My Formula 1 System

Before the Feature Race began, a special announcement was made on behalf of Luca Rennick, the injured F2 driver. It was a gesture of support for his recovery, and as the message echoed through the circuit speakers, the entire Trampos fanbase rose to their feet. Applause and cheers erupted across the grandstands, a collective show of encouragement. Luca waved back to the crowd.

"...and it's always heartbreaking to see a driver sidelined due to injury. Especially one as promising as Luca Rennick, who was in stellar form before his unfortunate incident with Ansel Hahn in the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix."

"...Luca was delivering some of his strongest performances this season before his crash, and you have to imagine how frustrating it must be for him to sit out while the championship battle continues without him. We hope to see him behind the wheel again, and back in action in Formula 2!"

Luca lowered his hands once the cameras left him. He smiled around the section he was seated before adjusting his bland cap, and settled in for the race with ten minutes till lights out.

"The doctor said you're recovering faster. Less than two weeks now, right?" Mallow asked.

"Yeah," Luca replied, his gaze fixed on the 5km circuit that would host 60 laps this afternoon. He exhaled, then turned to Mallow, narrowing his eyes. "I'm not on the grid today," he murmured, before his attention shifted to the piece of paper in Mallow's hand. His brow lifted slightly. "Alright, who did you bet on this time?"

Mallow chuckled—then burst into full laughter. "Ahh, buddy, you don't wanna know."

Luca smirked. "Just say it. Max? Miles?"

"Nope. Derstappen."

"Derstappen?" Luca's expression twisted with mild surprise. "Why are you so confident he's getting his first Grand Prix win today?"

Mallow frowned, shaking his head. "I really don't get how people just forget who ALBERT DERSTAPPEN used to be!"

"He's a good driver, I know that, but—"

"Do you know he was this close to getting promoted to the senior team?" Mallow cut in. "Then came the fallout, and yeah, maybe it messed with his performance. But today? He's on pole. If he keeps it clean, he can absolutely finish there."

His tone was brimming with confidence, and the snug smirk he shot at Luca said it all—he was putting his money on Derstappen, no second thoughts.

Luca was about to speak again when Mallow cut him off with a sharp glance, subtly tilting his head toward someone approaching.

"…Five minutes till lights out!"

"WOOOOHH!"

Luca turned to his right, where a distinguished man was making his way toward them. He was tall, with an air of effortless wealth and authority, dressed in an impeccably tailored navy-blue suit that contrasted against the golden cufflinks glinting under the midday sun. His silver-streaked hair was neatly combed back, and his sharp, aristocratic features carried the confidence of a man who was used to commanding attention without demanding it.

At his side was a young woman. One Luca placed to be his wife or his daughter. She looked too young and alluring to be his wife, so Luca guessed she was his daughter.

It seemed they were planning on taking the seats next to Luca.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Mallow's lips curled slightly, recognizing the man immediately. "Well, that's Jacques Lemaître and his daughter. He's one of the owners of Squadra Corse," he muttered under his breath.

"Which Squadra Corse are we talking about? Senior or Junior?" Luca asked, admiring the man's aura.

"Luca, for heaven's sake, same owners and same management, different crew," Mallow shot as quickly as he could before Mr. Lemaître could fully arrive.

Mr. Lemaître smiled as he reached them, his presence naturally commanding respect. "Gentlemen," he greeted smoothly, his voice rich and steady. His accent carried the faintest trace of old-money European elegance. "Enjoying the spectacle?"

"Yes, we are," Mallow said. "You came to join us?"

"Certainly," Mr. Lemaître replied smoothly. "I see a few open seats beside Mr. Rennick, so my daughter, Margot, and I might help ourselves. Shall we?"

Luca nodded, watching as the two elegantly took their seats.

As soon as they settled, Mallow leaned in close to Luca and murmured, "Maybe he's here to slowly ease you into a potential transfer to Squadra Corse."

Luca kept his expression neutral, pretending not to hear. The thought had crossed his mind, but he doubted it. Moreover, moving to an F1 into a team like Squadra Corse would be underwhelming, as he really didn't like them, so it wasn't really a bright idea.

Still, he expected Mr. Lemaître to steer the conversation toward something significant. And soon enough, he did.

The grid was set. Albert Derstappen's black-and-gold Dallara sat at the pole position, its engine snarling with anticipation. Behind him, Miles Bellingham was primed for the attack, while Aaronson occupied the next box.

The tension in the grandstands peaked as the five red lights flickered on one by one. The roar of the crowd mixed with the high-pitched revving of engines, creating an electric atmosphere.

"...Lights out. Race on!"

As the field launched forward, the Qatari Grand Prix was officially underway.

And right then, Mr. Lemaître turned to Luca.

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[SYSTEM ONLINE...]

[Ding!]

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Knock knock knock!

Luca's brows furrowed as he stirred awake, blinking against the dim morning light filtering through his room. His mind churned sluggishly, still caught between sleep and reality.

What the heck?

The knocking came again, firm and deliberate. His confusion deepened. He lived alone in a multi-million-dollar home—gated, with restricted access. No one should be inside, let alone standing at his bedroom door. Who would have had access to his home and was knocking on the door of his own bedroom?!

Luca closed his system's interface and carefully rolled out of his big bed, still mindful of his injury that was now healing. He could move without any strain or pain, and now, Mr. Ammermann said he should still take it easy for full recovery in order not to reverse the progress by stressing his body with physical exertion.

Knock knock knock

Thieves? No. Why would thieves knock?

Luca walked across his spacious room, his mind still sluggish from sleep. His bedroom was located on the top floor of the house. The walls were a deep, matte black with ambient LED strip lighting along the edges, giving the space a sleek, futuristic feel like he wanted. He had one floor-to-ceiling window and a regular sized mirror. The king-sized bed he had just left was covered in charcoal-gray sheets, to the right was a good workspace and to the left was a walk-in closet.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Who's there?!" Luca called out, his voice sharp with caution.

"Us!" came the enthusiastic reply.

He immediately recognized the voices—Sara and Mallow.

"Open up!"

Luca exhaled, shaking off the remnants of sleep. Right. Sara had a spare key to his house. He should have realized it was them, but waking up groggy to unexpected knocking had thrown him off.

Running a hand through his tousled hair, he wandered to the door. Twisting the knob, he pulled it open to find his PA and agent standing there, both beaming with excitement.

Sara held a large cake in her hands, covered in rich chocolate frosting, with candles waiting to be lit. Mallow had his arms crossed, smirking like he'd just pulled off the greatest prank in history.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!"

Luca blinked. What the—

For a solid moment, he just stared at them. Today was… September 15th, right? The realization hit him like one of his late-braking maneuvers into a tight corner. It was his birthday. And he had completely forgotten.

"Happy Birthday, you bozo! Aren't you happy?!" Mallow thundered, striding into the room without waiting for permission.

Sara followed, expertly balancing the cake as she gave Luca a pointed look. "Or did you forget?"

Luca sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "I was actually anticipating my birthday. But for some reason, I didn't register that it was today."

Mallow groaned dramatically. "Unbelievable. You're a professional driver with insane reaction speed, but you forgot your own birthday? I swear, man…"

Sara shook her head with a teasing smile. "We knew you wouldn't do anything special, so we took matters into our own hands."

Luca shut the door behind them, still feeling a bit dazed. His birthday. Right. It had been the last thing on his mind with all that had happened lately—his injury, recovery, Ansel's suspension and everything else going on in F2.

"Alright, alright," Luca said. "I guess I should say... thanks?"

"Damn right you should," Mallow scoffed.

Sara placed the cake on the small coffee table near the lounge area of his room, pulling out a lighter. "Make a wish first."

Luca shrugged and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the cake. "I wish I wouldn't be so caught up and disturbed in the next seasons that I would forget my birthday again," he said, biting his lip to suppress his incoming laughter.

"What?!" Sara snapped. "No, no, no. That's not a—" Experience new stories on empire

"It counts and it is!" Mallow hollered. "Cut the cake!!"