My Formula 1 System

Just as Luca had anticipated, the designated facility in Milan for Trampos Racing's stay throughout the 12th round of the championship season was enormous.

The facility featured a 3-kilometer track designed in a spiral, wavy form, ending in a massive curve that gave the entire complex a round shape. The track's shape and structure deliberately mimicked the Autodromo di Lombardia, the legendary circuit in Monza that often hosted the Italian Grands Prix and would host the upcoming Mega Prix.

Surrounding the track, state-of-the-art buildings were strategically positioned, forming a sleek border that, when viewed from above, gave the impression that the track was wearing glasses. The architecture was not just functional but visually striking, enhancing the facility's prestige.

Luca admired every detail, but as the facility's functionaries continued explaining, his excitement began to wane.

They revealed that due to its vast size and dual-section design, the facility would be shared with another team—Avidavis Motorsport. Two bridge walkways connected both sections, further reinforcing the "eyeglass" resemblance of the track's aerial view.

Hearing this, Luca's initial excitement dimmed slightly. However, since Avidavis Motorsport wasn't a rival or a particularly competitive team, he felt a little more at ease. The facility was still spacious enough, and despite the unexpected split, there was plenty of room for them to train without interference.

Luca glanced around him.

No Victor, McCauley, Dennis, or any of the others he usually joked around with. If they were here, he would have already challenged them to a quick sprint to the next braking marker, betting a few drinks on the outcome.

Instead, he was surrounded by Mr. Ammermann—calm, collected, a doctor, and the last person who would indulge in such nonsense. Then there was Mr. Ruben—definitely not the type to entertain a spontaneous race. The rest were crew members, mostly sharp-minded engineers, young nerds engrossed in their tasks, and a few fine girls.
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Luca sighed, pushing down his lingering adrenaline. With nothing else to do, he adjusted his grip on his bags and made his way toward the tallest building in the facility, a towering structure of glass and steel that housed all their rooms.

Mr. Ammermann walked beside Luca, his arm casually resting on Luca's shoulder. Luca wasn't sure why, but it seemed like everyone treated his shoulder as a convenient resting place.

"We won't waste time, Luca," Mr. Ammermann said, briefly lifting his arm to rub his eyes. Even he was feeling the exhaustion. "It's a few minutes to eleven. We'll rest, settle in, have lunch, and then head into the city to begin this charade."

"Sure," Luca replied, grabbing the man's bags without needing to be asked. "We're still sticking to that plan, right?"

"Yes, of course."

They moved through the lounge, passing sleek furnishings and polished floors, before stepping into the elevator. A smooth ride up, and soon they were heading toward their respective rooms.

Luca was eager to see what kind of space had been prepared for his championship-winning room. Swiping his key card, he twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

As if on cue, the moment Luca pushed the door open, a slight air current sent the thin peach curtains soaring, their fabric billowing wildly and allowing the sunlight to spill freely into the room. The warm glow stretched across the plush peach rug, brightening the space with a soft golden hue.

The room was familiar in its layout—like every other hotel room he had lodged in this season—but with subtle differences in the positioning of the bed and furniture. It felt larger, more personal, and less like a standard hotel accommodation. There was a certain comfort to it, a quiet sense of belonging that the others hadn't offered.

Luca set his luggage aside, closed the door, and stepped further in. As the air current settled, the curtains floated back down, dimming the room slightly. He turned back, found the light switch, and flicked it on before continuing his inspection. The kitchenette, toilet, and bathroom were all neatly arranged, matching the high standards he was used to.

Satisfied, he returned to the main room and moved to the window. He opened them and folded the curtains aside, letting the natural light and fresh air fill the space. His room had a sharp, angled view of the facility's track. From there, he could see glimpses of the lower floors, the reception area, pit garages, and various other sections.

Luca stood at the window for a while, taking it all in before turning to unpack.

This was it. The sudden nature of the trip hadn't given him the chance to fully process it, but now, standing in this room, it was finally sinking in.

This would be his last "final" of the year—a slang for the flights, hotel stays, and all the exhausting travel. The last of the season. And if things went the way he planned, the last time he'd ever do it in Formula 2.

This would be the room where he'd either fall asleep with a heavy heart after failure in Monza or stay up until 2 a.m., celebrating a championship victory—the Formula 2 world champion.

Unpacking was just as tedious as the packing, but Luca managed to get through it within the hour. Once everything was in place, he redressed the bed and made sure the room was more neatly arranged. He had the team's schedule in mind, but there was still some time to spare.

Settling into one of the mini-sofas, he pulled out his phone to send a few messages, letting Mr. Fisher, Mr. Grant, Ms. Vallotton, Haas, Mallow, and Sara know that he had arrived safely in Milan and was settled in the facility.

Among the messages, he saw that Isabella had already replied to the one he had sent before taking his flight. Surprisingly, she had responded just a few minutes after he sent it, contradicting his earlier assumption that she would be asleep by then. She expressed her surprise at his sudden departure to Italy and asked him to call her once he arrived.

Two hours later, she messaged again, this time with concern.

Luca started to type a response but paused. Instead, his thumb moved to the three-dotted button, and he selected the call option.

As the phone rang, he made his way to the cupboards, hoping to find some snacks. Unfortunately, there were none. Their arrival had been earlier than expected, so the usual pastries, bread, and cake hadn't been set out yet.

Sighing, he tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder while changing—switching out his joggers for plain jeans and swapping his Catapult watch for a real one.

Isabella answered just as he finished adjusting his outfit. Their conversation began naturally, flowing as he stepped out of his room, heading downstairs to grab something to eat before meeting up with Mr. Ammermann to proceed with their plans.