My Formula 1 System

Chapter 698: Zandvoort

The sun was just rising over the coastal dunes of Zandvoort, the sky pale, blue, and completely cleared of the morning mist.Suddenly, the quietness of the outer circuit gates was shattered as a lustrous, black executive car rolled up to the security checkpoint. It was a top-of-the-line luxury vehicle, its paint so reflective that it looked like a dark mirror moving on wheels.

The car came to a smooth halt.

The heavy doors clicked open.

A polished leather shoe stepped out onto the pristine concrete, followed by the crisp fabric of a perfectly tailored designer suit.

It was him!

The FIA President had arrived!

He was surprisingly early for the qualifying sessions, showing just how important this specific Grand Prix was to the governing body. But he was not alone. From the other side of the vehicle, Mr. Avilés's wife stepped out, wearing large sunglasses that screamed elegance. Right behind her were their two children, dressed neatly as if they had just stepped out of a clothing catalog.

The family stood together, radiating an aura of prestige and respect as cameras flashed.

In an instant, the peace was completely destroyed, a wave of reporters, journalists, and photographers erupting from behind the media barriers.

They surged forward like a pack of hungry wolves spotting fresh meat. Microphones were thrust forward haphazardly, and the constant clicking of camera shutters sounded like a swarm of angry insects.

"Mr. President! Over here!"

"Mr. President, what are your thoughts on the Dutch Grand Prix returning to the calendar after such a long wait?"

"With only four races left until the absolute end of the season, how do you view the fierce competition among the top drivers?!"

The questions barraged from every angle, enough to make the ordinary person dizzy.

However, the FIA President, Mr. Ireneo Avilés, did not panic at all as he maintained a perfect, calm demeanor. Standing before the sea of flashing lights, he adjusted his expensive silk tie and smiled with absolute confidence.

"The Netherlands has an incredible racing heritage," he said. "The energy of the nation is something truly magnificent for the sport. We are expecting a highly competitive weekend."

He paused for a microsecond, his gaze sweeping across the eager journalists.

"As for the end of the season, it is indeed a very nostalgic time for all of us. Four races left means the stakes are at their absolute highest. But the FIA ensures absolute fairness and safety on the track. May the best driver win!"

An absolutely flawless response!

With a polite nod, he turned around, shielding his family as the security detail quickly escorted them through the VIP turnstiles, leaving the chaotic media pack behind.

Meanwhile, on the actual site!

Inside the pit lane, the atmosphere was completely different. The calm morning was gone, and the garages were a busy hive of mechanical preparation.

The start of Q1 was approaching rapidly, and every single team was operating at maximum velocity.

Mechanics were rushing back and forth like busy ants. CLANG! Tools slammed against metal frames, the sharp WHIRRR of air guns whined through the air, and heavy electric blankets were being ripped off the freshly heated rubber. Hah... hah... The frantic, heavy breathing of the pit crew mixed with the chaos as they raced against the countdown clock.

Sssss... A hiss of compressed air escaped a tire valve, and immediately, the suffocating smell of high-grade fuel and blistering hot rubber filled the narrow garage, burning the back of their throats.

For Trampos Racing...

During the recent interim period, the team's spirit had been completely in the gutter. Half of the break had been gloomy for an unknown reason, where everyone had been walking around with slumped shoulders, dark circles under their eyes, and worried expressions.

However, the Dutch Grand Prix was different. The energy inside the Trampos garage now was completely off the charts.

The momentum was burning like a furious wildfire. Occasionally, high-fives echoed off the metal walls as mechanics shouted praises over the noise. The older men were laughing, sweating, while the younger ones moved with explosive speeds to get their work done.

The low spirits from the break had been completely wiped out. In their place was nothing but a fierce, roaring determination to win.

Victor stood near the back of the garage, shifting his weight from heel to toe. He had plenty of youthful energy, but the sudden shift in the garage's atmosphere took him by surprise. The tension that had hung over the crew for weeks was gone, replaced by a sharp, focused intensity.

Victor looked around the garage to check out everyone's faces. Finally, his eyes noticed the invisible thread of energy transfer and he pinpointed that the source of momentum was none other than his teammate, Luca.

Luca was standing straight by the main telemetry console, talking calmly but firmly with the lead engineers as he pointed to the data on the screen. The empty mood that had followed him previously had completely vanished. Whatever had been weighing on him in secret had clearly been resolved. He was entirely back in the zone.

With their main driver dialed in, a wave of reassurance seemed to pass through the mechanics and engineers. Everyone was moving with more confidence, feeding off his energy. Victor felt a quiet sense of relief, too. This was exactly what Trampos needed heading into the final four races of the season.

"Victor! Time to get in. Q1 is going green in two," Mr. Moritz called out over the rising hum of air tools.

"Roger that."

Victor walked over to the red-and-black JYX-81. He stepped onto the sidepod and lowered himself into the tight, carbon-fiber cockpit, the familiar contours wrapping closely around him.

The mechanics closed in immediately. They pulled the heavy harness over his shoulders and slammed the buckle into place with a heavy CLACK. They yanked the straps down, pinning him hard against the chassis. The pressure on his chest was immediate, restricting his lungs so he could only take shallow, measured breaths.

In, out.

He pulled his helmet on, snapped the dark visor shut, and locked the steering wheel onto the column.

The digital display flickered to life, streaming rows of green and white data.

Behind his spine, the engine fired up with a deep, vibrating roar that shook his entire body. He waited, watching the pit lane light.

'Can I fool the grid again?'

The thought crossed his mind, a sudden spike of adrenaline hitting his chest.

In Mexico, his fortunate encounter with track prep marshals, had given him prior knowledge of the hazard of the track, keeping him clean and ahead. Part of him had wondered if he could pull off another wild stunt today as he had gone jogging this morning, too.

However, during his long, quiet jog, he seemed to have mismatched the timing, leaving him with an empty track with no trucks or operator in sight.

Looking out through the narrow view of his visor at the twisting strip of asphalt, Vic ought to know better. Luck rarely strikes twice.