Formula 1: The GOAT

BRGHHHHHHHH…

A piercing screech of tires was the only warning before Fatih’s kart was sent sliding off the track, coming to an abrupt and violent stop as it crashed into the tire barriers.

“Arghh,” he groaned, the brunt of the impact radiating through his side. He felt a sharp, bruising pain in his ribs, but the sensation lasted only for a moment before the System’s pain dampeners kicked in and it disappeared.

“Since you are practicing with your ability downgraded, you have to start slowly and build familiarity,” Apollo’s voice was calm and instructive as his form materialized next to the dented kart. “If you start by trying to push to the absolute limit on your first lap, you will be taken out. The sensitivity you are feeling at the moment has a lag, a clear downgrade from the high-speed, instantaneous feedback you are used to.” He waved his hand, and both of them disappeared from the crash site, the dented barrier repairing itself moments later as they reappeared in the pit lane.

The pain itself was more of a phantom sensation, a feature of the Simulation designed to ensure he drove with the same seriousness he would in the real world. It was a deterrent against treating the simulation like a mere game, where he might try to recreate impossible moves with no consequences, only to suffer a catastrophic accident in reality. Although this feature could be turned off, Fatih had never even considered doing so. He knew how detrimental the removal of fear and real-world consequences would be to his mentality.

“Understood,” Fatih said, rubbing his ribs. Though the pain had vanished completely, the memory of it still lingered, making him involuntarily try to massage the area.

“Now, start again, but push at only seventy-five percent,” Apollo instructed. “Increase your pace in increments of five percent only after you are completely comfortable at the current level. We will begin practicing how to drive against aggressive drivers once you are used to driving with your ability nerfed.”

Fatih obliged without a word. He once again took to his favorite track, La Conca, to begin his practice, his [Invictus] ability downgraded, a handicap he now had to master.

……..

“Yes… mhmm… yeah, yeah… understood… I wanted to address it as well… Sure, I will see you on the weekend.” Rümeysa lowered the phone from her ear and placed it back on the table.

“What is the academy saying?” Güldane asked, cracking another sunflower seed between her teeth and tossing the shell into a bowl that was already full.

“They are calling for a meeting to discuss the situation with both sets of parents,” Rümeysa explained. “They want to try and solve it and prevent things from escalating that far again.”

“Ah, so they are finally taking action,” Güldane said, a hint of dissatisfaction in her tone at how long it had taken.

“They destroyed three different kart chassis last weekend,” Rümeysa said dryly. “I think they want to reduce their financial losses, since they are the ones shouldering the cost of the karts and repairs.” As a lawyer, she knew that the one thing that could spur a slow-to-act institution into motion was damage to either its finances or its reputation.

“But why is it phrased as if both sides are at fault, and not Selçuk alone?” Güldane asked, her voice sharp as she hit the table, causing a few sunflower seed shells to catapult in Rümeysa’s direction. “You don’t think they are trying to push the narrative that both sides are at fault, are you?”

“I hope not,” Rümeysa said, collecting the stray shells and tossing them back into the bowl. “But considering the other parent is the primary sponsor for this year’s academy karts, I can’t rule out the possibility. I will reserve my judgment until the meeting, lest I go in with a hostile attitude and end up causing more trouble due to a misunderstanding.”

As for Fatih, the very reason his mother was being called for a meeting, he was none the wiser. He was currently driving his home kart in the park, playing with his friends, having already pushed the incidents to the back of his mind, content to just enjoy his life.

……..

That Saturday, Fatih was happy to be going to the academy with his mother. His good mood soured slightly, however, when instead of being allowed to go to the changing rooms to prepare for his practice, they were escorted to a meeting room. The look on his mother’s face made it clear that this was something she had known about ahead of time; only he was in the dark.

As the door to the meeting room was opened by a secretary, it was clear that they were the last to arrive. At the head of the long, polished table sat Mehmet, the academy director, his face a mask of neutrality. To his right sat Selçuk, his father Aslan, and his coach, Adam. Selçuk didn’t even raise his head to look at them, staring intently at a scratch on the table, refusing to make eye contact. Aslan, the academy’s primary sponsor, leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, his expression a cold mix of disappointment and impatience. Adam shifted uncomfortably, constantly adjusting his chair and fiddling with a water bottle.

On Mehmet’s left, there were three chairs, with only one occupied by Fatih’s coach, Burak. The remaining two were for them, and they took their seats immediately after greeting everyone.

Fatih, after taking his seat and folding his small hands in his lap, quickly assessed the expressions of everyone in the room. From the tense atmosphere alone, he could deduce that the conversation that had taken place before they arrived was not in any way pleasant. The room was still filled with a feeling of uncomfortable tension that even the air conditioning couldn’t dissipate.

Once everyone was seated, Mehmet cleared his throat. “Thank you all for taking time out of your busy days to attend this meeting,” he began, his gaze sweeping from one side of the table to the other. “The purpose of this meeting is to review the incidents from the last racing weekend, understand their causes, and establish a clear path forward to ensure the safety of our drivers and the integrity of this academy. After all, we are here to teach these children, not to have them injure or endanger each other. Please be clear, this is not a trial, but a necessary discussion.”

“Burak, perhaps you can begin by giving us a short summary of the situation, so that we are all on the same level of understanding,” he said, handing the baton to Burak, who looked as though he would rather be anywhere else.

Burak nodded and began his summary. But instead of just focusing on the last weekend, he started from the very first incident between Fatih and Selçuk. One by one, he showed the footage of each incident on a large screen, explaining the context, until he arrived at the final-lap crash that had taken both of them out of the race.

“From this, we can conclude that Selçuk, though talented, is very aggressive, to the point that it is dangerous for other drivers,” Burak said, finishing his summary. “He needs to either reduce that aggressiveness or learn to channel it in a way that doesn’t risk his or others’ safety.”

However, before he could even take a sip of water, Adam, Selçuk’s coach, who had been silent until now, leaned forward. “With all due respect, Burak, to frame it that way is misleading. Nearly all of those incidents were not intentional. They were either misjudgments or unavoidable racing incidents. To use them to paint Selçuk as a dangerous driver is unfair.”

“Unfair? How, to be exact?” Rümeysa interjected, her voice remaining neutral, but her sharp gaze making her displeasure clear. “Just on the last racing weekend, he crashed into Fatih during the heats, a crash heavy enough to require a change in chassis. His dive bomb during the Final race then took both of them out. If it hadn’t been for the pit lane road, it would have sent them into the tire barriers and could have seriously injured Fatih. So, what part of that makes him not a danger to himself and others?”

Selçuk, who had been staring at the table, lowered his head even further, anticipating his father siding with Fatih and berating him. Inside, he was praying, regretting not asking his mother to bring him to the academy. The happiness he had felt when his father had been the one to take him had all but vanished. Knowing how his father admired Fatih, he was sure he was going to side with him, ten out of ten times.

Aslan, who had been silent throughout all of this, turned to look at his son, whose head was bowed in shame. He then shifted his gaze towards Rümeysa before he spoke, his voice cold and hard. “Aggression is part of racing, is it not? My son was fighting for the win. That’s what I pay this academy to teach him to do. To fight.”

His words caused a momentary halt to all sound in the room. Fatih looked at Aslan, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Rümeysa had a look of stunned disbelief on her face. And Selçuk… Selçuk had lifted his head so fast he nearly snapped his neck, his eyes wide as he stared at his father. The look of gloom and doom on his face slowly shifted, transforming into one of near-euphoric shock.