On the morning of February 14th, it actually started to drizzle in Bahrain.
Fine rain tapped against the hotel windows, making a soft rustling sound.
The sea breeze carried a salty tang from the Gulf, chilling everyone to the bone.
It was a stark contrast to the scorching heat of the previous afternoon.
The VIP suite overlooking the Bahrain International Circuit was already packed.
It was filled not only with sports journalists from around the world but also with several team principals and executives from Formula 1.
They were all here to observe the Formula 2 winter test, hoping to spot future stars among the young drivers.
Dr.
Helmut Marko, the head of the Red Bull Junior Team, sat in the very front row of the suite.
The old man, known for his strictness and sharp eye, held a cup of black coffee and stared expressionlessly at the track below.
He had specifically arrived early today just to see what this kid, who replaced his own junior driver, was actually capable of.
Sander had actually given up on Jehan Daruvala, a driver the Red Bull Junior Team had cultivated for three years, just for a sponsor’s son.
Marko had been holding a grudge about this ever since.
Down in the hotel restaurant.
Julian was sitting by the window, eating his breakfast with his head down.
In front of him was a massive bowl of premium seafood stew.
There was more seafood than broth.
Fresh prawns, plump crab meat, and full scallops were piled high, giving off a rich aroma.
Julian took spoonful after spoonful, his cheeks puffed out.
He pulled out his phone and sent a message to Toby.
Julian typed, “It is raining in Bahrain.
So annoying.”
Toby replied almost instantly, “Stay safe!
Do not crash!”
Julian looked at the screen and weakly typed back, “Yeah.”
He put his phone down and sighed.
The seafood stew was clearly delicious, but it tasted like nothing to him right now.
At eleven twenty in the morning.
Julian arrived at the MP Motorsport garage.
The engineers were making their final preparations.
The number two car, bearing the Vance family branding and Julian’s name, sat quietly in the pit lane.
The bodywork gleamed with a cold sheen in the rain.
“Do not be nervous, Julian,” his race engineer Mark said, patting his shoulder.
“Just drive it like you do in the simulator.
Safety first.”
“Yeah,” Julian nodded, but his mood was as gloomy as the rainy sky.
He put on his balaclava and fireproof mask.
Before getting in, he pulled out his phone and sent one last message to Toby.
“Starting now.
It is raining.
Hope nothing goes wrong.” This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
After sending it, he handed his phone to Mark, put on his helmet, and bent down to climb into the cockpit.
At eleven forty five.
The first practice session officially began.
All the drivers switched to intermediate tires and drove out of the pit lane one by one.
The rain grew heavier, forming a thin film of water on the track.
The tires sliced through the water, throwing up massive plumes of spray.
Visibility became incredibly poor.
Julian handled the car with extreme caution.
With a wet weather pace of only twenty five, he looked exceptionally clumsy on the slippery track.
His braking points were a full ten meters earlier than everyone else, and his cornering speed was shockingly slow.
On the big screens, the live lap times kept updating.
Julian’s name hovered around fifteenth place, stuck in the lower midfield pack.
In the VIP suite, Dr.
Marko’s frown grew deeper and deeper.
The coffee in his hand had gone cold, and he had not taken a single sip.
“So this is the new driver Sander found after giving up on Jehan Daruvala?” Marko scoffed, speaking to his assistant beside him.
“His braking point is a whole car length earlier than the others, and he does not even dare to touch the throttle through the corners.
I think he is worse than an F4 driver.”
The assistant did not dare to speak and could only offer an awkward smile.
Lap five.
An accident happened.
In the garage, the tactical board in Sander’s hand clattered onto the floor.
Paul closed his eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh.
The surrounding engineers all lowered their heads.
No one dared to speak.
The entire MP garage was so quiet that the only sound was the rain tapping on the roof.
The exit curb of Turn four had become as slippery as butter in the rain.
Julian could feel the six hundred horsepower engine roaring beneath his foot.
He tried to apply the throttle gently, but his wet weather weakness of twenty five made his perception of the grip limit incredibly blurry.
The engine revved loudly.
The rear of the car snapped out without any warning.
“Damn it!” Julian instinctively tried to save the car, but it was all too fast.
Sitting in the cockpit felt like being on a merry go round.
The black and orange car drew two massive circles in the middle of the track.
The white smoke from the tires mixed with the water spray, instantly blocking the broadcast cameras.
Click, click, click.
The journalists in the viewing suite pressed their shutters frantically, capturing the moment.
Julian himself was startled.
He sat in the car, stunned for a few seconds, before clumsily restarting the engine and slowly driving back onto the racing line.
“Do not panic, Julian,” Mark’s calm voice came through the radio.
“It is fine.
Take it slow.
Julian did not say anything.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white.
The cold rain beat against his race suit.
It felt a bit chilly.
His visor was blurred by the raindrops, making it hard to see clearly.
On the track, Dennis Hauger’s number one car roared past.
He saw Julian stopped by the side of the track and curled his lip in a disdainful smile.
Just as expected.
All that talk about being a simulator genius and a tire management monster was just a joke blown out of proportion by Sander and Paul.
The moment he got into a real car, his true colors showed.
In the VIP suite, Dr.
Marko put down his coffee cup and stood up.
“There is nothing left to see here,” he said coldly.
“Sander has truly gotten old.
Now he only looks at the money, not the talent.”
With that, he turned and walked out.
His assistant quickly grabbed his coat and followed him.
Marko left the venue halfway through the session and flew out of Bahrain that very afternoon.
At the same time, he posted a complaint on X.
“MP Motorsport won the championship last year, but this year they seem to have decided to trade their trophy for a pile of sponsor cash.”
At two fifteen in the afternoon.
The first practice session ended.
Julian’s final lap time ranked fifteenth.
He was one and a half seconds slower than his teammate Dennis, and two point two seconds slower than the leader.
“The Most Expensive Joke in History!
MP Motorsport Trades Millions in Sponsorship for a Spin, Jehan Daruvala Laughing at Home.”
“Wet Weather Disaster!
Pay Driver Ranks Near the Bottom in Debut, F2 Reduced to a Rich Kid Playground.”
“Marko Leaves Early: Sander Sells the Team’s Future for Money.”
The motorsport social media instantly exploded.
Julian’s personal X account was flooded with hundreds and thousands of comments.
Almost all of them were insults.
“Can you not just be a rich kid?
Why do you have to go be a clown in the racing world and embarrass yourself!”
“Real drivers are busting their gut in F1, and you are just throwing money around to slack off in F2.”
“Spinning in the rain on the straight, that cracks me up.
Just go home, stop embarrassing yourself internationally.”
“I knew a guy who bought his way in would have zero actual skill.
What a bust.”
All sorts of nasty words flooded the screen.
Meanwhile, Julian was completely unaware of all this.