My Formula 1 System

Berlin and Milan were in the same time zone, which influenced the perceived length of the journey. The direct flight lasted around two hours, while the total travel time, including airport procedures, was closer to three hours.

As the pilot announced their entry into Italian airspace, Luca instinctively pressed himself against the window, eager to catch his first glimpse of the country's landscape.

But all he saw was a vast stretch of land caught between autumn's fading warmth and winter's slow embrace. Patches of frost clung to the earth like delicate lace, weaving through fields and forests, while scattered woodlands stood with trees half-bare, their golden and russet leaves stubbornly holding on against the creeping cold.

In the distance, the first hints of snow dusted the mountaintops. The view was an illustration, a promise of the festive season soon to come.

The view was also breathtaking nonetheless, and Luca let his eyes linger for a moment or two before he sighed and relaxed back into his seat.

"...Welcome to Italy, where history whispers through ancient streets, passion fuels every moment, and every journey is a masterpiece waiting to unfold..."

Italy, a country that had long established itself as the beating heart of motorsport, particularly in the realm of Formula racing, had now become a prepotent country in this time, and probably anytime in history.

It wasn't just like any other country that participated, it was a country that defined the sport, shaping its culture, engineering, and sheer passion.

Luca didn't know how it all started, but all he knew was that from the very beginning, Italy's influence in Formula 1 and its feeder series had been and was still undeniable.

They produced machinery that were synonymous to prestige and dominance, as if every year, they were in pursuit of something more than perfection.

Three of the top five best teams in the sport hailed from Italy—Squadra Corse, Bueseno Velocità, and Nevada HanSama—with a staggering 80% of all Formula 3 teams also being Italian.

Luca often wondered how Nevada, Squadra, and Velocità managed to coexist in the same country without one claiming complete dominance. None had earned the undisputed title of Kings of Italy, and their fan bases were constantly at war over which team reigned supreme.

Among the top five car manufacturers in the sport, Italy had only one representative—Ferrari. And out of the three major Italian teams, only Nevada used Ferrari machinery, while the others relied on different manufacturers.

Despite Audi and Mercedes being German brands, Mercedes didn't base itself in Germany—only Audi did. Even with Germany's history in motorsport and its contribution through legendary brands like BMW—which had long exited the sport—the FIA still didn't prioritize the country in its promotions. This lack of attention was a sore spot for German motorsport fans, fueling their frustration.
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The German Grand Prix at the start of the season had actually been the first in three years, marking only its fourth hosting in this generation.

Meanwhile, Italy had a flawless 100% hosting record—13 consecutive years, 10 Grand Prix events, and 3 Mega Prix, including the upcoming one.

Luca couldn't really blame the FIA, though. It was like serving a king his wine—exactly when and how he demanded it. A racing-obsessed nation.

Unlike other countries where Formula racing might be just another sport, a secondary interest, Italy lived and breathed it.

Racing wasn't just entertainment for them, it was a way of life. Even before the turn of the 21st century, it had cemented itself as the nation's number one sport, shaping generations of drivers, engineers, and fans alike.

Over time, Italy's influence spread beyond its borders, its racing legacy taking root in foreign lands. From the earliest circuits to cutting-edge modern tracks, the country had always been at the forefront of innovation, now standing as the undisputed center of motorsport.

Luca often wondered why so many Italian drivers—himself included—turned out to be exceptional. Was it something in their blood? A natural talent passed down through generations? Or was there something ritualistic about it, as the Tifosi seemed to believe?

He didn't dwell on the thought for long, especially on the Tifosi people he really disliked for some reason.

The captain's announcement came over the intercom, instructing them to prepare for landing. Luca straightened in his seat, adjusting his harness and ensuring his belongings were secure. The cabin lights dimmed slightly as the jet descended, the low hum of the engines shifting in tone.

The plane landed smoothly, its tires kissing the runway with a soft screech before rolling to a gradual stop. The hum of the engines quieted as the aircraft taxied toward the private terminal, and Luca unbuckled his seatbelt, ready to move.

As soon as the seatbelt sign flicked off, he grabbed his belongings and made an early move toward the cabin door. But just as he was about to step past Mr. Ruben, a firm hand landed on his chest.

"Nuh uh," Mr. Ruben muttered, shaking his head. He then pointed at his own luggage, wordlessly reminding Luca of the task he'd assigned him earlier.

Luca exhaled sharply, giving a short, dramatic bow before stepping back to grab the bags. By the time he turned again, a crew member had already made it to the door and was preparing to step out first.

The cabin door opened, letting in a rush of fresh air mixed with the scent of the jet fuel. Luca adjusted his grip on the luggage and followed the others down the narrow stairs. The morning sun had fully risen, casting long shadows on the tarmac as they stepped onto the private airstrip.

No welcoming party this time. No fluffy necklace, no leis.

Trampos had already arranged for their transport. It wasn't a red Trampos bus though, it was a black, brandless mini bus, almost as if for some vigilante group.

A uniformed attendant greeted them with a nod before opening the vehicle's sliding door.

Mr. Ammermann and Mr. Ruben gave a quick headcount before signaling for everyone to board. Luca practically tossed Mr. Ruben's bags into the back before climbing in himself, settling into a seat near the window.

A crew member, a girl, made effort to sit directly next to Luca, and so the bus filled up.

The bus pulled away from the terminal, rolling smoothly onto the main road. It was time for Luca to see what was so special about this country.

He stretched his legs, finally relaxing before looking to his side to take note of who was sitting beside him.