A tall, thin young man with a buzz cut was running laps in the simulator.
His racing line was textbook, his back straight, his hands steady.
The massive screen displayed the Silverstone Circuit, and the lap time data jumped in real time in the top right corner.
One minute twenty seven point six seconds.
Julian stood at the door, watching quietly.
The man finished a lap, took off his helmet, and revealed an Anglo Thai face with sharp features.
Alexander Albon.
The official driver for Williams F1.
Anglo Thai.
Twenty six years old.
He was in his fourth season in F1.
He wasn’t the fastest driver in the paddock, but he made up for it with consistency, scoring a lot of points last year in the uncompetitive Williams car.
Albon got out of the simulator and saw Julian standing at the door.
He paused slightly.
“You’re Julian?” His English had a slight Thai accent, his tone friendly but carrying the scrutiny of a professional driver.
“Yeah.” Julian nodded obediently.
“Hi.”
Albon looked him up and down, his gaze lingering on the teenager’s slender frame for less than half a second before moving away.
“First time in an F1 simulator?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s your lap time?”
“One minute twenty eight.”
Albon nodded.
There was no mockery, and no praise.
His expression was calm, as if he was hearing a completely normal statistic.
“Normal,” he said.
“My first time in an F1 simulator, I was almost two seconds slower.
F1 cars and F2 cars are two completely different beasts.
You will get used to it after a few more laps.”
Julian looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
“Your problem is you are being too gentle with the car.” Albon unscrewed his water bottle and took a sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“The downforce in an F1 car is much greater than you imagine.
You can brake later, get on the throttle earlier, and turn the steering wheel with more magnitude.
This car will not lose control easily.
You are treating it with too much caution.”
Julian blinked.
Too gentle.
Those words were like a small hammer, lightly tapping his head.
It seemed he finally understood something.
He looked at Albon seriously and said, “Thank you.”
Albon waved his hand and turned to leave the simulator room.
In the afternoon training session, Julian sat back in the simulator.
This time, he did not follow the F2 rhythm.
He threw away all the rules in his head about braking points, entry speeds, and exit throttle application.
He only remembered Albon’s words.
This car will not lose control easily.
You are treating it with too much caution.
Brake later.
Ten meters later.
Five meters later.
Even later.
The car’s rear end slid slightly at the entry of Copse corner.
Julian quickly corrected it with the steering wheel.
The rear swung for less than half a second before stabilizing.
The exit speed was nearly eight kilometers per hour faster than the morning.
Julian’s heart rate accelerated slightly.
He had found that limit.
It was not too late, but it was a limit much braver than the morning.
Lap one. The source of this chapter is novelping.com.
One minute twenty eight point four seconds.
Lap two.
One minute twenty eight point two seconds.
Lap three.
One minute twenty eight point zero zero seconds.
The first time breaking into the twenty eight seconds.
Silverstone was five point eight nine one kilometers long.
One minute twenty eight seconds was already at the midfield level for Williams.
Although there was still a gap to Albon’s casual one minute twenty seven point six seconds, it was nearly half a second faster than his morning limit of one minute twenty eight seconds.
At six in the evening, when Julian climbed out of the simulator, his fingers were shaking.
Not from nervousness, but from exhaustion.
David was already waiting at the door, holding a folder.
“Today’s physical data is out.” David flipped through the data, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Heart rate stabilized between one hundred and forty and one hundred and sixty.
Max G force tolerance was fifteen percent higher than expected.
But there is another interesting piece of data.”
Julian looked up.
“Your neck muscles showed slight asymmetrical exertion in the second half of the simulator session,” David said.
“When turning left, the right side of your neck exerted eight percent more force than the left side when turning right.
It means your right neck is stronger than your left.
It is unbalanced.
Tomorrow during strength training, I will add a few more sets for the left side.”
Julian nodded.
His neck was sore and aching now, and even talking was difficult.
But he did not complain.
Because he saw the numbers on the system panel going up.
After two days of training, his physical conditioning proficiency was nearly maxed out.
At eight thirty in the evening, it was time for the last session.
The meditation room was on the third floor of the main building.
It was a small room with dark wood floors and an abstract landscape painting on the wall.
There were no chairs, just a few thick cushions scattered on the floor.
Sports psychologist Helen Carter was already sitting on one of the cushions.
She wore loose linen clothes, her hair was gray, and her face was gentle.
She looked more like a kind grandmother living in a small countryside town.
“Sit,” Helen pointed to the cushion opposite her, her voice as warm as a cup of warm milk.
Julian sat down obediently, crossing his legs like Helen, and placed his hands on his knees.
“Close your eyes,” Helen said.
Julian closed his eyes.
“Now, focus your attention on your breathing.
Inhale…
exhale…
feel the air entering your nasal cavity, filling your lungs, then slowly exhaling.
Do not control the breath, just observe it.”
Julian followed her guidance, slowly inhaling and exhaling.
The room was very quiet.
The radiator made a slight clicking sound, and occasionally the wind blew outside the window.
“Now, imagine you are sitting in the race car.
The engine is roaring behind you, the steering wheel is in your hands, and the track unfolds in front of you.”
Images of the Silverstone Circuit appeared in Julian’s mind.
Copse corner, the Maggotts Becketts complex, and the flying laps he ran that afternoon.
His breathing gradually steadied.
“When you see an obstacle appear ahead, it is like the car suddenly losing control on the straight, and you feel panic.
Do not try to resist it.
Accept it.
Observe it.
Let it exist, but do not let it control you.”
Helen’s voice grew fainter, as if coming from a very faraway place.
“Refocus your attention on your breathing.
You are safe now.”
Julian’s breathing became slow and deep.
“Now, imagine you can see the track ahead clearly again.
The corner is right in front of you.
You clearly see the optimal racing line.
You brake precisely and cut perfectly into the apex.”
Julian’s body swayed slightly.
Then it swayed again.
Then his head slowly, slowly drooped forward.
Helen continued to guide the meditation with her gentle voice.
By the third minute, the teenager opposite her was already emitting a light, even snoring sound.
Helen stopped.
She looked at the teenager in front of her, his head tilted, his mouth slightly open, sleeping soundly.
The corners of her mouth could not help but curve upward.
She stood up lightly, walked to the door, and dimmed the lights a bit.
Then she sat back on her cushion, closed her eyes, and continued her own meditation.
Just let him sleep for a while.
The kid had been exhausted all day.
At ten o’clock at night, Julian finally returned to his apartment.
He did not even take off his clothes.
He just collapsed onto the bed, buried his face in the pillow, and let out a long sigh that seemed squeezed from the depths of his soul.
Tired.
So tired.
Not just a single kind of tired.
Every single part of his body was screaming in exhaustion.
His neck was still faintly aching from the resistance training.
His right shoulder was stiff from gripping the steering wheel too hard.
The back of his thighs twitched slightly from the heavy braking force in the simulator.
His eyelids felt as heavy as if they were hanging two sandbags.
He thought of the dense colorful grid on the schedule, the blue resistance band David gave him, the lap time in the simulator that still could not catch Albon, and the evening meditation.
Although he did not actually meditate during the meditation class, he just fell straight asleep.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Toby.
“Bro, playing tonight?
My hands are feeling amazing today!”
Julian stared at the message for a few seconds, then slowly typed a reply.
“Can’t play.
Just finished training.
My fingers are shaking.”
Toby’s reply was astonishingly fast.
“Fingers shaking?
Were you abused?
Is Williams a training base or a concentration camp?”
Julian twitched the corner of his mouth.
“It is a training base.
But the training volume is about the same as a concentration camp.”
He took a picture of the schedule and sent it over.
Toby was silent for a full ten seconds.
Then he sent a long string of exclamation marks.
“!!
Is this training or prison?
Seven AM to ten PM?
You do not even have time to use the toilet!!”
Julian rolled over, lying on his back, holding his phone with both hands to type.
“There is a half hour nap.
It counts as a recess.”