Chapter Text
The sound of the alarm split the silence of the hotel room like a sharp needle.
Arvid jolted awake with a short breath, his mind still wandering between sleep and wakefulness and unable to recognize where he was.
The first image he saw after opening his eyes was the white ceiling of the room, then the golden morning light coming through the half‑drawn curtain, and finally the faint smell of hotel cleaning products that slowly set his half‑asleep mind into motion—and in the middle of all this, the alarm was still ringing sharply beside his ear.
With a small growl under his breath, he raised his hand blindly over the table beside the bed to find his phone.
The screen lit up with an unpleasant light and the boy half‑opened his eyes.
Sunday – 06:00
He turned off the alarm with a yawn and sat there like that for a few seconds. His heart was still beating a little fast, but he didn’t feel like he had seen a nightmare—maybe he had forgotten it; but in the end, ignoring his doubts, he stretched his body and prepared the mental notes for the rest of his day.
Today was race day.
The boy let out a quiet sigh and muttered under his breath, “Alright… it’s started.”
He hung his legs off the bed and placed them on the cold floor. The chill of the floor woke him up a little more. He ran a hand through his messy curly hair and then walked toward the bathroom, doing his best to wash away all the different feelings swirling in his head with cold water and get ready for his day.
The result of yesterday’s quali was already disappointing—P12 with a car that had the potential to be in the top ten. But a small mistake and a slow lap had caused him to be eliminated in Q2, and that moment had stayed since yesterday like a bitter taste under his tongue.
After a short shower when he returned to the main area, he took his phone off silent and placed it back on the table beside the bed. Several new notifications lit up on the screen, but his gaze didn’t stay on them even for a moment. His hand moved toward the chair in the corner of the suite, where the team clothes had been carefully folded. He picked them up calmly and took a few steps toward the full‑length mirror of the room. The cool morning light shone in through the tall window beside the room and made his reflection in the mirror clearer. He slowly pulled up the zipper of the jacket; the soft sound of the metal teeth spread in the silence of the room. Then, unconsciously, he ran a hand through his hair and fixed it one last time.
Compared to the many thoughts swirling in his head, the morning was almost calm—maybe a little too calm.
For a moment, his gaze stayed on the chest of the outfit.
The large logo of the team’s main sponsor was glimmering under the light. For a few seconds he just looked at it without feeling anything particular about it, but gradually a sense of pride formed inside him.
Sponsors.
Advertisements.
Contracts.
Supports that had come one after another to bring him here—to the place where he was now standing: a Formula One driver in the official team outfit, only a few steps away from a race that thousands of people were waiting for.
This wasn’t his first race, but it still had the feeling of a first time for him, and he was sure that a full season was ahead of him to experience this feeling again.
But with each of those supports, a new expectation had also been added.
Expectation from the team.
From the people who had invested in him.
From the reporters who were watching his every move.
The waiting gaze of his parents toward the television, which he could feel from kilometers away.
And of course… from himself.
Many people liked to call this feeling “pressure”; the same word that was repeated in interview headlines and analyses. But for Arvid, in that moment, it was something beyond simple pressure.
It was more like a hidden duty for him; an unwritten obligation that had formed somewhere inside his chest long ago.
A heavy and quiet feeling that kept repeating in his mind:
You have to prove it, you have to be worth it, you have to show why you are here.
And this thought, like an inner weight, was always with him—a weight that pushed him toward the track every time, the place where he had to answer all of those expectations.
He gave a crooked smile.
He wasn’t going to bend under this pressure; these expectations only pushed him forward, and that was enough for him.
He picked up the team cap, put his phone in his pocket, and left the room.
The hotel corridor was almost empty. The only sound was his own footsteps on the soft carpet. When he reached the lobby, he saw a few members of the team drinking coffee. One of the engineers waved at him and Arvid nodded his head with a short smile and walked out through the hotel’s glass door.
The morning air was cool and the smell of damp asphalt filled the space. He got into the team’s car and, while leaning his head against the window, looked outside.
The closer they got to the circuit, the bigger the advertising boards became. Flags moved in the morning wind and the logos of different brands shone on the walls and gates.
There still weren’t many fans around the track, but as always there were a few people who had been waiting for hours for the drivers to get autographs. Even though his security officer was almost pulling his arm, the young boy stopped for a few moments to at least give autographs to three people, and before leaving he winked at a little girl who was holding out a Red Bull cap toward him.
When they finally reached the entrance area of the paddock, Arvid placed his access card on the device, but as always the automatic entrance barriers didn’t move from their place.
With a laugh, he carefully stepped past the security staff and set foot in the main paddock area, nodding politely with a smile to the familiar faces as he greeted them.
Other than the team members who were walking around in their different colored outfits and talking to each other in different languages, almost no other drivers could be seen. But when he went a little further ahead, he ran into the familiar red and black team and waved toward both of their drivers who, like him, had arrived early.
But Esteban didn’t settle for just a greeting and pulled the smaller boy a little toward himself to wrap an arm around his shoulder.
“How are you, kid? Ready for the race?”
Arvid returned the same smile to the Frenchman and nodded his head slightly.
“I’m ready to give it my best.”
The man laughed, but Oliver beside him leaned a little toward Arvid and, while nudging him with his elbow, said happily, “With that car you’ll end up racing with us. Just please move aside a little so I can pass you, ok?.”
The younger boy rolled his eyes in their sockets at the two tall drivers and slipped out from under their arms, walking away from them with long steps.
He absolutely wasn’t going to give way to anyone.
Inside the garage it immediately had a different feeling—a more serious and professional one, like always.
Arvid slowly walked toward his own car and placed his hand on the red bull symbol on its cold body. The feel of the carbon fiber under his fingers reminded him more of the body of an airplane than a normal car and made him constantly want to touch it, even if it wasn’t a very normal thing to do.
Everything seemed good at that moment: the engineers and team members busy with their routine work, his car here under his hand ready to fly, and their strategist constantly pointing at the data to check every possibility.
As the driver, Arvid observed all of this, but after his car, his eyes searched in that turbulent garage for only one other specific person.
Liam Lawson, who was standing a few meters away.
The blond was leaning against the tool table and putting on his racing gloves. His movements were calm and precise, and his head occasionally turned around slightly without showing any particular attention.
Arvid stood there like that for a few seconds until he noticed the AirPods in the older man's ears.
Typical.
He really didn’t want to bother his older teammate before the race, so he let out a sigh and looked back at his car.
For some reason he still had that strange feeling that had been crawling inside him since the morning—a feeling that was like a warning, but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on it.
It wasn’t that Arvid didn’t trust his sixth sense. He had spent so many years immersed in training his split‑second reactions that he knew if he received a feeling with this kind of intensity, he should hold on to it. But this time he tried to push it away with a slight shake of his head; after all, he had a race to run, and the last thing he wanted was unnecessary worries.
The worst part right now, though, was that he couldn’t get the emotional support he needed through small talk and light jokes—at least not now, because apparently Liam was, for some reason, lost in his own thoughts; or as he thought.
Arvid tilted his head slightly and built a possible concept of the race in his mind, based on all the simulations he had done.
He really wanted to finish with a position better than just scoring points, just like when he was in Formula 2—where winning was actually the main goal of every race he had.
It was an ambitious wish; he knew that well himself. But as a rookie it wasn’t that unexpected. Who wouldn’t want a good result in races?
The boy squeezed his eyes shut and once again placed his hand over the Red Bull emblem, murmuring a prayer under his breath to any god who might hear him, asking that this race somehow end in the best possible way with a miracle… even though he didn’t believe in a higher being.
But Arvid didn’t even have the chance to finish his small prayer when a familiar person in the Racing Bulls team uniform suddenly came up beside him and greeted him good morning with almost too much energy, emphasizing that he needed to record a very important video before the race started, along with mentioning a few somewhat familiar sponsor names.
The younger boy gave a polite, faint smile and nodded to him, then turned back toward his teammate one last time.
Who, contrary to his expectation… was looking at him this time. Since when? Arvid didn’t know.
The younger boy swallowed and this time gave a bigger smile in response. Liam nodded his head in greeting without saying anything, then cast a helpless glance at the admin who was now talking to one of the engineers, making Arvid suppress a small laugh.
He had silently understood what he meant—that the blond was asking if he too had been caught up in the admin’s request or not—but Arvid only made a face meaning he had no choice while pointing at himself for the blond, and Liam frowned for a second.
Then the corner of his lips lifted slightly and he shook his head in a way that said there was nothing he could do to help, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall behind him.
Arvid walked past him with a smile and said, “When will it be that we’re no longer forced to say yes to these ridiculous games?”
And Liam just smirked and quietly added, “Apparently only in our dreams. Just try not to react too much, or they’ll never leave you alone.”
Arvid laughed, took two steps backward, and raised his hand with exaggeration.
“Speaking from experience.”
Then, still with a smile on his face, he walked out of the garage; that short conversation had made him feel a little better.
The pit lane was now full of cameras and reporters—from different networks and even some personal ones—and Arvid had barely taken a few steps when one of them came forward and raised his microphone.
“Arvid! One quick question before the race.”
He stopped, because his manager had decided to take his eyes off him for two minutes.
And when the reporter saw that he was actually ready for an interview, he asked confidently,
“You’re the only rookie driver this season. Do you think that means the competitive pressure is lower, since practically no one expects much?”
Oh.
For a brief moment, Arvid said nothing.
The question sounded simple, but the meaning behind it was clear.
You’re currently the lowest‑level driver on the grid; should anyone take you seriously in the race?
He kept his professional smile on his face, but his brows unconsciously drew together slightly.
“Well, you know, just because I’m a rookie doesn’t mean anyone should underestimate me.”
He paused for a moment.
“And inside the race, I can try just as hard as all the other twenty‑one drivers to open a path for overtaking, so… I think expectations should start being adjusted from now.”
Camera flashes went off one after another, and finally, before he could say anything more, his manager reached him to take control of the situation.
Finally, after hours of waiting, fulfilling PR duties, the national anthem ceremony, warming up the tires, and preparing the cars, the red lights lit up one by one—five lights.
All the drivers, each in their own grid slot, prepared for any possible overtake from the car beside them. And when the lights went out and the race began with the loud voice of the commentator, the sound of the Formula One engines roared through the air like a massive beast, and twenty‑two cars leapt forward together.
The first laps were always the most dangerous part of the race.
The cars moved with barely any gap between them, and every driver watched for the smallest mistake from the one ahead. But Arvid tried not to get caught up in the chaos of the race start, and while his engineer told him the details of overtakes from other teams through his earpiece, he kept his focus on maintaining his rhythm.
The corners passed one after another, and the speed increased as the tires gradually reached their ideal temperature.
By the middle of the race, he finally found his opportunity. He passed both Haas cars in consecutive laps, and now he was behind an Alpine in the fight for ninth place—a car he was almost certain was driven by Pierre Gasly.
It took a few laps to close the gap, but eventually, at the exit of one of the corners, while clenching his teeth together, he threw his car to the inside and passed him with a clean overtake.
Now only one car remained ahead.
Another Racing Bulls.
Liam was driving with calculated precision; he positioned his car exactly where Arvid would receive the most dirty air, and every time Arvid got closer, his teammate closed the defensive line.
His engineer’s voice came through the radio.
“Arvid, three laps left. If you want to push, now’s the time.”
The engine’s sound had now become like a steady rhythm for Arvid—something like a heartbeat.
Their gap was now less than a second.
At the corner entries, the two Racing Bulls moved almost tire to tire, for something seemingly worthless like eighth place.
But Arvid didn’t even ask himself whether it was really worth it or not.
That damn adrenaline wouldn’t allow such a thought.
“Why is Liam completely blocking me?!”
His voice over the radio was strained and angry.
His engineer answered calmly:
“Arvid, relax. You’ll get him next lap.”
But Arvid only pressed his teeth together harder.
At the exit of one of the fast corners, their gap dropped to less than half a second.
Opportunity.
And in a completely impulsive decision, the Briton moved his car to the left, where a narrow space could be seen beside Liam’s car.
For a moment it seemed like the overtake would be completed—just for a moment he believed he had managed to get past.
But his rear tire landed on the white line at the exit of the corner.
The car slipped for a fraction of a second.
And that fraction of a second was enough.
The front nose of Arvid’s car hit Liam’s rear wheel, and the sound of the collision echoed through the air like an explosion of metal.
Both cars instantly lost control, and Arvid instinctively let go of the steering wheel and shut his eyes.
The cars went off track and headed toward the barrier at speed.
The sound of the spectators shouting mixed with the commentator’s voice.
“And a collision! A collision between the two Racing Bulls! Red flag! Red flag!”
Only a moment later the final impact arrived, and the world fell into absolute darkness for a few seconds.
When he opened his eyes again, everything was spinning a little. But at least the car hadn’t flipped over.
The voices of the marshals could be heard from outside.
Arvid took a deep but shaky breath. His body didn’t seem to be in particular pain; only his vision was still slightly blurred.
One of the marshals bent down beside the cockpit.
“hey man,Are you alright?.”
Arvid blinked several times. His head felt heavy, and the words didn’t form in his mouth the way he wanted.
“I think… yeah.”
The marshal gave him a quick look and asked, “Do you want to go to the medical center?”
For a moment the boy hesitated. His pride had an answer ready immediately, but the tension still hadn’t left his body under the racing suit, and his hands were trembling slightly.
“No… I’m fine.”
A few minutes later, with the help of the marshals, he pulled himself out of the car. When his feet touched the ground, he finally realized the world still hadn’t completely steadied. The smell of burnt rubber and hot carbon fiber lingered in the air, and a little farther away, pieces of the front wing were scattered along the edge of the track like a broken toy.
But again his eyes unconsciously searched for someone else.
Liam, as always.
He was standing a few meters away; unharmed, but silent.
He had taken his helmet off his head and was holding it in one hand. His gaze was fixed on his half‑wrecked car, with the same bitter disbelief.
Arvid opened his mouth for a second to say something.
Sorry.
Just that one word.
But no sound came up from his throat.
So he closed his jaw and looked away.
A feeling of humiliation twisted under his skin like something hot. Not just because of the crash, but because in those last two laps, in his mind he had seen himself as the victim of Liam’s excessive defense, not the main culprit of this collision.
As if,
if he apologized… he would have to accept that he had lost control. That he had pushed the pressure too high himself. That for one position, for a not‑so‑important place, he had sent his teammate into the wall.
Liam finally tore his gaze away from the car and fixed it on him.
There was no anger in his eyes, no shouting; and that made it worse.
There was only fatigue. And something like disappointment.
Arvid felt that standing under that gaze was heavier than any argument.
“You wanted to go through there? Seriously?.”
Liam’s voice wasn’t loud, but it had a strange sharpness.
Arvid frowned and immediately took a defensive stance; instinctive, thoughtless.
“You’ve been completely blocking me since two laps ago.”
Liam let out a short, lifeless laugh.
“It’s called defending if you don’t know. I’m racing in this fucking sport too, not just filling a seat next to you.”
Arvid said nothing.
He had an answer, a thousand answers, but none of them sounded solid when he looked at the destroyed cars behind them.
For a few moments silence fell between them. The voices of the marshals, the murmur of the spectators, and a distant siren all seemed to fade into the background.
Liam slowly let out a breath and looked away.
“You didn’t even have to take both of us to the wall like that. We both could’ve finished in the points…”
This time the words hit exactly where Arvid had been trying not to look.
It wasn’t necessary.
For eighth place.
For a few points.
To prove something he himself didn’t even know exactly what it was.
Arvid dragged his tongue over his teeth and, while trying to catch up with his teammate’s steps, finally said in a dry voice, “My tire went onto the white line… I lost control of the car.”
Liam only shrugged.
“Yeah, I saw that.”
There was neither explicit blame in his tone nor forgiveness, only reality.
And that was worse than everything.
Arvid wanted to say sorry again. This time the word even reached the tip of his tongue. But again his pride settled around his throat like a hand, and his long steps faltered slightly.
If he said it, everything would become real; his mistake, his haste, and that this time he had truly crossed the line, and they hadn’t even reached the halfway point of the season.
Liam didn’t notice the internal war inside the younger boy, so without another word he passed by him and continued on his way.
Arvid was still behind him. A light wind passed over the track and carried the smell of fuel and rubber with it. The spectators were still watching the scene from behind the fences, and many cameras were pointed toward them, and the commentators were probably analyzing his small conversation with the person he had collided with in whatever way they could, but for him it was as if everything had sunk into a suffocating, heavy bubble.
The safety car, the marshals, the red flag, the voices of the commentators—everything was there, but distant. Very distant.
The only thing that remained clear was the point of impact.
Without many words they walked side by side back toward the garage, and Arvid was almost a little upset that Liam hadn’t looked at him even once along the whole way, but he understood the situation and just lowered his head.
The rest of the race passed quickly, and the podium finished with both Mercedes and a McLaren, but the boy wasn’t interested enough in the results to find out which driver.
A short session with the engineers, reviewing the data, and a brief look at the results was all that was done before everything was finally wrapped up with a quiet feeling throughout the garage and the team principal closed the matter with an official statement because both of his drivers had DNFed.
Arvid had never felt so ashamed in his life, and the fact that Liam hadn’t even given him a single look—even an angry one—during all this made him a little irritated.
For God’s sake, they hadn’t even reached half a season yet. How had he managed to make a sour experience with his first teammate in Formula One, and that too someone who until now had treated him with complete patience and kindness.
Arvid completely ignored the post‑race interview on the advice of his manager and went straight to his hotel.
In the room, he threw his racing suit onto a chair and sat down on the bed.
What a hellish day.
Fatigue settled over his body like a quiet wave, and as he dropped himself onto the sheets, he stared at the ceiling.
Next time he would try harder.
That was the entirety of his thought at that moment, but…
That short moment.
That instant decision.
A simple loss of control.
For a few seconds, with all his being, he wished he could go back and freeze time at just that one moment; before he opened the steering that much, before he sent the car into that narrow gap, before the sound of the impact ended everything.
But racing, as always, was more merciless than that, and time no longer turned back.
The young boy slowly lowered his head, and for the first time since the crash, he felt the pulse in his head again.
Arvid didn’t realize at what point he finally fell asleep, but as he was slowly drifting into the world of dreams, he had a strange feeling, as if he were floating in a river and the current was carrying him somewhere unknown.
“One more chance… little tiger.”
The curly‑haired boy didn’t hear it, but the feeling of floating suddenly turned into drowning, and Arvid trembled slightly in his sleep as he sweated.
He didn’t notice that the calendar on his phone, instead of showing Monday now, had gone back to the morning of Sunday.