Debut

The lights hovering above the starting line held their breath.

Nick sat low in the cockpit, his hands steady on the wheel. With his helmet on, the world narrowed and the noise of the crowd and other cars were tuned out.

This was Melbourne, Nick’s first race of the season.

“Brake temp’s good. Clutch bite point set,” the engineer said, his voice crackling through the radio. “Keep it clean into the first corner.”

Nick exhaled slowly, regulating his breathing. The formation lap had just ended, and now the race was about to start.

Looking ahead, he saw the other cars idling, waiting for the start of the race. The drivers were names he had grown up watching, cheering for, aspiring to be.

Now, they were rivals.

The last car came in from the formation lap.

One by one, the lights turned on.

Red.

Nick’s grip tightened.

Red.

“Don’t overthink it,” he thought.

Red.

“Come back safe”

Red.

His eyes opened.

Red.

His resolve steeled.

Then—

Lights out.

Nick dumped the clutch and feathered the throttle as the car leapt forward. The tires smoked as they bit into the tarmac, struggling to transfer the raw power of the engine into the ground.

The entire grid immediately began barreling toward Turn One.

Cars began fanning out, the carbon fiber bodies mere inches apart.

Turn One quickly approached and Nick stepped late on the brakes. The brake pedal pushed back hard, the car’s deceleration brutal enough to drag his organs forward. Through the halo of the car, he could see a flash of red lunging toward the same apex.

For a second, it looked like there was no gap.

Yet, Nick threaded through.

His steering lightened as he clipped the apex, the rear sliding just enough to make the turn before powering on the throttle to avoid contact.

“Good awareness,” he heard over the radio. “Keep it up.”

Nick didn’t smile; he had to maintain his focus.

Lap One ended in a blur, with Lap Two starting a rhythm that Nick was able to follow. Getting past the chaos of the first couple of laps, the field began to decompress which allowed Nick some chances to be more aggressive.

Each corner was taken with absolute commitment, muscle memory taking over as he managed the brakes and steering the same way he had memorized over a hundred times in simulators.

But simulators couldn’t replicate the heat that was coming into the cockpit. Nick was sweating underneath his racing suit, his neck straining to keep upright under all the lateral G-forces.

Yet, he persisted, ignoring all of it.

Lap Five passed.

Nick carefully watched the car ahead, studying how the rear would ever-so-slightly slip coming out of the lower speed corners. He knew the time to attack would come soon.

Lap Eight.

“Alright, that’s the Silver Arc car in front of you. You can catch him.”

Nick began chasing down the car, and by the end of Turn 10 was right behind him.

The two cars sped down the long straight into Turn 11. It looked like it was going to be a game of who could step on the brakes the latest.

As the signs indicating the approach of Turn 11 came into view, as if by instinct, Nick stepped on the brakes.

The Silver Arc car waited before slamming on the brakes, however smoke began puffing from the front tires. He had locked up and was not able to turn in time.

Nick took the opportunity and immediately swung his car on the inside of the corner, using light throttle to ensure the car kept stable coming out.

“Good job Nick,” he heard through the radio. “Your first real overtake. This puts you into P4.”

Nick didn’t have the thought to respond, the adrenaline forcing him to focus on nothing but the track in front of him.

As Lap Nine unfolded, Nick was completely settling into a sustainable rhythm. In the small absence of other cars, he was able to continue at the pace until he approached the cars ahead of him.

“Gap ahead is nine tenths,” the engineer stated. “Come on, push.”

Nick tightened his grip on the wheel. His instinct told him to chase and be more aggressive, but he knew that he needed to stay patient. Aside from affecting tire management and energy deployment, a more aggressive pace would also increase risk of making a mistake.

As Lap Eleven came around, Nick decided to probe the Scuderia Rosso car in front, to see if there was an opening or a mistake he could force. As he closed rapidly on the main straight, his rear wing opened wide. However, the driver in front of him defended calmly, the red car moving and leaving just enough space as required by the regulations.

Nick backed out, not willing to risk a crash at this moment. His carbon fiber wing came within inches of the car in front of him, but both drivers were able to keep it clean.

Lap Twelve.

Nick tried to attack at the same spot again, this time trying a higher risk move on the outside. However, the Scuderia Rosso held the line, forcing Nick wide on exit.

“Nice try Nick,” came the voice over the radio. “Keep calm and you’ll get another shot.”

As Lap 14 came around, Nick decided to try one last time.

This time, he chose Turn Six to attack. As both the Scuderia Rosso and Enstone TS cars reached the turn, Nick took the outside, braking slightly earlier than usual. The Scuderia Rosso tried to hold steady into the inside of the corner but understeered slightly. This was the gap Nick needed.

Nick turned the wheel and expertly threaded the needle into Turn Six, transitioning into Turn Seven. Coming within inches of the barrier, Nick kept the car in control, the black-and-gold overtaking the bright red in spectacular fashion.

“Nice overtake!” came over the radio.

Going through the rest of the lap, Nick began to feel the other difficulties of being a driver. The heat was beginning to become oppressive, sweat trickling around his eyes underneath the balaclava and helmet. His forearms burned, the steering wheel fighting him with every movement.

His neck was also struggling, the G-forces lap after lap pressing his head sideways.

Speed wasn’t the only thing a driver had to worry about; endurance was also the key.

As Nick crossed the line onto Lap 15, his engineer came on the radio.

“Tires are starting to fall off, specifically the front-left,” he warned. “Pit window is coming up soon.”

Nick adjusted his braking points, sacrificing entry speed to nurse the tires a bit. The car was indeed beginning to understeer, with Nick having to work a little harder to keep steady.

And then, on the next lap, the best thing that could possibly happen at this moment occurred.

A yellow flag on track, revealed by signals along the track.

“Yellow flag on track, safety car is out,” the engineer revealed. “Box this lap, box box.”

Nick sighed in relief. As he passed through Sector Two, he saw the cause of the yellow flag. One of the cars had ended up in the wall. Though the driver seemed safe after the crash, the dark-green car was not going to make it off track on its own. This was a reminder to Nick of how thin the margins were; one mistake or lapse in focus, and it could be him ending up in the wall.

A certain thought also crept in Nick’s mind.

Come back safe.

As Nick entered Turn 12, his radio chimed again.

“Box box.”

Nick slowed down into the pit lane, engaging the limiter once he crossed over the line. Straight ahead, he could see the pit crew already in position, tires in hand.

The Enstone car pulled into the pit box. In the span of two seconds, the car was lifted, all four tires were replaced, the car lowered back down and then sent back out.

A quick pitstop, something that could only be the product of consistent practice.

Nick rejoined the track and sped up to catch up to the safety car. As he pulled into the line behind the yellow safety car, he began weaving gently side to side, scrubbing heat into the cold tires to warm them up. This also allowed him to keep his distance from the car in front of him.

Safety car periods also presented their own challenges. Since most drivers choose to pit, most of the grid is going to be on cold tires while also being in close proximity to each other.

The long line of cars made their way around the track. Nick’s voice came on the team radio.

“How long’s this safety car going to last?”

“Okay, it’s looking like safety car is in next lap. Keep your eyes peeled, everyone is on cold tires and brakes. Expect everyone to be aggressive.”

Nick nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

True to the engineer’s word, on the next lap, the safety car turned off its lights and peeled into the pit lane. As the lead car took them around the final corner, everyone waited for the race to pick up again.

With the field backed up, Nick held his nerve.

Then, as Nick straightened out after the corner before the pit straight, the purple TaurusForte car in the lead accelerated. The race was back at full pace.

Nick reacted instinctively, rolling onto the throttle smoothly as his car lurched forward. Resisting the temptation to floor it helped Nick, as other cars who had not been so nuanced on the throttle struggled with initial traction.

Turn one came just as fast as before, and the red car behind Nick lunged forward, forcing Nick to tighten his line mid-corner.

He made it through, however. Still P4.

With fresh tires, Nick quickly got back into top form. As his tires warmed through the corners, the car once again became responsive, sharp, with Nick able to push into corners without the understeer from before.

But he wasn’t the only person whose pace was renewed.

One of the TaurusForte cars was ahead of him, suddenly feeling the pressure. Meanwhile, the Scuderia Rosso behind Nick began probing again, searching for another gap to exploit.

Nick exhaled slowly. He was in a good spot and did not want to risk making mistakes by forgetting restraint.

Early into Lap 18, the Scuderia Rosso tried to attack Nick into Turn 3, but Nick defended cleanly, positioning his car in a way that forced the Scuderia to back out.

Over the next three laps, Nick faced constant challenges from the red car. He had fallen into a different rhythm now, braking slightly earlier than ideal to prioritize stability over outright speed.

The Scuderia searched for an opening on the outside but couldn’t commit without risking being run off the road.

“Keep up the defense, Nick,” came the radio. “Keep it clean.”

Five laps later, a backmarker was quickly on track to be lapped.

“Heads up,” the engineer warned. “You’re coming up on one of the Suisse Racing cars. Ten seconds.”

Fatigue crept back in. Nick’s neck burned, muscles trembling as G-forces stacked through every corner. Sweat soaked his gloves, making the wheel harder to grip.

As the Suisse Racing car appeared ahead, Nick timed the pass carefully, aiming to clear it without drama.

In a moment of desperation, the Scuderia Rosso seized the opportunity and dove late into the braking zone.

Nick held his line. The two cars entered the corner side by side.

For a moment, the rear stepped out.

His heart jumped — but he held firm, subtly correcting.

The Enstone stayed true and surged ahead on exit, traction returning at the last possible instant.

“Great job,” the engineer praised. “Keep calm. He’ll try again.”

Nick didn’t respond. He was too focused on the track ahead.

His eyes flicked down to the steering wheel display. Fuel. Tire life. ERS.

ERS was getting low — the cost of defending relentlessly.

He couldn’t deploy aggressively on the straights anymore without risking having nothing left when it truly mattered. Every defensive move now carried a price.

Behind him, the Scuderia Rosso remained glued to his gearbox.

By Lap 34, Nick had shifted fully into defense, forcing hesitation at every corner entry.

A brief yellow flag waved — debris scattered across the racing line — but the race continued. Nick adjusted his line, skirting the carbon fiber fragments without lifting.

Lap 48.

Ten laps remaining.

Nick forced the number out of his head. He just had to keep at it.

Still, his body couldn’t wait.

His neck felt like it was on fire. Breathing became work.

Lap 49.

The Scuderia Rosso tried again — not with a dive, but with pressure. The red car hovered just close enough to fill Nick’s mirrors, a constant presence in every braking zone.

Nick refused to look.

Instead, he deliberately placed his car on each approach, hitting apexes that left no room to attack without crossing into recklessness.

Lap 52.

Another attempt.

This time the Scuderia feinted left, then right, testing Nick’s reactions. Nick didn’t bite. He braked earlier than ideal, sacrificing entry speed to keep the car balanced.

The red car backed out again.

Lap 54.

Fatigue peaked.

Nick’s vision tunneled slightly on corner exit, the edges of the world blurring as his body protested the sustained punishment. He blinked hard, forcing his focus back.

“Stay with it,” he said to himself.

Lap 55.

The crowd noise swelled faintly through the helmet — a distant roar bleeding into the cockpit. Nick ignored it.

Turn by turn.
Corner by corner.

Lap 56. Two laps to go.

The Scuderia made its final serious attempt — a desperate dive into Turn One. The red car lunged inside, carrying too much speed.

Tires locked. Smoke burst from the front wheels.

Nick turned in calmly, trusting his line.

He exited ahead.

The threat was over.

“Gap behind is now one point four,” the engineer said. “You’ve broken him.”

Nick exhaled — the first real breath he’d taken in laps.

Lap 59. Final lap.

Every nerve in his body screamed, but he needed only one more.

Clean.
Controlled.
Stable.

Through the final sector, Nick fed the throttle gently. The rear tires — managed carefully since the safety car — held on.

The main straight opened in front of him.

The checkered flag waved.

Nick crossed the line.

P4.

On debut.

“I did it,” he gasped over the radio. “I actually did it.”

“Outstanding drive, Nick,” came the reply, pride unmistakable.

Then another voice cut in.

“Good race, kid,” Reyes said. “Looks like we were right about you.”

Nick slowed on the cooldown lap before pulling into the pits. The car rolled to a stop beneath the parc ferme lights.

For a moment, Nick just sat there. His hands trembled as he removed the steering wheel.

“Okay Nick, car off. Stay seated,” instructed the voice over the radio.

Marshals swarmed the car, brightly colored vests surrounding his peripherals. One of them raised a hand, signaling something. Another leaned in and pointed toward the steering wheel.

Nick’s hands moved slowly.

He released the wheel, lifted it free, and passed it to the marshal.

As he climbed out, his legs barely held him upright, one hand gripping the halo as the weight of it all finally came down.

Cameras began flashing everywhere. Voices overlapped, questions being asked while microphones thrusted toward him before he could even register any of them.

‘Nick! Nick! Over here!”

“Incredible drive! How did that feel?”

“P4 on debut, did you expect this?”

He didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

A wall of noise was pouring from the grandstands, chanting, cheering, roaring. It washed over him, warm and overwhelming.

Mechanics from Enstone burst through the chaos, black-and-gold uniforms streaking into view. Someone slapped his shoulder; another playfully hit his chest.

“Mate—P4!”

“You were unbelievable!”

“Absolutely unreal drive!”

A camera lens approached and hovered inches from his face.

“Nick, P4 on your debut drive. Tell me, how does it feel to announce yourself like this in Formula One?”

Nick swallowed, adrenaline still running through him.

“Honestly, it feels great to really be able to show everyone that I belong here,” Nick answered, a huge grin on his face.

“There was a lot of stir and controversy online when your signing was announced,” the reporter began. “A lot of people were doubting if an American driver could hold up on the F1 grid. Is there anything you’d want to say to them?”

Nick looked directly in the camera and responded.

“People can say whatever they want online. I finished P4, I’m here and they’re not.”

The reporter blinked.

The pause was enough.

Cameras leaned in.

Behind the barricades, the crowd roared louder, cheers spiking as the soundbite spread through the paddock.

The reporter recovered quickly.

“Well,” she started, tone light, “that’s one way to answer that.”

Nick shrugged, still grinning, still too excited to fully register that response.

“Alright, that’s all we have time for,” Marcus said smoothly, already steering Nick away. His smile was polite, but his grip was not.

As they moved away from the cameras, Marcus leaned in, voice low.

“You are aware that was absolutely not in the media briefing, right?”

Nick blinked at him. “Really? It wasn’t?”

Marcus exhaled audibly.

From a few steps away, Jonathan Reyes watched the scene unfold, arms crossed. He didn’t intervene or interrupt; he simply studied Nick – the confidence, the way the crowd was eating it up.

When Nick finally noticed Reyes, the latter approached.

“That certainly was a memorable first interview.”

Nick hesitated. “Is that bad?”

Reyes considered it.

“Depends,” he mused. “If you’re gonna have an attitude like that, you have to back it up at the next race.”

Nick nodded without hesitation.

Reyes gave a short hum. “Then I can forgive it this time.”

With that, he turned and walked off, already pulling out his phone.

Marcus stared after him, then returned to Nick.

“…You got lucky,” he muttered.

Nick laughed, running a hand through his hair, the tension finally starting to leak out.

Around him, the paddock continued buzzing, his name echoing from all directions.

But for now, he just let himself breathe.