February 1, 2023.
Westmaas, Netherlands.
The February sky in the Netherlands was a brilliant blue, but the wind still carried the damp chill of the North Sea.
Julian Vance stepped off the bus and immediately pulled his collar up against the cold.
The wind billowed his hoodie as he dragged his suitcase with one hand and held his phone in the other.
The post-match screen of his game was still glowing on the display.
His stats were a dismal zero kills, seven deaths, and three assists.
His gold income was even lower than the support.
Julian frowned and quickly swiped the screen to exit the match.
His mood matched the Dutch weather.
It looked bright and clear, but felt bitterly cold.
He was still mentally reviewing the last team fight.
He couldn’t understand how his Lee Sin had been completely locked down by their Leona, or why his teammates had failed to follow up with damage.
He walked absentmindedly with his head down, completely missing the man ahead holding a sign with his name.
It wasn’t until his suitcase wheel nearly ran over the man’s leather shoes that Julian snapped back to reality.
“Ah!” He instinctively took a step back, letting the suitcase slide half a meter across the pavement.
He hastily pulled off his headphones and looked up, his face showing a mix of lingering shock and apology.
The man in his fifties was tall and dressed in a black windbreaker bearing the MP Motorsport logo.
He wore a professional smile, his expression hovering somewhere between polite and evaluating.
Sander Visser had mentally prepared himself for this moment.
The team owner had personally briefed him.
This year’s biggest sponsor’s only son was here to experience a season of Formula 2.
The exact words were clear.
Do not put too much pressure on him.
Just let him have fun.
It doesn’t matter if his results are poor, or even if he crashes into the wall.
Sander had seen too many rich kids like this.
They drove supercars, raced recklessly, and treated motorsport as an expensive toy.
They were arrogant and overly sensitive.
He had brainstormed countless strategies for handling a spoiled heir.
He was even prepared for the possibility of the kid throwing a tantrum, complete with a plan on how to soothe him and report back to the boss.
However, the teenager in front of him was nothing like he had imagined.
Julian wore an oversized gray hoodie, his hair slightly messy from his headphones.
His eyes were bright but held the hazy, lazy look of someone just logging off a game.
Instead of getting angry after being startled, he just looked embarrassed.
He scratched his head, pulled his collar up, and asked in a soft, slightly accented voice.
“Hello.
Are you here to pick me up?
I’m Julian Vance.”
His voice wasn’t loud.
It was almost soft.
All of Sander’s prepared pleasantries and contingency plans instantly lodged in his throat.
He looked into Julian’s clear, almost innocent eyes and silently sighed.
The sponsor’s money was certainly tempting.
But could this kid, who looked like he couldn’t even speak above a whisper, really drive an F2 car?
Those were steel beasts capable of exceeding three hundred kilometers per hour, not bumper cars at an amusement park.
“Hello, Julian.
I’m Sander Visser, the team manager for MP Motorsport.” Sander pushed his doubts aside and offered a more genuine smile.
He took the suitcase from Julian’s hand.
“It must have been a long trip.
Let me show you around the base.”
Julian followed obediently behind Sander, looking like a well-behaved schoolboy.
The main building of the base was a low, grayish-white structure.
From the outside, it looked like an ordinary industrial warehouse.
But stepping through the doors revealed an entirely different world.
Glass display cases along the corridor showcased scale models of the team’s past race cars and their trophies.
The lighting was carefully designed.
The air carried a faint scent of rubber and motor oil.
It wasn’t unpleasant.
Instead, it gave off a mechanical vibe that made Julian’s heart beat just a little faster.
“This is the aerodynamics lab,” Sander said, pushing open a door.
Inside, several scale models of race cars sat in testing rigs.
The hum of the wind tunnel was palpable even through the glass.
“We have our own small wind tunnel.
The R&D data for Formula 2 and Formula 3 is fully integrated.”
Julian glanced in the direction Sander pointed and simply said, “Oh.” He didn’t seem particularly interested.
Sander then led him to the fitness center.
Several drivers were working out inside.
Seeing the team manager bring in an unfamiliar face, they all glanced over, silently sizing up the somewhat slender young man.
“This is the gym.
The drivers train here for at least four hours every day.
Formula 2 demands peak physical condition.
During a race, a driver’s heart rate stays above one hundred and eighty beats per minute, and they can lose up to three kilograms in water weight.”
Julian looked at the drivers and nodded.
“Mhm.”
He trained regularly too, but never at this intensity.
In lower formula categories, the races were short enough that he barely broke a sweat.
Losing three kilograms of water weight sounded brutal.
“This is the briefing room.
We hold our pre-race meetings and post-race debriefs here.”
“Got it.”
Sander explained the facilities while secretly observing Julian’s reactions.
The teenager remained completely unfazed.
He looked wherever Sander pointed and followed instructions perfectly.
Yet, there was no excitement or longing in his eyes.
He looked like he was touring a boring museum.
Sander’s disappointment grew.
It seemed this kid was truly just here to kill time.
That was until they reached the simulator room.
When Julian’s gaze landed on the massive six-axis dynamic simulator in the center of the room, his eyes instantly lit up.
It was a top-tier simulator costing nearly a million euros, replicating an F2 cockpit almost perfectly.
The steering wheel, pedals, and dashboard were identical to the real car.
The massive hydraulic platform simulated every vibration, tilt, and G-force of actual racing.
A wrap-around mega-screen provided a fully immersive visual experience.
To everyone else, it was a precision professional training tool and one of the team’s most vital assets.
But to Julian, it was the ultimate luxury gaming pod.
It was easily a tier above the simulator his father had imported at great expense for their home.
His steps slowed to a halt.
His gaze locked onto the machine.
His previous lazy demeanor vanished completely.
His eyes filled with curiosity and desire, like a child spotting their favorite toy.
Sander caught the shift in his expression.
Seizing the opportunity, he offered, “Want to take it for a spin?
No one is using it right now.”
“Can I?” Julian turned immediately.
His eyes were shining as he looked at Sander, his tone laced with disbelief.
“Of course.” Sander smiled.
If it was just for fun, keeping the kid happy was a win.
Julian didn’t hesitate.
He eagerly walked over and climbed into the simulator.
He settled into the cockpit and fastened the harness with practiced efficiency.
The fluid motion made Sander pause in slight surprise.
But the real surprises were yet to come.
Julian didn’t rush to start the engine.
Instead, he carefully adjusted the angle and height of the steering wheel.
He pressed the throttle and brake pedals to check their resistance and travel.
Then, his fingers flew across the control screen to tweak the force feedback settings.
Every adjustment was as precise as a seasoned professional.
Sander exchanged a glance with a nearby engineer.
They both saw the same flicker of surprise in each other’s eyes.
“He probably has a similar setup at home,” the engineer whispered.
Sander nodded in understanding.
So the kid had some baseline experience.
That made sense.
But home equipment and professional rigs were entirely different beasts.
His first run would likely be a disaster.
With the parameters set, Julian took a deep breath and hit the start button.
The massive screen flared to life.
He selected the track he knew best.
The layout of the Silverstone Circuit filled his view.
Lap one.
Julian drove smoothly, almost cautiously slow.
He braked early before every corner, carefully searching for the braking points and feeling out the simulator’s feedback.
His lap time was sluggish, far off the pace of a professional driver.
Sander shook his head.
His brief spark of expectation faded.
As expected, the kid just played games at home.
Lap two.
Julian picked up the pace slightly.
He began experimenting with the curbs, feeling the vibrations and shifts in grip as the tires rode over them.
His inputs were still careful, but a clear methodology was emerging.
Lap three.
Just as everyone assumed he would maintain this steady rhythm, Julian suddenly changed.
His entire aura shifted.
The lazy, obedient, slightly introverted boy vanished.
The person sitting in the cockpit felt like a completely different human.
He was like a predator born for the track.
His gaze turned razor-sharp, locked onto the asphalt ahead.
His back straightened, and his hands gripped the wheel with absolute stability.
He pinned the throttle.
The car shot forward like an arrow leaving a bow.
He stopped braking early.
Instead, he pushed his braking points deeper and deeper.
At Copse corner, he delayed his braking to a point no one would dare attempt.
He braked a full five meters later than the conventional marker.
He clipped the apex perfectly.
The tires shrieked, and the rear end stepped out slightly before he caught the slide with lightning reflexes.
Then came the most famous and terrifying section of Silverstone.
The Maggotts-Becketts high-speed complex.
It was a relentless sequence of high-speed S-curves.
Drivers had to navigate it at over two hundred and fifty kilometers per hour, barely lifting off the throttle.
The slightest mistake would send the car spinning into the barriers.
Even seasoned professionals usually lifted off the throttle slightly here to give themselves a margin of error.
But Julian didn’t.
He kept his foot planted firmly on the accelerator.
He didn’t lift an inch.
The car plunged into the corners at the absolute limit of grip.
The steering wheel spun rapidly through his hands.
Every single input was precise to the millimeter.
His racing line was so perfect it looked drawn with a ruler.
He kissed the absolute edge of the curb on the left, then instantly snapped to the right.
The car flowed through the complex like a fish darting through water.
There were no wasted movements.
There was zero hesitation.
In the simulator room, the busy engineers stopped what they were doing.
They set down their coffee cups and tablets.
Their eyes locked onto the live lap times flashing on the monitors.
Disbelief was written all over their faces.
Sander was completely frozen.
His mouth hung open and his eyes were wide.
He stared unblinkingly at the focused silhouette inside the cockpit.
He crossed the finish line.
The lap time flashed on the screen.
One minute, thirty-nine point three three seconds.
It was just zero point three seconds off the MP Motorsport all-time simulator record at Silverstone.
The simulator room fell into a dead silence.
The only sound was the faint hum of the hydraulic rig.
The engineers looked at each other in sheer shock and bewilderment.
Do you know what that lap time means?
That is the pace of a mid-field Formula 2 driver.
And this teenager had just arrived at the team for the first time today.
It was his first time in this specific simulator.
He had only driven three laps.
Sander could feel his heart hammering against his ribs.
He watched Julian unbuckling his harness in the cockpit.
His mind went completely blank.
He had thought this was just a rich kid treating racing as a toy and Europe as a vacation spot.
He had prepared himself to babysit the heir for an entire season, letting him drive however he pleased just to keep him happy.
But now…
Julian climbed out of the rig.
He instantly reverted to his slightly shy demeanor.
He scratched his head and asked awkwardly, “So…
was that okay?
I’m not totally used to this rig yet.
I feel like I didn’t quite push the limits on a few corners.”
Sander took a deep breath and pinched his own thigh hard, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
He looked into Julian’s clear eyes.
Only one thought echoed in his mind.
This kid…
He isn’t here to play around at all!