Formula 1: The GOAT

“I thought you’d be resting today,” Burak said, a surprised look on his face as Fatih emerged from the locker room, fully suited and ready for practice.

“Why would I do that?” Fatih asked, zipping up his suit and making a final adjustment to his collar.

“You just came from a championship weekend. You participated in at least three intense races, not to mention all the other sessions. Aren’t you tired?” Burak asked as they began walking towards the outdoor track.

“All I did was race, and it wasn’t that tiring,” Fatih answered simply. What he really wanted to say was, I spent my entire previous life confined to a bed, and you want the new me to laze around after a single race weekend? Don’t you understand the blessing I have, to not feel constant pain, to do what I love? You want me to waste that time? He kept the thoughts to himself; it would be unfair to Burak. Besides, with his young body and the [Sponge Body] ability, any fatigue that might have accumulated had vanished with a single night’s sleep.

Burak just shook his head with a fond, disbelieving smile. “To be young. Oh, and the race recording you requested a copy of has been delivered to the academy. Remind me after the lesson to give it to you.”

“Thank you,” Fatih said, his own smile hidden by his helmet.

“What are you going to use it for? A memento?”

“That, and a few other things,” Fatih replied as they arrived at the pitlane, their karts already prepared and waiting. “I want to see my performance from a third-person point of view.”

“Good idea,” Burak nodded. “Since I’ve seen you’re very good at overtaking, even in the wet, today we’re going to practice defending. And unlike our previous sessions where our karts were matched, today my kart has a few more horsepower than yours. I’m going to push you to your absolute limits so we can see where your weaknesses lie and start fixing them.” He started both their karts.

Fatih gave him a thumbs-up, the engine noise drowning out any verbal reply. He boarded his kart, and after letting the engines warm up for a moment, they headed out onto the track, which was completely empty just for them.

…….

For the first time in a long while, Mehmet, the director of the Fatih Karting Academy, was watching the track not out of boredom, but with a rapt, almost morbid curiosity. From the window of his office, which overlooked both the indoor and outdoor circuits, he could see Fatih and Burak engaged in their training. It was clearly a defensive driving drill, a dance of mismatched power.

On the long start-finish straight, Burak, with his superior horsepower, would inevitably blast past Fatih. But then, a fascinating game of cat and mouse would ensue for the rest of the lap. Fatih defended as if his life depended on it, masterfully using his lower-powered kart to his advantage. He would brake later, get on the power earlier, and do everything in his power to disrupt Burak’s rhythm. He used his defensive moves at the last possible second, borderline on the gray line of the rules, parking his kart on the apex as if it belonged to him and daring Burak to find a way around. He would retain his advantage through the technical sections, only for the raw power difference on the main straight to erase his hard-won gap in seconds.

As he watched, Mehmet recalled viewing the race recording Burak had brought him earlier, deliberately without revealing the results. He’d been surprised to see Fatih on pole, but what followed was an experience that left him with a massive, excited smile on his face. Not only because of Fatih’s incredible drive, but because two of the top three finishers were from his academy. He finally understood what Burak had meant when he’d said that if nothing out of his control happened, no one would defeat Fatih. Something had happened, and despite that, the kid had done the nearly impossible.

“The silence is unnerving,” he murmured to himself. He knew that if he had watched this race, then the directors of all the other academies had done the same. Anyone with a semblance of a racing mind would see the raw talent in Fatih, and the potential increase in sponsorship revenue and academy prestige that such a prodigy would bring. The fact that no one had contacted him yet, now that the recordings were widely available, could only mean one thing: they were planning to poach Fatih behind his back, willing to pay whatever penalty fee was required for the few months of training the academy had provided.

“I have to keep him here,” he said, the decision crystallizing in his mind. He immediately returned to his desk and called the reception.

“Is Fatih’s guardian, his grandmother, still here?” he asked when the call connected. “Good. Please bring her to my office if she is free.” He ended the call and waited.

……

“Thank you, and I will be waiting for your response,” Mehmet said, shaking hands with Güldane. Fatih, having just finished changing, arrived just in time to see the handshake, wondering what the conversation had been about.

The academy director then extended a hand to Fatih. “I’m Mehmet,” he introduced himself. “I expect great things from you in the future, so keep up the hard work.” He offered a warm smile before bidding them farewell, leaving Fatih even more curious.

After collecting two copies of the race recording and saying goodbye to Burak and the receptionist, they started their journey back home.

Once he arrived home, his routine remained unchanged. He greeted his mother, who had already returned from work and was preparing dinner, then went to wash up. He carefully stored the two copies of the race recording in a safe place in his room before joining his family for dinner. Afterwards, he spent some quality time with his mother and grandmother before finally heading to bed.

The moment his head hit the pillow, his consciousness slipped away from the real world and into the familiar, limitless space of the Simulation. His next round of training, a deep dive into the fundamentals of tire management, was about to begin, bringing the eventful day to a close.