Formula 1: The GOAT

The Bambino kart screamed as Fatih, at full throttle, navigated La Conca’s sweeping Turn 13. He hugged the left side of the track, preparing for the final right-hand hairpin. Leaning his body outwards to maximize grip on the outer tires, he braked hard, turned in, and clipped the early apex. The rear right tire lifted momentarily as the kart drifted towards the middle of the track. He smoothly reapplied the accelerator, but perhaps a fraction too aggressively; the kart gave a slight twitch on the slick, rain-soaked surface. His Catlex-enhanced reflexes and Invictus-honed sensitivity allowed him to catch the slide almost instantly, his hands a blur on the wheel. He corrected, then pressed the accelerator again, taking the final straight slightly off the drier racing line.

A timing screen flashed in his vision:

[Lap Time: 01:53.846]

Simultaneously, his mission counter updated:

[Rain Mastery Progress: 993/1000]

He didn’t lift, pushing straight into another hot lap.

[Lap Time: 01:53.620]

[Rain Mastery Progress: 994/1000]

On the next lap, disaster. He tried to carry more speed onto the main straight by using the conventional dry line through the hairpin, but the moment he accelerated, the rear snapped. He fought it, but the slide was too pronounced, scrubbing off precious time.

[Lap Time: 01:55.323]

The time was outside the mission’s required 01:55:000. No progress.

He refocused, nailing the next two laps.

[Lap Time: 01:53.946]

[Rain Mastery Progress: 995/1000]

[Lap Time: 01:53.106]

[Rain Mastery Progress: 996/1000]

The moment lap 996 registered, he began a cool-down lap. He didn’t even complete half of it before his consciousness was abruptly pulled from the Simulation. His allotted time was up, returning him to the peaceful darkness of sleep.

…….

“…atih… Fatih… Fatih!”

Rümeysa’s voice gently pierced the remnants of his dreams. Fatih cracked an eye open, finding his mother looking down at him.

“Five more minutes…” he groaned, turning over and burrowing deeper under the covers.

“You can sleep five more minutes,” Rümeysa said, a teasing lilt in her voice, “but we’ll be late to the track, and you might not be allowed to enter the championship.”

Vwhump! Fatih shot upright as if spring-loaded, eyes wide, all traces of sleep instantly banished. He whipped his head towards the bedside clock: 07:19. He leaped out of bed.

“Good morning, Mom!” he chirped, already halfway to the bathroom, leaving Rümeysa trying to stifle a laugh at his sudden transformation.

“Morning, Grandma,” he greeted Güldane, who was preparing the breakfast table, as he passed her on his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth before calling his mother to help him with his bath.

“I really wanted to finish that mission last night,” he said with a hint of disappointment that he couldn’t complete it when he was so close. He had been at it for over nine months, which might seem like plenty of time to accomplish it. However, more than five thousand of his laps had either not met the minimum lap time or had been abandoned due to mistakes – slides, crashes from carrying too much speed, or being too cautious. These “deleted laps” happened frequently at the start, with the mistakes reducing significantly the longer he practiced. Thanks to his Invictus (Ultimate) and all his other abilities, he had learned and adapted incredibly fast, reaching a point where he sometimes sustained more than twenty consecutive laps in rain and changing conditions, often more than two seconds faster than the minimum required lap time.

Normally, he wouldn’t have complained, as he could just complete the remaining laps today. But the sight from the small bathroom window – large raindrops continually pelting the glass – was the reason he was a bit sad he didn’t have Aquaman (Good) yet.

“You can just finish the remaining laps on the track if it is wet,” Apollo said, interrupting Fatih’s thoughts and causing the hand that was brushing his teeth to pause, his face covered in surprise.

“I can do that?” he asked, wanting to be sure.

“Yes,” Apollo affirmed, his translucent figure materializing beside the sink, visible only to Fatih. “The mission parameters never stipulated completion solely within the Simulation, nor exclusively at the La Conca circuit. It only specified the lap time benchmark, which was determined by La Conca’s layout. The System will adjust the required lap time for the Istanbul Karting Park circuit. Should the real-world track conditions meet the ‘wet’ criteria, your laps will count.”

As Apollo spoke, the relevant lines from the mission text highlighted themselves in Fatih’s system interface:

[Objective: Complete one thousand (1,000) laps under these rainy conditions with a lap time of 01:55:000 or below (Benchmark: La Conca).]

The key was “these rainy conditions,” not “this specific simulated track.”

“Good,” Fatih said, spitting and rinsing his mouth before going to call his mother, telling her he was ready for his bath.

Everything from his bath to breakfast was completed in less than an hour. Soon after, he, Rümeysa, and Güldane descended to the underground parking lot, took their car, and started heading to Istanbul Park Karting, where the first round of the TOSFED Minik Kart Şampiyonası was to take place on Saturday, April 4th.

Having left home around eight, the journey took nearly an hour and a half.

‘Looks like the rain reached here as well,’ Fatih thought, peering out the window from his rear seat as they passed through the security gate and drove towards the parking lot. The asphalt was dark and glistening.

“We’re not late, are we?” Rümeysa asked Burak, her voice tinged with anxiety after exchanging greetings. Burak had come to meet them at the parking lot, having received her call about their arrival.

“Still half an hour before Group A’s practice starts,” Burak reassured them, shaking Rümeysa’s hand and giving Fatih a welcoming wave. “Fatih is in Group B, so he has at least fifty minutes before he’s on track.”

“Ah, thank God,” Rümeysa sighed, visibly relieved. “I was worried the unexpected traffic and this rain would make us miss the practice session.”

“Yeah, the rain hasn’t helped anyone’s schedule,” Burak chuckled as they began walking towards the paddock for Fatih to complete the final verifications.

……

Inside a bustling organizer’s tent, Fatih stood with Burak and Rümeysa before a table where a race official meticulously reviewed their documents.

“Parental consent form, check. Racing license, check. Participation type: Academy. Academy registration form, check. Kart scrutineering pass, check…” The official ticked off items on his checklist, his pen scratching against the paper.

“Okay, everything checks out,” the official finally declared, signing an approval form and placing it in a dossier marked with a large ‘213’. “His championship number will be 213. Head over there and pick up his number stickers.” He pointed to an adjacent tent, handing them a stamped document. “Good luck,” he added, offering Fatih a smile and a small wave as they departed.

After collecting a set of ten stickers of various sizes, all bearing the number 213, they made their way to their team’s tent. A large banner proclaimed ‘FATIH KARTING ACADEMY,’ the academy’s name coincidentally matching Fatih’s own, as well as the name of the municipality where he lived.

Inside, five brand-new karts stood on stands, gleaming under the tent lights, each bearing the academy’s livery and the driver’s name. Four already had their number stickers applied; Fatih was the last of the academy contingent to arrive.

“Nice to meet you,” Rümeysa said warmly, joined by Güldane, as she approached the parents of the other four participants. Burak handled the introductions before excusing himself to greet the other young drivers before moving to attach the sticker on Fatih’s Kart. Fatih would be meeting his teammates for the first time, as they were in different training classes, and no one else from his specific group was participating in the championship.