Luca woke to the soft chime of his System, a reminder that it was time to begin his Daily Routine. He groaned, trying to move his arms and legs, but they felt impossibly heavy, as though they were anchored to the bed. One plush hotel pillow cradled his head, another was tucked against his chest, and despite his best efforts to roll over, the heavy weight of sleep held him captive. His eyelids refused to cooperate, and with a resigned sigh, Luca let himself drift back into unconsciousness.
An hour and a half later, the System chimed again, louder and more persistent this time. Its mechanical voice pierced the silence, announcing it was now 7 a.m. Though Luca had missed his Daily Routine, normal activities still awaited him, as they did everyone else.
His body still felt weak, almost leaden, and he made a quick decision to stay in bed, hugging his pillow tighter. Yet the sun seemed determined to undermine his plans. Bright rays streamed through the floor-to-ceiling window, slicing through the thin curtains and flooding the room with relentless, unwelcomed light.
Groaning, Luca turned his back to the window, facing the wardrobe instead. He was about to surrender to sleep once more when a sharp knock at the door shattered the fragile tranquility.
Luca considered ignoring it, hoping whoever was outside would lose patience and leave. But his phone on the side table began to ring, and its tone was insistent. He guessed the knocker and the caller were one and the same. With an audible sigh, Luca sat up on his bed.
Luca pushed himself out of the bed, slugged to the door, his eyes still heavy with sleep as he opened it, meeting the intruder with a bleary gaze.
Even with the haze, Luca immediately recognized Mallow and Sara. Their distinctive dress code hadn't changed one bit.
"Who sleeps in on an F1 Sunday?" Mallow teased, ending the still-ringing call in Luca's hand without hesitation.
Luca sighed, opening the door wider and gesturing for them to come in. "F2 Saturday's Champion, apparently," he muttered, shuffling back toward his bed and sinking onto its edge. "What are you two doing here so early? Actually, what are you doing here at all?"
Mallow and Sara strolled in like they owned the place, moving with purpose. They began rearranging the room's furniture, dragging three boudoir chairs and a round table into the open space. Sara set a large shopping bag onto the table, its contents rustling as she moved. Luca didn't need to look twice to know it was food.
"Like you said—Saturday's Champion," Sara replied, sliding gracefully into one of the chairs and pulling out containers of breakfast. "We're here to celebrate our very own Luca. That race was insane. I've never seen anything like it in my life."
"Do you even realize how much money you saved—and made—for me, Luca?!" Mallow boomed suddenly, his excitement bouncing off the walls.
Luca groaned, flopping backward onto the bed and draping an arm over his eyes. "I don't wanna know. Don't worry, I'll make you lose your money one day. Just be patient."
"Not happening! You're too good to be bad," Mallow grinned, pulling a chair closer and slapping a to-go box onto the table.
Sara laughed as she finished unpacking the food, the table filling with white boxes from a popular European brand. "C'mon, Luca. There's a chair here with your name on it—and breakfast that won't ruin your diet."
"I'm more interested in sleeping than eating," Luca muttered, though the aroma of fresh pastries and coffee was beginning to tempt him.
"Sleep? You didn't stay up too late last night, did you?" Sara asked.
Mallow, already sipping from a coffee cup, lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Maybe it's the alcohol. He probably celebrated a little too hard."
Sara shot him a glare. "Alcohol? Don't be ridiculous. He's just tired. Come on, Luca. Get up, brush your teeth, and join us. You need to hear how much chaos you caused last night—Mal couldn't stop screaming—"
"I told you he was going to win!" Mallow interrupted, gesturing wildly with his coffee cup. "I said it over and over. But did anyone listen? Nope. Their loss."
Sara raised an eyebrow, her tone sharp. "Oh, really? Didn't you tell me you were cussing every five seconds when Luca wasn't leading? And didn't you almost rip up your betting slip?"
Mallow froze for a moment before waving off her accusation. "I said… I believed in him."
Luca sighed, already tired of the escalating argument. He pushed himself off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom without a word.
Once inside, he grabbed his toothbrush and began brushing his teeth, his eyes half-closed. Cold water splashed against his face as he rinsed off, jolting him awake. A quick glance in the mirror made him groan. "I look like Adolf Hitler," he muttered abruptly before smoothing down his unruly hair.
Minutes later, he emerged looking slightly more presentable and took the chair they'd left for him. Sara slid a coffee cup toward him, and he reached for it without a word.
Mallow and Sara watched him intently, their eyes glinting with mischief. Luca tried his best to make no eye contact with them, as he knew they wanted to make him laugh.
"So," Mallow began, leaning forward, "are you ready to become the first Hawthorne ambassador in motorsport? We're signing the final contract on Tuesday."
"Yes," Luca replied, sipping his coffee.
Mallow leaned back dramatically. "Well, Mrs. Hawthorne herself called me last night. She's THRILLED with the Mandalora result. Said you've already raised her brand's profile. Imagine if you keep winning more GPs—she'll be even more famous outside Europe. And richer, obviously."
Sara smiled softly. "Isn't that the goal?" she asked.
"Exactly," Mallow said. "As a token of her appreciation, she's invited us to dinner at one of her mansions here in Barcelona after the signing. But guess what? Sara's not invited."
Sara scoffed, crossing her arms. "Like I care."
"That's nice of her," Luca said, his voice neutral. "We're accepting, right?"
Mallow frowned theatrically, shaking his head as he bit into a doughnut. "Luca... eat! This afternoon, we'll get you a suit and shoes fit for her elegance."
Luca smiled faintly, nodding as he finally turned his attention to the meal before him.