"This is outrageous! You're sitting out for Australia too?"
"Upon everything I've contributed to this team's wins—does that an nothing?"
"I've been a Silver Stallion since I was ten, racing for this na! Loyalty used to matter to the Ferrari teams. Where's that now?"
"Six rounds in, and I'm still stuck in the paddock? That's the plan? When I've tested every setup, burned laps for data. When and where's my shot?"
"You're betting it all on him, but what about my years here? I'm not just so spare driver you can bury on the bench!"
Those weren't exactly Di Renzo's words when he heard Luca and Rodnick would race in Australia, leaving him sidelined again. Luca just pictured that's how they'd sound, since one engineer ntioned Di Renzo "didn't take it quite well."
Luca put himself in Di Renzo's place, wondering how he'd react in that spot. He started thinking it through, step by step.
What if he and Rodnick were set as the fixed in-race teammates, locked in, and then, out of nowhere, a new season kicks off and Jackson Racing brings in a new driver—so young guy like him, full of ambition and drive?
Luca pushed the idea further. What if Jackson Racing decided to run this new kid for the next two races, benching Luca to sit in the paddock, sipping water bottles while they hit the track?
And worse, what if this driver started racking up points, stealing the show? That'd an more races watching from the sidelines, his own seat at risk.
After chewing it over, Luca figured he'd be mad as hell too. It'd be a heavy blow to his smooth progress with the system, cutting deep into his points and screwing up his standings.
Since Luca knew he couldn't do much to lift Di Renzo's spirits—he was literally the whole reason for the Di Renzo's frustration—he decided to let sleeping dogs lie.
Luca rembered last year's Australian Grand Prix, wishing he'd brought a cara to catch the race weekend's monts in clips. So, this ti, he wasn't taking chances with Australia's dusky charm. He packed a digital cara—4K, 75MP, 10x optical zoom—to grab it all.
A 12-hour flight on the Hawthorne 3 got them to Australia after a stop in Dubai for a refuel, rest, and grabbing food plus a quick stretch. The Hawthorne 3 wasn't so massive jet, but it handled the long haul fine, so they pushed on after, touching down in lbourne by evening.
It was too dark to snap any photos that day, and Luca was beat from the trip, so he didn't even bother trying.
It was only the day after—thankfully a free day—that the atmosphere turned bright and perfect for snapshots. The contrast couldn't be starker from Brazil's apocalyptic appearance just days ago.
Australia carried a more uplifting energy, a sense of liveliness that filled the air, reminding Luca of a certain mory—when he, Ansel, and Harry—Harry, his fellow driver back at the academy—had once spent a lighthearted afternoon together after the F2 Australian Grand Prix, which Ansel had won.
As the day wore on, Luca gradually recalled how his friendship with Harry had simply dwindled over ti. From sending each other silly photos and jokeful banter to only exchanging words when sothing important ca up. Eventually, the last ssage had been from Luca's end—"Thanks, mate. Would love to see you lift it one day too!"—after Harry had congratulated him on his ga Prix win.
Maybe Harry had realized that Luca was slowly outgrowing his level and decided to pull away. And Luca, caught up in the storm of F1, Nevada's controversies, and the haunting weight of his late father, had simply let the friendship slip without realizing.
He couldn't deny it—there was a bit of sadness in not having anyone he could truly call a solid friend. Adrian was there, A.K.A, his fencing teacher, but it was clear that friendships built through real, lived experiences always hit differently.
At a zoo in lbourne, only Vance and Manuela were by his side. They were occasionally jokeful and warm, which served well enough for Luca.
There are only two days for personal rest before all F1 teams garrisoned to prepare for the race on Sunday.
Jackson's designated facility was a certain Fort Keswick at Southbank, lbourne. When Luca arrived, it genuinely looked like a garrison to him—buzzing, structured, and full of soldiers in race gear rather than camo.
He quickly blended into the hive of activity, slipping into the gym first to get pumped up and boost his boost his muscle responsiveness and core flexibility, especially with how intense Sunday's forecasted track dynamics were expected to be. He couldn't afford to be anything less than precise.
The day's and days' drills in training were centered on mastering fluid overtakes across George Park's notoriously spiraled layout—a twisted stretch of asphalt that looked more like tangled spaghetti than a standard F1 track, winding relentlessly from Turn 1 to the final bend.
Despite recent expansions and construction, the track's dangerous waviness remained untouched. If anything, it had been amplified. A few of the newer turns had been ticulously engineered to bridge the mid-sector loop back toward the ho straight, creating an extended stretch with deceptive traction shifts.
These turns also introduced two distinct runoff zones carved into the outer edge, providing enough space for quick exits or aggressive dives, depending on how sharp a driver's instincts were.
Luca would've really appreciated those runoffs last year—back when he had no Skills like Gripper to help him hold steady under extre pressure. But now that they were here, it felt like a quiet assurance, a safety net to prevent spins or wipeouts at the track's most brutal points. Not a crutch, but a second chance if you pushed too hard.
He paid razor-sharp attention to every drill they were put through—lines, throttle release, brake taps, lane switching, grip correction. Each pass, each motion, each mock-lap, he internalized. And whenever he glanced at Rodnick during those drills, he could tell: the guy was locked in. There was more weight in every nod, more intention behind every reply, and not a single wasted move out on track.
The way Rodnick was handling the sessions—clean, focused, nearly untouchable—Luca started to wonder. Maybe it was ti to start thinking of him not just as a title rival... but as the biggest driver on the grid this weekend.
Thursday marked the F1 Qualifiers, just a day after F2 had wrapped up theirs. It was Round 6 now, and everything was ramping up. The mont to shape Sunday's starting grid had finally arrived.
Luca put on his headphones and linked them to his phone via Bluetooth. Scrolling down to the playlist Isabella had made him, he found the song that always lit sothing in him. With a small smile, he tapped play.
Night Begins To Shine by B.E.R. flooded his ears.
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