"The rear is still loose!" Leo lied, his eyes cold and calm behind the visor. "I can’t get the power down!"

He pushed through Sector 2, keeping his pace respectable but not ’inhuman.’ He was watching the "Danger Sense" markers. He could see the "Ghost" of his own fastest lap from the pod, a shimmering blue outline that was currently four seconds ahead of his real-world position.

He reached Sector 3, the technical part of the track. This was where the "pros" made their time.

He turned into the hairpin. With the softer front end, the car rotated beautifully. He could have taken the corner perfectly. Instead, he waited until the mid-point and gave the brakes a sharp, unnecessary jab.

The front tires locked. *Screeeech.*

A plume of blue smoke obscured his vision for a second. He ran wide, his front wing inches from the concrete wall. He wrestled the car back onto the line, his heart rate remaining at a steady sixty-five beats per minute while he huffed loudly into the microphone.

"Another lock-up! Turn 13!" the commentator shouted. "Kaito is falling apart out there! He’s fighting the car at every corner. This is exactly what Rossi predicted, the pressure of a real circuit is too much for a technician."

In the Prema garage, Alessandro Rossi watched the feed and laughed. He turned to his engineer and pointed at the screen. "Look at him. He’s driving like a frantic amateur. He has the speed, but no discipline. He’ll be in the wall by Lap 5 of the race."

Leo rolled through the final corner and crossed the line.

[P8. 1:30.1.]

He was still in the top ten, but he was no longer the story of the day. He was just a fast rookie who couldn’t handle the tires.

"Bring it in, Leo," Anya said, her voice sounding tired. "We have enough data. We’ll debrief in the office."

Leo pulled into the pits. He saw Rafael Vega’s ART car parked in the next stall. Vega was already out of his car, leaning against the airbox with a smirk on his face. As Leo climbed out, Vega stepped closer.

"Nice smoke show, technician," Vega sneered, loud enough for the nearby mechanics to hear. "Maybe next time you should try using the steering wheel instead of the brakes to turn."

Leo pulled off his helmet. His hair was damp with sweat, but his eyes were like flint, still sparkling with life. He didn’t look at Vega. Instead, he looked at the data tablet Elias was holding.

"The tire degradation is higher on the left-rear than we thought," Leo said to Elias, ignoring Vega completely. "We need to adjust the diff map for the race."

Vega’s smirk faltered. He didn’t like being ignored. "Hey! I’m talking to you, grease monkey!"

Leo turned his head slowly. The SSS reaction speed made Vega’s aggressive posture look clumsy, like a child trying to act tough. "You’re P3, Rafael. Rossi is three-tenths faster than you. Maybe you should focus on your own telemetry instead of mine."

Vega took a step forward, his face reddening slightly, but Pete stepped in between them quickly, a heavy wrench in his hand. "Go back to your own garage, Vega. We’re busy."

Vega spat on the floor and walked away, muttering or rather, mumbling about some "arrogant amateur."

Anya led Leo into the small, air-conditioned office at the back of the garage. She shut the door, cutting off the roar of the paddock. She sat down and stared at him.

"Talk to me, Leo," she said. "The Silverstone Leo doesn’t lock up twice in one session. The Silverstone Leo doesn’t miss three apexes in Sector 3... Are you scared of the growing competition or you’re just anxious?"

Leo sat down, the cool air feeling like heaven on his neck. He looked at the "Season Opener Dominance" quest in his vision.

『Practice: Top 3 Required (FAILED).』

『Current Status: -2 Freedom Units.』

『Remaining Life: 25 Days.』

He felt a pang of regret for the lost time, but he looked at Anya and gave her a small, almost invisible smile.

"I’d take a guess that they’re currently watching the broadcast, Anya," Leo said. "Rossi, Vega, the rest of our opponents, and also the FIA scouts. They’re looking at my lock-ups and my slides. And probably building a profile of me."

Anya narrowed her eyes, a bit confused. "A profile?"

"A profile of a fast, talented rookie who is prone to mistakes under pressure," Leo said. "They think they know where I’ll break and succumb to pressure. They think they know which corners I’m afraid of."

Anya’s mouth dropped open as the realization hit her. "All that, was just an act? You were... you were acting?"

"You can call it that. But I’d prefer you term it ’I was gathering data’," Leo corrected. "I know how the car reacts to the bumps now. I also know how the wind shifts through the chicane. And most importantly, I know that Rossi and the others are quite confident now. They’ve stopped looking at my sector times."

"Leo, you lost us a set of soft tires for that ’act,’" Anya whispered wryly, though a hint of a smile was tugging at her lips. "And the media is burying you with all sorts of...."

"Let them bury me," Leo said, his voice dropping into that cold, mechanical tone he used in the pod. "It makes it easier to climb out of the grave and surprise them."

He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the pit lane. He could see the Prema mechanics laughing, the sun glinting off their red uniforms. They thought they had the championship in the bag. They thought the threat from Arcadia was a fluke.

Leo looked at his hands. They were perfectly still.

’I have twenty-five days to live until the Freedom Units run out,’ he thought. ’And in two hours, I’m going to take a week’s worth of life back from every one of you.’