My Formula 1 System-Chapter 510: No Sleep Over Kings

Final Race Standings – British Grand Prix

🏁 Top 10 Finishers:

P1 – Luca Rennick 🇮🇹 (Trampos Racing) 🏆 +25pts (+1FL)

P2 – Antonio Luigi 🇮🇹 (Squadra Corse) +18pts

P3 – Ailbeart Moireach 🇬🇧 (Haddock Racing) +15pts

P4 – Luis Dreyer 🇪🇸 (Outback Performance) +12pts

P5 – Jimmy Damgaard 🇩🇰 (Bueseno Velocità) +10pts

P6 – Max Addams 🇨🇦 (Outback Performance) +8pts

P7 – Elias Nyström 🇸🇪 (Nordvind Racing) +6pts

P8 – Albert Derstappen 🇳🇱 (Jackson Racing) +4pts

P9 – Marko Ignatova 🇷🇸 (Squadra Corse) +2pts

P10 – Victor Surmann 🇩🇪 (Trampos Racing) +1pt

▾Remaining Finishers:

P11 – Hank Rice 🇬🇧 (Iberia Grand Prix)

P12 – Mikhail Petrov 🇷🇺 (Iberia Grand Prix) 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

P13 – Alejandro Vasquez 🇪🇸 (Velox Hispania)

P14 – Józef Konarski 🇵🇱 (Alpine Swiss F1)

P15 – James Lockwood 🇬🇧 (Nordvind Racing)

P16 – Yokouchi Yūichirō 🇯🇵 (Alpine Swiss F1)

P17 – Buoso Di Renzo 🇮🇹 (Jackson Racing)

P18 – Desmond Lloyd 🇬🇧 (Velox Hispania)

P19 – Matteo Bianchi 🇮🇹 (Bueseno Velocità)

⨉ DNF (Did Not Finish):

P20 – Denko Rutherford 🇬🇧 (Haddock Racing) – Crash

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Trampos had even more reason to celebrate on British soil as Victor Surmann clinched his first-ever points in Formula 1, crossing the line in P10. The young German, who had battled inconsistencies all season, finally broke through with a gritty drive in the heart of the UK and earned a well-deserved point that marked a personal milestone and added to the team’s triumphant weekend.

Victor was beaming throughout the stay as the team consistently hyped him whenever it crossed their mind. The joy of scoring his first-ever points in Formula 1 was irrepressible. "Wow," he often breathed out as he realized he’d scored over drivers like Rice, Vasquez, and Di Renzo. "I actually did it."

Although it was just a single point for P10, it meant the world to him. It was a sign that his hard work and perseverance were finally paying off. More than anything, he was proud to contribute something, however small, to Trampos’ historic weekend and support Luca’s towering triumph in his own way.

From the race standings, it was clear that Trampos Racing emerged as the most successful team at the British Grand Prix, with both drivers accumulating 26 points in total. With Luca securing his third victory in just four races, his momentum was undeniable, and the community couldn’t help but acknowledge that he was already reaching for the crown.

Trampos, once considered underdogs, had now positioned themselves as firm championship contenders. Expected contenders like Velocità and Jackson continued to underdeliver, and their poor performance actually looked like something that would last for long.

The dynamic of modern F1 was actually changing. No one could believe it.

After the usual questions about his victory, strategy, and how it felt to win on such iconic soil, the interviewer switched up.

"So, so, so... Luca, congratulations again. But we have to ask—what are your thoughts on Antonio and Ailbeart refusing to attend the podium ceremony?"

During the interview, Luca was flushed due to the overwhelming attention from being Grand Prix winner. Some of the questions they asked, he only grasped them when repeated.

"Uhm... I’ll be honest, it’s a bit... disappointing. But if they didn’t want to come up, that’s on them. I don’t lose sleep over it. We all have our reasons, truly."

The reporters were curious, but they held back from prying into the identity of the young woman Luca had brought to the podium. They didn’t ask because it wasn’t necessary. He was a driver when interviewed by the FIA-approved press, not a celebrity.

But across the world, the shock was already echoing that Luca Rennick had a spouse. It was a serious matter because she was exhibited with a sense of gravity and permanence. This intrigued the majority of the world—Isabella was fresh and entertaining news to them. As for those who already knew but seemed to doubt or laugh...

Luca left London at the week of schedule in order to return to Germany, have some rest, and begin preparations for the next race—the Canadian Grand Prix.

Luca could have returned to Germany earlier, but something transpired there in London that stalled his travel by four days.

One day, Luca was on a ride with Mrs. Hawthorne in her sleek, black Jaguar limo. The limo was part of her simple two-car convoy returning from Lowell, a private country club with longstanding ties to British motorsport aristocracy.

As the convoy sailed through Epping and headed north toward Cambridge before diverting eastward again, Luca and Mrs. Hawthorne were deep in discussion. They conversed about the expansion of the Hawthorne Foundation’s scholarship outreach in underrepresented European districts, and diplomatic permissions for a new museum space in Prague.

Their quiet return drive from Lowell had been smooth until the convoy was intersected near Bishop’s Stortford by a duo of equally lustrous black Mercedes-Benz vehicles that slid into formation from a side road.

It vividly reminded Luca of the action movies he used to watch two years ago when he got his hands on his first laptop. But this rerouting was more deliberate, not ruthless, less aggression. The lead vehicle of the new party gently edged alongside Mrs. Hawthorne’s limo before taking point, while the second fell in behind, creating a fluid exchange of control.

It was an assertion of presence, and since they chose a silent place in the city, Luca and Mrs. Hawthorne felt threatened.

Luca thought it was going to be a shoot and run, but it turned out to be nothing like that. The most shocking twist was that Mrs. Hawthorne knew these people just as much as they knew her. When they stepped out in their dark suits and shades, she cussed under her breath, and her fear disappeared.

Mrs. Hawthorne had leaned slightly toward Luca, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder as she told him to stay put and not worry—she would handle this. Then she gave a subtle nod to one of her guards in the passenger seat. The man promptly exited the limo with a calm and watchful demeanour before he opened the door for her.

As she stepped out, the rest of her men—already out of her other two trailing vehicles—stood at full height, their clean white suits gleaming in sharp contrast to the unfamiliar black-clad figures now occupying the roadside. It was a standoff.

Luca didn’t like being left in the dark while Mrs. Hawthorne stepped out to speak with one of the men in shades—likely their leader.

Sitting alone in the back of the limo, he peered through the tinted glass, trying to make sense of what was unfolding. The longer he looked, the more he realized this wasn’t just some social drop-in; the men in black bore sheathed pistols subtly tucked under their tailored coats, clean but detectable.

Would this turn into one of those action flicks? he wondered, feeling an uneasy churn in his stomach. Yet when he turned his eyes back to Mrs. Hawthorne, she stood there as if she were negotiating over stock, not security.

He couldn’t hear her, but she spoke to the man in a tone that suggested authority and fatigue, as if she’d done this too many times to care for the drama anymore.

As the engagement continued, Luca decided to relax since nothing looked dangerous at least. But when the man she was talking to removed his shades, Luca’s calm eyes lit up and his brows raised in recognition.

He remembered the man even though the man appeared actually very average-looking.

Luca remembered him from that day in Stadhaven when Luigi’s car rammed past him and struck his side. This was the same man, the same Asian man that interrogated him wickedly in the circuit’s clinic, trying to put words in his mouth.

Luca hoped he was making a mistake, and was probably taking him for another person, but the more he stared at him as he spoke to Mrs. Hawthorne, the more certain he became.

Now this was where Luca’s curiosity skyrocketed to a stratospheric level. He reckoned he couldn’t stay inside any longer, not after recognising that man. He was an FIA agent, right? If this was a Formula 1 matter, Luca had no problem interfering.

click!

Upon the click of his door unlatching and Luca emerging from the back of the limo, the reaction from the black side was immediate. Almost all of them reached for their concealed guns beneath their jackets! Their caution was triggered by protocol and not aggression, but it was still a split-second away from escalation.

Mrs. Hawthorne glanced behind her, a move that drew the Asian man’s gaze as well. The moment his eyes landed on Luca, a scowl carved itself deep into his face. He tore the shades off his face again and flung them onto the tarred road like they burned his skin.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

"Fuck! Is this what you wanted, Margot! Is it?!"

Mrs. Hawthorne didn’t even blame Luca; she immediately became defensive and pointed straight at the man’s nose.

"Shut up, you idiot! You keep pestering me, and now you see! I told you—I’m not ready! I keep saying it: I’m not ready! My empire’s not ready!"

The Asian man almost retorted, but his words didn’t come out. He looked like he had more venom to spit, but the sight of Luca standing there seemed to steal the rest of his voice. His jaw clenched, and he swallowed his words like they turned bitter in his mouth.

He waved dismissively and calmly ordered his men it was time to go. The black-suited figures quickly filed back into their vehicles, engines humming as they peeled off down the road.

Mrs. Hawthorne, just as swiftly, turned to Luca with that familiar sharpness in her aging features. She spoke in a forced motherly tone to calm herself down after the spike in blood pressure.

"Nothing to worry about," she said, waving her hand toward the limo as she climbed in. "Let’s just get back on the road."

The reason why Luca’s travel was stalled four days was because Mrs. Hawthorne kept telling him the same "nothing to worry about."

Luca knew there was something to worry about. And he was greatly bothered he would be in Germany while whatever this was would be happening here in the UK.