The Bahrain International Circuit shimmered beneath the desert sun.
From behind the pit wall, Leo Carter watched the grid come alive, his eyes tracing the familiar silhouettes of cars he knew better than most of the men driving them. Red Bull. Ferrari. Mercedes. Every detail was etched into his memory—brake bias tendencies, tire degradation curves, aerodynamic sensitivities.
At the front of the grid, Max Verstappen sat motionless in his Red Bull, visor down, already detached from the chaos around him. A few places back, Charles Leclerc adjusted his gloves with calm precision. Near the silver cars, Lewis Hamilton spoke quietly with his race engineer, his presence commanding even in stillness.
They belonged here.
Leo didn't.
He stood several meters behind the garages, wearing a team-issued jacket labeled Reserve & Simulator Driver. To the cameras, he was invisible. To the paddock, he was background—useful during the week, forgotten on Sunday.
Yet Leo knew the truth.
He had logged thousands of hours in the simulator, perfecting laps most fans never noticed. He had optimized setups that turned into real points. In equal machinery, he had beaten race drivers more than once.
But Formula 1 wasn't decided by lap times alone.
It was decided by money, influence, and narrative.
"Thirty seconds," a mechanic called out.
Leo exhaled slowly.
I'm faster than some of them, he thought.
And it still doesn't matter.
Five red lights illuminated above the track.
The engines screamed—
Then everything stopped.
The sound stretched unnaturally before collapsing into silence. Heat vanished from the air. Dust froze mid-drift. Leo's breath caught as the world itself seemed to pause.
A translucent interface unfolded before his eyes.
[APEX SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
"What…?" Leo whispered.
The interface was impossibly sharp, layered over reality as if it had always belonged there.
Host identified: Leo Carter.
Compatibility: 99.8%.
His heart pounded. He turned his head. The interface stayed perfectly aligned.
This wasn't stress.
This wasn't imagination.
Data scrolled.
Reaction Time: B+.
Racecraft: B.
Tire Management: C.
Mental Fortitude: B-.
Public Influence: F.
A warning flashed.
Public Influence critically insufficient.
Formula 1 selection criteria extend beyond performance.
Leo let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
"So even you know," he muttered. "This sport isn't fair."
Fairness is not a parameter. Optimization is absolute.
Leo clenched his fists.
"Then optimize me," he said. "Make me someone they can't ignore."
A pause.
Core directive accepted.
Target: Formula 1 World Champion.
Difficulty: Extreme.
Failure consequence: System dormancy.
The silence shattered.
The lights went out.
The engines roared back to life as the cars launched off the grid. Verstappen surged ahead. Leclerc fought for position. Hamilton held the racing line with surgical precision.
No one noticed the reserve driver behind the wall.
No one noticed destiny shifting gears.
Leo watched the opening lap—not with envy, but calculation.
This isn't their sport alone anymore.
And for the first time in his life, Formula 1 felt within reach.
— End of Chapter 1 —
Author's Note
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