Race Day: May 10, Stadhaven Circuit, London, England.
Stadhaven lay just on the edge of the city, and all teams arrived on time for preparations, setting up, media engagements, listing, and briefing. As dynamic as the city of London was, the circuit and its surrounding venues were already crowded with people even before the start of the Sprint Race. Whether Formula 1 or Formula 2, the thrill of the sport was the same for them, and these spectators were here to savor every moment.
Trampos Racing rolled in just after 11:30, their sleek transport trailing behind Retona's distinctive violet buses. Luca looked around, his eyes scanning every detail he could recall from his few visits to this place.
Stadhaven was unique, with buildings and surrounding organized structures not typically seen at regular circuits. It felt as though the venue served multiple purposes, with motorsport racing as its primary function. Luca secretly admired the setup; it gave true purpose to a sports venue, with hundreds of traffic personnel managing the area. Maybe it is just London's style, he thought, as their transport came to a halt.
The cheers of fans scattered around the circuit's outskirts erupted in claps as they disembarked. Security promptly welcomed them, leading them into a safe lane previously used by Retona's crew. The safe lane was a slanting pavement cleared of fans to allow teams to enter the circuit safely through a tunnel that branched off into different sections and facilities.
Luca chuckled as he remembered walking this same path behind a security guard a few months ago, only to meet Sara, the then-secretary. He wondered what Mr. Mallow and Sara might feel, or have in their minds, as they returned to London and Stadhaven.
"Could we just move this way, please?" a marshal urged, his voice cutting through the din. The team obeyed, navigating through the throng and entering the tunnel, where the atmosphere shifted. The cacophony of excited fans faded to a low hum, replaced by the rhythmic thud of their footsteps on the smooth concrete. Luca stayed close to Ansel and McCauley as they were guided deeper into the venue, Trampos Racing trailing behind Retona.
Moments later, their progress was abruptly halted. A pair of security guards stood at the far end of the tunnel, gesturing for both teams to pause. "A minor issue," they explained, needing a moment to clear the area. Stadhaven, it seemed, was even more crowded inside than Luca had imagined it would be. After all, this was the circuit's first official race in the championship.
Both teams were required to wait in the tunnel while the issue was resolved as quickly as possible. The bright white light from the ceiling reflected off the vivid red of Trampos Racing's uniforms and the deep violet of Retona's. The two teams clung to opposite sides of the tunnel, their body language rigid as they waited in silence.
Luca couldn't help but glance in Retona's direction, mostly to get a closer look at Oliver Kristensen, their main driver, with Vlad Volyinski just behind him, leaning casually against the wall. Kristensen was a lean, tall bloke with sideburns and deep brown hair. At 21 years old, he was Norwegian by nationality. Luca admired Kristensen's personality, which radiated a mature calmness and good sportsmanship.
He leaned back against the cool wall, taking in every second of the tension between the teams. The delay seemed to stretch on for an eternity, though it lasted just a few minutes. Even so, some members of both teams began showing signs of irritation, shuffling their feet and casting side glances at each other.
If Luca's memory was correct, Retona currently had 22 points in the standings, compared to Trampos' 142. They were not the rivals Trampos needed to worry about this season, so Luca didn't regard them as a serious threat. Surprisingly, the rest of the Trampos team did. He'd learned that Retona had once been Trampos' fiercest rivals at midtable. Back when junior teams like Squadra Corse, Bueseno Velocità, and Nevada HanSama dominated the division, with Hatcherk close behind, Retona and Trampos were neck-and-neck, battling to break into the top five.
The marshals eventually returned, bringing the news they had been waiting for. Both teams were now allowed to proceed, with Retona retaking the lead.
More figures entered the tunnel, their shadows stretching across the floor, and Luca could hear murmurs of welcoming. Mr. Grant, who had been lingering at the back, strode quickly to the front and extended his hand for a handshake with a certain man surrounded by others who seemed subordinate to him.
"Welcome. I hope your team does well," the man said, gripping Mr. Grant's hand firmly.
"Thank you. And thank you for this excellent facility," Mr. Grant replied, breaking the handshake before returning to the team. Each member of the Trampos crew took turns shaking hands with the welcomers, and Luca instantly recognized the man.
I almost forgot about this man. Wow, Luca thought inwardly as he approached Mr. Vance for a handshake. So, he's still managing this place. Good for him.
"Welcome. I hope your team does well," Mr. Vance repeated the same phrase as he shook Ansel's hand before turning to Luca. But as soon as Mr. Vance's eyes landed on him, he froze, his fake smile morphing into a confused frown.
Aren't you the one who signed me to Trampos? Why are you stunned?
Luca quickly extended his hand, eager to get to the team's paddock and kick off preparations. But Mr. Vance, seemingly too stunned, just stared at him without reacting.
Luca withdrew his hand and walked away toward Trampos's paddock and garage, the crowd's cheers growing louder as he emerged from the tunnel. I'll give you more reasons to be stunned when I win today, he thought.
Pausing briefly, he took a second to take in the sight, the landscape of Stadhaven as his eyes searched for the particular spot where Antonio Luigi's car had hit him. His gaze swept over the already filled grandstands and the track adorned with Formula 1 sponsor logos before landing on the exact spot. Though it was far away, he recognized it instantly.
He turned to see McCauley waving for him. Without hesitation, he jogged toward the garage, now a hive of activity. Adrenaline coursed through him, his anticipation rising. He was ready to get back on the track and burn his tires to victory.