In Trampos’ HQ, the atmosphere was quiet, serene, and calm. The main building stood erect, facing and towering over the parking lot that hosted many cars.
Inside the main building, there was a room called the archive room. The room was even quieter; silent, in fact, and its dusky lighting matched the cool air that soddened every corner. The climate system in the facility was outstanding.
Every F1 team, or any sports team in general had what they commonly called an archive room. Others might give theirs different but synonymous nas like vault room, legacy room, or simply trophy room. But regardless of the flair, the purpose of the room was to hold ti still, figuratively.
This archive room was designed to store the heritage of the team, including old car models, racing suits, photos, and trophies won. Anything that was morable to the team’s history was always stored in these rooms. So, teams like Nevada, Velocita, Squadra, and Jackson had a stash of vestige and relics to preserve in their archive rooms.
As for Trampos Racing—the red rising sun of tomorrow, as they were now called—their archive room was... empty, figuratively as well.
Of course, there were participation awards and a few other irrelevant things that took up space they honestly shouldn’t have. Still, the idea that the team was trophyless made the concept of the archive room being empty feel literal.
But for Luca, the room was more than just empty. The floor was tiled magnificently in his opinion, and the lighting was so soft, focused only where needed, that he believed the room must be filled with the touch of the Holy Spirit.
He was standing at its center, alone and deep in reflection. Many empty cases for trophies and actual aningful awards surrounded him, but his eyes stayed fixed on just one thing that wasn’t even a trophy or sothing of celebratory heritage.
"ANSEL HAHN" "THE QUIET WOLF"
"From 20XX — 20XX"
"R.I.P" "STILL ONE OF US. THEN. NOW. FOREVER"
On the wall was an epitaph poster in mory of Ansel. The poster was wide and large, occupying the entire wall. Ansel’s full photo on the poster was stretched a bit, thereby making his wave appear longer and his smile, broader. Luca noticed it was still a mid-race clip from Formula 2 as well.
He swallowed and exhaled silently before deciding it was ti to leave. The cold in the room had begun to gnaw at his skin cells.
Luca understood his own intentions for walking away from Jackson Racing in order to return to Trampos. It had never been about himself and the paycheck alone; he had considered a lot of things before saying "yes" to Trampos.
Number one on that list was Legacy. It was a sad thing for him to admit, but it was true: he had begun to let the sport get into his head. But in his defence, Luca rembered a quote that counseled on the importance of leaving a mark in every part of life, rather than being marked by life and letting it pass away.
Trampos would definitely decay into rubbish and nothing after Ansel’s demise, with no good driver in their team—C-rated at best. No one would sign for Trampos because there was no future, and in seven years, Ferrari would indisputably withdraw from their partnership.
Luca knew he couldn’t see himself padding stats in another team, winning trophies and titles, while this apocalypse befell Trampos.
So, he wasn’t only here to drive and simply reunite, but to build an empire on his lost brotherhood. Luca would make sure Trampos beca the most feared team. After all, this was a perfect grass-to-grace story, and he was determined to write the last Chapter on his own terms.
He had already encountered the team and crew, although many weren’t physically present today. The return had gone smoothly enough; with handshakes, hugs, greetings, and so quiet stares. But truthfully, it was a bit more underwhelming than Luca expected.
He had really expected so happy spirit, beaming faces, and unconfined joy. This was his return to Trampos Racing; he hadn’t set foot on HQ soil in over a year, so naturally, Luca had overreached in his conception of how the mont would feel.
It wasn’t really his fault though. The truth was, even till now, Trampos was still mourning. So liveliness wasn’t common anymore—not since September. But apart from that, many people didn’t even recognize him. And you can’t burst into happiness for soone you don’t fully register. To most of the crew, he felt like a stranger in a familiar skin. And to the new crew mbers hired post his exit, he was flatly a stranger in their midst, a driver they had only ever known from dia buzz and his great deeds, a driver who wore a silver mane.
A year away had changed Luca. His aura, tone, and appearance were far too altered. He looked seven years older, and this look stood in contrast to the warmth that still lived in his actions and gestures. It was too much of a heavy presence. And it saddened Luca a bit, because conversations with crew mbers he used to speak with freely were now quicker and more brief.
The only conversations that did not change in texture and tone were his talks with Mr. Grant and Ms. Valloton—his two favorite people. He spoke with them on the second day, since they had been absent on the first, and wow, Luca couldn’t believe how free his chest felt compared to how it used to feel speaking to them before races while at Jackson.
Ms. Valloton was too proud of Luca, her pride bubbling in a way that was impossible to mask. As for Mr. Grant, he was flushed with indescribable feelings. In his mind, Luca had grown too far out of his range of tutorship. He was, after all, rely a three-star Team Principal for the most diocre team on the grid. What business did he have coaching and directing the best driver in Formula 1 at the mont?
It would either be that he handled Luca’s potential with precision and care... or he wouldn’t be able to, and in doing so, would risk wasting the young man entirely.
Reviews
All reviews (0)