Managerial Emergency
Raghav paced inside the dimly lit hospitality suite of Vaayu GP Racing, drenched in tension rather than Mumbai's late summer humidity. The ceiling fan spun lazily, offering no relief.
His eyes flicked to the emergency contact board again. Harinder's line was still blank — no signal, no ping, no update. Seven days now. Radio silence.
The man he trusted though his suspicion — who had quietly accepted the role of Sukhman's off-record bodyguard after Sukhman's infamous crash last year — had simply disappeared.
"Goddamn you, Harinder," Raghav muttered, forehead pressed against his clenched fists. "You said you'd protect him. What happened to your 'Jaat' pride?"
Left with no other option, he reached into the black folder of emergency protocols. His finger hovered over a name already scribbled in bold.
He picked up the satellite phone.
---
The Return of Nandini Thakre
By the time the Mumbai Bay Circuit began its first media day laps, the humid air already shimmered above the asphalt. Crowds buzzed in anticipation, leaning over barriers, cameras and flags in hand. Journalists crowded the paddocks like vultures circling meat.
And walking through the heart of it, effortlessly cutting through the noise like a blade through silk, was Nandini Thakre.
Clad in a smart dark-blue Vaayu Motorsport blazer, hair tied in a firm bun, clipboard in one hand and headset slung across her shoulder, she moved with the air of someone who belonged — someone who knew what needed fixing before it broke.
Her heels clicked against the concrete pit lane as the engines in the distance revved and snarled like hounds. Her face bore the same calm it always had, but with a new layer of steel beneath it.
> "Ms. Thakre?" a reporter called out, jogging up beside her.
"Back in Vaayu's colors again?"
Nandini didn't break stride. "Just filling a void," she said, cool and clipped. "Until that void fills itself."
She didn't wait for a follow-up.
—
Vaayu GP Racing's garage was half lit. Engineers hustled between diagnostic stations and tool racks. Fans buzzed above. The scent of scorched rubber hung in the air like memory.
Sukhman was hunched over the simulator rig, visor down, eyes narrowed. His fingers flicked through gear mappings on the digital dashboard. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He looked exhausted, older than his age.
Nandini stood silently behind him for a few seconds.
"Still flicking your downshifts too early into Turn 10," she finally said.
Sukhman flinched slightly at the voice — familiar and unexpected. He turned his head slowly. Eyes widened, then narrowed in disbelief.
"Ms. Nandini?"
She gave a soft nod. "Tuning your instincts, or just hoping the sim forgives you?"
Sukhman stood up, wiping his hands on a rag. "You're back?"
"Not for good," she said, scanning the garage with clinical precision. "But you could use some... damage control."
Her voice was gentle but firm. Her eyes landed on the half-eaten energy bar, the stacks of paper, the clutter of unsorted telemetry printouts.
"Where's Harinder?"
The moment hung in the air.
Sukhman's gaze dropped. The confident lines of his face hardened with guilt.
"He... left," he muttered.
Nandini looked at him for a long moment, unblinking. A flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes — concern, calculation, or maybe both.
"So did your margin for error," she said finally.
Silence filled the garage again, heavy and awkward.
Sukhman tried to speak. "I didn't mean to—"
"I'm not here to talk about apologies," she interrupted, voice crisp. "I'm here because you're bleeding morale, you're surrounded by wolves in microphones, and your only real buffer vanished without a goodbye."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"You're leading a home race. The country's watching. One wrong brake lock, one poorly timed turn, and the only story anyone will care about is whether the kid who came out of nowhere is breaking down under pressure."
Sukhman's jaw clenched.
Nandini placed a light hand on his shoulder.
> "So let me help you, Sukhman. Not because you deserve it. Not because Harinder asked me to. But because I still care what happens to this team."
Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "And because I don't think Harinder left. I think someone made him disappear."
That last sentence lodged itself deep in Sukhman's mind like a splinter.
He finally nodded.
"Alright. Let's get to work."
And for the first time in days, someone in the garage finally exhaled.
---
Somewhere Else – The Hidden Road
A flickering green terminal in an underground bunker displayed telemetry logs — not just for Vaayu GP Racing, but for every team on the circuit. Someone was watching them all.
Harinder, bruised and wearing a dust-covered jacket, was seated at a narrow table. His face bore cuts, but his eyes still glinted with purpose.
A voice from a hidden speaker said:
"You were right. It wasn't a mechanical failure."
"Then we should expose it," Harinder replied.
"Not yet. You do that, you won't live to finish the season."
The speaker clicked off.
Harinder opened a small sealed pouch and unfolded a blueprint. His eyes narrowed on a single line:
> Torque Override Protocol – Masked Through HUD Lag Adjustment
---
Mumbai GP – Qualifying Laps
Mumbai. The city that never sleeps.
And tonight, it roared.
The Mumbai Bay Circuit sparkled under the city lights — snaking along reclaimed coastal roads, darting past neon-lit towers and thrumming traffic barriers. A true beast.
> "And welcome to Qualification Night here at the Mumbai Grand Prix!"
"The humidity's thick, the engines louder, and the fans? Absolute mayhem!"
—
Q1:
Rain clouds loomed, but never broke. Most drivers attacked early.
Jia Tan was surprisingly aggressive — pulling out clean laps in Sector 1 and getting top provisional timing early.
Sukhman, meanwhile, was surgical. Mumbai knew him. The circuit felt personal.
Callum Graves and Erik Holtz swapped purple sectors in a dance of dominance.
> "Watch the apex at Sector 3! That concrete runoff strip's chewing up tires like candy!"
Charlotte's replacement, Lewis Vargo, spun out on Turn 7. Yellow flag.
—
Q2:
Callum clipped the barrier and damaged his front wing.
Alain Bellamy, making a late-season push, squeaked through.
Diego's backup Marco Ortega posted decent numbers but was clearly uncomfortable.
Nandini kept silent, letting Sukhman breathe through his final prep.
—
Q3 (Final Qualifying):
With streetlamps glowing on his visor, Sukhman entered the final lap.
He took Turn 9 blind — a move Harinder would've called "suicidal" and "stupidly brilliant."
> "Sukhman Singh smashes the provisional pole with a 1:22.974!"
Holtz chased but fell 0.081 seconds short.
Callum, recovering from damage, qualified fourth.
—
📊 Top 5 Qualifying Results – Mumbai GP (8th Round)
Position Driver Team Lap Time
1. Pole Sukhman Singh| Vaayu GP Racing| 1:22.974
2. P2 Erik Holtz| König Motors| 1:23.055
3. P3 Jia| Tan Dragon Blade| F1 1:23.107
4. Callum Graves Panthera Racing 1:23.276
5. Alain Bellamy Élan Volt 1:23.291
Crowds erupted into chants of "Sukhman! Sukhman!"
He gave a quiet wave from atop the car. But deep inside, his thoughts raced in another direction—
> "I hope you're watching this, Brother."
---
Across The Channels
"SUKHMAN DOMINATES HOME QUALI – But Where's His Wingman?"
"Nandini Rao Returns as Manager – Is Vaayu GP Still in Crisis?"
"Harinder Singh Missing for Weeks – IRC Confirms Private Security Probe Underway"
"Torque Override Allegation Leaked on Darknet Forum – IRC Dismisses as Hoax"