Luca reunited with the team that day and settled into the facility. But the very next day, Trampos organized themselves to take the long trip to Le Castellet and visit the circuit for the traditional Track Walk.
It rained heavily on the evening Luca arrived, and the following day was no different on the intensity of the precipitation. Regardless of the weather, Trampos still boarded their biggest bus with the passengers limited to the drivers, Team Principals, head engineers, and head crew members alone.
Luca put on a red Trampos puffed sweater and a pair of thick, black gloves before following the team out of the buildings. A quick sprint under the rain took him to the entrance of the bus before he sat down on one of the seats.
It didn't take long; the big Trampos bus was filled with men, women, boys, and girls of the German team—their destination, another district in France—the Circuit du Soleil itself where the French Grand Prix would have its showdown.
Luca pulled out his phone to reply to some texts and check out some updates. He was glad when he saw up to 99+ messages from the team's group chat. After several weeks of the chat being dry and unengaged, it seemed everyone had found that energy once more, and the long messages had resumed.
Luca read the recent messages, which focused on their current drive to Le Castellet. Most of Trampos had traveled to France, while a few remained in Berlin, eager to stay updated on the team's progress and destinations.
The heavy rain hammered on the roof of the bus, so loud that everyone could hardly hear themselves. Because of this, one crew member started a chant with two occasional claps per chant.
Luca was about to put on his earpiece and crank his MP3 player to the highest volume in order to mute out the sound of the rain, when the crew member beside him began clapping in the same rhythm. That was when Luca realized the whole bus had begun a chant.
Luca smiled. He had no choice but to join in, quickly learning the lyrics and clapping in rhythm, battling the sound of the heavy rain together with the team.
It seemed Trampos' chant had scared the rain, because after an hour of chanting, singing, and jumping in the bus, the rain began to die down, the sheets of water turning into soft droplets.
Yet again, Luca believed it was just the change in location that softened the intensity of the rain. After all, the driver announced they were in Le Castellet and were already nearing the circuit by taking roads that bordered the city.
The team began to arrange themselves to disembark the bus, especially as the scenery known for Circuit du Soleil slowly came into view.
The French circuit was located in the heart of rolling valleys, surrounded by an endless sea of hills and greenery. From afar, it looked like Mandalora, but unlike Mandalora with rocky terrain, Solaris had vegetative terrain. And true to its name—even with the dull, sombre clouds—it seemed to attract the littlest bit of the sunlight's golden glow, casting a warm sheen over the damp, green landscape.
The Trampos bus took the winding roads that snaked through the low hills, ultimately leading to the circuit.
Luca pressed his face against the window as they approached. He wondered if the empty lands flanking the road were owned by the French government or the Federation itself. They looked well cared for, manicured and groomed as if activities were carried out there.
A minute later, they reached the first entrance out of six that the circuit had to feature. The scent of the fresh rain still lingered as the crew disembarked, taking in the serene beauty of the setting.
Luca's gaze shifted upward, landing on the large banner stretched across the entrance. A small smile tugged at his lips. The 11th round, huh?
He studied the lineup on the billboard—seven drivers standing side by side. Marcellus Rodnick was in the center, naturally, with Davide DiMarco next to him, then Antonio Luigi. Max Addams was fourth, and right beside him, Luca himself, wearing his Trampos Veststar suit with pride.
Only two F2 drivers had made the banner—him and Max. The last two spots were filled by F1's Hank Rice and Ailbeart Moireach.
It was a blend of different Formula teams' colors, a blend of top drivers, and Luca felt honored to be in the official banner. It would be just a matter of time before he became the first driver on the line, titled Formula 1 world champion.
A sudden shout broke through his thoughts. McCauley was already calling his name. Luca blinked, realizing the team had begun moving toward the entrance. He exhaled and jogged to catch up, just as the sky above gave a low, distant rumble.
It seemed the rain was about to pick up again.
"Hey," McCauley murmured to Luca, pointing toward the other side of their bus. "Looks like we're not the only ones here."
Luca followed McCauley's gesture and saw a larger bus parked just across from theirs. It was a striking cyan color, accented with hints of gold. Luca raised an eyebrow—wasn't only one team supposed to attend a Track Walk at a time?
As he stared, he quickly realized that the bus didn't belong to any F2 team, the colors were foreign.
This was an F1 team's vehicle, and they had arrived for the same track session at Circuit du Soleil.
The team's colors and emblem became clearer, and it clicked to Luca that this was Nordvind Racing, a fiercely competitive Swedish Formula 1 team known for their strong performances in the middle of the pack. Their blue and yellow livery mirrored the Swedish flag, with their emblem even strikingly similar to the country's own crest.
Though Nordvind had yet to win a championship—often overshadowed by teams with superior engine manufacturers and cutting-edge technology—they still consistently performed well, thanks in part to their partnership with their good engine makers, Audi.
"The schedule's packed," McCauley added, breaking Luca's reverie. "Everyone wants to visit the track for the eleventh round. The Federation's pairing F1 teams with F2 teams since there's no real competition between us."
Luca gave a slow nod, his eyes lingering on the bus before turning to follow the team into the circuit. They entered the main tunnel, making their way toward Section 5.
"Wow," Luca whispered as he emerged onto the sleek pavement. The circuit was beautiful—far more beautiful than Stadhaven or Bahrain's state-of-the-art circuits. This one, however, had the backdrop of nature, with uninhabited valleys and hills stretching far into the distance.
Luca stood, awed by it all, as it began to drizzle again.
Fifty-five laps awaited him, and fifty-five laps he would complete. A balanced track, it was called—50:50 in tough straights and turns—and Luca had always excelled on tracks . This would be no different.
Luca's gaze swept the surroundings, a smile on his face. However, the smile disappeared as soon as he noticed groups of people not wearing Trampos' red.
Yes, he knew Nordvind Racing was present, but these groups of people weren't in blue and yellow—they were in black!
Oh... Luca had begun hating the press so early in his career. What were they doing here anyway, with their wires, cameras, and microphones?!
He quickly dashed toward Haas and the rest of the team to escape them. He had come here to enjoy the scenery of Solaris, not to spend time answering questions.
Luca heard a foreign voice ask.
After months of being a Trampos driver, he could easily distinguish between a teammate's voice and an outsider's. It wasn't that he had memorized every voice, but after spending so much time with the team, there was an intuition that naturally developed.
"Ahhh," the voice sounded again, and Luca spun around to see a blond young man with a scanty goatee.
Nordvind Racing's number-one driver—26 years old, Swedish by coincidence. Zero World Championships, which was understandable, but a decent number of Grand Prix wins to his name.
Luca hadn't unlocked the skill to instantly analyze another driver, but after watching countless F1 and F2 races through his racecraft program, he had picked up enough knowledge of the divisions and their top competitors.
"Hello," Luca greeted, offering a firm handshake.
Elias accepted it, smirking. "I think it's an honor to finally see F2's very own mazerunner in person. You're doing really well, mate. And you look well, too. Hope your ribs are okay?"
Luca chuckled. "Yeah, they're fine. I'm ready for action."
"Ready for the 11th round?"
They both laughed, and Elias gave Luca a friendly tap on the shoulder.
"Regardless, sorry, man. It's just how this sport is. We put our lives on the line—and sometimes, in the hands of our rivals. And in your case... your teammate. Let's hope for a safer race this weekend, yeah?"
Luca nodded. Elias seemed much cooler in person than he did on screen.
"Come on, let me introduce you to James," Elias said, gesturing toward the sea of Nordvind colors.
James Lockwood was Elias' main teammate. Both always did their best to keep Nordvind in competitive positions.
Luca followed, eager to get to know as many people as he could. And just like always, during any Track Walk, the team slowly dispersed under the drizzle.
A/N: 400 Powerstones this week! That's the highest count so far.