"Hey, kid," Berg said, standing up. He was a big man for a driver, with blond hair and a weary smile. He shook Leo’s hand firmly. "Hell of a performance at the driver’s test in Silverstone. You put a lot of pressure on the rest of us."

"Just doing my job, Marcus," Leo said.

"Is it?" Berg’s smile didn’t fade, but his eyes were sharp. "Anya told me you’re taking the second seat for the season. That’s a big jump from tech. Just remember, this car is the only one the team has. If you trash it trying to be a hero, there’s no reset button."

"I know the stakes," Leo replied.

"Do you?" Berg leaned in closer, his voice dropping. "I’ve been the lead here for a long time. I know the car’s limits. I know where the data says we should be. Don’t go chasing ghosts and end up taking us both out. We need points, not headlines. Okay."

The message was clear. Berg saw Leo as a threat, not just to his status as lead driver, but to his very career. If a rookie technician outperformed a five-year veteran, Berg was finished.

A man with grease-stained hands and a headset around his neck stepped forward. "Leo, I’m Pete. Your lead mechanic. And this is Elias, your data engineer. We’re your engineers for the whole of the 2025 F2 Championship Season."

Elias was a thin, nervous-looking man who looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He held a tablet up to Leo. "I’ve been looking at your Silverstone traces. They... they don’t make sense, Leo. Your brake application is too linear. It’s like a digital on-off switch. I’ve checked the sensors three times, but they’re not malfunctioning."

"It’s not the sensors," Leo said, matter-of-factly, almost rolling his eyes. "It’s how I drive."

"Well, Albert Park is different," Elias said, pointing to the track map. "The surface is bumpy. If you brake that hard on the bumps into Turn 1 or Turn 3, the car will skip and skiddle. You’ll lose the front end. We’re worried about the tire strategy too. The softs are only going to last six or seven laps in this heat."

Leo studied the map. He could already feel the bumps in his mind, the way the car would react to the uneven tarmac of the park roads. "Then, I think that we should adjust the dampers. Soften the rebound so the tire stays in contact with the road. And I’ll manage the tires."

Pete and Elias exchanged a look. "It’s not that simple, kid," Pete said, a bit of firmness added to his tone now. They both felt Leo was getting a bit arrogant and over the top now. "But we’ll see what the data says tomorrow after Practice."

The rest of the evening was a blur of logistics. Leo had to walk the track with the engineers.

Albert Park was a street circuit, winding around a lake in the center of the city. It was fast, bumpy, and unforgiving. To the other drivers, it was a challenge. To Leo, it was just another permutation of the code.

He stood at the start-finish line, looking down the long straight toward Turn 1. The grandstands were empty, but he could already imagine the roar of the crowd. He could feel the pressure of the 2025 grid, the best young drivers in the world, all eagerly waiting to prove themselves, and that the "grease monkey" from Arcadia was a fluke.

"Melbourne," Leo whispered, the wind whipping his hair. "Let’s see if the real world’s so-called talents can keep up."

They marked every bump and drain cover. Leo stood at Turn 11, the fast chicane where the cars would be doing 250 kilometers per hour. The walls were inches away.

In the evening, there was a mandatory media scrum for all the drivers in the F2 paddock. Leo stood at a small podium with the Arcadia logo behind him. A dozen journalists crowded around, their recorders held high.

"Leo, you’re twenty-three this year, which is old for a rookie. Why now?"

"I’ve been preparing," Leo said simply.

"According to the rumours that have been going around for a while now, is it true you’ve spent thousands of hours in a secret simulator?"

"I’ve only used the tools available to me."

"Alessandro Rossi said you’re a ’technician playing at being a driver.’ How do you respond to that?"

Leo looked directly into the camera. His SSS reaction speed made the flashing bulbs of the photographers feel like a slow, steady pulse. "He can call me whatever he wants. The stopwatch doesn’t care about my job title."

A small murmur went through the crowd. It wasn’t the answer they expected from a supposed nervous rookie.

As the sun began to set over the Melbourne skyline, turning the sky a deep, bruised purple, Leo walked back to the hotel with Anya. The city was alive with the sound of music and crowds, but Leo was already retreating into himself.

"You handled the media well," Anya said with an approving chuckle. "And the drivers. They’re trying to get under your skin because they’re afraid."

"That much is expected. They should be," Leo said.

He reached his hotel room and locked the door. He didn’t turn on the lights. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at his hands. They were steady, but he could feel the phantom vibration of the steering wheel.

He had twenty-seven days of life left.

Tomorrow, the engines would fire up and the product of the "Infinite Simulation System" would meet the real world.

He thought about the side quests on Practice, Qualifying, Sprint, and Feature. He had to be in the top three for all of them. It was a brutal requirement. One mistake, one mechanical failure, one aggressive move from Rafael Vega or any of the other drivers, and he would lose five days of his life.

But he also thought about the rewards. Fifteen days almost brought him to tears.

He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes, and slowly drifted into a dreamy sleep.