My Formula 1 System-Chapter 638: Aliens

Luca remained energized all week because of the new, promising developments. Almost every time of day, the images and data of the JYX models rustled at the back of his mind.

On drill days, he spent afternoons in the training centers with Victor—and also the upcoming reserves. But as the main drivers, Luca and Victor naturally had an indispensable spotlight. In rhythm, the two of them pushed a series of strengthening exercises and reaction practices for afternoons, finding their mentor-student dynamic again.

But despite the fun rapport, Luca could still sense that dejected aura emanating from his teammate.

Even after Luca broke the news about the looming JYX-81 upgrade and what it could do for Victor if he were to pilot it, Victor’s reaction was near tasteless. He smiled, yes, but the light didn’t quite reach his eyes.

There is a specific kind of weariness that settles into a driver when the game has betrayed them too many times. Perhaps, even the promise of a better future can’t easily cure it.

Maybe Victor was simply protecting himself from any unseen disappointment that may arise. After all, he had been training himself recently in the ways of stoicism, to be as controlled as Luca.

Or maybe, the "artifice" of the previous races had just really drained his tank.

He moved like a shadow, and he spoke like a programmed bot.

Luca watched him carefully, realizing that while the garage could fix a broken wing or a faulty diffuser, the spirit of a teammate was a much more fragile piece of engineering.

But Luca didn’t trouble himself with variables he couldn’t control. Things would eventually resolve themselves. Meanwhile, he had a far more pressing internal conflict to address, an issue he had anticipated since the news of this upgrade.

Luca wondered how the team and Ferrari would take it, but his mind was made up.

He didn’t want a model change.

While he appreciated the engineering feat of the newer specimens, Luca possessed a deep, almost spiritual loyalty to the Scuderia Z24.

He preferred the S-level Sigma Core V1 to every other Ferrari power unit in existence—even the ThunderKat 2.0!

After days of analysis and comparison, Luca realized that while he enjoyed the thrill of novelty, he couldn’t ignore the truth in the data provided by his system. Through sheer technical mastery and growth, he had leveled up the Z24 far past the theoretical ceiling of the JYX-81, and the Sigma’s Engine Features were more obliging than the FHJ-Hybrid, which was basically a rip-off of the FiveSIx.

There is a dangerous trap in racing: the assumption that "new" always equates to "fast."

Luca knew the truth in this case.

Supplanting his Z24 with the 81 wouldn’t be a step forward; it would be a voluntary downgrade.

To keep the move clinical and formal, Luca reached out to Manuela, and directed her to book a private hour with Roland.

In a hierarchy as rigid as Ferrari’s, the protocol of the meeting is often as important as the agenda itself.

If Luca could convince rightly, he could navigate a path to soften the board’s inevitable blow.

~~~~~~~

On a bright morning, Luca set out from home in his Jaguar, the wheels spinning perfectly, they appeared motionless as he rolled out of his property.

After Perla’s suggestion, Luca found himself weighing the idea of adding a sports car to his personal fleet. It is said that there is a specific gravity to a driver’s public image owning a sports car, and for a man under the Ferrari umbrella, driving anything other than the prancing horse could very well be a political disaster.

Yet, as he merged onto the main road, Luca felt a flicker of resistance.

Sliding into Sunday weekends in a Ferrari would make him look just like Di Renzo or Derstappen, just another cog in the brand. In a paddock full of predictable luxury, the choice of a car is actually the final frontier of a driver’s personality.

Truthfully, Hawthorne’s Jaguar was what made Luca Rennick stand out.

As he merged onto the snaky road that wound toward the estate’s first gate, Luca caught a glimpse of his home in the rearview mirror, shrinking in the distance. He had left Laura and Martin behind, and he wondered how anxious they were about Rondick’s visit.

Reaching for his phone, Luca dialed his ex-teammate. Rodnick answered on the first ring. For the length of the drive, they remained locked in conversation, first finalizing the logistics of the pickup before drifting into broader, unsaid discussions.

Luca navigated through deep Berlin to get to him, even passing the high-luxury bustle of Charlottenburg while cutting through Tiergarten. He followed the B2 route, heading toward the more open spaces until the local water parks near the Spree came into view.

It was a strange stop, Luca reckoned—a place of primary colors and splashing families felt like the opposite of Rodnick.

Standing under the mild sun like a landmark, Luca spotted him right away. Rodnick was still as tall as ever, his silhouette cutting a lanky yet broad figure that looked almost alien against the backdrop of mundane leisure. He was dressed in a black plain-sleeved shirt and grey pants that did little to hide the muscle he’d built in the past year.

Luca pulled a cap low over his eyes for a little disguise in public before he stepped out of the jaguar and began the walk across the road. As he approached, Rodnick’s head turned. In that single moment of recognition, that season of bitter rivalry seemed to collapse into a simple greeting between two young men.

"A water park? Really?" Luca asked with his hands on his hips as he looked around. "There’s a bar down the hill. You look like a lost tourist waiting for a bus that’s never coming."

Rodnick chuckled dryly. He’d never been to Germany on a casual visit. Not his fault.

Shifting his stance, he revealed what was tucked against his waist. It was a glass goldfish bowl, the water sloshing gently to reveal three distinct, vibrant little fish—a shimmering comet, a spotted shubunkin, and a deep orange fantail.

"A peace offering for Laura," Rodnick said, nodding toward the bowl. "I hope she has extra bowls because the saleslady says these three can’t survive together." He then gestured with his chin toward a large parcel leaning against his shin. "And that’s for the boy. Martin, right?"

In this modern world, thoughtfulness is a rare currency, often traded for ego. Seeing Rodnick standing there with a bowl of fish reminded Luca that even the most hardened competitors were still human.

"It’s a wonderful gift," Luca said sincerely. Reaching down, he lifted the parcel. "Here, let me take the big one."

A moment later, both men crossed the road again. Luca stowed the gift in the backseat while Rodnick climbed into the passenger side, still cradling the bowl.

Luca later joined him in the driver’s seat. As he thumbed the ignition, they shared one more joke about how Rodnick was just standing under the sun.