in their power to stay there. To maintain our position, we must stop losing points. And to stop losing points, we have to perform even better, securing more points in the process."

"Will Luca have a major role to play in this operation of 'Securing More Points'?" Another question came almost immediately.

"Luca has always played a major role in Trampos. The French Grand Prix will be no different," Mr. Grant replied.

"Can we expect a repeat of the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix? And no, I'm not referring to the incident. My question is about the strategy—where Ansel gave up a position for Luca. Would we see something similar between Luca and Erik in France?"

"Yes," Mr. Grant responded confidently. "Both Luca and Erik will work together to ensure a successful race for Trampos."

Flash!

Damnit. The light's too bright.

"It's still mind-blowing how Trampos took the competition by storm with that move in Riyadh. Is there a chance it could become a permanent strategy, even when Ansel returns from his suspension? And on that note, when will he return?"

Ms. Vallotton frowned. She disliked how the press twisted their questions, and this time, she chose to address it head-on. "Are you asking if Ansel will be back on track anytime soon?"

A brief pause.

"...Yes, Ms. Vallotton, that's exactly what I'm asking. Trampos has been silent on the matter and hasn't given a public timeline for his suspension. Is it indefinite?"

Ms. Vallotton leaned forward, pulling the microphone closer, ensuring her words were unmistakable.

"Ansel will be a key driver for Trampos next season. For now, Luca and Haas will focus on finishing this season."

A soft wave of murmurs spread through the press, the weight of her words sinking in.

The murmur died down seconds later. And from the movement of their eyes, the shift of their body to face him, Luca was certain it was time for those unending questions he anticipated.

Luca wasn't wrong.

In fact, he underestimated it!

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Twenty—no, almost thirty—minutes of relentless questioning had left his head pounding. His throat was parched, his bottle of water long emptied, and no one had bothered to replace it. Not that he had the chance to ask. He'd been too caught up answering, and even if he had, it would only have worsened the pressure in his already-full bladder.

The first fifteen minutes had been split between him and Haas, but after that, the focus had been solely on him. Mr. Grant and Ms. Vallotton had slipped away to speak with key figures at the venue, and even Haas had taken his leave. Luca had been left alone to face the press onslaught.

He started to wonder if they just wouldn't stop because he hadn't put an end to it himself. Mallow had taught him that the length of a press session was in the driver's hands—legally, he wasn't even obligated to say after five minutes.

As another eager reporter prepared to fire off another question, Luca finally took control.

"That will be all," he said, cutting in before they could speak.

"But could we—"

"Thank you," Luca interjected flatly, rising to his feet and offering a short nod.

Flash!

The camera lights blinded him for a brief moment before he turned toward the exit. An official was already extending a hand in his direction, guiding him away from the room of curiosity.

Luca hurried to the bathroom, finally relieving himself before heading back to rejoin the team. He fell in step behind Mr. Grant and Ms. Vallotton as they greeted a group of men and women in black suits, doing his best to be polite and composed.

Once the formalities were over, he and Haas were led outside to meet and engage with the fans before they left.

Luca came to an abrupt stop, his eyes widening in disbelief.

The sheer number of people packed into the open area was staggering.

The moment he stepped into view, the Trampos fans erupted, their cheers and shouts rising in a deafening wave. Even with the barricade separating them, their energy was overwhelming.

"What in the..." Luca muttered under his breath.

He couldn't even make out individual faces. All he could see was a sea of red and black waving frantically under the afternoon sky. Everything blurred together just like the enthusiastic voices. Flags, banners... banners of him?!

Above all, one stood out, upheld by the crowd. It was vertical, a striking edit of him with captions all in German.

Funny enough, at first glance, Luca didn't even recognize himself on the banner. But the Trampos Veststar—red, white, and black—along with his #21 Dallara, its wheels blazing like fire behind him, made it clear. That was him, fist raised in victory.

What Grand Prix is that?

"Let's go, Luca," an official urged, gesturing toward Trampos' waiting bus, where Mr. Grant and Ms. Vallotton were already boarding.

"Go?" Luca echoed. "I thought we'd at least meet with them?"

That was the reality of sports.

A crowd this massive made direct engagement nearly impossible, both for safety reasons and sheer practicality. There was no way he could meet every single one of them. The official explained as much, and Luca nodded, accepting it.

Luca sighed and followed Haas to the bus. As they walked away, the crowd intensified their roar, hoping to draw the team back. But that only reinforced the fact that they were too fierce.

Luca entered the bus, retaking his seat next to Haas, who was by the window.

He buckled up as the bus began to rumble, his eyes moving to the crowd again.

Luca recalled that Haas was German, and he needed to understand what some of these boards meant. He pointed to the same banner of him with the fiery Dallara wheels.

"What does that one mean?" he asked. "Twenty-five fsch-skish...?"

Haas chuckled. "Twenty-five points for Luca equals twenty-five points for Trampos," he corrected.