The following day, just after the gym session, Luca headed straight to the track with Amir by his side. The sky was much brighter, a welco change from the previous damp mornings.
"Your Team Principal is a frightening man," Amir whispered as they strolled along the pavent leading to where Mr. Grant stood with five crew mbers at the edge of the track. Luca's Dallara, prepared for the day's training, glead under the sunlight. Its red, black, and white polished sheen stood out, and the scent of its fresh rubber tires lingered in the air.
Luca chuckled at Amir's remark. "You think so, huh?" he replied, glancing at Mr. Grant's bald head, which perfectly reflected the rising sun. Both he and Amir shared a quiet laugh. "I've learned the man is all business—no room for, you know, a little lightheartedness. But hey, as long as he doesn't bite my head off, we'll be fine."
"Good morning, Mr. Grant," Amir greeted as they approached. He glanced at the Trampos crew tending to Luca's single-seater like it was a priceless gemstone. "And good morning to all my friends here."
"Good morning, sir," Luca added humbly, nudging Amir to tone down his cheerful antics.
Mr. Grant's stern gaze didn't waver, his eyes scanning both n. Luca, sensing the tension, casually pivoted toward the crew, striking up a conversation to lighten the mont.
Mr. Grant's attention then turned fully to Amir. "You're his personal trainer, not a staff mber of Trampos Racing. What exactly are you doing this far into the facility?" he asked, his hands clasped behind his back. Dressed in a red T-shirt, black joggers, and matching red sneakers, Mr. Grant looked sharp and commanding.
Amir tucked his files under his armpit and pulled out a scarf to blow his nose. "Excuse ," he muttered, a heavy snort followed by the soft flutter of the white fabric. Sniffing, Amir pocketed the scarf and turned his gaze toward Luca, who was eagerly chasing after a crew mber that had swiped his MP3 player. "I don't an to interfere with any procedures. I'd just like to see the lad drive before I leave. Surely, a simple warm-up lap won't do any harm, would it?"
Mr. Grant rolled his eyes with a scoff. "One simple warm-up lap, then."
"Thank you."
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Clapping his hands sharply, Mr. Grant gathered Luca and the team's attention. Their playful antics imdiately ceased as they returned to the single-seater, which seed to have been eagerly waiting for its chance to roar to life.
Once the team assembled, Mr. Grant folded his arms, his stern gaze erasing any lingering amusent in the air. "Alright, Luca. One lap around the one-thousand-ter. Get your fingers flexible, the car ward, and ensure your speed and precision are on point. Then, we'll move on to today's agenda," Mr. Grant instructed, briefly flicking his eyes toward Amir as he finished.
Without hesitation, Luca jumped into action. A crew mber tossed him his helt, which he slid onto his head effortlessly, foregoing a head sock, and tightened the straps as he flexed his legs. The cramped cockpit often left his legs sore after every session in the single-seater, let alone after all three races he had competed in.
Amir and Mr. Grant observed intently as Luca climbed into the cockpit with practiced ease, the crew strapping him in securely.
pat pat landed on his chest from McCauley, one of the lead crew mbers. "Let's see how fast you go, pal. Up, up, and away."
Luca chuckled beneath his helt, giving a thumbs-up as his System seamlessly synchronized him with the car. The interface shimred to life, analyzing every component and blending his senses with the machine.
Mr. Grant turned his attention montarily to the teletry building, only a stone's throw from the lane. Through the wide glass windows, Mr. Moritz and his team of engineers were hard at work. As if sensing Mr. Grant's gaze, Moritz instinctively looked up, their eyes eting.
Mr. Moritz smiled and raised a thumbs-up before turning his focus back to the computer screens in front of him.
Back on the track, Luca's car was already revving, its rear shimring with the heat of the engine. Mr. Grant brought the radio to his lips. "It's a free track, Luca. Move your car as much as you want," he said.
**Okay, sir** Luca replied promptly.
The tires screeched as Luca launched forward the mont McCauley gave the signal. A torrent of wind swept past the crew and Mr. Grant, who stood firm, unflinching despite the rush. Amir, however, staggered backward, struggling to remain upright as his papers scattered into the air.
Hastily gathering his files, Amir glanced at the track with wide eyes. "And how much did he accelerate with?!" he exclaid to no one in particular.
**7.70 m/s²** ca Mr. Moritz's calm reply over the radio.
Mr. Grant exhaled, adjusting his stance as he watched Luca's car disappear around a bend, the engine's roar fading into the distance. "That's close to a hundred kiloters per hour," he muttered. "That's good."
Amir, still stunned, shook his head. "So, you're shaping this young lad into a beast? A machine heh?"
Mr. Grant scoffed. "There's nothing young about that lad, Mr. Jas. He's a man in a boy's body. That much is clear," he said, his gaze fixed on the screen mounted on the side of the track like a traffic signal. There he could see Luca carefully navigating through the peaceful track, and would soon zoom by them any second.
Amir nodded thoughtfully, taking his gaze to the right where the approaching sound of Luca's engine dragged like a blazing horn through the air. The red-and-black Dallara sliced past once more, Luca pushing for another lap despite not being instructed to.
"You'll need to regulate him," Amir said, breaking the silence. "Don't push him too hard early on. You might not reap the benefits—or worse, you might reap the opposite."
Mr. Grant's brow furrowed as he processed Amir's cryptic remark. He turned to the trainer, his expression hardening. "And what exactly is that supposed to an?"
Amir shrugged. "I an, I could be Luca's PR for his entire career, but let's be realistic—Trampos probably won't be his team forever. I'm not trying to—"
"Mr. Jas, please leave the facility," Mr. Grant interjected coldly, his voice devoid of emotion.
Amir paused, taking one last glance toward the distant track. With a nod, he turned and made his way down the tarred path, leaving the area.
Mr. Grant stood in silence, his mind racing. The audacity of Amir's words stung, but the discomfort they caused only underscored their likely truth.
Shaking the thought away, he turned back to the track in ti to see Luca's car decelerating and rolling to a stop.
Luca's future career path wasn't his concern, Mr. Grant reminded himself. His job was to win championships by getting the best out of his drivers—nothing more, nothing less.
As Luca's helted face ca into view, Mr. Grant gave a nod. "Good job," he said. "Let's get started."
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