My Formula 1 System-Chapter 658: Baku National Circuit

The tires of an opulent Aston Martin V8 Vantage rolled with a soft crunch over sparse gravel as it steered onto the neat, paved bitumen of the venue entrance.

As soon as it rolled into the center of attention, it was met with a literal wall of flashing cameras, the scene so bright, even the sun could’ve gotten blinded.

This sports car was a limited edition, a machine so rare that even the wealthy people in the crowd were leaning in to get a look.

Inside the car sat Jimmy Damgaard, F1 driver and star racer for Bueseno Velocita. He was seated at the back with his manager, while the rest of his personal team sat up front, one driving, and the rest making sure everything was on schedule.

It was Qualifying Day at the Baku National Circuit, and the energy was already through the roof. The FIA had a hard time regulating the crowd at a circuit like this because it’s a street race—there are houses, balconies, and apartment buildings everywhere you look!

10:15 AM

From an aerial view, an adjoining layout connected most of the commercial part of the city to the street track. The area was a maze of hospitality suites, government house plazas, and a dense minority of industrial arcades. No one needed to be told that this was where the main pre-race action happened, especially as Jimmy’s Vantage was displayed on the broadcasting screens, slipping into a reserved parking spot right at the corner of the complex.

The swan doors of the Aston Martin glided open with splendour. When Jimmy stepped out, he looked like he belonged on a runway rather than a racetrack. He was wearing a grey-silver suit that was the definition of prestige. It was a piece of heritage, hand-cut from a bolt of vintage wool in Biella since 1948. That wasn’t a suit you could buy. It was the kind of armor that made it clear he had more than just sponsors now.

Jimmy didn’t even have time to take three tall steps toward the Red Bull tunnel before the press swarmed him, a wave of microphones, cameras, and recorders crashing forward. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Everyone wanted to know the same things: How did he feel about racing without DiMarco? Was he ready for the tight Castle Section? And most importantly, was he going to take pole position today?

Jimmy totally ignored all the questions as he knew answering them would just cause more drama that he didn’t need before a qualifying session.

But he’d grimaced when he heard a reporter shout a question about the Giza Gala track section. That part of the circuit was like a ghost that haunted him.

Three years ago, when Luca was still fighting down in F2, Jimmy was just starting to make a name for himself as a Velocità rookie. In that season’s Azerbaijan Grand Prix, Jimmy entered the top five for the first time, but then came T9.

He had miscalculated the apex by a fraction of an inch, and the crash was so violent that parts of his car basically fused with the barriers. A sour memory.

"Pole is always the goal," he told the crowd shortly and began to move toward the tunnel, his long strides making it hard for the camera crews to keep up.

The reporters pressed on, tripping over their own feet and shoving microphones toward his face, but his PT had finally had enough. They began to refuse their entry, scooping them back with wide arms like they were herding annoying sheep.

As Jimmy headed toward the cool shadows of the tunnel that led to the team enclosures, he took a deep breath, trying to slow his heart rate and get into the zone for the day. He expected to hear the shouting reporters behind him for at least another minute, but then he felt something strange. The noise didn’t stop—it just moved away.

Curiosity got the better of Jimmy, and he turned back.

Another sleek sports car was entering the scene, rolling toward the Mercedes arcade area with revs and growls. While the car wasn’t quite as limited or rare as Jimmy’s Vantage, it was definitely flashier, painted in a shimmering, iridescent coat that changed colors under the Baku sun. And it didn’t just have swan doors; it had gull-wing doors!

A deep frown clouded Jimmy’s face as Antonio Luigi stepped out from the driver’s seat, looking like a billion bucks, yet dressed in a mere tee and joggers. In that instant, the swarm of press that had been begging Jimmy for a quote vanished, rushing toward the reigning F1 champion with a roar of excitement.

~~~~~~~

Victor Surmann arrived in a Trampos staff shuttle.

A bus.

It was a functional, red, and yellow coach meant to move personnel from the hotel to the paddock without any fuss.

Cheap beater cars range from $5,000 to $10,000. With that, you could get a Volkswagen Golf or a Ford Fiesta. Under Victor’s current rookie wages, he could easily afford these kinds of rides with his first paycheck.

But truthfully, would you really like to see him in one?

In an upscale place like Formula 1, imagine driving a hand-me-down into the VIP lot. It was basically the equivalent of wearing flip-flops to a royal wedding.

Then there are more classy, typical commercial cars for your daily businessmen, sitting around the $45,000 to $70,000 range. That price could get one a cool car like the Audi A4 James Lockwood drove or the BMW 3 Series. This Trampos boy could technically afford those too, but he’d have to call mayday on his bank balance afterward.

Not to mention the actual sports cars the legends were rolling in with.

Victor stopped out of his shuttle, lowering his headset to his neck as he took in a deep breath. All he could smell was the luxurious scent the million-dollar cars left lingering in the air, and it made his stomach feel hungrier than it actually was.

It wasn’t a hunger for food; it was a hunger for the status those engines represented.

Victor took a nervous gulp and lowered his headset, the cushions sealing out the world. Even through the noise-canceling feature, he could still feel the vibration of the cheering media and the thud of thousands of footsteps as the rowdiness in the scene increased by the second.

Looking to his left toward the Ferrari arcade, Victor saw a parked Jaguar F-Type.

He knew that car.

A surge of confidence coursed through him, knowing Luca was already present.

With his eyes locked forward, he began walking toward the tunnel.

He didn’t have the silver Vantage or the gull-wing Mercedes yet, but he had a seat on the grid.