Luca strolled around the circuit after completing a strenuous Daily Quest that his System had issued to him, raising his Agility Attribute to 4. He took a deep breath of the evening air, feeling the cold breeze and slight drizzle brush across the landscape of asphalt, grass, and tracks. This is my life, Luca thought to himself.
After roaming for a while, he decided to retire to the main building for a sumptuous dinner before heading to bed. Just as he was about to climb the short steps, a glimmer of golden light caught his attention in the encroaching dusk darkness. The golden light emanated from what appeared to be a workshop, accompanied by the clanking of metal and motor parts.
Luca recalled that his R.S.11 was under service after he had uncontrollably veered off the path and crashed the underside into a tree. The memory of that incident gnawed at him, but he was grateful to the heavens for not being one of the five participants sent home earlier today.
To emphasize his luck, Luca was the last survivor, his name being called just before the line where the five were selected for elimination. I don't want to be on a plane to London anytime soon.
Figuring the car being repaired in the workshop must be his R.S.11, Luca decided to stroll a bit closer for a look.
He walked along a narrow tarred path where the management's and scouts' normal cars were parked, approaching the workshop's garage door. The golden light reflected on the wet ground as the sound of clanking and screwing grew louder with each step, revealing the interior of the workshop.
Responsibly, Luca knocked on the aluminum door and called out, "Hello," leaning in slightly to catch a glimpse inside.
Luca's eyes lingered on the walls of the workshop, glistening under the bright, golden light from the ceiling. He couldn't believe the area was larger than it appeared; it felt like a whole new station within. The outer facade had created that deception.
Tools were meticulously arranged on pegboards, while workstations overflowed with parts—suspension components, tires, and aerodynamic pieces—all clearly labeled for easy access.
His gaze shifted to the ground, where the constant whirr and clatter of metal filled the air. There, he spotted two legs protruding from beneath a standard Toyota, the rest of the vehicle hidden from view. It was clear that whoever was working there hadn't heard his initial "hello."
Luca contemplated leaving the workshop after realizing it wasn't the R.S.11 being repaired; in fact, it wasn't even a single-seater. Yet, a sense of curiosity held him in place, urging him to knock on the garage door again—this time, louder.
The person under the black Toyota quickly slid out with the help of a creeper. The figure stood up immediately, revealing her full appearance.
Luca's eyes widened as he found himself face-to-face with a girl on the other side of the workshop, the car acting as a barrier between them. Their gazes locked, and he noticed the irritation in her expression at his interruption. "Hello," Luca said again, a bit uncertain.
Holding up a spanner, the girl replied, "And how can I help you?" She was dressed in a fitted navy blue jumpsuit, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing strong yet feminine arms. Her ponytail swayed slightly as two strands cascaded down her cheeks, her face smudged with dark oil.
"No, no, no, I'm not in need of any help at all. I was just curious about the workshop, that's all," Luca quickly clarified, glancing around the garage. Remembering his original purpose, he decided it might be wise to reassure her that he wasn't just being nosy. "It's about my race car... has it been fixed?"
The girl frowned, her brows furrowing as if the question displeased her. "Who are you?"
Luca cleared his throat, realizing his voice might have come out dark and threatening. "I'm a participant here, number 31," he replied, trying to sound more approachable. "You should know me; I hit my car the other day."
"Oh!" the girl exclaimed, dropping the spanner onto the hood of the car, her other hand resting on her hip. "You mean the Renault?"
"Yes, the Renault. I don't see it here."
"Don't worry; it'll be up and running by tomorrow, right in the comfort of your hands," she said, sizing up the Toyota like a chef inspecting a cut of meat. "My superiors finished it earlier today; it's in the inner platforms, getting refurbished."
Luca smiled, feeling a surge of relief. His car would look nicer now. "That's cool," he uttered.
The girl feigned a smile in return, nodding. "Yes, it is. Now, please, would you let me resume my work?" she pleaded ironically.
"Sure," Luca replied, pulling his hands from his sweater pockets and raising them in mock surrender. He stared hard at her for a moment before turning to leave, then stopped halfway. "Can I know your name?" he asked suddenly.
The girl, who was about to slide back underneath the car, looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "You don't know who I am?" she replied incredulously.
"I wouldn't have asked that if I did. Are you someone special?"
"I'm the Chief Manager's daughter, you dimwit!" she snapped, defending her title. "Every participant knows this. Are you sure you belong here? You look like... you look like you don't really fit in, no offense."
There's an offence. Though it stung, Luca shook it off. That was nothing compared to what he had received and endured throughout his life. "So, what's your name?" he asked again. "My name's Luca."
"I am Isabella," she replied. "It's nice to meet you Luca, in such an atmosphere."
"It's nice to meet you too," Luca replied with a chuckle. "You don't look anything like your father. If you did, I might have guessed," he said, stepping further into the workshop, believing he had set up an informal platform between them. As he expected, she did not complain.
"The old man married a Mexican; you can't blame him," Isabella said, sliding underneath the vehicle as she resumed her work.
"I see," Luca muttered, his fingers brushing lightly against the neatly arranged tools on the tables as he roamed. "I wonder what the Chief Manager's daughter is doing working as a mechanic in his establishment..."
"Don't be too smart," Isabella shot back instantly, her voice emerging with a hint of syntheticity as she twisted a bolt. "I decided to pursue what I love, and I love repairing and fixing cars. I've loved machines ever since I can remember."
"I like cars too," Luca lied, knowing that he didn't really like cars—he liked Formula 1 racing. Those were entirely two different things. "In fact, I'm kind of a car geek myself."
"Oh, really?" Isabella stretched the words, sliding out from under the car and rising to her feet. She tapped and caressed the hood of the Toyota, flashing a sly smile at Luca. "What is the model type of this sedan, huh?"
Luca grinned wildly, convinced he was one step ahead and had anticipated this question before he lied. System? Please retrieve and analyze the data on this Toyota before me, Luca ordered.
[I'm sorry, host, I can't proceed with that request.]
I—I don't understand.
[This is the Formula 1 System. I can only provide you with data of single-seater cars alone, not just any vehicle.]
Ah, fuck me. Plan has backfired. Can you guess at least?
"Toyota 4AV?" Luca ventured, recalling something similar he had seen in the news one day.
Isabella chuckled softly, shaking her head. "That's even an incorrect mixture of the alphanumeric; you're wrong. It's the Toyota A-4LVV," she sneered.
"I freaking knew I heard something like that," Luca muttered silently, watching her wipe her hands clean with a rag, though little came off.
Realizing it would be best to leave before his presence became a burden, Luca pushed himself off the table he had been leaning on and walked toward the open garage door. "I'll be going now. Can I have your number?"
"Can you have my number?" Isabella repeated, eyebrows raised. "Why would you want that?"
Why would I want that. Why would I want that? She's right. Why the heck would I want her number?! I don't even have a freaking phone. What am I gonna call her with, the facility's telephone?!
Luca shook away his thoughts, expertly experienced at keeping a fine line between his thoughts and words. "I want your number because I find you interesting. If you don't want to share, I understand," he said.
"No, it's not that I don't want to share," Isabella replied quickly with a shrug. "What's next after we exchange digits? You almost got eliminated today. If we had this conversation yesterday, you'd be back in your city with the number of some girl from across the country."
"On the bright side, I didn't get eliminated," Luca sneered. "I'm still here, and I will win the ultimatum."
"You? You think you'll win? I know better participants," Isabella said.
"Well, if I win, then can I have your number?" Luca proposed, his heart pounding.
Shrugging and nodding thoughtfully, Isabella accepted the bet. Though Luca wasn't exceptionally handsome, his aura of maturity was certainly admirable. After exchanging night greetings, Luca left the workshop and headed back to the main building, walking beneath the now intensified drizzle.
A tingling sense of joy swirled within him after the encounter. Though he had long unintentionally refrained from female interactions, his youthful charm should suffice from time to time. Luca believed he should at least give this one a chance.
He slipped into bed after dinner and a shower, his eyes closing instantly as soon as his head hit the pillow. Though he had slept for seven hours, it felt like three, as his System blared loudly in his ears at the break of day.
[Host should begin Daily Routine.]
Luckily for Luca, today and tomorrow were free of activities, as the twelfth day would hold the final race that would determine the selectable seven for scouting and potential team signings into the real world of motorsport.