My Formula 1 System

Chapter 40 Silent Expectations 3

A/N: Thank you for 100+ powerstones this week. Plus one chapter it is.

Mr. Grant studied his boys, his face stern as he searched for an iota of distress, anxiety, or timidity in their expressions. Eventually, finding none, he opened his mouth to speak.

Luca, who was adept at masking his inner emotions, exhaled inwardly. It wasn't just the question of whether he'd make the podium or not—he was anxious about the sheer act of racing itself. The sensation of pushing the limits at such high speeds before spectators was still foreign to him, and he figured it might take at least one more race to feel fully in sync with the essence of it.

Until then, he'd steady his nerves and give his absolute best on the track.

"Many races I've managed, and I can assure you, Motorsport is not like other sports," Mr. Grant said, his gaze lingering on Luca. It was clear that Luca was the intended audience for his words—whatever Grant was saying, Ansel likely already knew. "There's no such thing as a seasonal comeback, where a 14th-place team magically rises to fourth by some miracle. No, nothing like that happens here."

In 1998, Tekk Racing—now known as Haddock Racing—climbed from 16th to win the championship with the help of Sam Scott and Alain Mudryk. That was the rise of HR. Luca remembered this, but decided not to mention it, believing Mr. Grant was trying to make a point.

"Points at the start of the season matter a whole lot more than those at the end. You use the fresh momentum to dominate early on and grab the title. That is what you do," Mr. Grant declared with authority. "We are leaving here with nothing less than 40 points. Do I make myself clear...?"

Luca glanced at Ansel. It seemed the last question had been directed straight at him. Mr. Grant was silently placing Ansel in charge for the race.

"Yes, sir," Ansel answered with steady, unwavering confidence. Grant gave him a firm tap on the shoulder, then turned and walked away toward his viewing post without saying another word.

As soon as the man was gone, Ansel and Luca shifted their attention to Mr. Moritz, who wore an amused smile.

"Forty points, huh? Think you boys can manage that?" Moritz asked, half-teasing but curious.

Luca and Ansel exchanged glances, then shrugged in unison as they pulled on their helmets. The bustling garage faded into a world of muffled noises, the cheer of the crowd and the crew chatter dulled by the snug fit of their headgear. They fastened their helmet straps with practiced ease, though the crew still hovered around them, pestering their necks and double-checking everything with care.

Luca stepped briefly out of the garage, curiosity pulling him toward the edge. The circuit buzzed with an electric energy, the stands filled with spectators eager for the race. The grandstands were closer to the track than he had expected, with fans near the Trampos Racing garage pit leaning over eagerly, stretching their hands in hopes of touching him.

He took a quick glance at the other team garages, and he could see they were ready to roll out their cars to the grid. From the far side of the third section, Bueseno Velocità Jnr's garage was filled with able crew members catering for Max Addams and his teammate Dani Walding with the same meticulous care as though handling rare artifacts.

Luca shifted his gaze further down the pit lane, where another team's garage caught his eye. He craned his neck to confirm—yes, Squadra Corse Jnr was stationed just to the left, their mechanics hard at work. The line of teams stretched on, each preparing their machines for the battle ahead.

"Full day," Luca muttered to himself, retreating back into the Trampos garage just as a few desperate fingertips from the crowd managed to brush against his suit.

Approaching his car, Luca's System effortlessly analyzed every detail, confirming that the single-seater was in optimal condition and was ready to go. The green text flowed seamlessly across his visor, soothing his nerves. He slid into the cockpit, where the crew deftly fastened the harness and safety belts around him, locking him into place.

Moments later, a tow truck rumbled into position at the edge of the pit. With smooth efficiency, it rolled Luca's and Ansel's cars out onto the curb. As the cars began moving toward the grid, pit crew members gave the chassis reassuring pats as gestures of motivation.

[SYSTEM ONLINE...]

[SYNCHRONIZING HOST....]

[SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE]

[Host is now synced with Dallara (F2 04)]

The crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer as Luca and Ansel emerged with the other 28 cars, their sleek forms hugging the ground, low and poised for battle. The cars took to the track like gliders slicing through the air, rolling confidently to their assigned grid positions.

Luca felt a twinge of satisfaction—he was starting from the inside of row 2, Position 3. Perfect. Ansel occupied Position 2 on the outside of row 1, a mirror of their previous lineup at Bad Rauenburg.

Now, I have a good chance of winning this.

Max Addams' blue-and-black Dallara caught Luca's eye, the sight stirring a fierce hunger inside him. Whether it was he or Ansel, someone from Trampos would take Addams down today and dethrone him.

[Host, are you confident this will be the race where you complete your Mission?]

Luca inhaled deeply, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. With a quick press of the ENGAGE button, the engine roared to life beneath him, growling like a beast ready to be unleashed. The vibrations reverberated through his arms, steadying his resolve.

"Don't you believe in me, System?" he murmured.

[The Formula 1 System would not have been granted to you if I did not.]

[Winning your first race will grant you lots of EXP, two new Skills, and an upgrade to Advanced Bundle.]

"Alright, then," Luca muttered, shifting his gaze toward Aaronson, who occupied 4th position just to the outside of his row. If anyone would give him trouble today, it was Aaronson. Max Addams? No—Ansel could handle him. Aaronson was his last minute rival from Germany. It would come down to him and Aaronson.

Aaronson's car hummed, its revs so loud as if he was anticipating the very millisecond the lights went off so he could explode off the line and pass Luca. "Game on, then. We'll have a rematch," Luca said, wishing Aaronson could hear. Glancing at each other across the asphalt, Luca was certain they understood their threats nonverbally.

"...the wait has come to an end, and the race can finally begin! Forty-six laps around the George Park Circuit—the second Featured Race of the season. We'll soon see who and which team will come out on top with the most points by the end of the day..."

"... it's made known that after that exhilarating performance in Germany, Trampos Racing's new driver, Luca Rennick, 18, is the driver to watch for today's race. I say he'll live up to expectations within the next 80 minutes of engine and tires. What do you say, Jon...?"

"...one good race doesn't necessarily make one the seed for the birds. You will have to work your way to gain such appraisal. To me, the young driver would fall short even with the favorable grid position..."

"...heh, we'll take bets on that, Jon. But for now, the race awaits, and the lights are about to go out...!"

Luca's gaze settled on the sprawling track of George Park, snaking far into the distance like a serpent of asphalt and tarmac, its sharp corners coiling in ways that gnawed at his nerves. His eyes flicked to the massive screens overhead, displaying the starting grid. The lights above the starting line flickered in sequence and began counting down to the moment everything would erupt.

**Bring the points***

The crowd roared, their cheers swelling to deafening heights, drowning out even the furious revving of engines all around him. But Luca blocked it all out, narrowing his focus to the twisting track ahead. His System hummed quietly, processing every visual input—every angle, every turn, and every threat. Anything racing-related that entered his sight became immediate data for him to absorb.

Flags waved wildly from the grandstands, horns blared, and tension rippled across the grid like electricity. It took just a single moment for the lights to blink off, all the cars shooting forward like uncaged beasts. Let's do this! urgh!

Luca's body slammed hard against the seat as the brutal force of acceleration pinned him in place. The G-forces hit faster and stronger than he remembered, squeezing the air from his lungs. His helmet rattled slightly, but it didn't disorient him completely.

[Endurance +1]

[Host is participating in an Official Race]

[ANALYZING AND COLLECTING TRACKING DATA...]

[DATA COLLECTED]

[DATA DISPLAYED IN REAL-TIME:

-Car Speed: 95 km/h

-Heart Rate: 108 bpm

-Operational Status: 90% (Very Good)

-Breathing: Calm & Steady

-Distance covered: 60m

-Time: 2.3 sec ]

The feeling of being behind the wheel was surreal once again. This wasn't just training or a simulator—this was the F2 Championship, and Luca was right in the thick of it with an impressive 17 points already under his belt.

"Thanks for the update," Luca muttered to his System, his grip steady as his eyes locked onto the track ahead. An early bend loomed, notorious for its bottleneck. His pulse quickened as he saw Addams and Ansel up ahead, already adjusting their wheels to fit the curve. Their single-seaters surged side by side, perfectly synchronized, fighting for dominance at the bend.

Luca remembered the car he was racing side by side with, and he glanced in that direction while he tilted his own wheel. Aaronson was already speeding up even with the structure of the track they were approaching. The Australian was not interested in dragging positions with a driver who emerged from nowhere.

He quickly zoomed into the bottleneck with a short drift and claimed third position for himself. Luca tilted his wheel to adjust, but Aaronson's car edged past, slipping smoothly into third place with a narrow margin.

Luca cursed as the leaderboard shifted instantly.

[4th Position]