At two thirty in the afternoon, the phone in Sander’s office rang again.
He glanced at the caller ID, took a deep breath, and picked up the receiver.
“Hello, this is Sander Visser.”
“Sander, long time no see.” A hoarse but authoritative British accent came from the other end of the line.
“This is James Vowles.”
Sander’s fingers tightened slightly around the receiver.
James Vowles.
Team Principal of Williams F1.
He had taken over the once mighty team just two months ago, shouldering the heavy responsibility of pulling it out of the mud.
In the 2022 season, Williams finished last in the F1 Constructors’ Championship, scoring only eight points all year.
The team’s budget was stretched to the limit.
Their junior program was on the verge of collapse.
The performance of their two official drivers, Alex Albon and Logan Sargeant, could only be described as “they tried their best.”
“James.” Sander’s tone remained calm.
“Are you also calling about Julian?”
A short laugh came from the other end.
“The entire paddock is fighting for him.
How could I not come?” Vowles’ tone was direct.
“But I am different from the others, Sander.”
“How so?”
“I do not need him to be a reserve driver.
And I do not need him to waste time in a junior academy.” Vowles’ voice turned serious.
“Here is my offer: If Julian finishes in the top three of the F2 championship this year, he comes directly to Williams as an official race driver at the end of the season.
A two year contract.
No probation period.
No observation period.
He sits in the car and he races.”
Sander was stunned.
Vowles continued on the other end.
“We have nothing left to lose.
If we do not score more than ten points this season, our main sponsor will pull out.
At that point, we might not even keep our spot in F1.
Julian’s dry weather pace and tire management are top tier for the current Williams car.
Even if he finishes last in every wet race, he is still better than what we have now.”
“Furthermore,” Vowles paused, “behind him is the entire Chinese market.
For Williams, that means a chance to survive.”
Sander was silent for a long time.
“Have you really thought this through?” he asked.
“His wet weather performance is indeed a weakness.
If you sign him, you must be mentally prepared to finish last in every rain affected race.”
“I know.” Vowles did not hesitate.
“But Sander, look at our results from last year.
Did we not finish last in almost every race?
Rain or shine, does it make any difference to us?”
The statement was so brutally honest that Sander did not know how to respond for a moment.
“I am flying to the Netherlands tomorrow,” Vowles said.
“Let us talk in person.”
Sander hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath.
He picked up the notebook on his desk and flipped to the page where he had recorded the offers from various teams.
Mercedes: Junior program plus reserve driver.
Promotion possible after two years.
Ferrari: Observer role.
No promises.
Aston Martin and Alpine: Reserve driver plus two years in junior program.
His gaze lingered on the last line for a long time.
Then he stood up, pushed open the office door, and walked toward the cafeteria.
In the cafeteria, Julian was sitting in a corner.
In front of him was a salmon burger he had carefully customized.
His cheeks were puffed out, and there was a bit of ketchup on the corner of his mouth.
His phone was propped up horizontally on a condiment bottle.
He was watching the IEM Katowice CS final.
The player Hunter had just secured a five kill ace in the B site on Nuke, single handedly reversing the situation and completing the comeback.
Seeing that incredible five kill turnaround, Julian got so excited he stood up and waved his hands.
Sander walked over and sat down across from him.
“What got you so excited?”
“Uh, watching a game match.”
Julian slowly sat back down, swallowed the food in his mouth, and wiped the sauce from his lips with his sleeve.
Sander could not help but smile.
This genius driver who could run seventeen laps on soft tires without losing pace was just a normal seventeen year old teenager off the track.
He loved burgers, loved gaming, did not like to talk much, and would shyly scratch his head when praised.
“I have something to tell you.” Sander spread out his notebook, which recorded the offers from various teams.
“After the winter test, six F1 teams contacted us.”
Julian paused mid bite of his burger.
“They all want to sign you.” Sander explained the conditions from each team one by one.
“Mercedes has the best terms, but you have to wait two years.
Ferrari is the most cautious, only willing to observe first.
The other midfield teams have similar conditions, all starting as reserve drivers.”
Julian listened seriously, the burger in his hand suspended in mid air.
He did not even notice the sauce dripping onto his plate.
“There is one more,” Sander paused.
“Williams.
Their team principal, James Vowles, is coming personally tomorrow.
The condition is: if you finish in the top three of the F2 championship this year, you go directly to Williams next year to drive in F1 as an official race driver.”
Julian blinked.
“Official race driver?
Not a reserve?”
“Official race driver.
You sit in the car and race directly.
No probation period.”
Julian was silent for a few seconds.
Then he took a bite of his burger and chewed.
“Then I will ask my dad.”
Sander nearly choked on his own saliva.
“…That is it?”
“Yeah.” Julian nodded matter of factly and pulled out his phone.
“For something this big, of course I have to ask my family.”
Sander looked at him obediently dialing the number.
For a moment, he did not know whether to call him mature or childish.
For a major decision that could determine the direction of his career, the first thing he thought of was asking his father.
The call connected.
“Hey, Dad.” Julian’s voice was soft.
“I have something to tell you.”
He briefly explained the offers from the various teams.
On the other end of the line, Julian’s father listened, was silent for three seconds, and then burst into a passionate shout.
“Ferrari!
Of course it has to be Ferrari!”
Julian held the phone a bit further away.
“Dad, Ferrari only wants me to be an observer.
I will not race.”
“So what if you do not race!” His father’s tone carried the obsession of a lifelong Ferrari fan.
“That is Ferrari!
Your old man has watched F1 for thirty years.
My dream is to see someone from the Ye family drive a real Ferrari F1 car!
And you have the chance but do not cherish it!”
Julian silently took another bite of his burger.
“But I will not be racing.”
“That is true.
I know your lazy personality best.
If you go to Ferrari, you will definitely drag them down.
You would not even make a good spy!”
Julian: “…”
What is this spy nonsense.
“If you ask me,” his father changed the subject, “you had better go to Mercedes.
Secretly learn their technology.
Once you master it, find a way to return to Ferrari.
This is called saving the country by a curved path!
Although I love Ferrari, my brain is still clear.
Mercedes has had strong dominance in recent years and a solid technical foundation.
Go there and learn for a few years, and in the future…”
Julian chewed his burger while listening to his father analyze the technical characteristics, junior programs, and future prospects of various teams on the other end.
He talked for a full five minutes.
He had been like this since he was a child.
His father was a fanatic F1 fan and a die hard Ferrari supporter.
There was a wall in their house dedicated to displaying Michael Schumacher’s signed helmet and models of Ferrari’s past championship cars.
When Julian was born, his father had almost named him “Ye Schumacher.” It was only after his mother chased him down three streets with a rolling pin that he gave up.
It was also because of his father that Julian first sat in a kart at the age of six.
But unlike his father, Julian did not have a strong obsession with “which car to drive.”
Red Ferrari, silver Mercedes, or blue Williams.
As long as he could drive, he was fine with any of them.
“…So comprehensively speaking, although Williams is weak now, having an F1 seat is an opportunity.” His father finally entered the summary stage.
“Hanging on for a year counts as fulfilling your old man’s F1 dream.
You go first, accumulate experience, and later if there is a chance, jump to Mercedes.
Go as a spy.”
Julian nodded obediently.
“Okay, then I will go to Williams.”
“Remember,” his father gave final instructions.
“Eat more good food to nourish your body.
Do not just eat burgers all day!
Your physical fitness must keep up!
Your mom said she will check your muscles on the next video call.
If you are as thin as before, she will fly over personally to watch you eat.”
“Got it, got it.” Julian mumbled his agreement and hung up.
He put his phone back on the table and looked up at Sander.
“My dad says go to Williams.”
The corner of Sander’s mouth twitched.
He thought Julian would struggle, weigh the pros and cons, and consult professional opinions.
But this teenager made a decision that could change his entire career after just one phone call with his father.
“Are you sure?” Sander could not help but ask.
“Do you not need to consider it further?”
Julian shook his head and took another bite of his burger.
“No need.
My dad decides.”
Sander opened his mouth, but ultimately just smiled and shook his head.
Fine.
The thought process of a genius is indeed different from that of ordinary people.