After leaving the simulator room, Sander didn’t take Julian to any other facilities.
His mind was a complete mess, entirely consumed by that astonishing lap time.
“Let me take you to your apartment first,” Sander said.
His tone was much gentler now, carrying even a faint, almost imperceptible hint of respect.
The two walked out of the main building and followed a paved asphalt path.
Neatly trimmed lawns lined the walkway, with birds occasionally fluttering through the branches and chirping away.
“The apartment is just ahead, only a hundred meters from the base.
It’s a two-minute walk,” Sander said, pointing to a white three-story building not far away.
“It’s the team’s single-rider accommodation.
All the drivers live here.”
Arriving at the building, Sander swiped his keycard and led Julian up to the second floor.
“Here we are.” He opened the door to room 203 and stepped aside to let Julian enter first.
The apartment wasn’t huge, but it was spotless, clearly cleaned specifically for his arrival.
The ground floor featured an open-plan living area, including a living room, kitchen, and bathroom.
The second floor housed the bedroom and a small balcony.
The furniture was simple Nordic style.
It came fully equipped with a TV, fridge, and washing machine.
Even the bedding on the bed was already made.
Sunlight streamed through the glass, warming the room.
“How does it feel?” Sander asked.
“It’s great.” Julian looked around and nodded.
It wasn’t as grand as his family’s villa, but it was clean, tidy, and very convenient being so close to the base.
Sander smiled warmly.
“Take the rest of the day off.
You must be tired after such a long flight.
We’re having a welcome party at seven tonight in the base cafeteria.
It’s a chance for the hundred or so staff members to meet you.
I’ll also introduce you to your engineering team and your fitness trainer.”
He paused, looking Julian up and down, taking in his slender frame.
“Honestly, Julian, you need to step up your physical training.
The intensity of F2 is nothing like the lower formula categories.
If you don’t, you’ll burn out by the later stages of the season.”
“Got it.” Julian nodded obediently, looking like a well-behaved student.
“Get some rest.
I’ll come pick you up at six-thirty.” Sander left the keys on the entryway console and turned to leave.
The moment the door clicked shut, Julian’s taut nerves finally relaxed.
He tossed his suitcase into the corner and collapsed onto the soft bed without even taking off his shoes.
He pulled out his phone, opened WhatsApp, and found the pinned group chat named “Julian’s Fan Club.” He hit the video call button.
The call connected quickly.
The face of a middle-aged man in a sharp suit appeared on the screen.
It was Julian’s father.
“Son!
You made it to the Netherlands?” Julian’s dad boomed, his voice loud and laced with excitement.
“How’s the base?
Did that team manager give you any trouble?
If he dares to give you attitude, you tell your old man, and I’ll fire him on the spot.”
Julian smiled helplessly.
“No, Sander is really nice.
The base is great too.”
Just then, a gentle female voice chimed in.
Julian’s mom leaned into the frame, looking at him with a face full of worry.
“Julian, are you cold?
I heard February in the Netherlands is freezing.
Did you bring your thick clothes?
How are the living conditions?
If it’s not good enough, Mommy will buy you a house nearby so you can be comfortable.
Don’t overwork yourself.
If it’s too much, just come home.
Racing isn’t more important than your health.”
“I’m not cold, I’m wearing a hoodie.
The apartment is great, very clean.” Julian answered each question obediently, his voice soft.
“Don’t worry about me.
I’m not a little kid anymore.
I can take care of myself.”
After chatting with his parents for over ten minutes and reminding them to take care of their health, Julian finally hung up.
He lay in bed, mindlessly scrolling through TikTok for a while.
The warm sunlight outside and the exhaustion from the long journey caught up with him.
Before he knew it, he fell fast asleep on the soft bed.
***
A few hours later, in the team manager’s office.
The room was hazy with smoke.
Sander chain-smoked, his eyes locked on the computer screen.
The footage of Julian’s simulator run from earlier was playing on a loop.
He had replayed the final Maggotts-Becketts section at least twenty times.
With every viewing, his shock deepened.
The teenager’s racing line was terrifyingly precise.
His throttle control was textbook.
It was hard to imagine this was the first time the kid had ever driven this specific rig.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in.” Sander stubbed out his cigarette.
Paul, the technical director, pushed the door open.
He held a printed data analysis report, unable to hide the excitement on his face.
“Boss, I’ve cross-checked the data three times.
The simulator is absolutely fine!” Paul slapped the report on Sander’s desk, pointing at the charts.
“On the third lap, his throttle input through Maggotts-Becketts was one hundred percent.
He didn’t lift once!
His line deviation was less than five centimeters!
Do you know what that means?
That’s something even Dennis, our number one driver, can’t pull off!”
Sander picked up the report and quickly scanned the dense data.
Every single metric proved the teenager’s astonishing talent.
His voice was slightly hoarse.
“I know.
I watched it with my own eyes.”
Paul looked at him, speaking excitedly.
“Boss, we struck gold!
He’s not some playboy rich kid.
He’s a genuine prodigy!”
Sander was silent for a moment.
Then he looked up, his eyes filled with absolute resolve.
“Paul, I’ve made my decision.
Julian skips the probationary period entirely.
He is officially appointed as the number two driver for the new season, partnering with Dennis Hauger.”
Paul froze, then nodded vigorously.
“I agree!
That’s the exact right call!
With his talent, he absolutely deserves the number two seat.”
He knew that in F2, driver numbers were assigned based on the team’s championship standing from the previous season.
MP Motorsport had won the Teams’ Championship last year, meaning they held the coveted number one and number two spots.
Originally, the number two seat was supposed to be shared throughout the season between Julian and another driver from the Red Bull Junior Team.
But now, Sander had chosen Julian without a second thought.
Red Bull Junior Team?
Sorry, never heard of them.
“Go prepare the official announcement copy and photos right now.
We post it on X at exactly ten tonight,” Sander instructed.
“Also, tell the livery workshop to update the number two car’s wrap.
Add Julian’s name and the Vance family branding.”
“Understood!” Paul turned and practically ran out of the office, buzzing with excitement.
Left alone in the office, Sander looked out the window at the clear blue sky.
The corners of his mouth curled upward involuntarily.
He had originally thought they were just getting a walking wallet, a sugar daddy dropping cash.
He never imagined they were handed a prodigy capable of leading the team to a back-to-back championship.
This was an absolute steal.