The victory in Austria had changed everything.
Leo's face was everywhere — front pages, highlight reels, fan-made posters plastered across social media. #RaceForLeo wasn't just a trending hashtag anymore. It had become a movement. Fans adored him for his rawness, for refusing to bend. For the first time, he wasn't just an underdog — he was a symbol.
But every rise comes with shadows. And Cruz was that shadow.
In the paddock, Leo felt the shift immediately. Reporters no longer swarmed Cruz first; their cameras were locked on Leo. Questions flew like bullets: Was Leo now the team's number one? Could Cruz recover? Was a changing of the guard happening before everyone's eyes?
Cruz smiled politely for the cameras, but behind his dark sunglasses, Leo could see the fury. His rival wasn't just angry — he was plotting.
The first strike came quietly, in the form of whispers. A respected motorsport journalist published a column questioning whether Leo's aggressive driving was "dangerous" for Formula 1. He framed Leo as reckless, a wildcard who might put lives at risk.
The article spread like wildfire. Other outlets picked it up, magnifying the narrative. Suddenly, Leo wasn't just a hero — he was a potential liability.
Then came the sponsor rumblings. Some executives began to question whether backing Leo was "safe for the brand." Meetings grew tense. Smiles became tighter. Even those who had cheered in Austria were now cautious, hedging their bets.
One evening, Leo sat in the team's lounge, scrolling through headlines on his phone. The glow of the screen cast hard shadows across his tired face. Every positive story was met with two negative ones. He felt the weight pressing down again — the world trying to box him in.
Adrian entered silently, carrying two coffees. He placed one in front of Leo and leaned against the wall.
"They're scared of you," Adrian said.
Leo didn't look up. "They're trying to paint me as dangerous."
Adrian shrugged. "Good. Dangerous sells. Dangerous wins fans. Cruz? He's the safe choice, the polished champion. But people are bored of polished. They want fire. And you've got it."
Leo finally looked up, searching Adrian's eyes. "But if they turn the team against me—if the sponsors pull—what then?"
Adrian smirked faintly. "Then you do what you always do. You win anyway."
Meanwhile, Cruz played his game masterfully. In interviews, he was the picture of professionalism — calm, polite, measured. He never mentioned Leo by name, but his words cut deep.
"Formula 1 is about respect," Cruz told one reporter, his voice smooth. "You have to think about the safety of everyone out there. Some drivers still need to learn that."
The implication was clear. Cruz didn't need to attack directly — the media did it for him.
Behind closed doors, though, Cruz's mask slipped. He stormed into meetings with the team principal, demanding priority, insisting that Leo was destabilizing the entire structure. "He's a rookie!" Cruz shouted. "A rookie doesn't dictate the future of this team. I built this legacy. I won't let him tear it down."
But Cruz underestimated one thing: the fans.
At the next race weekend in Silverstone, the grandstands became a battlefield of banners and chants. Half roared for Cruz, the established champion. The other half erupted for Leo, their defiant hero. The noise was deafening, a split that the cameras couldn't ignore.
For the first time in years, Formula 1 had a rivalry that was more than just about speed. It was about identity. Tradition versus rebellion. Polished legacy versus raw fire.
Leo stood on the grid, helmet in hand, staring down the straight. He could feel the electricity in the air, the roar of voices calling his name. He knew the empire was striking back — through politics, through media, through Cruz's iron grip on the sport.
But as the lights above the track blinked red, one by one, Leo tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
The empire could play its games. The sponsors could whisper. Cruz could plot.
Out here, on the track, none of that mattered.
Only speed did.
The empire's push didn't stop with headlines and whispers. It spread like oil across water, seeping into every corner of the sport.
One morning, Leo woke to find his inbox flooded with articles, blogs, and clips from pundits. Some praised him as a breath of fresh air. Others tore him apart.
"Leo drives with passion, but passion without control is a danger to everyone.""The rookie's style may excite fans, but Formula 1 is not a demolition derby.""Can the team really risk its future on a driver who refuses to play by the rules?"
Each line felt like a jab to the ribs. He tossed the tablet aside, but the words lingered. They always lingered.
The team's headquarters became a war zone. Meetings stretched late into the night, with half the executives pushing to crown Cruz the undisputed leader and the other half quietly urging support for Leo, who had already proven he could win.
Leo wasn't invited into these meetings, but he didn't need to be. He could feel the tension every time he walked into the garage. Conversations cut short. Glances exchanged over laptops. Engineers who had once greeted him warmly now offered clipped nods.
One afternoon, he caught two junior mechanics arguing in the corner.
"Leo's the future — did you see Austria? That wasn't luck. That was talent.""Talent doesn't matter if he brings the whole team down with him. Cruz keeps the sponsors happy. That's what pays our salaries."
Leo didn't interrupt. He just walked by, head held high, though inside his stomach churned.
Cruz, meanwhile, was thriving in the shadows. He spoke softly in interviews, but his eyes gleamed with malice when the cameras turned off. In team briefings, he emphasized "discipline" and "team values," words aimed like daggers at Leo.
He even leaked subtle rumors — whispers that Leo was reckless in practice sessions, that he disobeyed instructions, that he endangered other drivers. None of it was true, but truth didn't matter. Perception did.
The empire was working overtime to paint Leo as the villain.
But the fans refused to play along.
In London, just days before the Silverstone race, Leo attended a sponsor dinner — reluctantly, at Adrian's urging. He expected cold stares, maybe polite indifference. Instead, when he stepped into the hall, a group of fans waiting outside erupted into cheers. They waved banners scrawled with #RaceForLeo, their voices echoing into the night.
Inside the hall, the sponsors whispered, unimpressed by the disruption. But Leo couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face. Because out there, beyond the polished tables and staged speeches, the people who mattered most had spoken.
They believed.
The night before the race, Adrian found Leo sitting alone in the team's hospitality suite, staring at the circuit under the moonlight. The empty stands loomed like silent giants.
"Couldn't sleep?" Adrian asked.
Leo shook his head. "Feels like the whole world's against me. Cruz. The media. Even half the team."
Adrian sat beside him, resting his hands on the table. "That's because you scare them."
Leo frowned. "Why?"
"Because you remind them of something they've forgotten." Adrian's voice was low, steady. "Racing used to be about courage. About fire. About risking everything for a chance at glory. Somewhere along the way, it became about image, and contracts, and playing safe. But you—" He tapped Leo's chest. "You're raw. You're dangerous. You're what the sport was meant to be. And they can't control you. That terrifies them."
Leo was silent for a moment, letting the words settle. Then he nodded, slowly. "Then let's give them something to be afraid of."
Race day dawned with skies the color of steel. Silverstone hummed with anticipation, the air thick with rivalry. Half the grandstands roared for Cruz, the polished champion. The other half shook with chants of Leo's name, banners rippling in the wind like battle flags.
As Leo climbed into his car, fastening the belts, he took one last look at the stands. He didn't see sponsors or executives. He saw thousands of fans who had chosen him, flaws and all.
The empire had struck back. But Leo wasn't backing down.
As the red lights blinked above the track, one by one, his heartbeat matched their rhythm.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
The world could play its games.On this track, the only truth was speed.
And Leo was ready to show them all.