Leo rolled back into the pits. The mechanics swarmed the car, checking for oil leaks and heat damage. Anya stood at the front of the garage, looking at the timing screens.

"How does it feel?" she asked over the radio.

"It’s not good," Leo said, his voice steady. "The rear end is floating over the bumps. I can’t commit to the high-speed stuff if I don’t trust the back of the car."

"We’ll adjust the rear damping," Elias said. "Give us three minutes."

Leo sat in the car, the heat from the engine soaking through the firewall and into his back. He looked out at the sun-drenched track. Beside him, in the next garage, Alessandro Rossi was climbing into his Prema. Rossi looked over, his visor dark, and gave a small, mocking wave.

Leo didn’t wave back. He felt a flicker of that cold, inhuman focus from the "Iron Cell" rising up. Rossi thought this was a game of experience and prestige. Rossi thought the "technician" was out of his depth.

’You have no idea,’ Leo thought. ’I’ve driven similar track a thousand times in the dark with half an engine and a jammed sensor. You’re racing a man who has already died over thirty times at the Hairpin.’

"Car’s ready," Pete said, slapping the side of the cockpit. "Go get ’em."

Leo rolled out again. This wasn’t a check-up anymore. This was the first proper push.

He crossed the start-finish line, and the world changed. He stopped being a man in a car and started being the car itself. He floored the throttle, the gear shifts clicking with mechanical violence.

[1:35... 1:32... 1:30...]

The numbers on his steering wheel display were tumbling. He reached Turn 1 at 290 km/h. He braked at the 100-meter board, the "Perfect Braking" skill finding the absolute limit of the tires. He turned in, clipping the inside kerb with surgical accuracy. The car vibrated, the floorboard throwing sparks, but he was already on the power for Turn 2.

He flew through the first sector. The "Danger Sense" was a steady hum, mapping the walls that were only inches away. He didn’t fear them. He used them as markers.

Turn 6 and 7. The fast right-left. He didn’t lift. He kept the pedal pinned, the car screaming as it loaded up the suspension. He felt the tires "scrubbing" against the road, the rubber screaming for mercy.

"Sector one is purple," Elias’s voice was filled with a sudden, sharp excitement. "You’re the fastest on track, Leo. Keep it clean."

Leo didn’t respond. He was entering the back of the circuit, the long, curved "straight" toward the fast chicane. He could see the lake to his left, a blue blur. He reached Turn 9 at 260 km/h. Most drivers would dab the brakes here.

Leo didn’t. He just downshifted once, letting the engine braking rotate the car, and threw it into the chicane.

The G-forces were immense. His vision tunneled for a split second as his brain was pushed against the side of his skull. But the framework held. He caught the slight slide on the exit, the rear tires spinning and smoking as they searched for grip.

He reached the final sector. The slow, technical corners around the pit entry. He was trail-braking deep into Turn 13, his "Auditory Mapping" telling him exactly how much the front-right tire was sliding. He adjusted his steering by a fraction of a millimeter.

He turned into the final corner, the car perfectly balanced. He floored it toward the line.

[GARAGE RADIOS: "What is he doing? That’s a 1:28.4! He’s two seconds clear of Rossi!"]

Anya stood frozen on the pit wall, her eyes wide as she looked at the timing screen. She had seen the Silverstone data, but seeing it here, on a real street circuit, against the best drivers in the world, was terrifying.

Leo crossed the line, but he didn’t slow down.

"Tires are still good," Leo said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Going again. Tell Marcus to stay out of my way in sector two."

"Copy, Leo," Elias stammered. "Uh... Rossi is on a push lap behind you. He’s trying to close the gap."

Leo looked in his mirrors. He saw the red-and-white Prema car about four seconds back. Rossi was pushing, his car dancing over the kerbs, trying to reclaim his territory.

Leo felt a surge of cold cockiness. He had millions of data points that Rossi didn’t have. He knew where the "Human Glitch" lines were. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

He didn’t just drive faster; he drove more efficiently. He used less steering angle. He used more of the track. He treated the F2 car not as a beast to be tamed, but as a cursor on a screen that he was moving with his mind.

By the end of FP1, the paddock was in a state of total shock.

The session ended with a red flag, someone had binned it at Turn 5, but the standings were set.

1. L. KAITO (Arcadia) - 1:27.9

2. A. ROSSI (Prema) - 1:29.2

3. O. DUBOIS (Invicta) - 1:29.5

Leo rolled back into the pit lane. He felt the heat radiating from the brakes, the car ticking as the metal cooled. He felt the sweat stinging his eyes, but his heart rate was already returning to normal.

He pulled into the garage and cut the engine. The silence was heavy.

He climbed out of the car, his legs feeling like lead. He pulled off his helmet and balaclava. Pete was standing there, a towel in his hand, looking at Leo as if he were an alien.

"You’re a freak, kid," Pete said, his voice a mix of respect and disbelief.

Anya walked into the garage, her face pale white. He had never seen her in this state before. She looked at the screen, then at Leo. "The FIA is already asking for your telemetry. They think the car is illegal."

Leo chuckled and wiped his face with the towel. He looked at the "Season Opener Dominance" side quest in his vision.