[Congratulations! Daily Quest Completed!]
[You have been rewarded with EXP:
— Tire Wear Managent 1
— Handling 1]
[Congratulations on winning a race!]
[You have received the following:
—(1) Catalyst
—(1) Wrench ]
[Aerodynamics: 30
Downforce: 34
Braking Efficiency: 30
Handling: 31
Tire Wear Managent: 31 ]
If Luca had not applied his tools in the British GP, it’d have been now he would have unlocked Wear Control.
Sitting on a bench in an air-conditioned hall, Luca flipped through a slim manual on the operation of the new simulation and training machines recently installed at the training and simulating facilities. Reading the smooth pages one by one, Luca easily understood the diagrams, paraters, and instructions laid out by the manufacturers.
As Luca read, a few crew mbers and facility workers passed by now and then. Whenever they passed with echoing footsteps, offering sporty greetings and nods of respect, Luca acknowledged with faithful responses. He was never too distracted to respond to greetings and small talk.
The hallway had a low murmur of activity, as Trampos Racing had beco way more than what they used to be. Like Squadra Corse, Bueseno Velocità, and other F1 teams, this German team had expanded its operations beyond their earlier standard. Trampos Racing now reflected a serious powerhouse in business, infrastructure, and personnel.
Luca’s eyes scanned the concluding sections of the manual. By the ti he finished the final page, he exhaled softly and humd considerately. A ntal summary ran through his mind before he arrived at a final review on how elaborately user-friendly the manual was.
Luca knew without a doubt these were state-of-the-art machines, built for the purpose of high-performance training. But at the sa ti, he wasn’t deluded by its perceived modernity. Teams like Squadra, Velocità, and Jackson had already installed the sa units, maybe even more recent models, and had the jumpstart on adapting to them.
When he was still a Stallion, Luca had worked with the previous generation of the sa manufacturer’s models. They were less reactive and efficient than these new models, but they were still built on the sa logic and architecture. That familiarity gave him an upper hand now, but it also reminded him that Trampos Racing was still catching up in so areas, even as they rose rapidly through the ranks.
Luca stood up and returned the manual to the floating shelf where he’d gotten it. There were more copies there, so he neatly put it in place. After that, he turned and walked toward the exit and out into the warm natural sunlight.
Beside the building Luca had been in, there was a wide siris tree, casting a similarly wide shade beneath it. Under the shade was a cluster of n engaged in conversation. Mr. Ruben was among them, and he was in deep talk with two suited representatives from Ferrari’s technical departnt and a pair of Trampos Racing engineers, all of them half-shielded from the sun.
Mr. Ruben noticed Luca’s ergence, and he quickly excused himself before he waddled over to him, grinning from ear to ear.
Mr. Ruben caught up to Luca with an affectionate pat on the back and imdiately gestured for them to take a walk, guiding him down the paved path that curved around the building.
"So, how’s training looking for today?" Luca asked.
"We’ll keep you and Victor on simulation all day. We’re having corner adjustnts on the track here, so not fit," Mr. Ruben replied, gesturing toward the training circuit where a few Trampos marshals in orange vests walked about with asurent rods and spray markers.
One of the tighter chicanes was being reshaped for better camber replication, and patches of the asphalt had already been lifted, leaving exposed gravel and construction equipnt idling at the edge.
Luca hadn’t seen the track in that state before. With gravel exposed and parts of the chicane ripped open, it didn’t look like sothing that would be wrapped up in two or three days.
"That doesn’t look like a quick fix," he remarked. Mr. Ruben shrugged in a manner that entailed he couldn’t do anything about it.
"Don’t worry. We’ve been in cars for so days now. Let the simulators run a bit longer."
----
While Trampos Racing spent their day indoors with full simulator sessions due to circuit reconstruction, another team across Europe was thundering down their private test track with unrelenting steam.
In the hills of Monza, one of the greatest Italian Formula 1 teams was based—Bueseno Velocità. They had chosen the sa day, today, to run an unending on-track regin. Both driver and machine were tasked with being the best versions of themselves.
Velocità’s facilities were more vast and more modern in comparison to Trampos Racing’s. In almost every way, it resembled Squadra Corse’s HQ too, but the only differences were the insignias—especially the distinct manufacturers they were backed by.
Where Jackson Racing looked futuristic, Velocità appeared modestly modern, featuring clear glass and clear steel without much complex-looking buildings. The massive compound was gridded by organized private roads, and their training track was larger. At the hillside, it looked like a looping silver ribbon whenever the sun beat down so hard like today throughout Europe.
Mr. Nicolao Finazzi, Team Principal of Bueseno Velocità, was dressed in a clean navy polo and dark slacks. He replaced his headset as he sipped from a chilled water bottle, a calm, focused gaze in his eyes.
The team had just taken a short break from the high-intensity drills they’d been having since the week. Now they were back to their stations—teletry tent, trackside, garage. Finazzi’s morale was steady, and it reflected in the discipline of his crew.
While sitting down, he spotted the canopy beside the timing wall. Under the canopy was Matteo, actively settling back into his seat at the strategy deck. Seeing Matteo reminded him of Jimmy, and he glanced around in search of the team’s new chosen one.
Jimmy Damgaard eventually arrived from the engineering facility building, having just wrapped up a brief debrief with the systems team after he got suited up. As he stepped into the open area nearby, a few crew mbers gathered him and shared updates as they walked alongside. Since he was the key driver now for Velocità, Jimmy’s presence was now always drawing a circle much larger than how it used to be.
Jimmy imdiately made his way to where Mr. Finazzi and the strategists operated physically.
As the next phase of the day’s regin was laid out, Jimmy Damgaard stood still, nodding along with a calm, focused expression. He held that usual composure of seasoned F1 drivers: hands on his hips, chin slightly lifted, eyes attentive like a man fully tuned in.
But beneath that skin of compliance, there was a wolf.
DiMarco’s injury had forced Velocità into turbulence, costing them precious points. However, Jimmy Damgaard didn’t give a rat’s ass about that. If anything, he welcod it.
For the first ti, the spotlight had turned fully on him. No longer the second na on the roster, no longer in DiMarco’s slipstream. Now, the caras lingered on him. The paddock whispered his na. He was the man commanding the HiCE-powered machine. The one in control.
While the attention on the second driver faded into background noise, Jimmy soaked in every flash, every nod, every gaze. Selfishly thrilled to finally be at the helm, he felt no regret over what the team had lost.
As far as he was concerned, Velocità hadn’t lost anything. In his opinion, the team had simply arrived where they were ant to be. And that’s with him at the center.
Reviews
All reviews (0)