Chapter Text
1989
Alain held the water bottle with a bit of tension, almost crushing it in his hand.
He was nervous and angry, but he knew how to keep it together.
He and Ayrton were sitting together in the motorhome, facing Ron. They were going over the papers scattered across the table: charts, numbers, and notes written by the Honda team.
Yesterday, they’d both made it to the podium in Monaco, coming out on top. Ayrton in first, Alain in third. A feeling of pride and happiness filled the team. Everyone was excited about McLaren’s performance for the second year in a row. It looked like it was going to be another year where the car would be unbeatable.
But that kind of happiness wasn’t what the team’s pair of drivers were feeling at that moment.
No, it was something far from that.
Alain would never forgive Ayrton for what happened in San Marino. What Ayrton did wasn’t just a breach of agreement, it was a betrayal. Alain called him two-faced, and every time he remembered Ayrton’s excuses, offered in a nearly innocent way, it all felt even worse.
Ayrton never thought about the team, never. He only thought about himself, and everything that came out of his mouth was the truth. Or at least, that’s how Ayrton saw it.
A complete idiot. The dumbest Brazilian he’d ever met, and considering the last one, that was almost a record.
Alain was holding one of the sheets of charts showing the engine’s temperature changes over the last laps. The lines went up and down, several in different colors.
It could very well have been a chart of his own mood and the little patience he had left, if he had any at all, during his time with the team. Being stuck with a cheater, a two-faced… a freckled idiot was simply exhausting.
He couldn’t focus properly on what the charts and numbers on that sheet actually meant. How could he? Right there beside him, Ayrton and Ron were smiling at each other in a way that made it seem like they were each other’s favorite person on the team. No one else mattered, just the two of them.
Alain no longer felt at home like he once had. That place seemed to be turning into someone else’s home, and he felt like he could be kicked out at any moment.
Ron cleared his throat softly, drawing Alain’s attention.
“Well,” Ron began, “like I was saying before, the Honda engineers told us that the engine’s performance didn’t develop as well as it did last year.”
“I didn’t see that much difference compared to last time,” Ayrton said. “Sure, we had a little trouble holding off the other drivers on a few laps, like what happened with Alain, but I didn’t think it was that big of a problem. Besides, we tuned the engine before the San Marino race, made it as good as we could.”
“It was the way you wanted, I guess,” Alain murmured, still staring at the sheet in his hands, his voice dripping with irony.
Ayrton gave him a challenging look. He wasn’t going to let that provocation slide.
Alain saw an ironic smile appear on his face.
“Of course, I forgot that you’re never satisfied with anything, Alain. Sorry if your failure in Monaco blinded you to the real problem, which, if I may say, isn’t the engines.”
Alain just shrugged. “If thinking like that helps you sleep…”
Ayrton frowned. Alain knew he had managed to get under his skin, and with so few words. That was the good part of being his teammate: it was very easy to annoy him and return all the irritation he threw out.
Ayrton was ready to fire back a sharp retort at the Frenchman. But Ron was quicker.
“Okay, okay, eyes up here,” he snapped his fingers in front of the drivers. “Don’t start your nonsense now, this is serious business.”
Ron grabbed three more sheets from a folder. He gave them a quick glance and laid them on the table, facing the two drivers.
“This is the real problem. The engine may have given us chances to win in the last three races, but according to the engineers, that luck won’t last for long. The engine is showing some critical failures in the ignition system, which could compromise performance in the upcoming races.”
Alain and Ayrton examined the data on the sheets closely.
The fuel system was showing pressure variations that caused a loss of power at critical moments in the race, and on top of that, there was overheating in key components like the valves and pistons.
It really was a big problem.
Ron sighed.
“If this keeps up, not only will performance drop, but we could also face serious reliability issues.”
“What is this? Are we going to have to get new engines? Now?!” Ayrton asked, frowning.
Alain also looked at Ron, curious. They had barely approved the recent changes made to the engines, and now it seemed they would have even more adjustments ahead.
“We’re working on a major engine upgrade, a new component that promises to fix these issues,” Ron paused briefly and looked at the two of them. “I want both of you to come to the factory tomorrow to see the progress firsthand and give your feedback. We need your commitment on this development.”
Going to the factory wasn’t anything new; they had been called before to give their opinion on something. However, most of the time, it was only one of them who was asked, and it was rare for both to be required to show up.
This time would be different. Off the track, neither of them could stand the other’s presence anymore—not even if their rival were coated in gold.
“So?” Ron asked, after noticing the silence from the two. “Can I count on you gentlemen being there?”
Well, they couldn’t refuse a request like that. Not when, above all, the team needed to win at any cost, to continue the glory they had built last year. And also because Ron Dennis’s impatient expression was a little intimidating.
The two drivers then nodded, confirming that they would be present at the factory.
Ron gave a victorious smile.
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The morning passed slowly for Alain. He was in no hurry to see those damn engines, not in the mood he was in.
The gate of the McLaren factory opened slowly, and Alain’s silver car rolled in at an unhurried pace. He parked in one of the spots near the main entrance and turned off the engine, but stayed inside the car for a few more minutes.
Alain sighed, already out of patience for another encounter with Ayrton.
But he could try to distract himself, try to get through those long hours without having to look at, or even speak to, that idiot. His questions and answers would be directed only at Ron and the staff. Ayrton might get nothing more than a brief nod.
He finally got out of the car, with the idea of completely ignoring Ayrton firmly in mind. Maybe he’d even leave there with his sanity intact.
When he entered the building, he was immediately greeted by the staff, who informed him that Ron and Ayrton were waiting for him in the planning room, along with the Honda chief engineer.
Alain gave a brief nod of thanks and started walking down the factory corridors.
The air inside smelled of metal and oil. Familiar, but far from welcoming.
He passed by several engineers, all busy, heads buried in clipboards and charts. No one dared to say a word. They knew how to recognize that focused, or irritated, expression from a distance.
He took a deep breath before turning the last corridor, and came face to face with the planning room door. Familiar voices were coming from inside.
When he entered, he saw the three of them talking and laughing about something—something Alain wasn’t invited to know about or laugh at.
Ayrton saw him, and his smile quickly faded. He fiddled with his sunglasses in a bored way.
“Well, look who it is, our superstar French driver,” the chief engineer said. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Alain shook the hand offered to him, as well as Ron’s.
“Glad you came, Alain.”
“We need these engines performing well again, don’t we?” he replied with a smile.
Alain looked at Ayrton, who just nodded but quickly looked away.
Nothing new under the sun. Not that Alain was expecting anything better from Ayrton, anyway.
Ron, already sensing the heavy energy building up, clapped his hands.
“So,” he turned to the chief engineer. “Shall we get started?”
“Of course! Follow me.”
The chief engineer, a Japanese man with a serene expression and precise way of speaking, led them through the factory’s inner corridors. The sound of machines filled the space, mixed with the constant hum of automated tools and the hiss of compressors.
“We’ve been working on the new power unit since the start of the season,” he explained, gesturing with his gloved hands. “The main goal is to improve thermal stability and reduce power loss at high RPMs. The previous engines showed slight pressure variations in the fuel system, which caused brief drops in performance.”
Alain walked in silence, looking around and paying attention to whatever the Japanese engineer was saying. Ayrton followed him, alert, his hands still in the pockets of his jeans.
So far, neither of them had exchanged a single word.
The chief engineer, walking just ahead of the two with Ron at his side, pointed to a large workbench where an engine block sat. Technicians were working precisely around the piece.
“We’ve redesigned the shape of the new combustion chamber to optimize air and fuel flow. This should increase efficiency.”
Ron crossed his arms. “And what about durability? I want something that can handle the races without giving us headaches.”
The engineer nodded. “We’re testing new materials. The engine is still in the calibration phase, but the early results are promising.”
Ayrton leaned over the workbench, inspecting the parts. “Promising enough to guarantee us a few more wins?” he asked, with a half-smile.
“If all goes well, maybe more than just a few.”
Alain remained silent, not wanting to say anything for now. He knew that even with new engines, some problems weren’t so easily fixed.
They walked a little further down the long corridor. The chief engineer pointed out and explained every detail in a clear, straightforward manner. Ron and Ayrton were constantly asking questions, pointing out every detail, no matter how small.
Alain also offered a few comments, some opinions, and other simple questions that were no less important. Still, he didn’t speak much. Why bother? Ayrton was already asking everything anyway.
They continued walking until they stopped in front of a large open door. Inside the room, the air was dense and cold, kept moving by large exhaust fans running nonstop.
In the center, there was a reinforced steel workbench, where the block of an experimental engine was partially assembled, surrounded by cables and sensors. Around it, control panels displayed real-time data: temperature, pressure, fuel flow, and chemical readings of the new compound.
Near the wall, two containment cylinders were connected by transparent tubes. Inside them, the PRS-12 liquid moved slowly, glowing with a bluish, viscous sheen.
A red label, in both English and Japanese, warned:
“HANDLE WITH CARE — HIGHLY REACTIVE COMPOUND.”
The chief engineer then began explaining what it was. He said they were measuring the compound’s stability under constant heat. If it worked, it could be very helpful for the engine’s development.
Ayrton watched everything with great curiosity, while Alain kept a cautious distance, arms crossed.
Ron asked the chief engineer another question, wanting to confirm whether this would be essential for the new engine and what costs it would involve.
Alain listened closely to their conversation but noticed Ayrton growing slightly impatient. He wanted something.
Without wasting time, Ayrton stepped into the room, but didn’t go far. The chief engineer paused mid-sentence to Ron and gently grabbed Ayrton by the arm.
Noticing the driver’s confused look, he smiled.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Senna, but I’d advise you not to get too close to this component. It’s better if we stay out of this room for now,” he said politely.
“I just wanted a closer look,” Ayrton said, staring at the bluish glow of the liquid. Then he looked back at the engineer. “This is PRS-12, right? How will it react in the new engine? And what if the pressure rises too fast?”
The chief engineer looked up, a bit surprised by all the questions, and answered calmly:
“We’re precisely testing those limits, but it’s better not to get too close, Mr. Senna. We’re still in the testing phase.”
Ayrton didn’t seem the slightest bit willing to wait. He had that look of someone who always believed nothing could go wrong with him.
Alain rolled his eyes.
“I’ll just take a quick look, I won’t touch anything, I promise,” Ayrton insisted.
“Mr. Senna… I can’t allow that, I’m sorry. This compound is still unstable. One mistake, and it reacts in seconds.”
“But-“
“Ayrton,” Ron called, getting his attention. “We’re not going into this room, end of story. Got it?”
Ayrton crossed his arms, looking like a spoiled kid. He just nodded and stepped back, staying away from the door again.
The chief engineer found Ayrton’s curiosity amusing. Little details like that made the Japanese fall more and more in love with this Brazilian driver every day.
Alain turned and walked away from the door. A signal that they should keep moving to review more things.
Ayrton followed them, but it was clear on his face that he hadn’t accepted the prohibition. His perfectionist side, or perhaps just his pure stubbornness, kept him genuinely curious about the blue liquid, which promised to make a big difference for the new engine in his car.
They kept walking, passing by several other rooms, each focused on a different part of the car. Even the smallest component still had to be properly analyzed and tested.
Alain was still impressed by all the tests being carried out there, with every single part used in their cars. All that meticulous work was paying off. No matter how his car was performing now, Alain knew it was the most powerful on the grid.
Ron then stopped in front of a window overlooking a completely white room, with several tables lined up, each one covered with tiny metal parts perfectly aligned.
Alain had no idea what they were, but judging by their minuscule size and the fact that they were completely encased in clear plastic, they seemed extremely important. And probably very expensive.
“These are the valves for the new cooling system. They control the flow of the compound inside the engine. Each one is made by hand, one by one. If one fails, the whole engine could stop,” said the engineer, a proud smile on his face at the delicate work that had taken days to complete.
Ron raised his eyebrows and gave a small smile. “So that’s what’s going to help make the cars faster, right?”
Alain was still amazed by the fact that such tiny parts could make such a big difference. They could determine where you’d finish a race. Truly fascinating.
Ron then turned to say something to Ayrton, but when he looked back...the corridor was empty.
He wasn’t there.
“Where did he go?”
Alain glanced back. He already had a pretty good idea where that idiot had gone. “I guess he didn’t just stay behind by accident.”
A worried look crossed the chief engineer’s face. He peeked around the curve at the end of the corridor leading to the testing room.
“Please tell me he didn’t go in there…”
As they took their first step toward the component testing room, a loud explosion echoed through the corridor, making everyone nearby cover their ears.
Warning lights started flashing along the corridor, accompanied by a blaring alarm.
“Shit…” Ron quickly ran toward where the sound had come from. The engineer and Alain followed right behind him.
Alain couldn’t lie to himself; he was a little anxious. The explosion had been loud, the smell of smoke starting to fill the air, and the flashing emergency lights made everything worse. He knew the situation was serious, especially since several other staff members were running toward the room where the explosion happened.
A burnt smell hung in the air, coming from the test room—tests with the PRS-12 chemical compound.
Alain couldn’t see a thing; the room was completely filled with smoke. The smell was choking, but he couldn’t move.
Something had happened to Ayrton, and he needed to know if he was okay.
“Quick! Turn on the full exhaust system!” the chief engineer ordered in Japanese to one of the staff.
He quickly ran to a control panel and did as he was told.
Gradually, the smoke inside the large room began being pulled through the ventilation ducts in the ceiling. The sound of the exhaust fans filled the space, loud and constant.
A faint sound came from the back of the room. It was soft and hesitant, like a sob. For a moment, no one could tell what it was, only that it wasn’t coming from any machine.
Ron coughed a few times, trying to see through the smoke. “Is something there?”
Alain squinted, waving his hands in the air. “Looks like it…”
As the smoke slowly began to clear, the engineer tried to peer into the room, bracing for the worst. Ayrton wasn’t supposed to be in there.
But even before the air cleared completely, again a faint sound cut through the noise of the fans, a short, almost muffled cry.
“Is…that a cry?” one of the workers asked.
“Seems like it… but not just any cry,” another worker, apparently older, replied. “It’s a child’s cry.”
Everyone froze, listening carefully.
A small, real cry echoed through the room.
Alain's eyes widened. It was a child crying. Or rather, a baby. But with all the smoke, no one could be sure.
Then the sound grew louder. A very loud cry.
It caught everyone off guard. How had a baby ended up in the McLaren testing room?
Alain was already taking a step to check what had happened, a lot of questions running through his head.
Who was that baby? Whose baby was this? How did they end up there?
And the one question hammering at the back of his mind:
Where is Ayrton?
But before Alain could step away, the chief engineer was already grabbing the first lab coat and mask he could find in one of the side rooms, running straight inside.
“Matsumoto-san!” one of the other team leaders called out anxiously.
Alain and Ron still stood there, staring inside, dreading the worst. And now they had no idea where the chief engineer had gone.
A loud sound came from the ceiling. The exhaust fans were now working faster, pulling the smoke out more efficiently. Someone must have adjusted the system, because the air started moving faster.
Finally, when most of the smoke had cleared, other staff rushed in, while some stayed near the door to keep more people from entering.
After a few more minutes of waiting, Ron said, “He’s coming!”
He pointed to the back of the room, where the figure of the chief engineer could be seen walking through the remaining smoke.
Everyone moved closer to the door to see him, to ask how the room looked inside, if there was any more danger nearby, if Mr. Senna was hurt. And most importantly: was there really a baby in there?
The Frenchman was anxious too. The moment he saw the engineer enter the smoke-filled room, he almost followed instinctively. Not knowing the condition of his teammate—who had been in the room where the explosion occurred just moments before—was driving him crazy.
Alain was worried.
Finally, Mr. Matsumoto returned. He came out of the room, still coughing a little.
In his arms, he held something carefully wrapped in his white lab coat. The small form rested against him, a tiny head gently leaning on his shoulder, shielded from the outside world. He held it with care, as if it were far too fragile to be put down.
“What… what is that?”
“Was that… between the machines?”
“Is it some kind of animal?”
The chief engineer looked at the staff member who had asked the last question.
“Of course not. An animal wouldn’t cry like that, would it?”
Alain was still staring at the bundle.
“So it’s a…”
The chief engineer then laid the bundle carefully in his arms and pulled back the top of his lab coat.
The shock was immediate. It really was a baby!
Once the cloth was removed from the baby's little face, the baby let out soft murmurs. At any moment, the little one could start crying again.
“So it really was a baby… I can’t believe it!”
“Whose baby is this?!”
“How did they even get here?”
Still in shock, Alain stepped closer and looked down at the baby’s face, which was on the verge of crying again.
The baby had dark, slightly wavy hair, with a few stubborn strands that kept falling over its forehead. There were tiny freckles on their little nose, a detail that made the baby even cuter than they already were. Their ears seemed a bit big.
Alain brought his hand close to the crying little face, touching their small, soft cheek.
Feeling the gentle touch, the baby gradually stopped crying, letting out only a soft sigh, as if they had found something familiar.
“Oh my God…” Ron stepped closer, staring at the tiny being in the engineer’s arms. “This is...”
“Ayrton…” Alain finished, his voice barely a whisper. He could hardly believe what he was seeing.
That face was familiar, he would recognize it no matter what.
Everything about that baby screamed Ayrton Senna.
The room was now smoke-free, the air slowly clearing up. The staff who had rushed in minutes before could now be seen examining the mess left behind.
But one of them returned to the group and was carrying some pieces of clothing and a pair of glasses. They were completely covered in dust, and the glasses were broken.
“These clothes and glasses… they’re Ayrton’s,” Ron said, walking up to the staff member holding them. “They’re his, but… how? What happened?”
Mr. Matsumoto looked at the clothes in the other man’s hands. “When I found this baby, he was under a pile of clothes. I just couldn’t tell they were Ayrton’s clothes.”
Everyone’s eyes turned to the baby, still with closed eyes, swollen from crying. He made soft, cute little sounds, as if he were talking to someone in a dream. He rubbed his tiny cheek against the Frenchman’s touch.
“How did Ayrton turn into this baby?!” Ron asked, a tone of extreme worry in his voice. “This is impossible… I just can’t believe it.”
“Something in the PRS-12 formula must have caused this…” the chief engineer murmured, his voice trembling as he still watched the little body wrapped in the cloth. He was trying to come to some conclusion. “This compound was made only to cool the engine chambers, not… this.”
Silence then took over. Everyone was still in shock from everything that had happened: the explosion, the loud sound of the sirens, the thick smoke that filled the place… and that baby.
Alain still couldn’t believe it. It was simply impossible that his annoying teammate had suddenly turned into a cute, adorable baby.
Ron then looked at Alain, then at Ayrton. They needed to get out of there and deal with the situation. Now, it wasn’t just the engine problem, they were facing something much bigger, and completely beyond any logical explanation.
“Let’s get out of here. This place needs a serious cleanup and we still need to check what other damage the explosion caused, nothing can be overlooked.” His eyes went to the baby. “And we still have to figure out what to do... with him.”
Alain still stared at the baby in silence, as if his mind couldn’t keep up with what he was seeing. Ayrton Senna—his rival, his teammate—was now just a baby.
“All right,” the chief engineer said, trying to regain control. “Let’s take him upstairs. There are bathrooms and a clean space where we can take better care of him.”
But as he stepped away, turning toward the exit, a new cry started. This time, it sounded like it was going to get louder.
The baby no longer had the calm expression from before. Now his little face twisted as if he were about to let out the biggest cry of his life. Something was bothering him.
“Shhh, calm down little one,” Mr. Matsumoto tried to soothe the baby. “What’s wrong?”
“Maybe he’s hungry?” one of the staff asked.
“Must be cold, for sure.”
“Or maybe the dust is bothering his nose.”
While some of the staff tried to guess why he was crying, Ron Dennis just watched everything.
Suddenly, he grabbed Alain’s hand.
Alain jumped at the sudden action. “What are you-”
He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence when his hand returned to the baby’s chubby cheek. Alain didn’t understand what Ron was doing.
But Ron seemed to have figured out the cause of the baby’s discomfort and it was confirmed when, suddenly, the crying stopped again. The baby’s expression returned to calm, completely at peace.
“Looks like you’ve just picked up a new role, Alain. You’re officially a babysitter now.”
As if to confirm what Ron had said, a small sound of contentment escaped the baby’s lips, followed by a peaceful sigh. His little face pressed against the Frenchman’s hand again.
Alain was doomed. Completely, utterly doomed.